Happy New Year to all my readers.
I am full of hope for 2011. I hope for restraint by the world's more volatile states and equally by those who oppose or indeed provoke them.
For all the travels I have planned the true joy will be in my 33rd anniversary with the deeply loyal, loving and unswerving Greg.
An Image For The Moment
An Image For The Moment - Kjosfossen - dedicated to Matt, a friend
Friday 31 December 2010
Monday 27 December 2010
Psychology In Action
Having been deprived of shops for, in some cases, up to 36 hours, humanity was on the move again today. A large part of it moved towards Gunwharf Quays. What is the draw of the sales? Personally I save money by not buying things. I do not save 20% on something I did not want in the first place; I save 100% by not buying it at all. Nor in the normal course of things do I feel the need to go to the same place as everyone else and at the same time. You might think me disingenuous here but Greg and I had a specific purpose in mind when we headed for Portsmouth and were at the beginning of a to-do list for the days off. With the Gunwharf car parking oversubscribed we came up with an ingenious plan. We drove to a Guildhall car park which had plenty of spaces and took the train between Portsmouth & Southsea and Portsmouth Harbour. Joining the crowds at Gunwharf was then painless. Greg was keen to buy some MBT shoes or, as they are styled 'anti-shoes'. They are supposed to offer a number of orthopaedic and other health benefits, are available in a range of styles encompassing formal and leisure and are a lot easier to get in Greg's size 9 than my size 12/13. It is interesting to note that there is absolutely no need to pay MBT's rather alarming retail prices. The sale prices in their outlet store were significantly lower and then further reduced by 20% to make them more comparable to some other shoes. Is any RRP ever credible these days?
The crowds precluded taking some of the photographs I had hoped for but I am perfectly happy to return at a less frenetic time. The popular eating places were predictably crowded but we went in Giraffe where service was very effectively managed. The food was good and reached the tables commendably fast considering the level of patronage.
Portsmouth itself looked pretty grim. Gunwharf is an improbable jewel in a much faded coronet. Portsmouth Harbour station is a building Southwest Trains and Network Rail should be ashamed of. Some refurbishment by contractor Osborne seems to be half-heartedly underway. The station contrasts in an extraordinary way with Portsmouth & Southsea although both are shabby. The terminus has no ticket barriers and on our arrival the ticket office was closed. Platform management is poor since the short sighted removal of track at Platform 2. Key trains are situated the maximum distance from the entrance. The area around Portsmouth & Southsea station, known locally as the Town Station, is appalling. One leaves the station to heavily littered streets and an urban desolation only the planners of the late 20th century could have wrought. The Guildhall Square and its environs are an architectural disaster compounded by neglect. The once glorious Guildhall which survived the Luftwaffe is overwhelmed by the banal ugliness of its surroundings. The desolation continues as one leaves the city via Fratton. There was much there to delight me in my youth and my father before me found comfort in the established familiarity of what went before today's wasteland of architectural incoherence.
When we left our car park to thread our way through the buildings to the station we trod where many times I trod with my late father. His heart was already broken by a Portsmouth disappeared. If his ghost watched us today it probably wept in quiet despair. How ironic that the nearby War Memorial should mark the fallen of a conflict won in the oppressive surroundings of a battle lost.
The crowds precluded taking some of the photographs I had hoped for but I am perfectly happy to return at a less frenetic time. The popular eating places were predictably crowded but we went in Giraffe where service was very effectively managed. The food was good and reached the tables commendably fast considering the level of patronage.
Portsmouth itself looked pretty grim. Gunwharf is an improbable jewel in a much faded coronet. Portsmouth Harbour station is a building Southwest Trains and Network Rail should be ashamed of. Some refurbishment by contractor Osborne seems to be half-heartedly underway. The station contrasts in an extraordinary way with Portsmouth & Southsea although both are shabby. The terminus has no ticket barriers and on our arrival the ticket office was closed. Platform management is poor since the short sighted removal of track at Platform 2. Key trains are situated the maximum distance from the entrance. The area around Portsmouth & Southsea station, known locally as the Town Station, is appalling. One leaves the station to heavily littered streets and an urban desolation only the planners of the late 20th century could have wrought. The Guildhall Square and its environs are an architectural disaster compounded by neglect. The once glorious Guildhall which survived the Luftwaffe is overwhelmed by the banal ugliness of its surroundings. The desolation continues as one leaves the city via Fratton. There was much there to delight me in my youth and my father before me found comfort in the established familiarity of what went before today's wasteland of architectural incoherence.
When we left our car park to thread our way through the buildings to the station we trod where many times I trod with my late father. His heart was already broken by a Portsmouth disappeared. If his ghost watched us today it probably wept in quiet despair. How ironic that the nearby War Memorial should mark the fallen of a conflict won in the oppressive surroundings of a battle lost.
Latest Books
There is always a pile of James Patterson novels on my shelf waiting to be read along with other authors and genres. His work is prolific, his collaborations now many. 'Swimsuit' is one such collaboration with Maxine Paetro and the darkest Patterson I have read. I have long been sceptical about the extent of these literary relationships, with Patterson himself averring on a television interview two or three years ago that he is the major contributor to each. Personally, I doubt it but with a work like 'Swimsuit', it is a convenient arrangement either way. If the book is the product of a darker mind than his own then he still gets the more prominent billing on the cover and a presumably proportionate dollar stream. If the darkness comes from within then he benefits from the distraction of the second name on the cover to create doubt on the mind of loyal readers used to more frothy (if still compelling) fare. 'Swimsuit', for all that it is rather graphic is also very readable but I found fault with its rather hurried ending produced almost as if a limit had been reached in the number of pages.
Patterson's trademark short chapters and generously sized print are not replicated by the less well known but excellent John Birmingham. I doubt that the Australian would have become famous for the early and awkwardly titled 'He Died With A Felafel In His Hand' but the 'Weapons of Choice' trilogy , 'Designated Targets', and 'Final Impact', cemented his place in the affections of many, certainly mine. Modestly described as 'novels of alternate history', a favourite genre of mine, his works are more complex than that. I could use the 'techno thriller' epithet which also appears on his covers but, to entice you in to the bookshop, I would explain that the stories are of alternate history with quasi-sci-fi theme. Where doyen of alternate history, Harry Turtledove became increasingly laboured and self-indulgent after his masterly 'World War' series, Birmingham's prose continued now in 'Without Warning', which is in my hands and 'After America' which certainly will be, is far more targetted, pointfully terse and readable. In the early pages of 'Without Warning' which postulates a catastrophic event overwhelming the US on the eve of Gulf 2, I can not imagine not reaching the end as soon as possible and then hurrying back to Barnes & Noble in Palm Desert for the ironically named 'After America'.
Patterson's trademark short chapters and generously sized print are not replicated by the less well known but excellent John Birmingham. I doubt that the Australian would have become famous for the early and awkwardly titled 'He Died With A Felafel In His Hand' but the 'Weapons of Choice' trilogy , 'Designated Targets', and 'Final Impact', cemented his place in the affections of many, certainly mine. Modestly described as 'novels of alternate history', a favourite genre of mine, his works are more complex than that. I could use the 'techno thriller' epithet which also appears on his covers but, to entice you in to the bookshop, I would explain that the stories are of alternate history with quasi-sci-fi theme. Where doyen of alternate history, Harry Turtledove became increasingly laboured and self-indulgent after his masterly 'World War' series, Birmingham's prose continued now in 'Without Warning', which is in my hands and 'After America' which certainly will be, is far more targetted, pointfully terse and readable. In the early pages of 'Without Warning' which postulates a catastrophic event overwhelming the US on the eve of Gulf 2, I can not imagine not reaching the end as soon as possible and then hurrying back to Barnes & Noble in Palm Desert for the ironically named 'After America'.
Sunday 26 December 2010
Wave Goodbye To Christmas
After a sociable but busy night shift I drove home in an intimidating temperature of minus 7.5 C which soared to minus 5 by the time I got home. Perhaps the gulfstream had made it past the Isle of Wight. It was soon a day sunnier than any recent day but some sleep was inevitable so we left the house later for an early lunch and walked around Lee in further increased temperatures. At last the light said 'photography' and that mental list got reduced by a bit.
I thoroughly enjoyed ITV's latest version of 'Murder on the Orient Express'. It is not often you get murdered by 12 people unless you're the Australian cricket team facing England and Grant Flower. That one's for you Rob.......
I was feeling pleasingly calm after a health scare last night. Suffice it to say I had found unexplained lumps but a telephone consultation had put my mind at rest. When Greg was a medical student, I went through his books with him and learned what is sometimes a little too much. I have inherited from my Mum a tendency to worry irrationally about the tiniest aspect of my health. Put these two things together and logic is often overwhelmed. You might say (if you are well read) that 'reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated' - in this case, by me.
My brother will travel to Peru tomorrow to see his wife. I am glad that Greg is no further away than the settee. 2011 is full of hope; I hope it brings wonderful things for all of you.
Friday 24 December 2010
The Queen's Christmas Message
To my surprise and perhaps a little secret pleasure, some colleagues had noted that I have not written in a few days. That is, frankly, because I have not been especially emotional, either up or down in that period. I am usually at my most garrulous or effusive (neither of which adjective I suspect strictly applies to the WRITTEN word) when I have been particularly affected by something good or bad. Instead, I have settled rather comfortably into a new level of contentment unexpected in someone who seems more usually to need something to worry about.
The day saw more sunshine than we have seen in a long while and it inevitably cheered. I am trying to resist the temptation to book something which will take us away to guaranteed sun when we have in fact two expensive holidays already booked. I can not deny that some aspects of work have recently been rather testing but this cycle, and today in particular, things seemed to come together; perhaps it was just the Ferrero Rocher but I would like to think it was, in part, the successful application of whatever sometimes invisble skills I might have.
I had a routine visit to the doctor which I found very soothing. I am managed for my history of kidney stones and hypertension but I like to imagine that my GP who is in fact the best one could imagine, will magically detect anything that is seriously wrong with me simply by being in the same room and taking my blood pressure.
Liberated from snow and ice in our area at least, cars took to the lunchtime roads in numbers. There was a numb sense of urgency about their hurried movements all hoping to catch a last something, reach a last somewhere. Making slower than usual progress amogst them and towards work, I simply smiled where usually I might mutter or snarl. I might smile for a few days longer and embrace 2011 as a new friend. In the meantime I shall treasure Christmas lunch with my boyfriend and mother and the friends I already have.
The day saw more sunshine than we have seen in a long while and it inevitably cheered. I am trying to resist the temptation to book something which will take us away to guaranteed sun when we have in fact two expensive holidays already booked. I can not deny that some aspects of work have recently been rather testing but this cycle, and today in particular, things seemed to come together; perhaps it was just the Ferrero Rocher but I would like to think it was, in part, the successful application of whatever sometimes invisble skills I might have.
I had a routine visit to the doctor which I found very soothing. I am managed for my history of kidney stones and hypertension but I like to imagine that my GP who is in fact the best one could imagine, will magically detect anything that is seriously wrong with me simply by being in the same room and taking my blood pressure.
Liberated from snow and ice in our area at least, cars took to the lunchtime roads in numbers. There was a numb sense of urgency about their hurried movements all hoping to catch a last something, reach a last somewhere. Making slower than usual progress amogst them and towards work, I simply smiled where usually I might mutter or snarl. I might smile for a few days longer and embrace 2011 as a new friend. In the meantime I shall treasure Christmas lunch with my boyfriend and mother and the friends I already have.
Monday 20 December 2010
ASDA Second Chance
Recognising that we are not quite prepared for Christmas and anticpating a lull in the shopping madness, we decided to return to ASDA after dinner. That was not quite late enough for the place to be really quiet but it was early enough to avoid shelves stripped bare. That was the trend when we arrived with stacking failing to keep pace with purchases. The filling station was still closed. I learned that they ran out yesterday afternoon and do not expect a delivery until tomorrow morning. I am told that deliveries are governed by the supplier which I believe to be Texaco. If I were as big as ASDA-Walmart I would be doing the telling. Amongst erratically stocked shelves the dislay of the exact dessert we wanted to buy was an inexplicably sticky mess. We took the least sticky box. I noted that many items were dated 24 December or earlier. This I imagine is a deliberate ploy to keep people coming in for a few more days and I did not appreciate it. I wanted to complain to a manager but they were, predictably, keeping a low profile. This is common in large companies to the extent that it is impossible to guess what they do or indeed manage. I doubt that Eurostar, Network Rail, BA or BAA managers are much in evidence to stranded travellers.
Havant A Chance
Havant is a shabby place. I can say that because I come from there, return occasionally, more frequently indeed than I should naturally like and because it is. In the post-ice apocalypse, the semi-cleared surfaces only added to the mean appearance of a meanly run town. Havant is a corpse which has not been buried, its few remains rotting slowly for all to see. Those that feed on the corpse still are understandably undernourished. Reconstruction is not for Havant; it is a dying, living proof that there is no afterlife. A heyday of sorts began in the late 60s but that construction is now falling progressively before the onslaught of demolition and closure to be replaced only slowly or not at all.
The mean-minded operation of a key but rarely manned car-park, a potentially useful multi-storey, demonstrates as much as anything the architectural and adminstrative sulkiness of this ex-town. It routinely closes at 6pm for no obvious reason other than to deprive a trickle of restaurant and pub goers (Havant does not do late-night shopping) of useful covered spaces. Over Christmas and New Year there will be two long closures of 4 and 3 consecutive days. This year in particular people might have appreciated spaces protected from the elements. It won't be one of their presents.
The neglected pavements required careful passage to reach a MacDonalds which was serving as slowly as the last time I snarled under my breath at it; perhaps even serving some of the same people. It is extraordinary that, challenged with no more difficult task than churning out a limited number of pre-defined breakfast items, they should do so quite so lethargically. I was on a solo shopping expedition as Greg was indoors nursing a cold which my immune system (touch wood) seems already to have beaten. Deeply frustrated by the crushing gloom of all three days off, I was trying hard not to drown in my unique brand of self-pity as it became incresingly clear that I would not pointfully be able to go farther afield. Tomorrow, the solstice will cry out to my heart and I shall feast on every extra minute of daylight.
With tasks at Mum's behind me I set off in the general direction of home with further stops planned. ASDA filling station was inexplicably closed having recently twice run out of diesel. As we are not in Inverness I waited at the customer service desk to find out why. I would also be able to ask, I thought, why their postbox was completely full. It was actually impossible to insert a single item more. I think the two women on the desk were moving but it was difficult to tell until one decided, in spite of a growing queue, to go to lunch. She moved then; so did I. I gave up. There was, of course, after a weather related part-hiatus over the weekend, the mandatory panic buying in progress. ASDA, after all, like Tesco is closed for as much as 24hrs over the holiday.
Wanting to be assured, at least from the fuel point of view, of getting to and from work over the next few days, I went round to Shell, Stubbington to find that they had no diesel. I made the unusual decision to fill with their outrageously priced V-Power diesel at 10p a litre premium but made very clear my displeasure at having to do so. I imagine Alex Ferguson's hairdryer blows cool compared to mine. Even on a normal day there is absolutely NO justification for a premium of this size for a product of dubious scientific credentials. The V-Power pump had been mysteriously returned to service 'only minutes earlier', whilst the others remain unsupplied due to a pump problem at the refinery which apparently has lasted for four days. At times like this I wonder if it is possible to do anything legal which might be impressive enough to 'encourager les autres'.
By now the weather had turned to heavy rain so my inevitable thought as I turned towards a usable postbox and home was 'we're fucked if that freezes tonight'. Happy holidays everyone.
The mean-minded operation of a key but rarely manned car-park, a potentially useful multi-storey, demonstrates as much as anything the architectural and adminstrative sulkiness of this ex-town. It routinely closes at 6pm for no obvious reason other than to deprive a trickle of restaurant and pub goers (Havant does not do late-night shopping) of useful covered spaces. Over Christmas and New Year there will be two long closures of 4 and 3 consecutive days. This year in particular people might have appreciated spaces protected from the elements. It won't be one of their presents.
The neglected pavements required careful passage to reach a MacDonalds which was serving as slowly as the last time I snarled under my breath at it; perhaps even serving some of the same people. It is extraordinary that, challenged with no more difficult task than churning out a limited number of pre-defined breakfast items, they should do so quite so lethargically. I was on a solo shopping expedition as Greg was indoors nursing a cold which my immune system (touch wood) seems already to have beaten. Deeply frustrated by the crushing gloom of all three days off, I was trying hard not to drown in my unique brand of self-pity as it became incresingly clear that I would not pointfully be able to go farther afield. Tomorrow, the solstice will cry out to my heart and I shall feast on every extra minute of daylight.
With tasks at Mum's behind me I set off in the general direction of home with further stops planned. ASDA filling station was inexplicably closed having recently twice run out of diesel. As we are not in Inverness I waited at the customer service desk to find out why. I would also be able to ask, I thought, why their postbox was completely full. It was actually impossible to insert a single item more. I think the two women on the desk were moving but it was difficult to tell until one decided, in spite of a growing queue, to go to lunch. She moved then; so did I. I gave up. There was, of course, after a weather related part-hiatus over the weekend, the mandatory panic buying in progress. ASDA, after all, like Tesco is closed for as much as 24hrs over the holiday.
Wanting to be assured, at least from the fuel point of view, of getting to and from work over the next few days, I went round to Shell, Stubbington to find that they had no diesel. I made the unusual decision to fill with their outrageously priced V-Power diesel at 10p a litre premium but made very clear my displeasure at having to do so. I imagine Alex Ferguson's hairdryer blows cool compared to mine. Even on a normal day there is absolutely NO justification for a premium of this size for a product of dubious scientific credentials. The V-Power pump had been mysteriously returned to service 'only minutes earlier', whilst the others remain unsupplied due to a pump problem at the refinery which apparently has lasted for four days. At times like this I wonder if it is possible to do anything legal which might be impressive enough to 'encourager les autres'.
By now the weather had turned to heavy rain so my inevitable thought as I turned towards a usable postbox and home was 'we're fucked if that freezes tonight'. Happy holidays everyone.
Sunday 19 December 2010
Variations On A Theme Of Grey
It is not exactly a wasteland but it is a form of devastation. The ice clings to the pavements and some roads and you imagine it might never leave. The cold is deep and damp and winter, you can so easily believe, will be here forever and without relent. I looked to the sky in hope, for hope. Surely the BBC weather had forecast some sun? The sky stared back without pity and wanted to crush the last vestiges of optimism. The part of me that wanted to go out and defy the lack of light to take photographs fought with the part of me that wanted to curl up and sleep, perhaps forever. There were, in fact, variations in the grey as the slightest teasing hints of something better blew from the north. But the sky would have its victory and even as I mentally dressed to leave the house, more grainy if somewhat desultory snow fell and sucked anticpation from the air.
If hope was indeed gone with the wind then tomorrow would have to be another day, a day to wake with new hopes, a day to start again. It would be a final day off before being returned to a cauldron of struggling airports with their dejected, displaced crowds wondering if some fragment of their own hopes might be rescued. I can play my own small unseen part in righting a capsized Christmas for as many of them as possible.
I let lunchtime pass and the snow continued. It was of little physical significance but greater psychological importance. I surrendered my body to staying in the house and my mind to a happier place on another day.
If hope was indeed gone with the wind then tomorrow would have to be another day, a day to wake with new hopes, a day to start again. It would be a final day off before being returned to a cauldron of struggling airports with their dejected, displaced crowds wondering if some fragment of their own hopes might be rescued. I can play my own small unseen part in righting a capsized Christmas for as many of them as possible.
I let lunchtime pass and the snow continued. It was of little physical significance but greater psychological importance. I surrendered my body to staying in the house and my mind to a happier place on another day.
Wednesday 15 December 2010
Defense Spending Reviews
On the last day of the Harrier, I offer
A Portrait of Defense Spending Reviews - Past and Present
When Defense Is Indefensible
The lead story in The Times of Tuesday 14 December has to be read to be believed. On pages 1 and 6-8 the paper reveals contents of a report by Deloitte on incompetence, ineptitude and profligacy in the MoD on a scale almost too large to grasp. Ten key and equally disastrous projects are enumerated. These are Nimrod MRA4, QEC aircraft carriers, Chinook Mk3, FSTA, FRES, Landing Ship Dock, Eurofighter Typhoon, Astute nuclear subs, Type 45 destroyers and A400M.
It is impossible to reproduce the article here but I hope you will want to see for yourself even if you need to use the Times online service which, scandalously, they charge for. Our service personnel struggle in far-flung combat zones for lack of appropriate equipment and, occasionally, supply whilst the most appalling decisions are made by politicians, civil servants and industry here in the UK, in Europe and in the USA.
The government (and previous governments), the MoD (past and present), contractors and suppliers must all be held to account. They must be made to explain how a toxic mix of incompetence, dithering, political expedience and greed led us to where we are today.
It is impossible to reproduce the article here but I hope you will want to see for yourself even if you need to use the Times online service which, scandalously, they charge for. Our service personnel struggle in far-flung combat zones for lack of appropriate equipment and, occasionally, supply whilst the most appalling decisions are made by politicians, civil servants and industry here in the UK, in Europe and in the USA.
The government (and previous governments), the MoD (past and present), contractors and suppliers must all be held to account. They must be made to explain how a toxic mix of incompetence, dithering, political expedience and greed led us to where we are today.
Saturday 11 December 2010
Park Life
Firstly I would like to congratulate our local authority (presumably in conjunction) with developers Persimmon, on opening the nearby playground, which has been ready since around May, in mid-December. To be fair, they have opened it on a mild weekend between protracted periods of arctic chill. I would now like some assistance with noise insulation so that I can not hear the little darlings in their breaks between nativity plays and carol concerts.
I am shocked to learn of Tesco's and ASDA's holiday opening hours. I am not exactly the last of the Tolpuddle Martyrs but I do feel that these bastions of arch-commerciality could reasonably close for two days. Instead, both are closed only on Christmas Day. I find this unnecessary and extraordinary. The thing is, in the week before Christmas, the shops will be filled with people buying as though they were closed for the rest of the year, so the short closure benefits neither customers nor staff. This, I believe, is an experiment. I hope it fails and that, in future years, shop workers are given a decent break.
I am shocked to learn of Tesco's and ASDA's holiday opening hours. I am not exactly the last of the Tolpuddle Martyrs but I do feel that these bastions of arch-commerciality could reasonably close for two days. Instead, both are closed only on Christmas Day. I find this unnecessary and extraordinary. The thing is, in the week before Christmas, the shops will be filled with people buying as though they were closed for the rest of the year, so the short closure benefits neither customers nor staff. This, I believe, is an experiment. I hope it fails and that, in future years, shop workers are given a decent break.
Thursday 9 December 2010
My Day and Theirs
Some days the sky wants to suck the soul from you and today it came close but was not allowed to prevail. Early sunshine looked promising but a commensurately early departure from the house on a joyous third day off was not quick enough to escape the cloud rolling in from the west. I was determined to enjoy myself though and I did. We went first to Winchester. I had read that development plans for Stagecoach's aging garage within the bus station mean that preserved vehicles of Friends of King Alfred Buses (FoKAB) will be displaced. I hoped to see them but they are securely concealed in one half of the garage building. Nevertheless, I found that the slightly dilpidated bus station and garage exuded character and history.
I enjoyed several other aspects of the city too. Although the sun made sporadic and cheering appearances, a combination of cold and damp was pretty penetrating.
Undeterred, we went on to Ropley for the Mid-Hants Railway depot and station. There was no running today but I got several satisfactory photographs. It was very evident that snow and ice have not cleared in the middle of the county as they have closer to the coast. The Alton station car park has been poorly cleared and remained icy today. We went to Alton as somewhere I don't think I have been before. It is a fairly bland town but the experience was not unpleasant. We chose Prezzo for lunch, a chain, but one which provides excellent food. Our antipasto starter lifted the spirits. My main course of polpette was full of flavour and generously sized. I could not manage a dessert and asked for Honeycomb Smash Cheesecake to be boxed. It was not actually that long before I ate it and it was excellent. I consumed it to the Radio 5 accompaniment of Simon Amstell guesting with Richard Bacon. Amstell is brilliant (as well as very cute) and, being a Jewish man, I doubt he has ever before spent so much time in a room with Bacon. The Radio 5 presenter is currently known for Sky's 'Beer and Pizza Club', a programme which has a surprising charm accounted for in large part by Bacon himself. À propos of nothing, I nominated (in my own mind) my three favourite comedy programmes of 2010 today. I am afraid the psycho-whimsical 'Grandma's House' did not make the list which, in no particular order, includes 'Miranda', 'The Armstrong and Miller Show' and 'The Inbetweeners'.
Less amusing students were on the streets of London today in the latest protests against rises in university fees which were, inevitably, voted through today albeit by a precarious majority. What is not clearly understood by the opponents of increases in reciting their mantra of 'free' education is that it is not and can not be free. The issue is not one of whether it is paid for but at what stage of the social and educational chain and by whom. The small number of troublemakers are ill advised to make themselves known to the police and could find themselves 'rusticated' as some establishments term it. I also find the actions of the police on these occasions less than helpful. I think a lot of them like a good ruck.
I enjoyed several other aspects of the city too. Although the sun made sporadic and cheering appearances, a combination of cold and damp was pretty penetrating.
Undeterred, we went on to Ropley for the Mid-Hants Railway depot and station. There was no running today but I got several satisfactory photographs. It was very evident that snow and ice have not cleared in the middle of the county as they have closer to the coast. The Alton station car park has been poorly cleared and remained icy today. We went to Alton as somewhere I don't think I have been before. It is a fairly bland town but the experience was not unpleasant. We chose Prezzo for lunch, a chain, but one which provides excellent food. Our antipasto starter lifted the spirits. My main course of polpette was full of flavour and generously sized. I could not manage a dessert and asked for Honeycomb Smash Cheesecake to be boxed. It was not actually that long before I ate it and it was excellent. I consumed it to the Radio 5 accompaniment of Simon Amstell guesting with Richard Bacon. Amstell is brilliant (as well as very cute) and, being a Jewish man, I doubt he has ever before spent so much time in a room with Bacon. The Radio 5 presenter is currently known for Sky's 'Beer and Pizza Club', a programme which has a surprising charm accounted for in large part by Bacon himself. À propos of nothing, I nominated (in my own mind) my three favourite comedy programmes of 2010 today. I am afraid the psycho-whimsical 'Grandma's House' did not make the list which, in no particular order, includes 'Miranda', 'The Armstrong and Miller Show' and 'The Inbetweeners'.
Less amusing students were on the streets of London today in the latest protests against rises in university fees which were, inevitably, voted through today albeit by a precarious majority. What is not clearly understood by the opponents of increases in reciting their mantra of 'free' education is that it is not and can not be free. The issue is not one of whether it is paid for but at what stage of the social and educational chain and by whom. The small number of troublemakers are ill advised to make themselves known to the police and could find themselves 'rusticated' as some establishments term it. I also find the actions of the police on these occasions less than helpful. I think a lot of them like a good ruck.
Wednesday 8 December 2010
Some Thoughts About Food and Railways
Much though I enjoy my days off, I rarely want to fill all four to the extent that I return to work exhausted. This then was the day in these four for rationed activities. There was little incentive to stay out in the cold and grey and every incentive to stay in during the afternoon with my new haircut, new magazines, a full stomach and a blanket round my legs. We had been to Fareham and then to the Abbey Garden Centre where lunch was very good and deserved praise. They have devised a series of filled baps (turkey in my case) with garnish and the whole was generously filled, tasty and good value. Whilst I have no complaints about my privileged life, it may yet be that the garden birds occasionally eat better than us. They gained £82 worth of food today and it will be used carefully as it is evident from experience that, if we emptied our 12.5Kg sack of peanuts, the pigeons and some of the other large birds would simply eat them there and then. On this occasion we did not buy worms - does anybody know why they are so expensive?
The afternoon and evening afforded opportunities to peruse Railways Illustrated, a good magazine which would benefit from improved proof reading. I read two or three railway magazines a month for entertainment and information. The contents allow me to formulate better notes for my photographs as well as furnishing ideas for subjects. It seems to me (perhaps my memory is clouded) that stock movements are far more volatile than they used to be. Under TOPS, which has been with us now for more than 40 years, many changes require renumbering which, frankly, frequently annoys me. London Overground Class 378s have hardly been in service as 3-car units and are now being renumbered as fourth cars are added.
In preservation, my views on identity changes are well known. In a particularly bad and avoidable example Class 11 12082 is to move to Mid-Hants Railway and be renumbered as 12049 the shunter lost in the 2010 fire at Ropley. So wrong; right to replace the rare loco, completely wrong to renumber. Wrong, pointless, annoying, wrong. In an even more extraordinary development a group has for some reason decided that we can not live without a Class 23 Baby Deltic. None was preserved after 1977 so, bizarrely, they have decided to build one FROM A 37! If ever there was a cause for the use of WTF? WTF? This is a ridiculous and pointless idea which I do not support.
Fortunately my motive power motivated dyspepsia did not spoil my enjoyment of my ASDA Thai Green Curry. Another success for the often maligned green supermarket. I have suspended the use of their card (as has a special friend of mine) after an outbreak of ineptitude by new provider Santander. Their food, however, continues to offer many delights and surprises.
The afternoon and evening afforded opportunities to peruse Railways Illustrated, a good magazine which would benefit from improved proof reading. I read two or three railway magazines a month for entertainment and information. The contents allow me to formulate better notes for my photographs as well as furnishing ideas for subjects. It seems to me (perhaps my memory is clouded) that stock movements are far more volatile than they used to be. Under TOPS, which has been with us now for more than 40 years, many changes require renumbering which, frankly, frequently annoys me. London Overground Class 378s have hardly been in service as 3-car units and are now being renumbered as fourth cars are added.
In preservation, my views on identity changes are well known. In a particularly bad and avoidable example Class 11 12082 is to move to Mid-Hants Railway and be renumbered as 12049 the shunter lost in the 2010 fire at Ropley. So wrong; right to replace the rare loco, completely wrong to renumber. Wrong, pointless, annoying, wrong. In an even more extraordinary development a group has for some reason decided that we can not live without a Class 23 Baby Deltic. None was preserved after 1977 so, bizarrely, they have decided to build one FROM A 37! If ever there was a cause for the use of WTF? WTF? This is a ridiculous and pointless idea which I do not support.
Fortunately my motive power motivated dyspepsia did not spoil my enjoyment of my ASDA Thai Green Curry. Another success for the often maligned green supermarket. I have suspended the use of their card (as has a special friend of mine) after an outbreak of ineptitude by new provider Santander. Their food, however, continues to offer many delights and surprises.
Tuesday 7 December 2010
A Day
Perhaps it helped that I had looked forward to these days off with some relish. It probably also helped that I was in Hampshire and not Scotland. This meant that I had slept in my beautiful home and not in my car. This meant also that I was able to stay in my pyjamas as long as I pleased. I probably would not have had them in my car although, during the 'recent unpleasantness' (as a US historian might term it), I was well prepared. The day dawned clear but, unsurprisingly, very cold. We went to do Mum's shopping. She has been unwell but cooked a fish pie for lunch which betrayed no loss of culinary energy or ability.
We went to Southampton where the cruise ship season is continuing later than last year. I was pleased to see and photograph 'Balmoral' and to be able to compare it to the much smaller 'Saga Pearl 2'. Millbrook Freightliner is another matter altogether and I still have not worked out how I shall photograph Class 66s there. Any excursion at this time of year is a battle against failing light but today we were fairly lucky. Leaving Southampton, as we had arrived, via the M271, I got Greg to drive me to Adanac Park, site of the new Ordnance Survey headquarters. That produced photographs of both general and architectural interest. Light did not matter for our next stop at Rownhams (services) where we made substantial gains on the machines. This was a bit of a lift for Greg who made me smile several times today just by being.
I cannot decide whether Julian Assange is a force for good or evil but I would say, on the balance of probability, that he is being well and truly stitched up by one or more governments; I doubt that the charges against him have any substance but they have got him off the streets. Time will tell. Wouldn't it be nice though if governments and corporations were more open and honest instead of spending 99% of the time grubbing around in the shadows? We have had about 5-6000 years of various forms of civilisation but, in those millennia, very little in human relationships has changed. If there is a God I imagine he's gone off somewhere to start another universe.
We went to Southampton where the cruise ship season is continuing later than last year. I was pleased to see and photograph 'Balmoral' and to be able to compare it to the much smaller 'Saga Pearl 2'. Millbrook Freightliner is another matter altogether and I still have not worked out how I shall photograph Class 66s there. Any excursion at this time of year is a battle against failing light but today we were fairly lucky. Leaving Southampton, as we had arrived, via the M271, I got Greg to drive me to Adanac Park, site of the new Ordnance Survey headquarters. That produced photographs of both general and architectural interest. Light did not matter for our next stop at Rownhams (services) where we made substantial gains on the machines. This was a bit of a lift for Greg who made me smile several times today just by being.
I cannot decide whether Julian Assange is a force for good or evil but I would say, on the balance of probability, that he is being well and truly stitched up by one or more governments; I doubt that the charges against him have any substance but they have got him off the streets. Time will tell. Wouldn't it be nice though if governments and corporations were more open and honest instead of spending 99% of the time grubbing around in the shadows? We have had about 5-6000 years of various forms of civilisation but, in those millennia, very little in human relationships has changed. If there is a God I imagine he's gone off somewhere to start another universe.
Monday 6 December 2010
No Favours
To enter the sixth day of a cycle always imbues me with a certain sense of optimism for the days ahead. The weather continues to keep us in a state of uncertainty. The clearance (in our area) of the snow by wind and rain was, for this part of the world, a remarkably swift change but, overall, the cold has persisted and was the dominant feature of today. There was sunshine too as fog failed to cling to the day. I have great if vague hopes for the days off and my next leave is close enough to be a filip in itself. This morning, we went to Sainsbury's recently re-opened Broadcut (Fareham) store not because we like to go further than we need to shop but because we thought we should give it a look and because only Sainsbury's has our preferred mineral water. The new exterior is less than attractive and certainly not imaginative.
Inside, a better ambience than I expected has been achieved but it is evident that the powerful supermarket will be giving nothing away before Christmas. It was notable that milk is once again a ridiculous price this seeming more than anything to vary wildly throughout the year. I could not help an envious glance towards the Luckett's yard. I have approval in principle to photograph there but our recent communication has petered out. I am feeling very pleased that a number of my 1975 and 1980s Trident photographs are soon to appear on a new website. As I now am one of the oldest people where I work there will be many there who have little or no idea what a Trident is/was. I hope they enjoy my pictures.
Thursday 2 December 2010
Redundant Hyperbole
After an hour of effusive commentary by the undoubtedly incisive and usually relevant Simon Schama, I am left as unconvinced of the worth of Mark Rothko's work as I was ignorant of it prior to tonights programme on Sky Arts 2. Comparisons with Rembrandt and Turner, especially Turner, master of light, were frivolous and misguided. In another age, with another presenter, I might have imagined Schama's stream of redundant hyperbole to be born of a cannabis or LSD haze. How else would one see in Rothko's repetitive repertoire that which is not obviously there.
Perhaps it is a reflection of my own darkness which only occasionally (I hope) reaches the surface that the artist's later works, produced as alcohol and tobaccco drained his life, were the ones which gave me pause where earlier pieces including the series intended for (but never shown at) The Four Seasons did not.
I feel I could sit in the Houston Chapel and think something without becoming a fan. There is always room for doubt in any life. Doubt is one of many paths to compromise.
Perhaps it is a reflection of my own darkness which only occasionally (I hope) reaches the surface that the artist's later works, produced as alcohol and tobaccco drained his life, were the ones which gave me pause where earlier pieces including the series intended for (but never shown at) The Four Seasons did not.
I feel I could sit in the Houston Chapel and think something without becoming a fan. There is always room for doubt in any life. Doubt is one of many paths to compromise.
Reality Bites
Overnight, the weather which has afflicted the rest of the country for several days reached our area. Conditions were appalling but nothing like January of this year when preparedness was much less obvious. It was a mixed bag though. A surprising six inches or more had fallen before I left the house in a car carrying provisions for various eventualities. I chose a safe route to work and was initially encouraged by the clearance which had taken place. Once again though the A27 in Fareham had received less attention that it should have. Key areas such as Titchfield gyratory were not the disaster areas they had been 11 months ago but my safe climb of Swanwick Lane was not emulated by those who followed. Abandoned cars led to road closures and those added to the stress of assessing the viability of a journey home. People had made substantial efforts to reach work, many walking the whole or part of their journeys. Some would stay in the area overnight to ensure that if air traffic was affected by weather it would not be additionally affected by staff shortages.
In the event road traffic was down to about 10-15% of normal and my departure after a busy morning on Heathrow led to an uneventful if careful journey on roads which had been further cleared. Snow continued to fall albeit lightly and it was disappointing to find ASDA petrol closed. The postman had not been and I can't say I blame him as our estate roads were an icy nightmare. The same ice will presumably keep the dustmen (refuse disposal operatives) away tomorrow. The scenery screamed 'photography' but ones senses screamed 'keep the car moving and your feet dry' so I took a handful of pictures at work and published only one.
The weather forecast is, to say the least of it, fluid and unreliable but it is due to get warmer and rain. The question is, will we get more of this in the remaining winter?
In the event road traffic was down to about 10-15% of normal and my departure after a busy morning on Heathrow led to an uneventful if careful journey on roads which had been further cleared. Snow continued to fall albeit lightly and it was disappointing to find ASDA petrol closed. The postman had not been and I can't say I blame him as our estate roads were an icy nightmare. The same ice will presumably keep the dustmen (refuse disposal operatives) away tomorrow. The scenery screamed 'photography' but ones senses screamed 'keep the car moving and your feet dry' so I took a handful of pictures at work and published only one.
The weather forecast is, to say the least of it, fluid and unreliable but it is due to get warmer and rain. The question is, will we get more of this in the remaining winter?
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