At the bus stop at the crossroads near our house you can catch a bus to Oldham or a bus to Ashton, to the bus stations at each end of a long route. Confusingly, buses in both directions have the same number, which must be difficult for anyone who does not know the area. And occasionally the destination indicator on the front of the bus gets stuck so that you can’t be sure where it’s going without asking the driver. To add to the confusion, the Oldham bus goes just a few minutes before the Ashton bus, and the times of both buses are approximate as they do such a very long route.
So today, on a mission to buy screws from the hardware shop in Uppermill, I went out for a bus due at the stop at 2.30. As I approached the crossroads I saw a bus just leaving the stop. According to the time it should have been the one bound for Oldham; but no! this was the Ashton bus departing about 4 minutes early. Close behind it came an alternative bus, one which goes through Diggle on the scenic route but which would still take me to Uppermill. It takes great skill, or perhaps poor time management, to miss two buses at more or less the same time! So, as I was at the crossroads and the alternative bus was stuck in traffic I waved my arms and jumped about, signalling to the driver to pleeeease!!! open the door for me. They are not supposed to do so between stops but the drivers on the scenic route are more tolerant of the ways of the local people or maybe just more flexible about bending the rules from time to time.
And so I caught that bus to Uppermill, did my hardware shopping, posted a few Christmas cards, chatted to the Big Issue seller outside the hardware shop, and hopped on the next bus home! Quite efficient, I congratulated myself!
Earlier in the day I read this article about the writer Alan Garner, author of the rather frightening children’s book “The Weirdstone of Brisingamen”, still writing stuff at the age of 90.
Here’s something Alan Garner wrote 13 years ago about Alan Turing:-
“In the 1950s I was an athlete. Those were the days before joggers clogged the highway, so it was unusual for me to see another runner when I was training. We fell into the habit of meeting up and pounding the miles together for company.
He was stocky, barrel-chested, with a high-pitched, donnish voice and the aerodynamics of a brick. He was funny and witty and he talked endlessly, but I understood very little of what he was saying, and it became clear that he ran in order to think. He seemed to be obsessed by mathematics and biology. That much I could work out.
We had one thing in common: a fascination with Disney’s ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’, especially the transformation of the Wicked Queen into the Witch. He used to go over the scene in detail, dwelling on the ambiguity of the apple, red on one side, green on the other, one of which gave death. We had both been traumatised by Walt.
On one occasion he asked me whether, in my opinion as a classical linguist, artificial intelligence was possible. After a couple of miles of silence I said that, in my opinion, it was not. And that was that.
He killed himself when an ignorant and uncouth judge gave him the choice of a prison sentence or chemical castration; and I was overwhelmed by fury at the salacious, gloating humiliation imposed on my friend, and by a sense of guilt that I did not, could not, help him; which lasted for decades, and was made only worse when the Official Secrets Act revealed his true heroism.
He died of cyanide poisoning. By his body was an apple, partly eaten. The apple was not tested for cyanide. His name was Alan Turing.”
We might think that couldn’t happen now but the powers that be are still controlling us, it seems. Here’s something I came across yesterday by a freelance journalist called Nina Lakhani:
“Back in early August, I reported on the arrest of two climate activists outside the New York headquarters of Citibank, one of the world’s largest fossil fuel financiers and target of a campaign known as Summer of Heat.
John Mark Rozendaal, a former music instructor at Princeton University, and Alec Connon, director of the climate nonprofit group Stop the Money Pipeline, were detained for 24 hours and charged with criminal contempt, which carries up to seven years in prison. Why? Rozendaal was playing a Bach solo on his cello while Connon sheltered him with an umbrella – which police claimed broke the conditions of a temporary restraining order that related to another bogus charge of assault (that was later dropped).
Mary Lawlor, the UN special rapporteur on human rights defenders, took up the pair’s case, and together with three other UN experts wrote a formal letter to the US government explaining their fears that the charges were without foundation, and appeared to be a punishment for participating in peaceful protests on the climate crisis and human rights.”
So it goes!
Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!P
I absolutely loved The Weirdstone of Brisingamen! I left it behind when we moved over thirty years ago, and have thought about finding it online.
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