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Today is Spain's Fiesta Nacional. This was the date on which Columbus discovered America for the Spanish king several centuries ago. In the 21st century, King Felipe oversaw the military parade in Madrid for the second time, his first time as king; last year he stood in for his father who was recovering from a hip operation. I wonder if Juan Carlos knew then that the next year would bring abdication. Well. today Felipe and Letizia stood there regally with the children, the Princesa de Asturias (poor little Leonor no longer merits a name in news reports but is simply referred to by her title as heir presumptive to the throne) and the Infanta Sofía.
Here in the UK it is simply the 12th of October, nothing special. But in Saddleworth it is just a little bit special as a road race has been taking place this morning. For several weeks we have seen signs warning us: "Caution Runners". I am afraid these signs have brought out the pedant in me and I want to ask what "caution runners" are. Are they something like the people you see in films who are supposed to hand over subpoenas directly into the hand of the person they are intended for? Do they rush around taking warning messages to important people? I know that TV production teams have "runners", although I have no real idea of what they do. Are "caution runners" similar to them? I know it's silly and picky on my part, but would it have been so hard to put in a couple of exclamation marks? "Caution! Runners!" would be so much more satisfying.
Anyway, there it is. Nothing I can do about it except make feeble jokes.
One positive consequence of the "caution runners" was my meeting an old friend. I had got up moderately early to run round the village in the early morning mist and came across the race marshals setting everything in place to make the road racers as safe as possible. One of them turned out to be someone who used to work with Phil years ago and whose son went to school with our son. So I stopped to say hello and we caught up with news of what our offspring are up to.
As I said, I ran through the mist this morning. I very nearly put on the silly hat I bought in the sale from the shop in Manchester that sells running gear. It has a small battery and a line of flashing lights so that you can be seen in the gloom on winter mornings or evening. In the end I decided it was not yet dark enough to merit going out looking like a Christmas tree. I may never actually need to wear it as I really don't favour running in the dark. I have occasionally seen people running in the early morning dark as I have been making my way to my daughter's house first thing. I know some people have to run at that time of day as they have a busy working day ahead but it just seems a little excessive to me.
Having said that, I came across an article by someone called Kate Carter, singing the praises of running in the dark. This is what she had to say about clothing: "To fully enjoy any run, you need to be dressed correctly. As the temperatures dip, leggings, base layers and a good running jacket become an essential part of your kit. A hat and gloves are also worth investing in – hands that are warm when you begin can, in contrast to your rapidly heating body, get colder and colder as the blood is diverted to parts that need it more urgently." So maybe she would wear my Christmas tree, flashing lights hat. Here's a link to the whole article.
The mist did clear later. By mid morning the sun was burning the mist off nicely. Another good autumn day. We need to get organised to go for a walk and enjoy the sun.
My Facebook connection to Synergy Spanish School showed me Stephen Hawking enjoying the sun in Vigo yesterday. Like many an English tourist, he arrived in Vigo on the Independence of the Seas, a boat often photographed and posted onto Facebook by Vigo friends of mine ... and by me for that matter. I wonder what Stephen Hawking made of the "ciudad olívica".
As for me, I shall read the newspaper I bought when I ran in the mist. That should take up a good part of the day, which is why we only buy newspapers at the weekend!
In our village there is a For Sale notice on the public toilets. These public toilets have been closed for as long as I can remember. All around the area "public toilets" have largely been replaced by what they now refer to as "community toilets", usually located in a pub. Presumably some official from the town council has gone around asking pub landlords if they mind their premises being used in that way. I suppose in some cases people out hiking and so on might choose to stay for a drink after popping in to use the loo. That does, I realise, rather defeat the object of going to the loo in the first place but life is full of these small contradictions.
In some countries, of course, it is taken for granted that you can pop into a cafe and use the toilet without needing to stop for a drink. Having said that, I remember once having to negotiate a price with a Parisian cafe owner as I had a group of around 25 schoolgirls all wanting to use his facilities and he felt that it was a little excessive. And then, if it is accepted that you can use cafe toilets, why do so many men in mainland Europe seem to feel the need to pee al fresco? The number of corners of steps going from one street to another, the number of backstreets, the number of areas behind the large rubbish bins on street corners which have been rendered disgustingly smelly constantly amaze me!
Anyway, getting back to the toilet for sale, I find it hard to imagine who might buy such an item. A friend of ours believes that it is not just the toilet that is for sale but also the patch of land on which it stands. That being so, he argues, the purchaser could demolish it and build a house on that corner. Maybe so, but I remain unconvinced.
Then this morning in the newspaper online I spotted an item about public conveniences in London being converted into other things. As land prices spiral out of control in the capital nineteenth century toilets are being turned into cafe, restaurants and boutiques. At the same time, however, the number of public conveniences is in decline. There is a price to pay for everything. Some of the Victorian exteriors are quite elegant; those wrought iron archways giving entrance to steps downwards deserve to be preserved. I can't say I am quite so keen on the places that have kept the original urinals as part of the decor, converting them cleverly into alcoves or tables. Not my thing at all but here is a link to the full set of photos.
Another article I found was all about someone's idea for what to give her husband for his 50th birthday. I know the problem. What do you give year on year to someone who can probably go and buy whatever he fancies anyway. In the end she came up with the notion of giving him a series of suggestions for things to do, what she referred to as "a series of mini-challenges". Each idea was put into a little parcel with the aim that he should choose one at random each week. Here are a few of them:
"Every day this week, capture a moment of your day with a drawing or painting."
"Go to a dance class."
"Pick a random novel in a bookshop. Read the first paragraph. Do something (anything) triggered by these words."
"Put £5 in a prominent book in the library with a note making it clear that the finder is meant to keep it. Wait discreetly for it to be discovered."
I'm not so sure about this last one; you might have a long wait in the library and then just miss the moment as you turn away to look at something else. Neither did I appreciate what she called "Knock down Ginger", basically knocking on someone's door and running away. And besides, why is it called "Knock down Ginger"? What has the ginger got to do with it?
But the idea as a whole seems to have worked. The lady in question declares her husband to be more relaxed, a bolder and more outgoing person after working through half a year's challenges.
Articles you read online nowadays give you the option of commenting on them immediately. Interactive journalism. You don't need to bother writing to the paper, or even emailing. You just go to the comments section and type your reaction. This one got mixed reactions: many people thought it was great but others were quite abusive and rude, saying that they didn't see the point of the thing at all. Would they have written a letter to that effect? I doubt it.
Maybe those negative people need to try "Laughter Yoga". This was one of the challenges set by the writer of the article. I have often read stuff about laughter being very good therapy, how it relaxes every muscle in the body and is generally good for you. Now it appears that Dr Madan Kataria, a medical man from India, has developed a system of exercises based on laughter. Described as a "complete wellbeing workout" it has spread to 72 countries in the world. Here is a link to more information about it and the chance to sign up to the newsletter, if that's the kind of thing you do.
All this laughter stuff almost makes up UKIP winning a seat in Parliament, but not quite!
They have been building new houses on a plot of land behind the houses just up the road from us. Rather nice looking, probably very expensive houses, although with very little by way of gardens. They began building years ago and then stopped. Presumably the builder ran out of money. Or maybe he decided that the time was not right, what with the crisis and house price slumps and so on.
Whatever the cause, it all ground to a halt and then a while back we received notice that it was all going ahead again. And so it did. One of them has been sold and is already occupied.
One of the consequences of this construction work is that the little road, barely more than a drive, that formerly just went to the two houses round the corner from our row has become an access road for the new estate. Back at the planning stage we knew about this and were warned that it could affect parking outside our row of houses. Continued parking outside the houses might restrict vision for cars coming out if the access road and so could lead to accidents. Fair enough! Good point! So they promised us parking spaces on the estate itself. All good so far!
The work progressed and reached a point where they began widening the pavements outside our row of houses, ostensibly to prevent parking along the roadside. That was when we discovered that in the agreement to provide parking for us on the estate itself they had neglected to put in the word "designated". An important omission. Yes, we will be able to put our cars in the parking spaces provided near the new houses. But the folk who buy the new houses might have more than one car and, having only a small drive in front of each house could well occupy the other spaces. This just might lead to arguments if some of try to park there. We have sought the help of local councillors, all to no avail. And, of course, we are aware that anyone could park in those spaces, just as anyone could park outside my house. As much as anything we wanted to avoid tension with the occupants of the new houses. Good neighbour relations are advisable, after all.
Anyway, all of this stuff is water under the bridge now. The situation as it stands now is that there are still parking spaces outside our house, without any restrictions so far. Just a few houses up the road pavements have indeed been widened. We wondered how long it would be before someone parked on the pavement.
This morning I went out for my morning run as usual and saw a large van and a car parked on the pavement just beyond the access road. Another pulled onto the pavement as I watched. So much for deterring parking and improving visibility for drivers coming out of the new estate!! Some of the neighbours have been heard to mutter "Bollards!!" as they walk out to their cars.
Things go on that are hard to understand, not always changing life for the better.
The French Prime Minister, a certain Manuel Valls, wants to bring changes into French society. One of the things he wants to do is to allow shops in Paris and other major towns in France to remain open on a Sunday. I remember years ago taking a bunch of sixth form students to Paris and their being amazed to find that they could not go shopping on the Sunday of our visit. These of course were youngsters who had grown up with Sunday trading and huge shopping cathedrals like the Trafford Centre being open until silly times at night. Monsieur Valls wants to bring his country in line with that sort of idea. Daft, I call it but who am I to criticise the French.
Monsieur Valls was in London to meet David Cameron and persuade fellow EU leaders that he is trying to take the French economy on the path to structural reform. Sunday opening for shops is one measure and it could be that an end to the 35-hour working week is another.
I never quite understood how Sunday trading was supposed to make people spend more. Surely they have the same amount of money to spend, whether they spend it on Thursday or Sunday. And as for getting rid of the 35-hour week - what a shame! Restricting the working week to a civilised number of hours always seemed to me to a Very Good Thing. I know it caused problems for small employers but in the end surely it should lead to more people being in work and, therefore, more people having money to spend, in turn boosting the economy.
But hey, I'm not an economist.
It's another element of the modern world which convinces me that there's a lot of craziness around.
The weathermen may well have said that October was going to a really good month but they must have been talking about another country, or at any rate another bit of the country, not the place I am living in. Winter seems to be just around the corner here.
Yesterday I was going out to meet a friend for lunch and had selected a pair of shoes to wear. Then I took another look out of the window and changed my mind. Boots! Definitely boots! And hat and gloves! The autumn colours may be around still but that's just window dressing!
The same goes for the early morning sunshine. The latter looks very pretty but it's not giving out much heat.
It's a good job I had put my boots on yesterday or my poor feet would have frozen. I went out for the bus which is supposed to come at 10.02. I arrived at the stop in plenty of time as our buses are notorious for leaving Delph early and then taking a five minute rest somewhere further along the route. Most annoying! Anyway, 10 o' clock arrived. No bus. 10.05 still no bus! I almost got on a bus going in the opposite direction with the idea that I could get off a few stops along and change to another bus or even the train going into Manchester. Foolishly I opted to wait, thinking that my bus would be along in minutes. At 10.25 an apologetic bus-driver told us he had been stuck behind a traffic accident and had been unable to move. How very annoying!
I was JUST in time to meet my friend. We set the world to rights, in the way that women do when they get together.
We didn't manage to solve the problem of getting the perfect coffee in Manchester, apart, of course, from in my kitchen. However, that is a minor problem compared with the difficulty of getting a perfect cup of tea in continental Europe. I came across an article on that very subject the other day. This told me they even investigate the art of tea making at universities. I am assured that this is true even though it seems to me that there must be more serious things to investigate, especially if my money is being used to fund such projects. Anyway, a certain Dr Stapley of Loughborough University has been examining the thorny question of which should go in the cup first: tea or milk?
Dr Stapley maintains that if you put the milk in after the tea then the milk heats unevenly which causes the proteins in the milk to "denature", whatever that means, and affects the taste of the final beverage. It seems that some people can really taste that difference; they are not just being picky and fussy. It's been proved scientifically true. I would have believed it anyway. I am the person who can sniff a cup of tea or coffee and tell you whether or not it has sugar in, a skill that some people do not possess.
Personally I avoid the milk in first or second problem by drinking my tea black these days. And I particularly enjoyed this comment from the writer of the article: "As an aside, having been to America and sampling the weak tea made there, it must be stressed that the teabag should either be in a pot or the mug itself; it is not sufficient just for it to be in the same room."
Some quite illustrious people have had strong opinions about tea making. Here is a link to the writer George Orwell's instructions for making tea.
Moving on, I want to know when tweeting or twittering abuse about people became "trolling". I keep coming across the term in various news articles. When my children were small you could buy "cute" troll toys. Not at all threatening. In stories trolls used to live under bridges and leap out and threaten to eat anyone who trip-trapped over said bridges. Perhaps it's the lying in wait that makes internet stalkers and the like into trolls. Then the mythology kind of evolved into trolls into beings who would turn to stone if exposed to sunlight - thank you Mr Tolkien for making that clear.
Maybe that's what should happen to the modern "trolls" who apparently make life thoroughly miserable for their victims.
Great excitement in our village yesterday morning! Well, if not great excitement, then a good deal of tutting! Someone had thrown something through the post office window. A young man who works at the Co-op store expressed his remorse at not having noticed anything when he arrived at work at 5.30 am. 5.30!!!! It was still dark then! I'm surprised he could see the door of the Co-op let alone a hole in the window of the post office next door. Poor young man! Fancy having to start work at 5.30 on a Sunday morning, an hour at which some folk would just be getting home from their Saturday night out!
Had he noticed the damage, the young man would have phoned the police at once. As it was, someone else did it later. By the time I went through the village, the police were there, milling around trying to find someone who could open the premises so they could check if entry as well as breaking had taken place. This was causing a problem as no-one had a number for the people who run the post office. You would think that there would be some kind of central data bank giving phone numbers for those responsible for places like post offices. Or is that too much like joined up thinking?
The general consensus was that the hole in the window, though quite large, was probably not big enough for anyone bar a small child to have got through. (Is this the work of a gang of young thieves run by a Fagin-like character?) Besides, there were no incriminating footprints on the outside windowsill. So it was felt that this was bit of mindless vandalism, still not to be condoned but less serious than proper breaking and entering. Mind you, there was still a fair amount of indignation. "This sort of thing doesn't happen around here!" You know the sort of thing.
As for me, I went on my way, having bought my newspaper and some reduced-price strawberries.
The radio news on Sunday morning featured, among other things, the Liberal party conference. They appear to be a little unhappy about having got into bed with the Tories and are criticising the right-wingers' proposals for cuts to all sorts of things. They do still have a good half-year to go before the next election, during which time they remain in bed with the aforementioned Tories. That could be quite difficult!!
Among both the Liberals and Labour people there are those who say that they need a change of leader if they are to have any chance of winning the next election. We just need someone to start agitating for Cameron to give up leadership of the Conservatives and the turmoil will be complete. After all, Nick Griffin has not only lost leadership of the BNP but has been expelled from the party. Meanwhile, no-one seems to have a concrete idea of who to propose as the leader of the Liberals or Labour.
Interesting times ahead!
At eight this morning the house phone rang. I stumbled downstairs to answer it. A quite cultured voice asked me to listen to an announcement: " Those who have debts of under £5000 ...." I have no idea what came next as I put the phone down. This caller made no attempt to identify herself as so many do, presumably in an attempt to make the call seem somehow more personal. It was not a caller with an accent from the Indian subcontinent trying to convince me that his name implausibly was Andrew or Roger or Gordon. They call later in the day as a rule. So why the eight o' clock call?
I can only assume that this was an attempt to catch workers before they set off for the office - a little late for that or else maybe the caller doesn't know that commuters have to set off early to beat the traffic - or perhaps trying to persuade those of us who no longer have to do the morning journey to work that someone important is calling. In the latter case it works. No-one calls here first thing in the morning unless there is a family emergency. And despite the fact I know that my daughter, the usual early morning emergency person, would call my mobile, I still leap out of bed and stumble down the stairs.
This morning's call was very likely a pre-recorded message so I couldn't even indulge in the minor pleasure of stringing the caller along for a while. I know several people who do that quite successfully.
Later in the morning I heard Phil berating another cold caller, asking in quietly indignant tone, "Why are you calling me? You are not supposed to call this number!" Those services which are meant to eliminate such nuisance calls do not seem to be very effective.
Such was the start to my day.
I did not get up at once but went back to bed to warm my feet up and finally went out for my morning run an hour later.
The sun was shining and it was no longer chilly but there was still frost on the grass in shady places. It's that time of year again.
By contrast, a friend of mine has been posting on Facebook pictures of her brown knees on Samil beach, Vigo, boasting of the 26 degrees they had yesterday. Pretty good for the start of October. And we thought we were doing quite well here.
As well as Autumn, conference season is in full swing here. Labour had theirs in Manchester recently and the Conservatives have just finished theirs with threats/promises to bring down the benefits bill and cut taxes. The analysts say that some of this, as well as being standard Tory stuff, is an appeal to "Middle England" (whatever that really means) in an attempt to stem flight to UKIP. Whatever it is, they seem to be planning to make life more difficult for a lot of people.
More cheerfully, well in the first case anyway, I found stories in the news about two Georges. First of all, George Clooney and the new Mrs Clooney, or maybe that should be Amal Alamuddin and the new Mr Alamuddin, have declared their intention to give to charity the huge amount of money paid by scandal mags for their wedding photos. You see, some people don't just want more and more money.
second George is third in line to the throne here in the UK. A journalist or photographer has been keeping an eye on wee George and his nanny when they go out for walks in the park, trying to get photos of the little chap. A spokeswoman for Kensington Palace said that the duke and duchess want Prince George to lead an “ordinary life” while he is young. I can understand their sentiments. They know he will have all kinds of oddities in his life as heir to that throne but they want his childhood to be hassle free. Good for them. However, how "normal" is it to be taken for walks to the park by your nanny?
And finally, I found a link to
an article about learning languages, something always close to my heart. And for once it doesn't say that you absolutely HAVE to start learning as a child. Lots of sensible tips for those who really want to speak in tongues!
Yesterday in the early evening I sat at Stalybridge Station in the buffet bar again, waiting for the poetry group people to turn up. I was a little early as I had come from Manchester.
There is just not quite time to go home from Manchester after the Italian class and back again to Stalybridge in time for the poetry thing on the last Tuesday of the month. So I hang around in Manchester for a while, finding things to occupy my time, and then make my way to Stalybridge. Yesterday, however, I left Manchester a little earlier than usual as it was NOISY!!!!
Manchester is, of course, a university city and yesterday turned out to be Student Takeover Day. From 6 til 9 students could get discount in all sorts of places. I imagine it's part of Freshers' Week. Back when I was a student in Leeds, the activities used to be confined to the university campus. Now, in Manchester anyway, they take over the whole city centre. In every square and on every corner there seemed to be a DJ and HUUUUGE loudspeakers belting out music at top volume. Well, I think it was meant to be music.
I could just about accept that but when I found that almost every shop also had music at unbearable volume as well I just had to escape. I took refuge in Marks and Spencer's cafe for a while but eventually I decided to just get on a train and head for the hills.
One favourable consequence of that was discovering that the station buffet has wifi. So I fed their password into my iPad and caught up with my electronic communication. When we are Galicia I have a collection of wifi cafes whose password is already in my iPad and so I connect automatically. Now I seem to be building up a similar, if smaller, collection for the Manchester area.
We were a small group at the Stalybridge Stanza poetry group last night. Someone suggested that it was because Manchester City had a match going on. (This match against Roma was another factor in the noise of city centre Manchester. There were an amazingly large number of people out selling match scarves! At the top of their voices, of course.) But are there really so many City fans among the poets?! Be that as it may, we had a pleasant evening and my autumn poem was well received.
In a former life, when I was a teacher of French and Spanish, I used to have immigration as one of my topics on the advanced courses. Included in that topic area were the people who hand over their savings to sharks and pirates so that one or two of their family can make the dangerous journey across the Mediterranean in search of a better life in Europe. A futile quest and a dangerous one. As if it were not dangerous enough to travel across the Mediterranean packed far too many into one small boat, now the journey is made even more perilous as the sometimes pirates ram the overloaded boats for reasons which are hard to understand. Here is an article from today's Guardian newspaper about such a disaster. . It is worth noting that now some of those would-be immigrants are refugees from Gaza.
The turmoil continues.
