A Day's Delay With No Obvious Change In The Outcome

I waited for a day, checked and I am definitely 54. To tell the truth I had so much to do yesterday, I did not have time to post a blog entry. The weather was wonderful and enhanced our driving in Hampshire. We went to see my Mum. I had decided that part of my birthday photograph portfolio should be at my childhood home.The remainder I wanted shot at Titchfield Abbey, my favourite English Heritage site. We drove to Wickham. I photographed the Type 45 simulator at Qinetiq, Portsdown Technology Park but I do not know whether I can publish it without sanction. Less controversially, I photographed a former railway bridge in Wickham. We thought a suitable route to Titchfield lay through Knowle Village but we simply got baffled and disoriented. We actually could not find any way out other than the way we had entered. Our alternative route brought me across a beautifully preserved Southdown bus in Funtley.

We had lunch at Garsons and failed to identify two beautiful trees in their autumn colours. The photoshoot at Titchfield Abbey went well although vehicle access is closed. We simply parked at the Abbey Garden Centre where Greg continued our altruistic habit of spending slightly more on bird food than we do on our own. The weather tempted further wanderings but a probable two hours of processing and the prospect of an early start today suggested that going home might be more prudent.

It was another lovely day today albeit with a marked chill in the morning air. Work was marred by an embarrassing error; I made a mistake with a Northolt inbound which ultimately I spotted in time. I am more frequently surviving without an afternoon nap and this afternoon we went for haircuts. I want mine to grow back a bit before attempting LAX immigration. With my back to Greg during work in progress, I did not notice developments in his chair. He has had a lot of head pain and, at home, problems with his laptop. He should be lifted by the arrival of a new laptop tomorrow, and today he chose a dramatic new hairstyle and it looks very good.

The Soundtrack To A Birthday

No-one can pick an all time favourite top ten. Music is about mood; mood is about the moment. These are my choices for today - tomorrow will be different:

Begin the Begin - REM

Drive - The Cars

Set The Fire to The Third Bar - Snow Patrol

First We Take Manhattan - REM Version

Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol

Wind Beneath My Wings - Bette Midler Version

It Was A Very Good Year - Frank Sinatra

I See A Darkness - Johnny Cash

A Child With The Ghost - Gary Numan

Elgar Cello Concerto - Jacqueline du Pre Version

Flirting With Small Disasters

I appreciated the weather provided for my last day of being 53 and set about enjoying it but not without potential setbacks. When I was born 54 years ago my Mum was there so it seemed only reasonable to ask her out for the day to mark tomorrow's anniversary. Early gloom dispersed much more quickly than in recent days and gave way to genuinely blue skies. I collected my Mum and risked protracting my back problems by pushing the wheelchair. It was worth it to get her out and we spent some time on the Lee front whilst Greg, at home, prepared lunch. At one time there were eight small hovercraft out on the Solent. Gliders were busy at the airfield and the yachts and dinghies could not be counted. A lone cormorant sat on a marker. The gulls found the car park with its tame humans a more likely source of food than the sea. Lunch for us , almost needless to say, was excellent. Greg has many talents in addition to being a much nicer person than I and cooking is certainly somewhere in his top three.

Full of sea air and pork, Mum needed her rest so we took her home before heading for the Meon Valley and beyond. It appears the A32 is much favoured by motor cyclists in spite of its many speed restrictions. It was favoured too today by a Robinson R44 which had arrived at the West Meon PH.

This is going to give some people sooooooooo much pleasure but I am waiting to see if I get a ticket after finding myself facing a speed gun at 32-33 in a 30. If so, I shall maintain my well known philosophy but I do not want my licence in the post when I need it at Hertz in Los Angeles. It seemed the afternoon was taking a further turn for the worse when it became clear that the Watercress Line is not on the A32. I had not had time to research before leaving home. Recovering my position from the A31, I then found that Ropley (station) is not signposted from the main route and hoped that Alresford would offer me something for the lens.

There I was not disappointed. Although the last round trip was departing as I arrived, there was plenty to do and see in glorious late afternoon light. Perhaps I am becoming more sentimental - I have never been moved by steam before this year - but the movements of a Stanier Black 5 and a Standard 5MT were, well, moving. The atmosphere was friendly, the locomotives in beautiful condition. I had a marvellous time and finished with photographs of the magnificent and magnificently lit Station Mill. I am sure I shall wake on my birthday happy.

Bournemouth

When the sea air had cleared from our lungs and we had shaken the chill of the evening air, we went to our local chip shop. We do so only rarely but their food is good. The advantage of a Friday night is that as trade is so brisk, all the food is fresh. It appeared to be cooked in clean fat at the correct high temperature. It was a calorie loaded thrill.

Even in ones fifties it is perhaps best to listen to ones mother's advice. I ignored her yesterday when she asked me not to lift a plant tub for her. When I did so, I felt my back go and imagined I might have set back its recovery by about a week. I was certainly in pain this morning and, for the first time ever that I recall, I walked with a stick. Old, fat and grey on the outside; old fat and grey on the inside. Nevertheless I would not be deterred from my plans for the day. We went to see my Mum first as she has not been well. Today's heaviest lift was the mug of tea she provided. We continued to Bournemouth where, as I have written, we sought Greg's Halloween costume. It should cause a stir when we publish the photographs. It's pretty much the kind of thing Madonna might have worn if her on-stage moral decline had continued indefinitely.

Bournemouth in my life is more distant even than Bedford. My memories are hazy but not all happy. I studied there from 1974-77 and always returned with great enthusiasm but also lived some of my most difficult times. There were uneasy relationsships with my peers many of whom are now stable colleagues. In those days I was disliked for many reasons, perhaps for being both brash and aloof at different times. Those around me formed an opinion of my sexuality long before I did and, apparently, promulgated it quite widely. I had never felt the need to label myself in any particular way and my coming out late in 1977 and after my cadetship, marked only the beginning of any certainty about my identity. I was the original 21 year old virgin and I can't say it bothered me a lot. In retrospect it bothered me a lot more that everyone else had decided I was gay long before I had joined the debate. Whereas I lived in Bedford for six continuous years, I lived in Bournemouth for only three and periodically. My varying roles over the years which followed took me back there infrequently. Not being a very social animal (drinker) I never formed the emotional attachment which is evident in some of my younger colleagues today, at that level with the town.

Today, I saw its buses which are interesting but did not feel the enthusiasm to photograph them. Without enthusiasm, good photographs (of any subject) are not made. Bournemouth is not a town of stunning architecture but I enjoyed the library visually and the striking car park (Avenue Road) opposite; they made it into my photostream. The police were very active - perhaps they always are there -  and some vehicles seemed to be going round and round in circles. The bus activity, however, was even more intense with 'More's' frequent services in particular, heavily patronised.

We ate lunch at Pinocchio, Poole Hill http://www.pinocchiosbournemouth.co.uk/ . The food, whilst unexceptional, was of good quality and flavour and served swiftly and accurately. We ate outside where it was warm but the persistent gloom of the morning did not even start to shift until 1pm. The skies later could not be described as blue as the afternoon sun shone through a clinging high haze.

I saw two Mitsubishi L200s today. It is a car which has absolutely no reason to exist. There is no possible use for an L200 in the UK. It is offensive to the eye in every aspect of its style and every facet of its appearance says 'gross'. You expect every driver descending from its ludicrous cab to drip tattoos and possibly be carrying a baseball bat between gold-capped teeth. Some models bear the legend 'Animal', an apt description, I am sure, of both vehicle and driver. The latest model is called 'Barbarian' at which point my vitriol, however righteous, becomes almost superfluous. The swept flatbed cover which adorns some examples makes a nasty vehicle look even nastier and anyone who fits such an unnecessary accessory to an unnecessary vehicle should be removed to a place of safety.

Redundancy does not start or end with 4WD planet killers. As a parting shot I shall ask you to reflect on todays archery in Delhi which you might have seen. Those are not BOWS. Those are pieces of machinery whose use has nothing to do with the historical makers or users of the bow. They look ridiculous and their competitive use should be outside the mainstream perhaps every ten years in Antarctica.

Please view my photostream at www.flickr.com/photos/johnoram and check out my new if somewhat niche group on Facebook. Hasta luego!

Calshot

Early evening mists clutched at the fingers of Fawley's chimneys as  we drove away from a satisfying visit to Calshot. Where Fawley can not easily be prettified, Calshot and its views are very beautiful even with the activities related developments. This evenings mists will probably be those of another autumn morning tomorrow but, with a day off, I shall not, unlike today, have to be weighing the respective merits of 38/60 and 40/60. After the rigours of a morning with LVPs albeit in the amicable company of White Watch, I showed unusual energy in spurning my recliner in favour of a photographic trip.

We went first to Southampton to see Cunard's new Queen Elizabeth. I am no fan of Cunard vessels but I wanted to be able to say I had seen her on the first day of her inaugural visit. Once berthed there is a poor view of ships at Ocean Terminal which are partially obscured by the eponymous building. She will be named by the current owner of the name on Monday and sail on Tuesday for Vigo. Two other ships were due to sail today and with beautiful sunshine promising protracted daylight, we drove to Calshot to watch the departures. There was plenty to photograph during what turned out to be a delay. We learned that Ventura would wait until tomorrow due to bad weather en-route and Saga Ruby II eventually hove out of the dusk and gathering mist to provide some worthwhile photographs. I am not much attracted to smaller cruise ships with few or no balconies but she did look very elegant as she passed Calshot.

Is A Mirror A True Reflection?

Inevitably, and whether properly or not, we do rely on first impressions and these are formed in most cases by looking at someone before we approach or speak. We are most likely to look first at the face before moving on to the things which matter to us individually such as nails, teeth, hair or perhaps other features depending on our leanings. I have noticed that a simple thing like the angle of view can change the impression one receives. Sometimes, from a particular point of view, one can appear to see someone as they might have been years ago. There is an oft repeated but nevertheless interesting experiment whereby the photograph of someone's face is viewed in two halves and seems almost to portray two different people. Similarly a photograph taken in a mirror can alter significantly the appearance of even someone you know well especially if typically they favour one profile. Possessing a certain degree of vanity, albeit significantly diluted with self-deprecation, I am amused by some of the results I have obtained.

If I am rambling it is because, bathed in contentment, I have little to say but am enormously flattered that people read my blog and do not want to leave my audience (readership?) hungry. In truth I need some form of emotion, sometimes excitement, often somewhat negative to stimulate my best writing and, as I say, I am currently calm and happy. In three weeks or so I shall travel to Palm Springs and enjoy (as much as I ever enjoy parties) our Halloween bash. The owners of Inndulge book a local restaurant and, at about 7.30pm about 30 homosexuals mince (or in my case, stride manfully) into the dining room in costumes ranging from full drag to my rather more Freudian Jason outfit. It's worth going just to see the reactions of the other diners. While I am thinking about it, would anyone like to see my machete?

The media would have us believe that food shopping is becoming disastrously expensive but this is not reflected in my current baskets. I must say that both Tesco and Asda seem to have prices under control and, having recently done both my Mum's shopping and our own, I have been astonished by how much we got in each case for only £60. I am also once again going to sing the praises of Asda (whilst not condoning WalMart's alleged working practices). Over the last few months we have had some really good food from there and they continue to come up with new things. When you get to my age - 54 next week - you can use a bit of excitement and if the excitement is edible then so much the better.

We'll be off out on my days off to get Greg's costume as we are arriving in Los Angeles a bit late this year. I look forward to posting the photographs and getting the reaction from Matt et alia. Any publicity........

Spider v Woodlouse

The downstairs cloakroom is my toilet of choice. We have four to choose from and I doubt that I shall ever tolerate fewer. I dislike competition and value exclusivity. Besides, that small room is by far the best as a reading room and I am currently engaged with Lee Child's '61 Hours', the latest Jack Reacher novel. I should be careful of reviewing books before I have completed them - I nearly got my fingers burned with 'The Lost Symbol' - but this might be the best yet. I always smile a bit at the epithet 'unputdownable' as I can not afford not to put a book down however good it is but I return to this as often as possible.

You would think then that I might not easily be distracted from this morning's pages but I was. The cloakroom, or toilet if you will, has pale coloured tile; thus anything moving across it catches the eye. The first was the larger of the two, a woodlouse. Not large for a woodlouse but much, much larger than the spider which was the second thing and perhaps 8-10 times smaller than its apparent rival for insect/arachnid lebensraum.

There ensued a combat-ballet in which the spider David appeared to challenge the Goliath crustacean. Apparently woodlice do not eat spiders or this bravado might swiftly have been concluded. Thick though the South Dakota snow (in 61 Hours) was and even as the plot thickened, I was more captivated by the battle below which the spider apparently won as the larger creature went off in a huff.

We had woken to (although not been woken by) the storm outside which subesquently dominated the day. The combination of rain and wind was wearing and demotivating especially in the context of my last day of leave. We stayed in, ate a pea risotto and I turned back to my albums of the 1980s to further enhnce my Flickr photostream. We watched our rather overdue recordings of BBCs recent 'Sherlock' and hope fevently that the three episodes will have proved a successful  pilot.