Upward path

upward path

I did not know
the path to heaven
was paved with so many
wicked intentions,
Had I but guessed -
heard a warning bell -
I might have picked
the road to hell.

Annie Elliott 

Ann's poem sums up much of what we all feel. It is so tempting  just to jump ship and leave behind the expectations of conformity and common sense. So often the 'right' path is filled with obstructive people making life miserable, and I sometimes wish I had given myself over to the teachings of Epicurus and pursued pleasure and self-indulgence. But we are where we are, and go on day by day taking what is thrown at us by uncaring fate.

Last week we were invited to dinner with Edwin and his friend in Cambridge. He is from Brazil and a vivacious, intelligent person with a magnificent command of English, and who cooked some traditional food which was among the best we have tasted! They will now come to us at the weekend for a traditional vegetarian English Sunday dinner. Meanwhile, Edwin started his first day as a lecturer at UEA in Norwich, having to get up before dawn to catch the train there. Among his students is a Professor of Geography who has chosen to take an additional degree in English Lit for a bit of relaxation!

North Sea Observatory

We spent the weekend driving to the Motorhome exhibition in Lincolnshire, but were disappointed that there were only a few second-hand vans, all pricey and in uncertain condition. We sat in one for a quiet rest, but another visitor joined us and began telling us how she was widowed suddenly ten years ago. Her husband left no money, but then her mother died leaving her an inheritance that she spent on a camper van, and has been travelling in them ever since. She gave some practical advice too, telling us how one van she had bought had a leaking radiator, another a bald tyre, and a third had the engine blow up. "You have to be careful to get them checked properly," was her concluding advice.

We stayed at the smart  Petwood Hotel. It was used by the 617 Dambusters squadren during the war, and the officers' mess is still intact as a museum filled with mementos and pieces of equipment from that time, with several paintings of the raids.

Ann at the Romany Museum

On Sunday we visited Chapel-St-Leonards, to follow the footsteps of  "On Chapel Sands: My Mother and Other Missing Persons" by Laura Cumming. A remarkable biography that is both mystery and detective story. The area is much changed since her mother's childhood time, with many caravan and chalet parks, and the North Sea Observatory which puzzled me, as I wondered how anyone could construct an observatory in such a low-lying and misty area. It turned out to be just a tearoom with a view, but a magnificent modern design for all of that. We then turned for Anderby Creek, a quiet unspoilt stretch of coast with a Cloud Bar - a type of Cloud Observatory, with concrete sculptures of clouds and a few mirrors to view the sky without craning ones neck. Finally home via the Romany Museum at Spalding, a real eye-opener to a way of life usually unseen with many finely restored Gypsy caravans and photographs. The founder's daughter even made us coffee and brought it to us while we watched the video by her father.

Wine and cheese

Our friends let Ann know that they had something to bring round next time they came, so Ann texted: "Please come round on Wednesday for a wine-and-cheese evening, and you can bring it then." She then proceeded to invite several other couples for the embryonic evening, before Rae and Malcolm texted back to say they couldn't do Wednesday, as they had friends coming to stay! Ann did say they could invite their friends too, but they declined,so in the event, we just had Robin and Yvonne, MA's inlaws.

Robin told a good story about their friend who has a new dog, a bulldog called Boris. It is brown and white, and very friendly, rolling on its back when it sees them. Robin commented about how clean it was, with its white coat gleaming. His friend replied, "Yes, I always take him in the shower with me."
Robin said that must traumatise the dog. "Oh no," his friend replied. "I always keep my trunks on."

Edwin only uses his phone for air and train tickets, but I refuse to trust it in case I delete it, or my battery runs out, so I always print out a paper ticket.  Robin then told a cautionary tale about his daughter and her pertener, Grant. He is a music softwear engineer and does everything on laptops and smart phones, including ticketing. He had two flight tickets on his phone, and when they went through security they scanned her code my mistake and let him through. Juliet followed, but they insisted she'd already boarded and wouldn't let her go through the gate, so she was stuck until someone fetched Grant back from the plane to sort it out. I will stick to paper!

Edwin didn't stay for the wine and cheese, but left to stay with his friend in Cambridge again. They have invited us over for a meal tomorrow, and are preparing dishes already, so that is something we look forward to, plus the chance to meet him for the first time having heard so much about him.

A day at the sea

On the Broads with First Venture, 2007

A quiet night away in the Wherry Hotel on Oulton Broad. We were last here when we brought our boat First Venture up to the Broads 12 years ago, and it doesn't seem to have changed one scrap. It still looks as far behind the times as it did then, a perpetual twenty years lagging anywhere else in decor and menu. Waiting for the lift back to our room, an old man and his wife were waiting ahead of us. The man entered the lift, the door closed, and he disappeared, leaving the three of us standing. "Where's he going?" asked the woman, "he's sure to get lost." Ann asked if she'd been enjoying her stay. "We came to bury my step-mother-in-law," she answered enigmatically, so we weren't sure if it had been a good day or a bad day for her.

Pier Hotel, Gorleston-on-Sea

We went for a walk across the old wooden lifting bridge and watched another old man reversing his boat to his waiting wife and young grand-daughter. The little girl was hugging a soft white toy otter, and pleaded with her grandad to help her onto the boat. He gave her a hand on, and she coyly thanked him, then proceeded to jump on and off the boat with great agility. She clearly knew from an early age how to flatter the old man.

All too often I leave my hat at places, so next day we had to retrace our steps by 30 miles to collect it from where we'd had lunch the previous day. We went via Gorleston-on-Sea, and had coffee at the Pier Hotel, made famous by the recent Beatles tribute film, Yesterday. It has perfect views over sea and sands, and even the gluten-free cheese cake was superb. We just wish we had chosen to stay there instead of the Wherry,

Interesting characters in Cambridge and Hundon

An old colleague from Leiden was visiting UK this week, and asked to meet up in Cambridge. Edwin too is back from Italy but staying with his friend in Cambridge, so as I haven't seen him for over ten days, I suggested we could all meet up at The Eagle for a quick drink in the RAF Bar. Romanus is German, and lives near Nuremberg. He has never been to Cambridge before, so I gave him a quick introduction to The Eagle pub, which was where Crick and Watson rushed into to tell the world they had discovered "the secret of life", after they'd cracked the code of DNA. What I didn't point out, and had forgotten until we were there, was that The Eagle was also a favourite hangout for RAF personnel serving on airfields in East Anglia during the war. The RAF Bar is so named because its walls are covered with signed photographs of aircraft and RAF officers and men who gave them to the pub at that time. Even the ceiling is coloured deep ochre from the cigarette smoke of those days, but can't be cleaned or painted over because it too is covered in old RAF signatures. A typical entry read "Flt Lt Browning. Battle of Britain August 1940".

With Edwin as our guide we walked among the old colleges and backs to end at the Varsity Hotel where we had a classical English afternoon tea at Romanus's request. The day was clear beneath the deep blue sky of a warm autumnal day, and with tea on the 6th floor we overlooked the city in a brilliant light, presenting Cambridge at its very best. However, I couldn't resist mentioning that it had so many old original buildings because Churchill had agreed a pact not to bomb Heidleberg if Hitler didn't bomb Cambridge. Romanus's comment was of surprise – not at the pact, but that Hitler didn't break it.

Going down in the lift we were joined by five women, one of whom was applying some scent. The others immediately wished to try it, spreading it copiously on their necks and wrists. One of them commented, "we'll all smell the same now, like members of some strange olfactory sect".

Back home, Ann had been excercising the dogs by throwing the ball for them. Twice she threw it over the hedge into the road, to the dogs' frustration. On the second time, a little boy brought it back, saying "Is this your ball, missus?" which makes a change from the ball coming into the garden followed by a boy asking to have his ball back! Meanwhile, an old lady was walking up the road talking to herself, then stopped at the gate and tried to give the dogs a biscuit from her pocket, but they refused it and just kept barking at her. She told Ann she was going to walk round the village to find someone to talk to, but the thought of inviting her in to talk was a step too far and Ann didn't rise to that challenge.

Posters

Going down to London for a meeting, the M11 motorway signs had a new message: "Freight destined for the EU may require new paperwork after 1 November". Perhaps they know something the rest of the country doesn't yet? Just when I thought it was safe to go back to the news (see Let my People Go!), the courts have decided the government does not have the right to prorogue parliament and start a new session. Perhaps they would like to use the law to choose when we hold an election? Maybe even change the result if they don't like the incoming political party? No doubt the judges would like to make the laws instead of merely interpreting them! The whole system has entered Never-Never Land, and I now live in hope for Peter Pan to fly through the window and lead us by the hand out of this mess. Nothing else can save us but a magic miracle. M-A has sent a lovely picture of a pub-sign that sums it all up.

On the tube in London I saw another poster that gets my vote for the worst advertisement of the year. The heading is completely negative, and takes up so much room there is no room for a strap-line to draw people in, and the descriptive text is so small anyone wanting to read it would have to press against the knees of the person sitting below. I have no idea what the product is, and could not make it out from the width of a tube train. I used to help with writing adverts for pharmaceutical products, and a much better title might be: "This is revolutionary", with a strap line to suggest the target audience or give a hint of what they're selling.

Worst advert of the year?

On a lighter note, at the meeting the big boss has asked me to represent him at a series of bid-defence meetings where three companies are pitching for a multi-million pound contract. His email specified: "Please make your [medical] opinions known to the study team. You have an important voice - don't be shy." At last, someone has recognised I have an important voice - though I had always hoped it would be the voice of my poetry (see Exile Poetry) rather than for pharmaceutical development.

At the Hairstylist

My regular stylist, Paula, was away when I got to D'Fine this morning for a trim before London, so I ended up with Amber, the youngest stylist, waif-like and the face of a nymph, who still lives with her father in the house in which she was born. On either side sat people talking about the most important things in their lives - themselves. On one side the man boasted of how important he was, and the responsibility of his job (unspecified).  On the other, a woman gave a detailed account of her thyroid, its management and problems. When it was time for her to pay, she said she would have to "wait for my husband to come, as he has the money. Men!" Her hairdresser was Kelly, who has had many misfortunes of her own but didn't broadcast them, "Yeh, who'd have them?" she agreed. The obvious answer was only too clear - the only ones who'd have them were the ones they got, though Kelly is lovely and her husband decorated Edwin's bedroom and is fine. She is forced to make polite conversation by her position, but wouldn't it be great if she could say what she really felt.

During the session, a uniformed man came in waving a technical bit of kit, and saying he'd come to check all the electricals and was surprised no one was expecting him, as he'd made an appointment. He then proceeded to pull out all the plugs one by one and push them into his tester. He pulled out Amber's plug half way through my beard trim, leaving it dead in her hand, then satisfied he attached a green sticker and moved on. Finally, needing his form signing, he asked who was in charge. Paula being away, no one seemed eager to act in her place, but then the eldest stylist said she guessed it must be her and signed his chittie.

Getting home, our neighbours were in the drive, Linda waving a car pressure hose and David watching in his wheelchair. Until his stroke, he always used to maintain the cars and was getting frustrated trying to instruct Linda, with only one arm to wave and limited vocalisation,. But he is certainly improving and I could understand many of his words, though at critical moments one can see him reaching for a word in his mind, yet unable to get it out through his mouth. It must be so frustrating, for he clearly understands what is said to him. In some ways, his position is like the hairstylists, who know what they would like to say but are blocked by societal norms from expressing it.

Meetings and partings

Surely meetings are the bane of business life. Today I had four, of which one could have been done by email questions, and another was just listening, my presence swelling the huge number of participants. This may feed the egos of the organisers, but does nothing to feed the soul. One company I work for even has meetings about meetings - pre-meeting meetings to decide what will be on the agenda, and post-meeting meetings to discuss how the meeting went and if it met its objectives. The only plus is that they are all attended from home, where I can enjoy a cup of tea and a Mars bar, rather than wasting still more time travelling, or walking down endless corridors.

Now the weather has turned toward winter, and the first cold spell has arrived. The swallows have already deserted us early this year – though there did seem many fewer than in previous years even at the height of summer – and the holly is thick with berries, a sure sign of a harsh winter to come. I sit under a thick blanket, a certain sign of my age. When we lived in Saltburn, we used to laugh at soft southerners who wrapped up when they visited, but even Lucy who still lives "up North", and who should be used to such weather, says she is hugging a hot-water-bottle.

The only rays of sunshine through the constant drizzle outside the window are that: Bercow has resigned before he was forced out, and Boris has prorogued parliament, so  for several weeks we shall be spared the constant traumas to the senses of this fractured government. I am currently reading A Confederacy of Dunces, but the characters therein are but shallow shells to the real life dunces claiming to represent us and trying to plot our future by steering us onto the rocks of disaster. Let us trust that Britain will truely be great, and come through this storm to triumph. It is the mast to which I cling to try and survive the mental wreckage.