I’d just like to thank…..

I have been nominated for an award. Not one of those great silver tea-urns, waved from the top of the team bus- no- just a quiet pat on the back- a “ thanks- you’re doing a good job.”

And I have to thank Daniel Budiarto for this. You will find him here

http://tinyurl.com/dxozdn4

I’m up for The Liebster Award. If you want details of the Liebster, then go here:

http://sairyou.me/2013/05/15/the-liebster-award/

In fact, it’s a round robin. Someone notices you, puts you on a list, and then you nominate in turn, and so it goes. It’s a small, but rewarding way of encouraging writers to write.

So:

11 Facts about me.

I am almost very old.
I am a voice-over artist, among other things.
I can remember The Sixties.
I am owned by two cats and am The Walker of Choice for a small dog.
I buy too many books.
I am a cheese-a-holic – not Wensleydale, like Wallace- I’m a Stilton man.
I think too much and write too little.
My shoe size is 9 1/2.
I once met The Rolling Stones.
Apart from reading, my favourite pastime is sleeping.
I cannot drive, but I can walk really quickly.

My answers
If money were a nonissue, what would you do?
Run the best second hand bookshop in the world.

If there were a giant DELETE button, what would you erase completely off the earth?
Bad manners.

Name anybody famous, living or dead, whom you would like to have dinner with.
The Pope
What would you talk about with (3)?
What it’s like to be Pope

Summarize why you write in one or two words.
Can’t stop

If you had one one-way ticket to live in outer space, would you go? Yes.
If all books were to disappear from the universe but one, what would you want it to be? Tristram Shandy by Laurence Sterne.
How do you get inspiration? Never been inspired.
If you could be anybody other than yourself on Earth, who would you be?
Max Wall 1950’s comedian
What was the kindest thing you have ever done to a complete stranger?
Couldn’t possibly say

Now -my questions
1.What make was your first computer ? Mac / PC? Amstrad ?
2.What was your very first post about ? What made you write it ?
3.Physical book or e-reader ? Why ?
4.The one line of poetry you’ve never forgotten ?
5.Veggie or carnivore ?
6.Star Wars or StarTrek ?
7.Favourite historical character from the 20C ?
8.Town or country ?
9.Greatest hope ?
10.The title of Your Song ?

The nominations (5 here, 5 to come)

1.Alasdair Stuart at : http://tinyurl.com/ck37en for film, music,web, graphic novels and anything else in contemporary culture you can think of. And cooking. Especially cooking. Wide ranging, clever and engaging.

2.V.C Linde at http://vclinde.wordpress.com/
Terrific combination of thoughtful poetry, brilliant projects, and some lovely imagery.

3.Almost Written at http://tinyurl.com/cr9kv7l Go here for lovely photographs and all your haiku needs.

The Brass Rag at http://wp.me/p2eb7U-uh for common sense, a gently inquisitive view of life and perceptive insight.

5.J.A. Hennrikus here: http://jahennrikus.com/ Any blog that includes Jane Austen and baking gets my vote.

You’ll note that there are only five nominees here. These are the blogs I’ve come to know and love. There are plenty of others out there as well- I just haven’t discovered them yet.
When I have, I’ll let you know.

Space poem

Like I said to the stowaway
we threw out of the capsule-
it was cramped
with even the three of us there-
“There ain’t much room,
but there’s plenty of space !”
He laughed
all the way to the sun.

Is the pen is mightier than the keyboard ?

My name is jackspratt823 and I am an addict. Not whisky, not horses, not drugs. It’s something far more powerful, far more irresistible than any of those.

Fountain pens.

Can’t get enough of them. Like all addictions, the root of the problem goes back to my childhood. When I was at primary school we had these dip pens- dreadful things- like cocktail stick with a bent nail at the end to act as a nib. But then I got my first fountain pen- a Conway Stewart Dinky- and I was hooked. I like the clever machinery inside- the little plastic balloon that sucked up the ink from the bottle, and the lovely, liquid line which streamed on to the paper. It was love at first sight.

I don’t know how many I’ve got. I think it was forty seven at the last count. I’m an eclectic collector- a jackdaw- if it catches my eye, then I’ll buy it. But I’m not a fountain pen geek- one of those souls who carry seven different pens to work every day, with a different colour of ink in each one. No. That’s not me. I have an informal rota of pens I like- sometimes it’s the silver Cross my wife bought me, sometimes it’s the Parker Centennial ( big, black, classy. Use this to write out a shopping list and you feel as though you’re signing a treaty.)

Why bother ? Why not type it out on your computer/phone/tablet/hairbrush ? It’s the physicality of the act ot writing which appeals. Your ideas and intentions flow down your arm and into your fingers and onto the paper. It’s real.

Typing on a keyboard is a more abstract process. Your ideas are turned into a string of binaries ( I suppose) and appear on the screen in clusters of dots which look like letters. Somehow, there’s a gap between what you’re thinking and what appears on the screen.

And there’s no digital equivalent of handwriting ( there probably is but I haven’t seen it yet.)
Don’t get me wrong- I love the flexibility which word processing brings- the ability to cut and paste, the ability to organise an argument clearly. That’s brilliant. But I hate predictive text- that is creepy- you type something and some strange entity in the machine decides that you’re not allowed to say that. I’ve never heard of a fountain pen running amok.

And word processing speeds up the way you write. I always type medium to long pieces.

Which brings me to consider what writers did before the invention of the typewriter ( mechanical w/p) and the personal computer.

They wrote it all out. By hand.

Take Charles Dickens. Most modern novels run to about 60k words. A Dickens novel is, say, three or four times as long. Maybe 250,000 words.

Think about it.

How many bottles of ink did he get through a week ? Did he write at night ? If so, what was the candle bill ? Did he get a sore wrist ? Consider the motivation he must have had to put himself through what was a considerable ordeal.

And what goes for Dickens, goes for all the pre-19C writers.

Which leads me to this fascinating account of handwritten manuscripts. You can see it here :

http://flavorwire.com/387994/handwritten-manuscript-pages-from-classic-novels/10

So, where do you stand ? Word processor ? Fountain pen ? Roller ball ? Biro ( surely not…very smudgy.)

Tell me about the ways you use to transport those ideas down the arm and into the internet.

Where are you now, Mrs Joan Huyton ?

As a result of The Great Linked-In Blagging (the world now knows my email, my old password and the size of my socks) I have made the acquaintance of a Mrs Joan Huyton. Or rather, she has come into my inbox. Or rather she and I have become interchangeable.

You see, I get her junk email, and presumably, she gets mine. I rather think the kind offers to increase the size of a certain part of my anatomy do actually belong to me ( You do WHAT with the steel weights ?) as does the invitation to drive a World War II tank in Devonshire. But as for some of the other stuff…well… I’m not so sure.

A careful look through Mrs Joan Huyton’s junk email has allowed me to build up a picture of this doughty lady. She is a keen shopper- supermarket chains are falling over each other to offer her “ Free Shopping for a Year !” She drinks lots of coffee and thus qualifies for…you’ve guessed it…free coffee for a year if she solves this simple anagram and completes a three page survey on where, when and why she drinks coffee and how many times a food item ( Chelsea bun ? Sausage roll ?) is involved.

But there is more to this innocent shopper with a coffee habit. She spends. Bigtime. I’ve no idea what she spends her money on ( apart from coffee and buns) but the payday loan sharks are pestering her to take out a loan at a trivial 12,345 % interest.

And then there’s the plumbing course. It drops into my/her inbox every Monday morning. “Make a Fresh Start ! “ it says, “ Set up Your Own Plumbing Business ! Be a Plumber” I can’t see it somehow. I have this vision of Mrs Joan Huyton as a lady of a certain age, and size, who wears sensible shoes and the sort of clothes which cover more than they reveal. I cannot see her kneeling under someone’s sink, fiddling with their stopcock. She is also a bit shortsighted, as the “ 2 for 1” offer from the opticians testifies. Which might cause unpleasantnesses.

She used to do yoga, but has given it up ( the group leader is begging her to return) She is financially innocent- dubious agencies beg the pleasure of getting back dodgy insurances from the bank…

I could go on, but decency forbids.

I have tried to unsubscribe her junkmail- but of course, that turns the flow into a torrent.

Maybe it will just fade away. Maybe Mrs Joan Huyton will go out of my life forever.

On the other hand, there could be an email, a DM, a phone call… a knock at the door… and she will be there, in her sensible shoes, a spanner in one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other….

The sheepdog- U A Fanthorpe

After the very bright light,
And the talking bird,
And the singing,
And the sky filled up wi’ wings,
And then the silence,

Our lads sez
We’d better go, then.
Stay, Shep. Good dog, stay.
So I stayed wi’ t’ sheep.

After they’d cum back
It sounded grand, what they’d seen.
Camels and kings, and such,
Wi’ presents – human sort,
Not the kind you eat -
And a baby. Presents wes for him
Our lads took him a lamb.

I had to stay behind wi’ t’ sheep.
Pity they didn’t tek me along too.
I’m good wi’ lambs,
And the baby might have liked a dog
After all that myrrh and such.

This poem goes straight to the heart- that’s why I love it so much. At first you approach it with a certain world weariness. Oh no ! You think. My life seen through the eyes of a dog. How unoriginal.

And the language is so simple- almost child-like. “ the singing/ And the sky filled up wi’ wings.” But then you slowly catch on to what’s happening here- it’s The Nativity, and the shepherds are going to visit the Christ child. But this isn’t happening in the Holy Land- this is happening in Yorkshire, the place I love- and the shepherds won’t be wearing Middle Eastern robes- they’ll be wearing corduroy trousers and thick coats and they’ll talk broad Yorkshire.
“ Our lads sez”
They leave the dog behind to look after the sheep because he’s a good dog. He can be trusted. And there’s a hint of sadness in the line “ So I stayed wi’t sheep” – the cattle can be present in the stable, but the dog has responsibilities.
“ And after the’d cum back/ it sounded grand, what they’ve seen” “ grand” is pure Yorkshire.
And then the presents`” Our lads took him a lamb”- notice the loyalty the dog shows ‘- “our lads.”
But the dog has responsibilities. He has to miss the greatest event the world has known because he has sheep to look after- and that’s what sheepdogs must do.
The last few lines break me up. Look at them:

“Pity they didn’t tek me along too.
I’m good wi lambs”

First of all there’s the regret. “ Pity they didn’t tek me along too.” The dog understands something of what is happened- but can’t take it all in. He knows only there has been a special birth, and that children love dogs, and he wishes with all his heart, that he could have been there.

That’s what good poetry is. It touches your heart.

A Modest Proposal

I notice that the Fabian Society ( the beating heart of the Labour Party) has suggested that pensioners should be taxed more stringently, and extras- like the winter fuel payment, free bus pass and free tv licence should be ended in order to save money.
Older pensioners “ should share the pain of deficit reduction” says the report, “In financial terms, older people are no longer special.”

I am a pensioner and I agree.
Except that they have not gone far enough.

I think I am typical of my generation. We are wastrels and spendthrifts, the lot of us. I have led a life of disgraceful probity. I have been disgustingly faithful to my wife, obscenely careful to avoid debt, and shockingly devoted to bringing up my two children.

As I teacher I squandered thirty years of my life helping young people to grow up. I attended endless parents’ evenings (unpaid), and produced 27 school plays (also unpaid.)

I am a jackanapes and a vagabond and deserve to be taxed to within an inch of my life. By all means get rid of bus passes ( let them hobble), cut the winter fuel payment ( do they not have knitted shawls ?) and remove the free tv ( they probably can’t see it anyway.)

In fact, I would go further and say that drastic measures should be implemented.

I am talking about a cull.

I know it sounds unpleasant, but it need not be so. Everyone knows that pensioners sit around, watching daytime tv all day, and hatching horrible diseases. It would be a kindness to them. The government could recruit a new service- a corps of ladies with rosy cheeks and comforting bosoms. Each one would wear a plastic badge saying “ End of Life Facilitator” and carry a hypo of byebye juice in her gladstone bag. Think of the money the NHS would save.

I’m sure we would all be prepared to give up a few years of misery so that the important people- the footballers who bite each other, the newsreaders, the economists, the bankers could continue to live in the style to which they are accustomed.

Embossed leather or Gorilla glass

I bought this book fifty years ago, from a second hand bookshop in town. At first I thought it might be Victorian- the restored binding had a nineteenth century look to it. But the printing itself intrigued me- it looked a lot older somehow- then I turned to the prayers for the sovereign. The owner of the book was asked to pray for the soul of King….Charles ! The book in my hand was about four hundred years old ! Whenever I take it down from the shelf, I always wonder how that little book managed to survive the English Civil War, the Industrial Revolution and everything that has happened since. Maybe the text doesn’t matter so much, but the book has been carried along on the waves of history…and ended up with me.

Do you think that, in four hundred years or so, someone is going to say “ Hey ! Guess what I found on Ebay yesterday ? It was a Kindlefire HD ! Yeh ! The really rare ones ! The only other one I’ve seen is in a museum !”

Somehow I don’t think so.

Old books have a patina, a smell of the past which is, for me, irresistible. I like the thought that someone’s eyes followed the text that I’m looking at now. I have the feeling of someone ahead of me on the path.

But it’s not just age which gives a physical book appeal. Books can be works of art- the paper, the font, the binding – even the dust jacket all add something to the process of reading. I like leather bound books…do you know why ? Because they smell nice.

So – physical books (especially old ones) good, and Kindle ( and Nook and all the others) bad. Is that it ?

No. I’m saying that it’s horses for courses.

With an e-reader you get the text, the whole text, and nothing but the text. No adornments, no nice smells- just what the guy wrote, along with one or two useful editorial tools.I’d pick a good novel on an e-reader over a bad novel bound in leather every time. E-readers pose a real challenge to authors. They are unrelentingly The Text and if the book is a good book, it will leap off the paper-white screen and into your brain like an ant on a hot griddle.

E-readers are democratic. They’re slick, relatively cheap and..let’s face it…rather cool. Leather bindings might belong to the crusty old blokes of my generation, but e-readers, and the stories they contain, belong to everyone. E-readers get everyone reading, and that can only be a good thing.

And they’re convenient. I’m off on the train tomorrow morning to visit my ancient aunt (99 and counting) and I’ve packed my Kindle because it has at least three books and a whole heap of music which will help me pass the time.

To sum up. I have my shelves of Folio Society and leather bindings at home, and my Kindle to see me through the train journey.

Embossed leather ? Gorilla glass ? I don’t have to choose.

But what do you think ?