barking

The remarkable thing about Percy Edwards was his ability to mimic animal noises convincingly. Accurate enough for the film industry to regularly employ him to overdub sound effects for countless movies over three decades. If this ability wasn’t special, no doubt he would have passed away in relative obscurity. He could have been the exception which proves the rule: why keep a dog and bark yourself?

The smartest riposte I heard a colleague give to a meddling architect was; Please allow me to know my job.

don't buy any of these!

My path to mindful consumerism is fairing well. I can categorically claim now that I do not buy books, CDs, or DVDs. My conscience is not pricked by the damage I'm doing to these industries and their employees as I'm sure I'm in an eentsy-weentsy minority of, oh, about 0.0083%. I feel good.
I went to the library to get a book to help me with life drawing. I didn't spot one but came away with Outsiders: Art by People, by Steve Lazarides. It's an interesting book. Much of the art in the book is intended to shock the viewer by its context, its message, and its scale. In a book, most of it comes across as witty; I had to stop and think, hey, these guys are fucking up the places where peaceable folk live! Can vandalism be acceptable as art?
The best pieces were those temporary pieces which employed dummies; a cross-legged hoodie, head bowed, hands in pockets, leaning against a city office wall with a half-empty bottle of water beside him on the pavement, or the ''floater'' lying face down in the canal beside a bridge and clutching a collection of colourful helium-filled balloons. The first piece was largely ignored while the second eventually had the emergency services executing a deep water recovery. There's a clear line between despair and drowning.

We rent films monthly from LOVEFiLM. There's been some good ones recently;

• The Visitor,
• Home,
• Into The Wild.

I choose films arbitrarily, not knowing too much about them; like with books, you can do that more freely when you don't have to own them. So, you'd think there couldn't be any connection between these three films but now, strangely, I'm not sure.

Crumbs

Chicks Don't Dig Collectors

Ah-ha. Interestingly, he makes the case for connoisseurs over mere collectors. I think this probably just indicates a wealthier bunch of collectors and the difference between mindless and madness.

Previously...

reformed collector

Rod Liddle once wrote a piece for The Times opining how singers and bands really have only one great album in them; precious few have two, and only the rarest of geniuses could produce three.

Phil Spector said, a decade or two earlier, why he didn't like albums. To him they too often comprised two hit singles and ten bits of crap.

These days I listen to a lot of internet radio shows, down at the ''serious'' end of the spectrum. Really without exception they still push the latest album releases and yet, like any other show, will only feature repeat plays of one or occasionally two songs from any album. For a long time I thought this was down to legal obligations born out of business prudence, but now I'm not buying it. Also it seems odd that the greatly hailed albums of January are only good until the end of February by which time we've moved on and another record joins our expanding unplayed collections. Rod and Phil are probably right. Record collecting is beginning to look like nothing more than a good example of mindless consumerism.

Getting back to the internet radio, there is more music than it is possible to hear in one lifetime. Combine this with the delights found on youtube, lastfm, myspace etc., I find my life overwhelmed with fabulous music. So who still thinks rooms clad in dusty, yellowing plastic is right? Not me.

resolutions

The only way to avoid failure is an all or nothing approach. The more resolutions you make the more chance some will prevail, or don't bother with it. I like resolutions. It doesn't worry me that they won't amount to anything; there's happiness in their making.

Happy New Year.

on trains (and off trains)

I confess I have abandoned the train after one week. Do I feel guilt? Only slightly, though 't'is a pity as I really like trains. Not the anorak and Allan obsession - I don't know one loco from the other and life's too short to begin a study - but the experience of sitting on a moving train watching the countryside fly past. It's relaxing, therapeutic even.

But the rub is it isn't as therapeutic as it might be. Trains, as I have seen last week, are inflexible, unreliable and don't go all the way. I'm afraid the car does these things so much better. I don't have to rush to the station because the train doesn't wait; I don't have to wait because the train is delayed (as it was eight journeys out of ten); and I don't have to make up the big shortfall between the station and my ultimate destination. I could suffer all these faults, sometimes gladly, but I found my quality of life suffered. I lost around ninety minutes of each evening commuting to a timetable outside my control, the day felt more like a cycle of work-commute-sleep with that all important leisure aspect shrunk to meaninglessness. Going by private means means I get back to the bosom of my home at a godly hour - ten past five to be exact. I can relax, potter about, take an evening class, all those important things that make the week something more than employment.

Sorry, planet, I did try and will continue to do so but, on the whole, I must still be mindful to enjoy life while I can.

I fought the law and the law won...

Damn, I'd forgotten how much time being employed takes!

on hold

Seems I didn't need the interview shirt after all. I'm to be taken on trust, starting ''first-thing'' Monday.

It'll be strange going back into employment after six months. I'll admit to some first day nerves creeping in but mostly it'll be sadness at losing the freedom to choose how I fill my days. I'm already feeling a sense of loss as I walk the dog this morning along the bridle path to the polo fields. Unfortunately, and ironically, my plans to make this lifestyle permanent requires capital funding and I'm through with borrowing and debt, so that means selling the only thing I have of value that I have spare; time and brains.

The dog and I cut across beside one of the Estate's many wheat fields. I see a buzzard over the copse in the distance and sit on the dry stone wall to watch it. The dog wonders what's up; she's used to moving. There are grey clouds moving quite quickly over our heads, and the furthest ones look swollen with rain. The dog has found something to sniff further along the wall and leaves me to watch the bird circle towards us. It's high, only its motion identifies it as a buzzard, a gliding speck below the belly of clouds. I try to gauge its altitude but I haven't a clue really. Imagining the Eiffel Tower in the wheat. Yes, possibly as high as that. Then it stops moving, apparently suspended in space like a snap-shot. It looks incongruous. In reality, the bird has found the perfect poise which cancels the force of the oncoming wind with gravity. After a while of sky-hanging, it dips its body and turns gracefully back towards the copse without a single wing beat.

It almost beats time-travelling. The dog is bored and paws my leg for attention, bringing me down to earth. We head home in front of the rain.

to work again

I feel I must now at least attempt to get back into employment, my days seem to have become aimless though by no means unpleasant. It's guilt I'm sensing, no doubt, though the sciatica did me no favours: much of what I could do purposefully I can't until the problem goes. I wonder if this feeling of guilt is just a natural phase in giving up employment or something more sinister. You see, if I've discovered one thing in these past few months it's this; work gives you purpose but employment can dehumanise you. It's something I'd wish I understood at twenty. I dread going back to the mill...

love & work (& music)

It's been a while since I wrote anything. I've been occupied building a wardrobe for daughter using only reclaimed materials; a bed, two redundant wardrobes and a set of redundant shelving units. It was a complete success: I found a renewed interest in woodworking and home-building that has long been missing. I may get on with the rest of the house with a view to selling: we need to get out of this place, it's not right for future endeavours. Already a plan is shaping up. We need to face the future with greater self-reliance and more diversification than before, to work more for ourselves than for other people.

During the last recession when I was out of employment, I found an old stereo system of mine and set it up in the garage; a turn-table, an amp and a pair of tall speakers. Digging out my abandoned vinyl collection, I rediscovered old forgotten favourites such as Taste, (feat. Rory Gallagher), Southside Johnny, and Slim Harpo.

Times and tastes change, yet I did a similar thing only this time with an old laptop, a wi-fi plug-in, and some amplified speakers. I'm rediscovering Late Junction and World On Three - perfect listening for woodworking with hand-tools. Mind you, I had to clear the garage for safety reasons first - hopping around the garage detritus holding sharp objects was getting a bit dangerous, and boring - and found Craig Charles' Funk & Soul Show ideal accompaniment for that. Happy days!

art & work

Time tends to move fastest about now; it's almost mid-June, soon the longest day, soon after that the end of classes. This round of the Moleskine Exchange is almost complete too and the next round will continue without me. It's been good fun but the space will be welcome - providing I don't squander it.

Our class tutor was talking about booking some exhibition space in town for her students. An exciting idea! Not that I'll be one of those students who hope to sell their work. This is, partly, the old chestnut about valuing one's efforts but also because I hardly ever see my bits as finished. Not even ''works in progress''. The enjoyment for me is the process of creating in the ''here and now'', beyond that it doesn't matter. It's taken me too long to get to this stage, I'm not sure I want to do anything different. If the exhibition idea becomes reality, I may have to knuckle down and complete a couple of pieces. That's why they call it art work.

henry cooper is alive and well

Good to see our 'Enery in the papers. My foremost memory of Henry Cooper is watching him from the car while he served my Gran in his greengrocer's shop in Wembley. He was talking to her and she was laughing all the while. I don't know what he was telling her and neither did she, being profoundly deaf, but I've no doubt it was something charming. It's a better memory than him ''splashing it all over'' - I see he's going to be doing more of that hence the newspaper item - and probably slightly better than putting Cassius Clay (later to be Muhammad Ali) on his arse.

HC decries the demise of teaching the noble art of boxing in schools. I'm with him on that. I never had the opportunity; wish I had now. Instead I was offered Judo lessons, which I tried even winning a medal in an inter-school championship, but it's not the same I don't think. Anyway, the point to this post is Henry's pearl:

“Whenever something or someone upsets you, count to ten before responding. Losing your cool isn’t good for you.”

Sound advice, and I could have done with doing this the other day. Trouble is, it takes discipline and practice and, unless you deliberately go looking for altercations, you don't get the practice. I learned from training our pup that any such counter-measure has to be done at level 1 or 2, yet often you're at level 5 or 6 before you know what's going on and it's too late. Maybe we could try counting to ten during every meeting; that might work. Still, no one got harmed during the making of this episode.

on pensions

The BBC commissioned a survey which suggests half the UK are not putting ANY money into pensions, and on the BBC news yesterday, it was further suggested that a person aged 50+ would need to put £1000 every month into a pension scheme in order to acquire a pension income of £10,000 (by today's value, I presume) from age 65 onwards. So that's,

(65 - 50) x 12 x £1000 = £180,000

According to this article, again by the BBC, the Office for National Statistics reveals longevity for men in the UK in 2006 to be 77.3 years. Let's call it 78.

(78 - 65) x £10,000 = £130,000

Is there something wrong with this maths? What happened to the average pensioner's other £50k? Okay, this is a gross simplification: investments could go up - or down; inflation could go up - or down; interest rates could go up - or down. Based on recent trends it's down, down, down all the way. Notwithstanding the potential effects that peak oil, climate change, and population growth will have on all of this. Is it any wonder people aren't climbing over each other to give fund managers their ''hard-earned'' wonga?

People forget how new this extravagant pension idea is; my grandfather's father never had one and I doubt my grandchildren will. Our generations have been living in a cosy bubble of prosperity and it's about to be pricked. We really have to rethink our old age plans.

town & country

I have to say, half-way through and Small is Beautiful isn't as good a read as I thought it would be. I think the overall spirit of the book is sound but the message often suffers from emotional and wayward composition. Maybe it's because it was written over 36 years ago - hmm, not a great while ago - or maybe it's just me.

However, every now and then a familiar truth will stand out. I'm more certain than ever now why I had to get away from London, and why, when I eventually settled down to family life, we chose Hertfordshire, and why that wasn't far enough and we eventually moved to rural Wiltshire, and why now, living in Ciren, even though we live closer to the open countryside than the town centre, and it's a small town, a pleasant town, it reminds me too much of suburbia and I ache to move again.

Schumacher says the spirit of man is not meant for urban living and yet James Lovelock, in Revenge of Gaia, says 90% of us now live in urban environments. Both say we have problems because man has divorced himself from nature, and from the Earth. Towns are the problem, the countryside is the solution, I believe that.

work & income

In the four and a half months since I've been ''laid-off'' only one person has correctly identified what I really need; an Income. I have no trouble finding Work; in fact the list of things I can find to do far exceed the time I have available to do it in (a commutation, surely, of Parkinson's Law), and Employment I've always regard as something someone finds you to do in order for you to conform to the requirements of society. The latter I could live without, really; it has no merit other than a short cut between the first and second. Even Self-Employment won't do.

What I'm actually looking for is the key to Self-Reliance.

troglodyte nation

It's hard to write this post now. Yesterday, as I walked the dog along the Monarch's Way, the faint sound of traffic finally petering out until only the wind and my squeaky left boot filled me ears, it seemed an easy task. The words came readily as I imagined them being typed into the blog. But in my room, in front of the laptop, I feel despondency clouding over my thoughts. I want to be outdoors.

Being off ''work'' I've learned a few things about myself. I'm obviously an outdoors guy. It began in January when I dug the soil over in my coat, and through until May when I'd gradually stripped down to the waist. I have been in the rain and not minded, I am learning to read the weather, I have noticed the change in wild flowers, and I have developed a bronzed look without going through the redness and pain phase. Working on the allotment, being around to witness and experience, constantly, the outdoors, just seems so astoundingly natural to me. Is that ironic; being in nature being natural? Not really. So what happened?

I am aware it'll be necessary to return to ''work'' for financial reasons, and this would mean office work, ''business as usual''. This saddens me. I wish I was a farmer but that's not likely to be: I was brought up in ghastly suburbia. I'm not kidding myself farming isn't harder work than most urbanites would know but there is the knowledge and I don't have that, not just the ''how to'' knowledge but the all important instinctive and spiritual knowledge that country people have through generations. Whereas, I am urbanite. Like 90% of all humans, I live, work, and think indoors. I am a member of the great troglodyte nation.

Maybe I could become a postman...

People Matter

I began reading E.F. Schumacher, Small Is Beautiful: A Study Of Economics As If People Mattered, today. I requested it from the new library; it was in central storage and took some time to track down, I don't expect it gets much of an airing. It's a book I think I should have read in the 70s but I didn't know of it then. The writing is of that period, quite text-bookish, not the chatty, let-me-explain, easy style of most recent books on ''serious'' issues. I find myself going over paragraphs again, getting into the style; often it seems to be written for economists: there's jargon and terms I can only guess at the meaning and he has an annoying habit of putting many terms in inverted commas.
Despite this the overall message so far is familiar. There's even parallel sentiments I recognise from The Ragged Trousered Phil. Just how far back does this wisdom go? And why hadn't I noticed then, and why are people not noticing still? The so called ''Business As Usual'', I guess.

the greenhouse

Here's a piece I wrote in March for another website. I was intending to include some allotment stories here, so, by way of a start...

Allotment Tales:
Late March

It's been ten weeks since I was last formally employed in exchange for money and I've settled into a routine so naturally, I can't quite believe it. My biggest fear now is having to go back to work, something that will have to be considered in due course unless providence shines its light upon me for the rest of my working life. For the first time in thirty years of working for a living I realise what ''working for yourself'' and ''being your own boss'' truly mean: literally that.

Needless to say all my working hours have been spent on the patch. We acquired a small greenhouse for nothing, we borrowed a van to collect it and replaced the missing glass by salvaging old wooden casement windows someone had thoughtfully donated to the communal allotment odds-and-sods store (which is in itself a fabulously thoughtful idea). Now we will grow exotics!

Had I still been employed - and I earned quite a decent wage - I may have given up waiting on freecycle and gotten my wallet out and bought a new greenhouse or polytunnel. It would have been so easy. Life is that easy. Too easy when you think of it. A brand new product being manufactured when a perfectly good one is going unused somewhere nearby. Consumerism has conditioned us to earn money by making or things for the marketplace so that we can go out and buy other things made by other people for the market place so they can earn money to buy stuff, maybe the things we made, to keep the economy going. Some people don't even make anything: they buy other people's made stuff, add ''value'' to it (good one that?) and resell it back to the market. Some call this enterprise. Of course, because bogus value has been added to it, it costs more so people need more money so they have to make more new things and persuade more people to make more purchases, and on and on. In control theory this is known as positive feedback; in layman's terms things get bigger and bigger until they go pop! And it's no good sticking a green star on it and calling it sustainable development or sustainable growth because there ain't no such thing. Eventually it'll go pop too; think about it.

Our allotment and that of my neighbours is shaded by trees. This reduces the amount of sunshine on our greenhouse end and reduces his growing potential. We got permission to cut them down but I like trees, so we pollarded them. This means cutting the tops down to the trunk at manageable proportions and allowing the tree to produce new shoots from beneath the bark, in turn these being cut each season to keep the height low and unobstruct sunshine. Now I've never done this before but if it goes to plan the new shoots harvested could be used for supporting beans and things rather than buying imported bamboo canes.

In any event I've recently learned that burning them or letting them rot is not as good as cooking them - turning them into charcoal. It's an astounding fact that the biosphere removes 18 times more CO2 than we humans pump into it. The trouble is this CO2 is soon returned to the atmosphere when the green stuff rots down or is burnt. Charcoal on the other hand is relatively inert and traps the carbon in for long periods. It has been proposed that if green waste is turned into charcoal rather than burnt or composted, and buried in landfills or in the ocean, the planet itself will go a long way to right the CO2 levels in the atmosphere. But will we do that? No, because we are told composting is saving the planet. It's a crazy world, and one day it's going to end and it's our fault.
~
I took the photo (above) today - greenhouse doing fine. no results yet on the pollarding.

life, art & everything

Browsing in Waterstone's recently, I discovered a book on the works of local artist, Ray Hedger. Ray taught me Life Drawing for three terms at the local college and I learned a great deal about observation, anatomy, and art. I understand he was recently disqualified from teaching in schools and colleges because he didn't have all the right teaching certificates, presumably because he's an artist who teaches rather than an art teacher. It's absurd and a real shame. Having had more teachers than I can possibly list, most of whom probably held all the necessary papers, I can say with enough authority that certificates do not make teachers, and I can't understand how a retrograde ruling disqualifying experienced teachers makes any sense. It concerns me that these rules are being set by the myriad of politicians who have little or no experience of the world outside of politics.

Enough of politicians. I copied these following words from the back of Ray's book - I hope they're his though it doesn't actually say - enjoy,

"Life between birth and death is too short for running. One must experience every step, spending time in seeing, hearing, and absorbing. Each hour and each day is unique and should become richer as we get older, through a better understanding of values and a more philosophical outlook. The past is part of the present and part of the future, but one should always be present. The richness of each day depends on our attention to it. To be quiet, gentle, attentive, and to hold to one's path and unique gift of life are ways towards a life that is whole. The meaning of life is in the living. The purpose of art is to compensate for the mortality of the flesh and sustain the immortality of the spirit. The light inside illuminating the darkness outside."