Modern communication. Technology and language and society. Successful restoration of Notre Dame de Paris.

I had an odd “conversation” with Granddaughter Number One last night. I put “conversation” in inverted commas because it was a conversation via Messenger. My daughter, Granddaughter Number One, Granddaughter Number Two and I communicate regularly, sometimes daily, via a group chat. Sometimes there’s a bit too much information about the daily routine, complaints about this and that, the frustrations of the workplace, photos of various pets and so on but it serves to keep us all in contact, which is useful in this modern age of anxiety and stress. For example, Granddaughter Number Two, at university in York, went to a concert in Leeds the other night and kept us updated on her movements - “I’m at the railway station”, “I’m on the train”, “I’m home safely”.

Back when I was a university student, I just had to be sure to write home once a week to reassure the parents that I was still alive and well and thus prevent anyone from leaping on a train to come and visit and make sure I was fine. We had no telephone at home in those days. Later, when my parents had a telephone, whenever we visited I had to phone as soon as we arrived home to let them know we were home safely. Otherwise my mother imagined us mangled in a car pile-up on the M62!

Anyway, I had an odd conversation with Granddaughter Number One. It’s that time of year when people start asking for suggestions for Christmas presents for various members of the family. In this case it was “What shall I get for Grandad?” Definite.y NOT SOCKS was my first response. I made some suggestions and, knowing that she is almost constantly short of money and that Grandson Number One is currently feeling very well off, suggested that maybe she could go shares on a present with him, as he has been asking the same question. 

So the next message from Granddaughter Number One was, “I text him but he never reads text messages.” My next suggestion was that she should phone her brother. “Nobody,” she told me, “phones anyone any more these days”. Well, I do and told her so. Her sister, 21 year-old Granddaughter Number Two, joined in with, “I phone people!” A sort of, “see, it’s not just the old folk!’

But I fear it may be true that, just as people don’t write letters, masses of people don’t make actual phone calls as frequently as they used to. There are, of course, exceptions, such as those people who have long, rambling conversations on their mobiles on the bus, often revealing things about heir health, their work situation, their troubled love life for all the other passengers to share with them. It’s as if being surrounded by strangers gives a feeling of being in a sort of confidential bubble where you can say whatever you like. 

By the way, when Granddaughter Number One sent me the message ‘ I text him’, this raised another bugbear of mine: the past tense of the verb ‘to text’ should surely be ‘texted’ but more and more frequently I hear “I text’, as if it were ‘texed’ past tense of the verb ‘to tex’. Mini-rant over!  It’s one of the odd ways that modern technology has influenced the way we use language. This article about the “word of the year”, tells us that the invention of the telephone is often credited with the usage of “hello and “hi”. And words and expressions that we think of as thoroughly modern, such as “brain-rot”, the article reveals to have been around for far longer than we might think. American writer Henry David Thoreau apparently wrote way back in 1845: “While England endeavors to cure the potato‑rot, will not any endeavor to cure the brain-rot, which prevails so much more widely and fatally?”

I recently wrote about fewer children reading for pleasure, another change in modern society that might be attributed in part to modern technology such as mobile phones and tablets and computer games. Here’s a link to an article on this subject by Rhiannon Lucy Cosslett. She describes herself as being “ part of the microgeneration that made it to college age without much engagement with social media, only to live through a major transition from the printed word to the digital that has shaped humanity in untold ways” and believes that people of her age “are still digesting what it means to have bridged these two eras as young people.”

I can sympathise with her generation’s feelings of confusion. After all, many of my generation grew up, or at least spent our primary school years, without television and without a telephone in the home. 

I could go on about other changes in the world and in lifestyle but maybe that will be for another day.

Here’s a link to an article about a “good news” event, a “shock of hope” as French President Macron described the reopening of the cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris. Some damaged buildings do get restored.

Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!

Things to do on a Friday.

This morning I got up and ran quite early, not very early, but early enough so that when my daughter phoned I was  almost home. We had a sort of arrangement that she would come round after dropping the children off at school. She herself does not work on Fridays and the plan was that we would go to her house, build a set of bunk beds, go to IKEA for some storage units and maybe take in a supermarket at the same time. We had coffee and toast before setting off.

There is a story behind the bunk beds. The two smallest children share the smallest bedroom in their house. Bunk beds are a way of optimising the use of space but standard-size bunk beds don’t fit. So she did some research and found and ordered some slightly shorter than usual bunk beds. They were delivered last week. She spent last Friday building them with the help of 19 year-old Grandson Number One. They didn’t fit! In the process of doing lots of research she had accidentally ordered the wrong beds, although she had ordered the correct size of mattresses. So she contacted the company. They agreed to get someone to dismantle them for her and take them away. However, the company  could not deliver the shorter beds until the end of December. They agreed to give her a refund, which I think was very understanding of them as it was her mistake. She ordered different bunk beds from another company. They were delivered this week and we set about building them today!

It was bit like doing a monstrous Tetris puzzle, working out how to put things together and still have room to move in the small bedroom. At one point I, my daughter, her partner and Grandson Number One  were all in the small room, with the door closed as there was half-constructed furniture in the way, hoping against hope that the people who were coming to take away the original erroneously-ordered beds would not arrive while we were trapped. (The dismantling was speedily done, the collection of the dismantled beds less so. They were still cluttering up the hallway this morning.) They didn’t turn up while we were trapped! Then between us we manoeuvred one bed-frame on top of the other, secured the connection and the men of our party went back to working from hime on their computers.

With the top bunk totally completed and the bottom bunk awaiting the mattress supports, my daughter and I went to collect the small people from school. After a mini supermarket stop, she dropped me off at home and went back to bed-building. The results are quite pleasing!

And that’s where my Friday disappeared to! Not quite the ideal way to spend what turned into a mice but rather chilly day. But we have a sense of achievement. So it goes.

Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone! 

Cold weather here and there. The risks of cold weather camping. Photo exhibitions. Ceasefire?

It’s very cold here today. One of the millponds on my regular running route has a thin skin of ice. The geese and seagulls were hard pressed to find open water. No ducks today. The other millpond remained ice-free, just reflecting the bright, crisp day nicely.

On days like this I can understand the appeal of going out for a long walk in the countryside. However, I still don’t understand why anyone would want to go camping at this time of year, even in such fine weather. Here’s a link to the story of a young man who was feared lost for good in Redfern-Keily provincial park in Canada – 80,000 hectare swathe of “lush alpine meadows, forested valley bottoms, serrated peaks, glaciers, waterfalls and large valley lakes” in the northern reaches of the Rocky mountains. Fortunately he was able to get to a road and was rescued by lorry drivers. 

I love being out and about in the great outdoors, but there are limits!

Apparently Steve McQueen’s latest film is all about the blitz, but seen from the point of view of what they describe as “ordinary people”. Here’s what one report says about the film: 

“It’s grimy and chaotic: people pick over dead bodies for valuables, fire crews wrestle with out-of-control hoses, while others find sexual freedom in the fog of war – it all happens during a story that focuses on a child’s attempt to make his way back to his mother after being evacuated.”

And now I read that his latest project is an alternative photographic history of protest and campaigning in Britain, spanning a century from the suffragettes to the Iraq war protests.her are a couple of sample photos:

 A demonstrator is taken away by police officers during the Battle of Cable street, in east London when Jewish and anti-fascist protesters clashed with fascists in 1936. 

And the arrest of Annie Kenney, our very own Oldham suffragette.

Her statue stands outside the old town hall, a fine building now converted into a cinema. 

At the moment her statue is rather overshadowed by work that’s going on to try to improve the rather sad and dingy town centre.

Out in the conflict zones, people are trying to return to their homes homes in South Lebanon and yet I saw this in todays newspaper: 

“Israeli tanks fire on southern Lebanon as officials says ceasefire with Hezbollah violated

Israeli tank fire hit six areas in southern Lebanon on Thursday and the Israeli military said its ceasefire with Hezbollah was breached after what it called suspects, some in vehicles, arrived at several areas in the southern zone, reports Reuters.”

It doesn’t bode well.

Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!

Amusing news stories and more serious news items!

When our children were quite small we used to do a family visit to the grandparents’ house in Southport every Christmas. On Boxing Day we would make a family outing to the red squirrel reserve at Formby Point. Today I read an odd story about Formby, about someone called Arthur (no surname given) confessing on a Radio 2 programme to having been the “Phantom Gnome Snatcher” of Formby fifty years ago. In his teens he took garden gnomes from people’s gardens and left ransome notes in their place. When nobody paid up, he put the gnomes back in place, just as secretively. How curious that this has been on his conscience all these years. 

Equally odd is this story about animal rights activists:

“Animal rights activists have called for a popular pub to change its name saying that it is "derogatory" to foxes. PETA has sent a letter to the drinking hole known as The Sly Old Fox, with campaigners labelling the moniker "inaccurate" and "unfair".

The message by PETA Vice President of Programmes Elisa Allen called for a rebrand and suggested a "clever" alternative name for the Birmingham pub. In the letter, Allen wrote: "We're sure you'll agree that language is powerful and can reinforce negative stereotypes."”

Well, well! I can understand the outcry about people wearing fox fur stoles and other animal fur items but protesting about the name of a pub seems a little extreme. I suppose they also object to Beatrix Potter’s Mr Tod, a crafty chap who plays tricks on others and tries to entice rabbits into his home, with a view to eating them. Similarly, they might spring to the defence of Tommy Brock, the badger, equally likely to try to capture small rabbits in order to make them into stew, allegedly!

"Brock" and "Tod", by the way, are Lowland Scots and Northern English dialect words for "badger" and "fox" respectively.

And still thinking of nature study and traditions, here’s something about bees: 

“The custom of "telling the bees" is a charming and ancient tradition where beekeepers inform their bees about significant events in their lives, such as deaths, births, marriages, and other major occurrences. This practice is believed to have its roots in Celtic mythology, where bees were seen as messengers between the human world and the spirit world. The presence of a bee after a death was thought to signify the soul leaving the body. The tradition became particularly prominent in the 18th and 19th centuries in Western Europe and the United States.

To tell the bees, the head of the household or the "goodwife" would approach the hives, gently knock to get the bees' attention, and then softly murmur the news in a solemn tone. This ritual was believed to keep the bees informed and prevent them from leaving the hive or dying. The custom underscores the deep connection and respect that people historically had for bees, viewing them as integral members of the household and community.”

More seriously, out in the wider world it seems that Israel and Hezbollah have agreed to a ceasefire. However, both parties reserve the right to start hostilities again if they feel the other has broken the terms of the agreement. That leaves a lot of room for continued fighting. Hardly a true end to the war, regardless of Mr Biden’s express wish. And what struck me was that even as negotiations were underway, Israel was bombing Beirut and Hezbollah was firing rockets at Israel - hardly the best situation for ending hostilities. Inremain unconvinced! We shall see!

And here’s Michael Rosen again:

“If people want to justify why they're entitled to a bit of land based on the fact that their ancestors lived there, then that brings up the matter of whose ancestors get first pick? Which set of ancestors have the right to the land? (Other ways of deciding the matter are available eg siege, hh or negotiated settlement) 

Britannica says:

'The Israelites occupied and conquered Palestine, or Canaan, beginning in the late 2nd millennium bce, or perhaps earlier; and the Bible justifies such occupation by identifying Canaan with the Promised Land, the land promised to the Israelites by God.'”

Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!

Eye tests and shopping and ordering food and thinking about fish ‘n’ chips!

 

In the middle of my Italian conversation class yesterday my phone rang: how embarrassing! I considered ignoring it but it was an Oldham number, as opposed to the unknown and unidentified London numbers, which usually turn out to be someone wanting you to sign an agreement to give them money. 

So I muted myself on the zoom call class and answered the call. Earlier this year when I had a routine eye test, the optician said she was putting my name on a waiting list for further tests. I had forgotten all about this but the phone call was reminding me and letting me know that they had had a cancellation and asking if I could make my way to the eye clinic in the town centre this morning. 

Fair enough! I had been thinking of a shopping trip for items it’s more or less impossible to buy locally. I could kill two birds with one stone, as it were. 

So this morning I made myself start the day a little sooner than usual and by mid-morning I was on the bus on the way to my appointment. A series of efficient people made me read eye charts, shone lights in my eyes, and had me play space invaders (a test for peripheral vision that reminds me of the space invaders game), and took pictures of the back of my eyes, but none of them could tell me what this was all in aid of. I then spent best part of an hour waiting to see a specialist. It’s a good job I had a book with me. It turns out they were testing for glaucoma - no problem at the moment it seems but they will monitor the situation! It’s nice to know the NHS is looking after me.

After that I visited the health food shop, the fruit stall on the indoor market and went looking for Christmas food items in Sainsbury’s, stuff to put in the freezer in preparation for the family Christmas dinner. All good!  And quite serendipitously I arrived at the bus stop with my purchases just as my bus arrived! 

Back home, Phil and I finished coordinating arrangement for a friends’ reunion lunch we have been organising. The central Manchester restaurant had asked us to let them know this week what all our group would be ordering from their Christmas menu. Getting 12 people to let you know what they will want to eat at a future date is no easy task, especially as the people concerned are spread around the country. But all is well.

On the subject of food, here is a curious History of Fish and Chips that I found! We owe our national dish to immigration! 

“Fish and Chips. This tasty twosome has been a British favorite since the Victorian times. However, they weren’t always a duo. They came to the UK separately – one from Belgium and one from Portugal – and they weren’t paired up until about 1860.

Like much of history, there are several stories relating who did what first, but below is my favorite…

Chips

The British chip can trace its history back to the 1600s in Belgium. It seems that the people living along the Meuse River used to catch small fish and fry them up as a tasty addition to their meals. But one winter when it was so cold that the river froze over, an anonymous housewife got creative. If she couldn’t get any fish to fry up, she would just make her own.

She searched the kitchen for dinner ideas, but all she found was potatoes. As she glanced back and forth between the spuds and her frying pan, she had an idea. If she cut the potatoes into strips about as wide as those little fish, her husband and kids might not even notice the difference. So that’s what she did and voila! That’s how chips were born. (History doesn’t tell us whether or not her family noticed the difference.)

Her new culinary creation was tasty and she told other Belgian housewives about it. Soon, the secret was out and chips became a popular fish substitute in many homes. When the Belgian Huguenots were fleeing persecution in the seventeenth century, many of them came to London and brought their chip-frying knowledge with them.

Fish

One hundred years before the Huguenots and their chips sought refuge in London another group of persecuted people had introduced fried fish. The recipe for battered and fried fish came to London in the sixteenth century with the Sephardic Jews who were fleeing the inquisition in Spain and Portugal.

Fish and Chips

In 1860 fried fish and fried chips were both being sold in the streets of London – but not together. The idea for pairing them up came from thirteen-year-old, Joseph Malin. Joseph’s family lived in East London and was descended from those early Sephardic Jewish immigrants. They were rug weavers who also sold chips from their home.

Little Joseph must have been eating a piece of fried fish from a neighboring shop when he popped one of his mum’s chips in his mouth. He liked the combination and thought they might sell well together. It’s easy to imagine him walking the streets with a tray hung round his neck calling out in his East London cockney accent, “Fish n’ chips! Get yer fish n’ chips ‘ere, mate!”

Once people tasted fish and chips together, it was love at first bite. Joe continued selling the delicious duo on the street from his tray, and when he was a bit older, he opened a shop on Cleveland Street.

Everyone Loves It

The new pairing was a great success. Originally fish and chips was considered a food for the lower classes. It was cheap and filling – and it tasted good. During the Industrial Revolution, it became a favorite meal of the working class and has continued climbing its way up the social ladder. Today you will find it served in posh restaurants as well as little corner shops.

By 1910 there were more than 25,000 chippies (fish and chip shops) around the country. In the 1920s the number of chippies peaked around 35,000. Today fish and chips has to compete with other takeaway fast foods and the number has dropped to around 10,500.

Wrap It in Newspaper

Many people remember eating takeaway fish and chips wrapped in newspaper. However, this is no longer done. It was discontinued in the 1980s for safety reasons when it was discovered that eating food covered in newspaper ink wasn’t good for us. Now the dish is usually served on a plate or in a takeaway box. This makes it easier to add the customary side of mushy peas, which are similar to mashed potatoes – except they are mashed peas. The Brits often top it all off with good doses of salt and vinegar.”

Source ~   Article By Margo Lestz  

Interesting! The Belgians are stereotyped as great lovers of chips. I remember an old joke about Belgium and chips:

Question: Why do birds fly in circles above Belgium?

Answer: Because they need to use one wing to hold their noses because of the smell of chips frying.

I also remember eating chips, but no fish, in paper cones on the street as a student in France. Instead of salt and vinegar, we were offered mayonnaise or mustard.

And there was a time when the first thing we wanted to do on returning from visits to France was to buy fish ‘n’ chips! Those were the days!

Life goes on, stay safe and well, everyone!

Looking at trains. Organising Christmas. Havoc in the wider world.,

Yesterday’s road trip to York turned out to be less rainy than expected. In fact, the closer we got to York, the better the weather got. Hardly spectacular but at least not actually raining on us. To avoid the possibility of rain we had booked a slot to visit the Railway Museum in York. Or rather, Granddaughter Number Two had done the booking, as she had arranged to book us a table at Pizza Hut.

So we had a look at the fine railway engines in the Railway Museum, admiring the replica of Stephenson’s Rocket and the wonderful old station signs. I suspect that the high point for the smallest member of our party was going into the play area and making friends with other small people, but that is ever the way of five-year-olds. Here are some photos.

The Mallard set a world speed record for steam engines.

While we were happy that it did not rain on us in York, it seems that Wales was seriously battered by Storm Bert. Floods have once again caused havoc. And we have once again come off lightly. And today, so far at least, is dry, but mostly dull with occasional attempts by the sun to break through. So it goes.

Christmas is rushing towards us. I have been trying to coordinate various family visits: our son and family from Buckinghamshire and my Spanish sister and family from Cadiz. Both groups are making short visits and the logistics of getting everybody together at the same time is becoming rather like herding cats! 

Meanwhile, the wider world is still in turmoil. Russia and Ukraine remain daggers drawn. And here are a few Michael Rosen comments on the Israel - Palestine situation:-

“I'm worried that Netanyahu has said his case will end in the same way as the Dreyfus trial? Does he mean he's going to be sent to Devil's Island? Does he mean that technically, even if a state says he's innocent, the people who found him guilty will never exonerate him?”

A poem

“I suppose 

if you spend years 

saying that the people you're living amongst

(or next to) 

don't exist,

at some point

you'll try to make it happen - 

even if there's a slight contradiction

in trying to eliminate

what you said didn't exist.”

And this: 

“Haaretz editorial:

'The decision by new Defense Minister Israel Katz to halt the use of detention without trial against Jewish settlers living in the West Bank is apartheid by all accounts: One law for Jews and another for Palestinians.'

I wonder if God is involved.

Did He figure out that, as of now, detention without trial in 'Judea and Samaria' should only apply to Palestinians and not to Jewish settlers?”

That’s all. 

Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!