I thought I ought to keep a catalogue of all the models I have. Initially just the unbuilt kits. So I don’t buy stuff again (unless I want to, of course!). But I may expand this to include built models as well. Hmmm!?
FRiENDS & FAMiLY: Thank You!
I have to express heartfelt gratitude to Dan, a pal since secondary school, who’s helped us out with getting wheels. And my mum, for stepping up to help me cover Hire & Reward insurance, so I can start earning again.
That old saying ‘a friend in need is a friend indeed’ has taken on a deeper resonance, thanks to their generosity and kindness. Thanks, mum and my ol’ buddy! Thanks also to Mel, who gave us the car that’s just been made roadworthy.
I don’t know if it’s generally true or not, these days, and in ‘our culture’ at large, but I feel that, personally, I find it quite hard to ask for help. It feels like an admission of personal failure, to even need help.
A successful person ought to stand on their own! Plus I’m quite introverted, so helping or being helped can be tricky, as it involves interaction and, potentially, emotions.
I love Bill Withers. And just as the aforementioned saying about friendship, referred to above, has achieved a deeper meaning for me, so too has his superb song, Lean On Me.
But there is an irony, or a Catch 22, inasmuch as that when one feels weak, vulnerable, or at a low ebb – as I have been doing lately – one can become less inclined to help others
With one’s own suffering becoming all consuming, the energy reserves required to help others simply aren’t there. But perhaps doing so despite this can be part of fixing one’s problems? I don’t claim to know! But that it occurs to me at all is, I think, a good sign.
Dan and other (Mel and mum) good examples are making me think about how – whether right now, or a bit later (when I’m feeling better able) – I or we might have something to contribute, either to those we already know, or even those we don’t as yet.
And to finish? A sentiment I need to express, done a la Beastie Boys! I like the music, a lot. But the fashion sense and vocal vibes? A bit brash for me, these days. Still, this era of BB (Check Your Head?) is great, in most respects. RIP, Adam Yauch.
FAMiLY: Visiting Clem’s Grave
Today is the anniversary of the passing of Teresa’s dad, Clement Samuels, or Clem. He’s buried in Carpenders Park Cemetery, Watford, on the NW outskirts of London. We made a pilgrimage ‘darn sarf’ to pay our respects. This is our first such visit, since the funeral, in 2018. Covid got in the way initially.
It was nice to see and hear Teresa, Andrew and Daniel reminisce about good times with their father. And I think Teresa really needed to make the trip, as she still wells up from time to time, thinking about him. He’s been laid to rest in a nice place.
This was our second Samuels family related excursion of the Easter break, after Oliver’s wedding, on Tuesday. Once again we spent the night in a B&B. This time chosen by me, and literally just around the corner from the graveyard.
The Vauxhall Corsa Daniel very kindly loaned us broke down – the ‘unlucky dip’* gearbox gave out! – leaving us stranded in Watford. So we’ve had to book a taxi to the rail station, and a National Express coach from there back to Cambridge.
* Unlucky dip because it was only selecting reverse!
It worked fine for the first few days, getting us to Oliver’s wedding, and then home again. But it started misbehaving on the trip to Clem’s grave. We’d stop at lights or a roundabout, and it’d refuse to go into any gear other than reverse. Quite stressful at the time!
Danny came out and towed us to a location where he could take a proper look. And then he managed to nurse it back to his, whilst I drove his van. So we got see Dan’s place in Luton. Then after a much needed restorative cuppa, we went to the cemetery in another old jalopy.
After about an hour or so at Clem’s grave, Daniel dropped us at our B&B. I then made travel arrangements to get us to Cambridge (train travel is insanely expensive!). Hannah will collect us from there, and we’ll spend a night over at theirs.
Under normal circ’s this might all be rather tiring. But with what I’ve got going on in the background, I’m totally and utterly exhausted!
I’d normally have set up my teaching for the summer term by now. But instead, nothing but confusion. I don’t even know how to approach my pupils/parents.
I’ve been keeping the real meat of what’s going on out of the public sphere. And I probably ought to stay on that tack. But the desire to get everything out in the open is powerful!
But back to the trip to Londinium. We were supposed to meet with Teresa’s folks – mum, sister, brother (and pooch) – today. But that’s off now. Instead we’ve been ok’d to remain at the B&B till 2.30pm (checkout is officially 11am), when a taxi will convey us to Watford Junction station.
We’ll catch the first of two coaches, Watford to a Heathrow, at 3.15pm, and then a second coach, Heathrow to Cambridge, arriving at Parker’s Piece at 8pm. So, that’s a journey of four hours and forty-five minutes. Sheesh! Ok for students, perhaps, but a bit too epic for old duffers like us.
HEALTH & WELLBEiNG: Little Things
After our two day trip to’t Smoke, for Oliver and Alexandra’s wedding, I’m totally and utterly exhausted. I wanted to find a pic of some cartoon character flattened by a steamroller, as that best fits how I feel. But this image of Wile E. Coyote is near enough!
I slept like a log, thank heavens. And have continued to do so throughout most of the day. I don’t know what’s for the best right now – as covered in other recent posts, I am, at present, getting no professional crisis support whatsoever, which I sorely need – so I’m going with what feels right.
And little things, like Teresa making an instant noodle lunch, with scrambled egg and a banana, really mean a lot right now. I’m so glad she has some time off work. The company and support at this difficult time is greatly appreciated.
FAMiLY: Oliver’s Wedding
We owe Teresa’s ‘bruncle’, Daniel Samuels* a deep and heartfelt debt of gratitude (to be expressed as a consignment of real ale!), for lending us the wheels that enabled us to be part of Teresa’s cousin Oliver’s wedding.
* Bruncle: brother and uncle; uncle – Jean’s (Teresa’s mum!) youngest brother – but brought up, by Jean, as one of Teresa’s siblings!
We drove down on Monday. And stayed in a B&B, over a pub, in Hounslow. Thanks Teresa, for booking that. It was weird being in London again. Most of London is sooo ugly and depressing! Thank goodness we got out when we did.
That said, there are some really beautiful parts. And Oliver and Alexandra were getting married in one such area, Molesey, south west London, close to the Thames.
The wedding was held in St Barnabas Church, with a chap called Richard* presiding. Both Oliver and ‘Lexie’, as he calls her, are musicians and teachers. So, unsurprisingly, but nevertheless wonderfully, the music was great.
* Actually, no word of a lie, the Rev. Richard Biggerstaff… or, more familiarly, his eminence, the right Rev. Dick Biggerstaff!?
As the bride walked in, a guy played Bach’s famously beautiful Suite #1 in G major, on solo cello. Gorgeous! And the final piece, before everyone left the church, was Eric Whitacre’s I Carry Your Heart, sung by a small choir in the upstairs gallery. Beautiful close harmonies, with densely voiced chords.
After the ceremony, which was lovely and quite moving, there were tea and biscuits next door. And then we all headed to High Billinghurst Farm, Godalming, for the reception.
The reception was terrific. It was nice to get to know folk from both sides of the union, the Wellbournes, and the Sarkar-Samuels, and all their kith and kin! There was booze aplenty, including, rather unusually, a lovely single malt to toast with. And the dinner was a terrific Indian curry.
Oliver is, like me, a drummer. Sadly we had to leave about 7.30pm, in order to be home at a reasonable hour (got back at 10.30!). So I didn’t get to see or hear him play. But I did get to see his little jazzy ‘jelly bean’ kit. A Canopus snare, no less! Wish I’d have tried it out, to be honest.
Knowing we had a long journey home, I had to be very careful about my booze intake. Especially as there was so much. And all free! Thankfully I managed to be very restrained.
The wedding day was a mixture of sunshine and rain. Fortunately for Oliver and Alexandra the rain only intruded a little bit into their celebrations. Or at least that part of them we were at. Later on it rained really pretty heavily; for over two hours – so over two-thirds – of the homeward drive!
But we got home safe and sound. It was lovely to be greeted by Chester on our arrival! What a cutie.
Bach’s cello suite performed by Yo Yo Ma:
And here’s Whitacre’s I Carry Your Heart:
POETRY: Classroom Crush?
I’m following Kurt Vonnegut’s advice, as per my previous post, and writing a poem. Here it is:
Classroom Crush
She’s a beauty
And no mistake
Long brown hair
A fine filly
With a luxuriant mane
Just enough jewellery
To suggest sophisticated decadence
Sat with her peach of a derrière
On the edge of her desk.
A green velvet jacket
A colourful batik silk scarf
Enchanting hazel eyes
A voice that’s refined
Commanding obedience
Oh so willingly given
Long elegant fingers
Rest on a copy
Of Sirens of Titan.
Oh, Mrs Martin
Your Mona Lisa smile
Always baffled and beguiled
I wonder how many
Boys hearts you quickened
Or maybe broke?
Sat in the ranks
Of hideous brown plastic chairs
I secretly loved you.
CULTURE: Kurt Vonnegut on The Arts
I have to thank a secondary school English teacher (Mrs Martin?), for introducing me to Kurt Vonnegut. Truth be told it was her sex appeal – a bright and beautiful young woman, with a fascinating looking book – as much as the literary appeal that first took me. Ah, Mrs Martin, where are you now?
Well, today, on FB, he was quoted by one of those weirdly intrusive ‘you might like this’ meme-things. I reproduce the quote below, keeping the bit about homosexuality that they omitted:
‘If you want to really hurt you parents, and you don’t have the nerve to be gay, the least you can do is go into the arts. I’m not kidding. The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.’
According to online sources this quote comes from Man Without A Country. I must get/read that!
MiSC: Art, Advanced Capitalism, Tat, & Choice…
I recently read something on radio DJ Ken Bruce going from the BBC to Hits Radio. The ‘key note’, or take-away (eugh!) point was money. Bruce is just the biggest shiniest cog in the wheel of what is essentially a money-making machine, built on advertising and listener spending.
At one point the article says words to the effect of ‘the main purpose of such radio stations is to generate money through advertising’, or something similar. Well, yes. That’s so transparently obvious. It’s part of what makes so much ‘mainstream culture’ so utterly shite, and lacking in, um, well… culture.
As a model for how to live ‘the good life‘, such a state of affairs sums up, for me, the malaise of ‘advanced capitalism’. It has no soul. Indeed, if it has any spirit it’s the avaricious spirit of piracy. In such a society, or rather ‘marketplace’, culture is just an arbitrary interchangeable ‘token’, to be used to extract more cash.
With such cheery thoughts in mind, the constant assault of advertising via social media (and elsewhere) takes on a darker more forbidding aspect. And yet, despite my loathing and aversion, I’m often suckered. For example, the artsy shirts pictured in this post, which appeared in my FB feed, are very tempting.
There are many more designs than the two I’ve shown here. Some modern (Kandinsky), some older (Caravaggio). Some I like, some I don’t. But just take a look at some of the other stuff that comes up via Facebook:
Want a bigger willy? Very few men don’t wish they had a bigger cock. Howzabout 2’6”? Maybe the ISAKOK Penis Prank is for you? Or perhaps you don’t have enough hands/digits to tell everyone to fuck right off simultaneously? No problem. There’s the Fucktopussy!
Walk through a busy British town centre nowadays, and you’ll be hard pressed to find any free amenities. But you’ll be relentlessly assaulted by messages urging you to purchase tat you really don’t need. That’s the sort of ‘choice’ delivered by Thatcherite Toryism.
HEALTH & WELLBEiNG: Desparate Times, Desparate Measures
Probably like most of those of us whom Western Civilisation has turned into social media approval junkies, I’d prefer to be using my blog (and other ‘social media’) to showcase what an interesting and successful person I am.
Sadly, at present, it’s operating more as a journal/confessional, in which I can let off some of the pressure that comes with the introvert’s tendency to internalise suffering.
As things currently stand, I’m unable to communicate directly with my mother. We had a bit of an emotional scene last week. It could’ve been a breakthrough, or it might’ve just been a breakdown? And since that time I simply can’t take any more of what’s gone before.
So, not knowing who to turn to in such a situation (I have shared this with my dear sister, Hannah*), I’m posting this:
Mum seems of incapable of offering help without at the same time attacking/slighting or otherwise belittling me. I’m not sure she’s even aware she’s constantly doing it.
I can’t take it any more.
I’ve got enough on my plate without having someone who I feel ought to be supportive whispering in my ear constantly ‘it’s all your own fault’.
It’s sapping me of the tiny reserves of energy I have left. Someone needs to have words with her, as it’s having a very powerfully negative effect on me.
* Which, of course, I feel bad about, as she has enough on her plate without me adding to it!
HEALTH & WELLBEiNG: I’m Only Sleeping…
I’m not actually listening to this Lennon-penned Beatles number, except for strains of it that are playing in my mind. But the lyrics are particularly resonant for me right now.
When I wake up early in the morning
Lift my head, I'm still yawning
When I'm in the middle of a dream
Stay in bed, float up stream (float up stream)
Please, don't wake me
No, don't shake me
Leave me where I am
I'm only sleeping
Everybody seems to think I'm lazy
I don't mind, I think they're crazy
Runnin' everywhere at such a speed
'Til they find there's no need (there's no need)
Please, don't spoil my day
I'm miles away
And after all
I'm only sleeping
Keepin' an eye
on the world going by
my window
Takin' my time
Lyin' there
and staring at the ceiling
Waiting for
a sleepy feeling
Please, don't spoil my day
I'm miles away
And after all
I'm only sleeping
Keepin' an eye
on the world going by
my window
Takin' my time
When I wake up
early in the morning
Lift my head,
I'm still yawning
When I'm in
the middle of a dream
Stay in bed,
float up stream
(float up stream)
Please, don't wake me
No, don't shake me
Leave me where I am
I'm only sleeping
Over the years I’ve thought a fair bit about why I often prefer sleep to wakefulness. On some levels it’s a rather worrying phenomenon. Basically I’d rather be unconscious than conscious.
And it ties in with the suicidal and/or self-destructive aspects of my nature, I guess. Death being ‘the big sleep’, n’ all that. Preferring oblivion to existence does seem rather bleak!
