Tuesday, 28 September 2010
Let us change the Political Landscape
Power is in the hands of the few, with not enough power at the grass root level; that must change; unfortunately, there is apathy towards politics in this country – in other countries also, because the ordinary citizen feels un-empowered. Feel politicians are corrupt - in the last government in any event - "are only in it for them, are only in it for the money, so why should I vote?"
We need a radical change in our Constitution, tinkering with an outdated system is not going to get us anywhere. Indeed, this government is rolling back the state, rolling back political correctness, rolling back the power of the state to control us, and a good thing too.
We need less government not more government, less interference in our lives, less control over our actions; less control over our every day affairs: but we need more (the individual - local communtiies, at micro level) control over our schools, more control over our councils, with a great say in our communities. In other words, people must be made to stand on their own two feet and not rely on the state for handouts.
It is not the state's job to grab and thieve, manipulate and punish the wealthy, for being just that WEALTHY, to take from one group and give it to another—to the lazy—to the work shy—to the alcohol—to the drug addict—to the overweight bloated eat too much; instead, it is the state's job to protect—the vulnerable—the weak—the minor from abuse; to crack down hard on criminals and to protect us against terror. It is the state's job to create a just and fair society, where reward goes to those who work, not those who shirk.
The Prime Minister should be elected directly by the people, the House of Lords should be elected by the people, have joint and equal power with Commons. Mayors should be elected - not just in London - throughout our country.
Our voting system needs revolutionising – radically - irrevocably, categorically, for trust must come back into the system, for large parts of the electorate feel disenfranchised, or feel their taxes are going towards keeping the work shy - genuine people, whether disabled, the old, the jobless, who are actively looking for work, those with mental illness, need state support, support to help themselves, not help ‘par se.’
It’s wrong when a parliamentary candidate, who gets less than 20% of the overall vote, wins the seat, whereby most of the voting electorate voted against the candidate in aggregate. There should be a fixed election date, and it should not be down to the Prime Minister to make the decision; this government, in fairness, is moving towards that target; that’s why many in the country are with them and give them support.
We need to hold our politicians to account, and not let them run away from us as soon as they are elected. Gordon Brown, from what Caroline Flynn has said, had run an oligarchic Cabinet (true or not it matters little, for he is past and gone).
We elect our MP to work for us, not for them to work for themselves.
Democracy must to be given back to the people. We, the electorate, must feel our vote will make a difference, our voice will be heard, our concern with be addressed, for we feel ostracised from the political system in this country, and that must change; indeed, MP’s must become more accountable to the people who elect them in the first place; again, a platform that this government is following.
The way to change the situation is to change the political landscape, and then the problem will dissolve. Spending cuts must be made, what we as a country make via taxation - our politicians can spend, but with restraint, always keeping a tight budget, always in control of our finances, never over spending for cuts must come – a fact of life – bleaters I have no time for, and neither should the government, nor anyone, for the state must be rolled back, and then we'll get somewhere.
http://roytomkinson.blogspot.com/ We need a radical change in our Constitution, tinkering with an outdated system is not going to get us anywhere. Indeed, this government is rolling back the state, rolling back political correctness, rolling back the power of the state to control us, and a good thing too.
We need less government not more government, less interference in our lives, less control over our actions; less control over our every day affairs: but we need more (the individual - local communtiies, at micro level) control over our schools, more control over our councils, with a great say in our communities. In other words, people must be made to stand on their own two feet and not rely on the state for handouts.
It is not the state's job to grab and thieve, manipulate and punish the wealthy, for being just that WEALTHY, to take from one group and give it to another—to the lazy—to the work shy—to the alcohol—to the drug addict—to the overweight bloated eat too much; instead, it is the state's job to protect—the vulnerable—the weak—the minor from abuse; to crack down hard on criminals and to protect us against terror. It is the state's job to create a just and fair society, where reward goes to those who work, not those who shirk.
The Prime Minister should be elected directly by the people, the House of Lords should be elected by the people, have joint and equal power with Commons. Mayors should be elected - not just in London - throughout our country.
Our voting system needs revolutionising – radically - irrevocably, categorically, for trust must come back into the system, for large parts of the electorate feel disenfranchised, or feel their taxes are going towards keeping the work shy - genuine people, whether disabled, the old, the jobless, who are actively looking for work, those with mental illness, need state support, support to help themselves, not help ‘par se.’
It’s wrong when a parliamentary candidate, who gets less than 20% of the overall vote, wins the seat, whereby most of the voting electorate voted against the candidate in aggregate. There should be a fixed election date, and it should not be down to the Prime Minister to make the decision; this government, in fairness, is moving towards that target; that’s why many in the country are with them and give them support.
We need to hold our politicians to account, and not let them run away from us as soon as they are elected. Gordon Brown, from what Caroline Flynn has said, had run an oligarchic Cabinet (true or not it matters little, for he is past and gone).
We elect our MP to work for us, not for them to work for themselves.
Democracy must to be given back to the people. We, the electorate, must feel our vote will make a difference, our voice will be heard, our concern with be addressed, for we feel ostracised from the political system in this country, and that must change; indeed, MP’s must become more accountable to the people who elect them in the first place; again, a platform that this government is following.
The way to change the situation is to change the political landscape, and then the problem will dissolve. Spending cuts must be made, what we as a country make via taxation - our politicians can spend, but with restraint, always keeping a tight budget, always in control of our finances, never over spending for cuts must come – a fact of life – bleaters I have no time for, and neither should the government, nor anyone, for the state must be rolled back, and then we'll get somewhere.
twitter@roytomkinson
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Saturday, 25 September 2010
LIfe, Love, and Sadness
Life is a funny thing, yet it can be a little sad.
Life is a funny thing – strange words you might think. And you might question. Funny as in ‘Ha! Ha!’ or funny as in strange. Let me clarify. Funny in a sad sense; I mean it to mean a contradiction in terminology.
Our lives are filled with inconsistency; our emotions towards life are Jack in the Boxes, never static, always on the move, up and down, up and down, our lives are in constant motion, and each of us have numerous facets, many of which we hide even from ourselves, and yet, we are all very similar, for we are filled, every last one of us, with contrary emotions when it comes to love.
For some, love is like a butterfly, flutter, flutter, flutter and it is gone, and we move on, but that is applicable mainly to the love of a man and woman. With children, it is somewhat different. That love represents more of the chrysalis - cocoon type of love, for parents very rarely leave that spot – love of our children is unconditional, giving of ourselves to our next generation, but could that be classed as hereditary? Are we programmed to do it for the survival of our own genes? The way that nature surreptitiously disguises our continual existence and calls it loves.
I have questioned myself many times what love actually is, what are the ingredients that makes up the mix? You can’t eat, smell, hold it. Physical it is not, but an abstraction, a firing in the brain of wanting the object of that love to be near to you.
A longing for that thing or person that fills the mind with warmth, and to have the feeling reciprocated, makes it even better, the bonus, a payback if you like. Though, it is not essential to make love happen, for often love is but one way, but it does make the emotion that so much more powerful and deeper if there is reciprocity. And yet, often, we just fritter it away by our own actions and feel sad when it flies away from us, and often, we don’t know how to get it back, lost in a world of our own making.
Some believe love is a physical sexual feeling with a partner, a sense of belonging: to own, to control, to manupulate, that person (wrong, but on many occasions used). We can hold emotion towards things - animals - inanimate objects. Your home, car, money, prestige, fame, recognition, adulation, have all been loved in some degree over and throughout the ages.
From a surgical viewpoint, love is but a chemical reaction in the brain and little else, but for me that is a journey a little far, a too simplistic and naive view of life of love of sharing. A living thing – a person, an animal, a child, is more than a chemical no matter how complex the mix. With a person, love can be as deep as a touching of two souls. For those of you who have ridden that horse, you’ll know to what I’m referring - I've been there, the ride can be bumpy; still, it is well worth the trip - it is one of the great wonders of life. Feelings and emotions are real, as real as beaches, mountains, trees, and far more beautiful.
You wouldn’t give your life for a beach, a mountain or a tree, no matter how beautiful, but you would, and often give it with a glad heart for love, if it meant saving that person whom you love. We all have experienced these feelings, every one of us in some measure – more or less, most people wouldn’t willingly give their life for an object, but would for a person, but here again, nothing is that straightforward. Millions throughout history have given their life for an ideal, the love of democracy is but one example.
Some demonstrate only a love for money, - sad, but true - and place it above all else, and yes, they would die in the getting of it. Everything pales into insignificance when it comes to money for these people, and quite a few, who have won and lost it, can’t live without it and commit suicide rather than face a future alone without the crutch of wealth to ease their pain.
Can you start to see why I believe life is funny in a sad sense?
Now I’ll get to the crux of the matter - the wonder -to share with you what love means to me. To answer that age-old question, I will refer to my father. A far wiser person than I'll ever be, and what it meant to him.
But first, I need to set the scene. When I was young and in the garden with my father, with whom I spent a lot of time, he told me when he was young that once he found a thrush’s nest with five little chicks inside. The parents had been killed, and my father removed the nest and chicks and placed them in a box.
They belonged to him, he had given them life, at the least, he had certainly saved them from death, so he reared them, and then he let them go, and of course, they flew away.
“Did you not love the birds daddy?” I asked.
“Of course,” he forcefully replied.
"Why let them free?"
He looked at me and smiled. "Son, if you love someone let the love go free, to fly, to run, to jump; yet, make the staying that much more than the going away, and if love stays, that is love, for love is free, freely given, freely received and truely, it must be a synonym for happiness."
My father, indeed, was very wise.
Life is a funny thing – strange words you might think. And you might question. Funny as in ‘Ha! Ha!’ or funny as in strange. Let me clarify. Funny in a sad sense; I mean it to mean a contradiction in terminology.
Our lives are filled with inconsistency; our emotions towards life are Jack in the Boxes, never static, always on the move, up and down, up and down, our lives are in constant motion, and each of us have numerous facets, many of which we hide even from ourselves, and yet, we are all very similar, for we are filled, every last one of us, with contrary emotions when it comes to love.
For some, love is like a butterfly, flutter, flutter, flutter and it is gone, and we move on, but that is applicable mainly to the love of a man and woman. With children, it is somewhat different. That love represents more of the chrysalis - cocoon type of love, for parents very rarely leave that spot – love of our children is unconditional, giving of ourselves to our next generation, but could that be classed as hereditary? Are we programmed to do it for the survival of our own genes? The way that nature surreptitiously disguises our continual existence and calls it loves.
I have questioned myself many times what love actually is, what are the ingredients that makes up the mix? You can’t eat, smell, hold it. Physical it is not, but an abstraction, a firing in the brain of wanting the object of that love to be near to you.
A longing for that thing or person that fills the mind with warmth, and to have the feeling reciprocated, makes it even better, the bonus, a payback if you like. Though, it is not essential to make love happen, for often love is but one way, but it does make the emotion that so much more powerful and deeper if there is reciprocity. And yet, often, we just fritter it away by our own actions and feel sad when it flies away from us, and often, we don’t know how to get it back, lost in a world of our own making.
Some believe love is a physical sexual feeling with a partner, a sense of belonging: to own, to control, to manupulate, that person (wrong, but on many occasions used). We can hold emotion towards things - animals - inanimate objects. Your home, car, money, prestige, fame, recognition, adulation, have all been loved in some degree over and throughout the ages.
From a surgical viewpoint, love is but a chemical reaction in the brain and little else, but for me that is a journey a little far, a too simplistic and naive view of life of love of sharing. A living thing – a person, an animal, a child, is more than a chemical no matter how complex the mix. With a person, love can be as deep as a touching of two souls. For those of you who have ridden that horse, you’ll know to what I’m referring - I've been there, the ride can be bumpy; still, it is well worth the trip - it is one of the great wonders of life. Feelings and emotions are real, as real as beaches, mountains, trees, and far more beautiful.
You wouldn’t give your life for a beach, a mountain or a tree, no matter how beautiful, but you would, and often give it with a glad heart for love, if it meant saving that person whom you love. We all have experienced these feelings, every one of us in some measure – more or less, most people wouldn’t willingly give their life for an object, but would for a person, but here again, nothing is that straightforward. Millions throughout history have given their life for an ideal, the love of democracy is but one example.
Some demonstrate only a love for money, - sad, but true - and place it above all else, and yes, they would die in the getting of it. Everything pales into insignificance when it comes to money for these people, and quite a few, who have won and lost it, can’t live without it and commit suicide rather than face a future alone without the crutch of wealth to ease their pain.
Can you start to see why I believe life is funny in a sad sense?
Now I’ll get to the crux of the matter - the wonder -to share with you what love means to me. To answer that age-old question, I will refer to my father. A far wiser person than I'll ever be, and what it meant to him.
But first, I need to set the scene. When I was young and in the garden with my father, with whom I spent a lot of time, he told me when he was young that once he found a thrush’s nest with five little chicks inside. The parents had been killed, and my father removed the nest and chicks and placed them in a box.
They belonged to him, he had given them life, at the least, he had certainly saved them from death, so he reared them, and then he let them go, and of course, they flew away.
“Did you not love the birds daddy?” I asked.
“Of course,” he forcefully replied.
"Why let them free?"
He looked at me and smiled. "Son, if you love someone let the love go free, to fly, to run, to jump; yet, make the staying that much more than the going away, and if love stays, that is love, for love is free, freely given, freely received and truely, it must be a synonym for happiness."
My father, indeed, was very wise.
Religion: Who'd be Having it?
Well, Christians, Catholics, all other religions, God people generally - why is there so much abuse reported - mental, sexual, forced conformity, to name but three. Honestly, I just don't understand it. Many Christians-God people-turn to religion because they are not strong enough to stand on their own two feet, indeed, many-(not all)-need a crutch by which to get through life, to believe in the impossible, to believe they are immortal in their God, to believe in something more that just themselves, and for them to then be abused, is shameful; the strong preying on the weak.
There are more manipulators in the Christian School (I'm referring to all and every religion) as a whole, than in any other profession. For that’s what it is, a profession, pure and simple, nothing more, nothing less, in today’s world, God, call him what you will, shouldn’t be taken than seriously.
We are an enlightened people and we should start behaving as such. Throughout history, religious beliefs have killed more innocents, started more wars, changed more cultures, many for the worse, than anyone can count.
So I say, if you wish to practice religion, you should be free to do so, free to follow whatever path in life is your journey without interruption, without prejudice, without persecution, without trying to change other people, but perhaps that is asking too much of society. A little tolerance goes a long, long way, no tolerence goes no way, not even as far as to the toilet.
Wednesday, 28 July 2010
Neononckle, my latest novel to be published in a few weeks,
Life on the Edge
Neononckle
First
Chapter
Enjoy
Hello? Hello, is anyone there? Right, I’ll begin. I’m known by the family as Neononckle. When I asked why, my Dada told me I reminded him of a nonckle. I don’t know what a nonckle is, but I know how much my Dada loves me, so it must be good. Anyway, whether I like the name or not, that’s what I’m stuck with, and there’s an end to it.
I’m four years old. Not any ordinary four-year-old, mind you, but a special one; my Mammy, Daddy and grandparents - Dada and Nana - have all told me so. I don’t know whether that means I’m special just to me, or I’m special just to them, or special to everyone, but either way I’m special. So there you have it; I’m a special four-year-old.
I’m not without my problems, mind you - being four is not all plain sailing; it’s not all roses and napkins, I can assure you. I have many things to contend with - school, parents, and grandparents, as well as a sister who can be a pain in the neck, and two dogs that seem to follow her in behaviour sometimes. Overall, I’m learning to handle them, but sometimes it takes the occasional cry to get them to do what I want. On a few occasions when they are particularly difficult I resort to a full-blown strop, but generally I don’t have to go this far - they’ve given in long before then.
The other major problem is writing. I’m only four, remember, and four-year-olds are not renowned for writing books. I’m able to handle the E’s, N’s, and O’s; I’ve had enough practice writing my name so there’s not much difficulty there. But the S’s, Q’s, Z’s, Y’s and X’s - that’s another matter; they give me no end of trouble. They’re a pain to get right - the letters are just too squiggly. So how can I write this book? You can see the problem, can’t you?
Oh, by the way, I forgot to mention earlier - I’m also precious as well as special. My Dada told me I’m more precious than all the gold and diamonds in the world. I did ask if that included the moon and stars as well, but he said there’s enough on this planet to make me precious, so I didn’t pursue the matter. I know my mother has a gold ring and my Nana a gold bracelet, but was assured there’s tons of the stuff all over the world and that’s how precious I am. As for diamonds, I don’t go a bundle on them; they’re girly things and I haven’t fallen for that one, but I’ve definitely settled on the gold, though I would have preferred to include the stars as well. Dada did say that he loved me as high as the stars, so I left it at that just to make him feel good - he’s old and needs all the encouragement he can get.
Anyway, it’s time to get on with the story. As I said, being four has its problems, but slowly I’m overcoming them. The pressure at the moment is just bearable - only just, mind you - but bearable, so I’m not grumbling; well, not too much anyway. Back to the problem of the book: I’ve asked my Dada to stand in for me and do the writing; I only hope he’s up to it. He mumbles a lot, but I don’t think he’s at the stage where he needs to borrow my napkins just yet. Anyway, they would be too small for him; he pees an awful lot, especially after drinking beer.
This was a big decision of mine because sometimes he doesn’t listen and thinks he knows best. I’ve had to curtail that runaway attitude of my Dada on many occasions, but latterly he’s responded well, which helped me make the decision that he was the right man for the job - I only hope I won’t live to regret it when I grow up.
Oh yes, another thing; my Dada is not too hot on the old spelling, but he assured me there would be no problem if he used the spell check on the computer. Just to be on the safe side, I’ll ask my Mammy to check it over, but I won’t tell Dada. It’ll be our secret - they get so sensitive at his age to criticism.
Let’s get down to the start. I cannot remember being made or how I was put together in the first place - all that belongs to grown-ups - but they said I was a love child. I expected they kissed or something, and there I was in my Mammy’s tummy. My Mammy explained that I’m made from both her and my Daddy, and I will know more when I get older.
“But I’m already four,” I protested.
However, my mother said, “It’s still too young.” I mentioned earlier that parents could be a problem. I hope you can see what I mean. They must at times be handled like a piece of porcelain and are always prone to chip with age.
On many occasions I felt my parents were abusing my basic human rights, going back to the time I was conceived - that’s before I was born, mind you. I have a right to know where I come from, and if I knew the number I would phone ChildLine to make my protest known. My Mammy has already taught me how to use the telephone and I can count up to ten and more, so she knows I can do it if pushed.
But this blackmail got me nowhere, in fact the direct opposite, so it was futile to take it any further. My mother needed a greater frightener to reveal how I was made and I couldn’t think of one, so I wet my pants in retaliation but said it was an accident and resolved to have it out with Dada. He’s far easier to handle than my Mammy, but needs to be asked the most basic of questions several times before he responds.
Anyway, after I was made my mother carried me in her tummy for about ten months. I don’t know why she did that. It seems such a stupid thing, but grown-ups are sometimes stupid. It would have been far better if I’d been born straight after the kissing, which would have made it easier on my Mammy’s body, and for her to explain. She could then have avoided the subject and saved herself a lot of embarrassing questions.
But grown-ups go the long way about everything and make a feast out of the smallest of morsels, building the simplest questions into gargantuan proportions. To be fair, I suppose I am very small, but nevertheless you would have thought they could have gone about explaining the subject a lot easier - but it wasn’t to be! It was swings and roundabouts before we even got to the start, and I’d lost interest long before then, and was colouring a picture of a horse.
Right then, as I said, I was stuck with my mother for ten months, joined at the belly button so to speak. That’s a long time to be stuck constantly inside anyone, even if it happens to be your mother; and what made it worse, I had no say in any part of it. Do you know, she was even breathing for me, which I think is a bit of a liberty.
I never saw my father or my Dada or Nana for the whole of that time; that’s another thing I intend to bring up with ChildLine, being deprived of my father and grandparents for nearly ten months, kidnapped in my mother’s stomach. That’s got to be good for a bag of sweets to keep my mouth shut. One thing I don’t understand, though, is why she couldn’t wait to get me born and out of her stomach? Why keep me there in the first place if she was that keen to see me out? Another grown-up thing I don’t understand. They’ll have a lot of explaining to do when I reach five and am grown-up enough to understand these things.
Back to the stomach, or should I say the cave: there was no light; it was very dark, oh yes - except when my Mammy went for a wee. I did get a bit of light then, but not a lot - in fact, so little it’s not worth talking about. I only mention it to show she wasn’t totally selfish at that time, even though she had many mood swings.
One time - I nearly forgot this - she went through a period of drinking lots of water; my Daddy called it a pregnancy fad. Apparently, these fads are quite common and are designed to make husbands feel uncomfortable and to keep them on their toes, having them running out in the middle of the night looking for a pickle with buttercup jam on or something to keep them happy. The woman knows there can be no retribution at this time, and they milk it like a dairymaid in days of old before those big machines, until the udder is sore and dry from the pulling. They do say that many men go bald over this period, something to do with hormonal imbalance and testosterone, but again that’s for grown-ups to work out. The only balance I need to worry about nowadays is how to keep it in until I get to the toilet, and that’s hard enough at my age.
My Daddy goes to the pub when he needs a rest and orders a pint of beer and complains to his friends about the pressure the pregnancy is causing to him. My Daddy said men complain a lot more than women about pregnancy on account of the extra stress on them and the prenatal strain they are constantly under. But they keep it away from their wives, which I think is a very considerate thing to do, and mention it only when at the pub where they get the maximum understanding and sympathy, while cradling a pint of beer with their mates, practising the cradling technique for when the baby is born.
The common complaint is their wives don’t understand them over this period. One man, poor devil, even had to reduce his hours at the pub to five nights a week instead of the normal seven; apparently, the pressure on him was pitiful to behold as he was forced to stay in two nights a week with his wife.
“Women don’t see this side of their men,” the barman commented, “or they wouldn’t be so heartless,” and it was generally decided, most men nodding around the bar in agreement.
“If only the wives could see how we suffer without complaining,” one man sitting at the end of the bar remarked, looking deep into his pint glass.
The continual drinking of water by my Mammy meant what goes in must come out, sometimes behind trees, behind hedges, behind walls if she was caught short. For a little while I did think with all this daylight she was exposing me to, I may have to resort to factor 30 suncream, but the fad stopped as quickly as it started and my Mammy quickly moved onto some other fad, to my immense relief.
My Daddy also started to drink more over this period, and frequently disappeared into a hedge or around a tree, but that’s understandable. I, being a boy and all, could not help but admire his strength of character in handling a very difficult pregnancy. It wasn’t easy you know, trouble from start to finish, my mother being all over the place and sick most mornings. It’s always the man who suffers on these occasions; my Daddy reckons women, talking generally, will never admit to it.
This suffering could only be shared with their fellow mates down the pub where there would be oodles of sympathy, providing there were no women around who could overhear them, or all hell would break out. But even when the men were in their bastion of relative safety, there was still the pressure of being overheard and misunderstood, so they needed to be as careful as if they were Protestants in a Catholic country that still practised burning of heretics.
I was still in her stomach, remember. I had legs and arms and was totally in touch with all my mother’s moods and emotions and went through them all with her. The crying, the laughter, the ups and downs - it all affected me to a greater or lesser extent.
If she cried, I felt sad; if she was nervous, I was nervous; when my Mammy laughed, I laughed. I was part of her body and she mine, and I could read her like a book. We were one person with two minds. My Mammy was forming my personality even before I was born; my love was growing for her daily as my little body grew in hers, and I often heard her talking to me and tapping her stomach to give me reassurance.
The only way I could answer was to move, to show I was happy and understood. It wasn’t the words she used - language was a foreign notion to me, I couldn’t even gurgle - it was the tone I was able to pick up on, the vibrations she used to convey them. Each word had warmth, a nuance of love in every letter, and I responded in the only way I knew how, by kicking her until her stomach rumbled like a volcano, a volcano of love, that could only happen between mother and unborn child. But here I am getting sentimental and I haven’t been born yet.
Tuesday, 18 May 2010
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Tuesday, 27 April 2010
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The Book Show Earls Court London
Last week end I went to London - Earl Court - to the Book Fair, three days, but it was half empty due to the volcano. A lot of exhibitors were not there, so a bit of a disappointment. My latest Novel was not displayed for buyers. And to top it all the three days were most expensive - I could have gone on a two week holiday abroad for less. But not to worry, there is the New York show in June.
No matter, the summer is coming, I always like the spring and summer, renewal, everything comes alive – the days grow longer. Weather gets slowly warmer – should – I’m still waiting!
A few years ago I planted a load of acorns in a large tub; I have about a dozen little oak trees: I will plant them out next year – give them a chance to live. Oak trees live for about 200 years, so these little saplings – if I plant them correctly - will be sunning their little leaves long after I’m gone and even forgotten.
There is the wonder in nature, constant change. Every little bit of life, no matter how small or large strives to live, to prosper: fulfill the potential giving it by Nature. The longer I live the more I look at life – my journey – as a blip, my blip, in a big wide world, itself of which is but a blip in our universe, and the universe another blip in the wider cosmos, and so it goes on ad infinitum forever turning on the wheel of fortune.
Wow! I’m getting all philosophical, stop it Roy, but it’s true, so I make no apology for writing what I feel. Anyway, that’s all for now forks.
Monday, 26 April 2010
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Tuesday, 16 February 2010
Log Twenty, New Zealand from the 27th to the 31st of January
(27th Wednesday January)
Up at 7.40am and to the gym, a good workout, and home by 9.30am and fruit for breakfast. The fog this morning was heavy, by the time I came out of the gym a lot of the fog had lifted. I worked on a synopsis for most of the morning, after lunch, I went down the library to print out what I had just written. Also, I took a few books back and brought out four more, two by Fay Sampson, one by Stephen J. Rivelle the other William Riviêre, my next four reads after the book I’m currently reading.
The sun came out for the rest of the morning and afternoon, but by the evening the clouds were back in force with distant thunder. So I think we are in for more rain before the sun comes back, but it’s still very warm, around 34 Degrees.
(8.50pm) Watching TV, and then to bed, log short and sharp today.
(28th Thursday January)
I woke late this morning, 9am, I was going to the gym but changed my mind, there were clouds in the sky and the forecast was for rain, but up until lunchtime there were clouds but the rain kept off, and for most of the afternoon so I went into town to the library.
Now (9.15pm) the rain is pouring down, there have been 20,000 lightning strikes so far today, nothing more happened today, so a short log.
(Friday 29th January)
I woke at 8am and the weather was sunny and decided to go to Napier. The car journey took me two hours, just follow highway 5 and it is straight into the city centre. The place is smaller than I expected, but the place didn’t disappoint, the town is next the sea, (Pacific Ocean) build in a grid fashion after the earthquake in 1931. Most of the town was destroyed in the quake and was re fashioned.
The houses are quaint, bright colours, and art deco type of environment. Many outdoor cafes line the streets with places to eat and take refreshment.
I sat in the memorial gardens, not a big place, quite small in fact, with small fountain, there is a larger one near the seawater’s edge. The flowers are in abundance. I sat, listened to birds sing, the place is tranquil, it makes one think. I listened to bells playing tunes – campanile I think they are called.
I walked around the town taking in the sights, admiring the houses, and it was fun, and wished I could have gone inside a few and seen how they looked from the inside. I took a stroll along the water front, a fete was going on, music, dancing, stalls, everyone enjoying themselves in the sun, I stay to listen a for awhile and then walked on. Further down there is an Aquarium, I paid the entrance fee and spent a pleasant hour there looking at what was on display. One tank has a huge turtle in it swimming back a forth. The creature looked magnificent but I did feel somewhat sad to see in caged.
These creatures travel thousands of miles in the open sea only coming to land to lay their eggs and then back to sea, they, like many other sea creatures are the gypsies of the sea, and here this one is stuck in a small tank. I have seen turtles in the open ocean, swam with them 30, 40 metres below the sea, once I hitched a ride on one's back and together we swam on for a few minutes. That experience immediately came into my mind as I stood and watched the creature, I looked into its eyes, and I thought I saw sadness there, but perhaps that was just my imagination.
The other exhibits were equally enthralling, the lot of the tanks have open tops and you can look down at the fish, a few had Cray fish, large antennas each side of their heads, for all my conservationism, I felt like picking one out of the water and eating it.
I travelled through a glass tunnel, fish overhead and all around me, sharks, stingrays, barracuda, jacks, were all there on display. Two swimmers moved on the water surface above the glass tunnel snorkeling, if you pay extra you could enter the large tank and swim with the fish. I didn’t, I’ve seen these fish in the open sea many times, and was not motivated to enter their artificial domain.
Leaving there I walked back to the car along the water’s edge for part of the way, the only thing I disliked about the place was the long straight beach being all small pebbles, no sand – but that was to be expected bearing in mind the history of the place.
From sun lotion to rain in a matter of minutes, but I managed to get back to the car in time – well almost, I was a little wet when I ate my lunch, a few crisps with a cheese and onion sandwich I’d made that morning.
At 3.30pm I started for home, the clouds were back in force, the rain belted down, still warm, but grey and I got into Taupo at 5.30 to see the sun again. There was no rain here, people bathed in the lake, boats crossed each other on the water. Picnics abounded on the waterfront. I know I’ve said it a few time before, but this country is still amazing, from sun to rain back to sun in an eye lash, from scorching sun to skiing in no time to thundering storms in the same afternoon. What a contrast, and I love it.
I called into Woolworths for the weekly shopping, didn’t need a lot this week, and home. The evening saw me watching television and reading. And you got it, Taupo weather turned, there was one hell of a storm, rain lashed down, a virtual deluge, lightning, thunder, the Full Monty. I left the window blinds open and watched it overhead, and I enjoyed ever moment – there is something grand and mysterious in watching the power of nature unleash it fury, in bed by 10.20pm, read a little and straight to sleep.
(Saturday 30th January)
I wake a 6.30am, the mist was low, all the rain the day before left the place in fog. I was up and out almost immediately and went to the gym, but it was closed so I walked around the harbour and the lake, when I got back to the gym it was open. It is a twenty-four hour gym, but I am not on that tariff. I worked out for an hour and half: boy did I sweat, got back in the house at 9.30am. The fog had burnt off by then and sun was out: I was very warm, but the gym might have had something to do with that. A quick breakfast and then up to fetch my grandson to go swimming.
We arrived at the pool 10.30am and had a great time, loads of slides and swimming, we were there for 2 and a half hours, and then back to my house, a quick lunch and then his nap. Later we went to Woolworths, we needed ice cream – actually, my grandson insisted we need ice cream, so to the shops we went. He originally wanted to stay the night but changed his mind so I took him home.
The evening saw my reading. The latest E. Chadwick, `The Greatest Knight,’ William Marshal, to date I’ve read five of her novels. I’ll read the others when I get home in Wales.
I’ve taken the complete works of Jane Austin on loan, and I intend to read them over the next few weeks along with the other books I borrowed. I have read a few of her novels in the past, but this time I want to look at her writing from an academic viewpoint.
Her total output was, to my knowledge six novels, Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, being the two most successful, her other four novels are Emma, Northanger Abbey, Persuasion, and Mansfield Park – her novels enduring success is down to her characterisation, and to a lesser extent her plots, but I intend to attach her novels with an open mind. So for the next few weeks I have quite a lot of reading to do. But I enjoy it so, it’s no great chore, but I will be reading other novels as well: Austin’s works I will be dipping into periodically - in and out of, so to speak.
The evening saw, rain, lightning and thunder back, and it lasted until I went to bed at 10.30pm after a few glassed of red wine, I read for a while and I slept like a log.
(Sunday 31st January)
I woke at 9am, I don’t thing I moved all night, after the exercise yesterday little wonder. I feel good this morning, energized - the clouds are around with a keen wind, but that matters little. I’m to have a day of rest today - listen to music and read – life is good, but time is moving too quickly for me. I’ll be the 1st of February tomorrow, and I need to start travelling a lot more over the next few weeks if I’m to do all which I have planned.
There is so much I wish to do, writing is but one of them and I need to make time for that also, but I can always do that when I get back to the UK. Normally I am very good at planning my time, but things have gone a little Topsy-turby since I’ve been out here, but I have read authors I would not normally read, so there is also a learning process going on, for me learning is a like owning a dog. It’s for life.
I’m cooking tonight for seven people, (12.20pm) but everything thing is prepared, I had intended making pork shoulder stuffed with apricots – a new recipe I wanted to try, with roasted vegetables, but changed my mind. I want to read this afternoon not cook.
So it’ll be spaghetti bolognas with potato wedges in garlic, oil, and herbs – I have this down to a fine art. For dessert, I am making a coconut cake with chopped apricot-raisin filling (sauntered first in a pan with a little raw sugar) with custard to serve. A tip: place a small amount of Vanilla Essence with the custard, it makes a bit difference to the taste.
(24.50pm) I just made the cake for dessert this evening: coconut with apricot chippings inside, the top of the cake (I’ll turn it upside down) dried apricots, which I boiled and grazed with raw blown sugar which are embedded in the top of the cake – in the over for around 25 minutes, the rest of the time I’ve read.
I’ve tried to get into Fay Samson’s novel, `The Silent Fort,” it’s a short novel, I’ve read 25% of it but that’s it, I can’t get into her writing, I have another of her novels `The Land Of The Angers,` but I’m not reading it, both I’m taking back to the library later this week.
The clouds are in for the day, wind also, the leaves on the trees are moving rather strongly in the wind, outside my window it’s all trees, it’s really beautiful, anyway, back to reading, and then I’ll lay out the evening meal, plenty of time yet.
Up at 7.40am and to the gym, a good workout, and home by 9.30am and fruit for breakfast. The fog this morning was heavy, by the time I came out of the gym a lot of the fog had lifted. I worked on a synopsis for most of the morning, after lunch, I went down the library to print out what I had just written. Also, I took a few books back and brought out four more, two by Fay Sampson, one by Stephen J. Rivelle the other William Riviêre, my next four reads after the book I’m currently reading.
The sun came out for the rest of the morning and afternoon, but by the evening the clouds were back in force with distant thunder. So I think we are in for more rain before the sun comes back, but it’s still very warm, around 34 Degrees.
(8.50pm) Watching TV, and then to bed, log short and sharp today.
(28th Thursday January)
I woke late this morning, 9am, I was going to the gym but changed my mind, there were clouds in the sky and the forecast was for rain, but up until lunchtime there were clouds but the rain kept off, and for most of the afternoon so I went into town to the library.
Now (9.15pm) the rain is pouring down, there have been 20,000 lightning strikes so far today, nothing more happened today, so a short log.
(Friday 29th January)
I woke at 8am and the weather was sunny and decided to go to Napier. The car journey took me two hours, just follow highway 5 and it is straight into the city centre. The place is smaller than I expected, but the place didn’t disappoint, the town is next the sea, (Pacific Ocean) build in a grid fashion after the earthquake in 1931. Most of the town was destroyed in the quake and was re fashioned.
The houses are quaint, bright colours, and art deco type of environment. Many outdoor cafes line the streets with places to eat and take refreshment.
I sat in the memorial gardens, not a big place, quite small in fact, with small fountain, there is a larger one near the seawater’s edge. The flowers are in abundance. I sat, listened to birds sing, the place is tranquil, it makes one think. I listened to bells playing tunes – campanile I think they are called.
I walked around the town taking in the sights, admiring the houses, and it was fun, and wished I could have gone inside a few and seen how they looked from the inside. I took a stroll along the water front, a fete was going on, music, dancing, stalls, everyone enjoying themselves in the sun, I stay to listen a for awhile and then walked on. Further down there is an Aquarium, I paid the entrance fee and spent a pleasant hour there looking at what was on display. One tank has a huge turtle in it swimming back a forth. The creature looked magnificent but I did feel somewhat sad to see in caged.
These creatures travel thousands of miles in the open sea only coming to land to lay their eggs and then back to sea, they, like many other sea creatures are the gypsies of the sea, and here this one is stuck in a small tank. I have seen turtles in the open ocean, swam with them 30, 40 metres below the sea, once I hitched a ride on one's back and together we swam on for a few minutes. That experience immediately came into my mind as I stood and watched the creature, I looked into its eyes, and I thought I saw sadness there, but perhaps that was just my imagination.
The other exhibits were equally enthralling, the lot of the tanks have open tops and you can look down at the fish, a few had Cray fish, large antennas each side of their heads, for all my conservationism, I felt like picking one out of the water and eating it.
I travelled through a glass tunnel, fish overhead and all around me, sharks, stingrays, barracuda, jacks, were all there on display. Two swimmers moved on the water surface above the glass tunnel snorkeling, if you pay extra you could enter the large tank and swim with the fish. I didn’t, I’ve seen these fish in the open sea many times, and was not motivated to enter their artificial domain.
Leaving there I walked back to the car along the water’s edge for part of the way, the only thing I disliked about the place was the long straight beach being all small pebbles, no sand – but that was to be expected bearing in mind the history of the place.
From sun lotion to rain in a matter of minutes, but I managed to get back to the car in time – well almost, I was a little wet when I ate my lunch, a few crisps with a cheese and onion sandwich I’d made that morning.
At 3.30pm I started for home, the clouds were back in force, the rain belted down, still warm, but grey and I got into Taupo at 5.30 to see the sun again. There was no rain here, people bathed in the lake, boats crossed each other on the water. Picnics abounded on the waterfront. I know I’ve said it a few time before, but this country is still amazing, from sun to rain back to sun in an eye lash, from scorching sun to skiing in no time to thundering storms in the same afternoon. What a contrast, and I love it.
I called into Woolworths for the weekly shopping, didn’t need a lot this week, and home. The evening saw me watching television and reading. And you got it, Taupo weather turned, there was one hell of a storm, rain lashed down, a virtual deluge, lightning, thunder, the Full Monty. I left the window blinds open and watched it overhead, and I enjoyed ever moment – there is something grand and mysterious in watching the power of nature unleash it fury, in bed by 10.20pm, read a little and straight to sleep.
(Saturday 30th January)
I wake a 6.30am, the mist was low, all the rain the day before left the place in fog. I was up and out almost immediately and went to the gym, but it was closed so I walked around the harbour and the lake, when I got back to the gym it was open. It is a twenty-four hour gym, but I am not on that tariff. I worked out for an hour and half: boy did I sweat, got back in the house at 9.30am. The fog had burnt off by then and sun was out: I was very warm, but the gym might have had something to do with that. A quick breakfast and then up to fetch my grandson to go swimming.
We arrived at the pool 10.30am and had a great time, loads of slides and swimming, we were there for 2 and a half hours, and then back to my house, a quick lunch and then his nap. Later we went to Woolworths, we needed ice cream – actually, my grandson insisted we need ice cream, so to the shops we went. He originally wanted to stay the night but changed his mind so I took him home.
The evening saw my reading. The latest E. Chadwick, `The Greatest Knight,’ William Marshal, to date I’ve read five of her novels. I’ll read the others when I get home in Wales.
I’ve taken the complete works of Jane Austin on loan, and I intend to read them over the next few weeks along with the other books I borrowed. I have read a few of her novels in the past, but this time I want to look at her writing from an academic viewpoint.
Her total output was, to my knowledge six novels, Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, being the two most successful, her other four novels are Emma, Northanger Abbey, Persuasion, and Mansfield Park – her novels enduring success is down to her characterisation, and to a lesser extent her plots, but I intend to attach her novels with an open mind. So for the next few weeks I have quite a lot of reading to do. But I enjoy it so, it’s no great chore, but I will be reading other novels as well: Austin’s works I will be dipping into periodically - in and out of, so to speak.
The evening saw, rain, lightning and thunder back, and it lasted until I went to bed at 10.30pm after a few glassed of red wine, I read for a while and I slept like a log.
(Sunday 31st January)
I woke at 9am, I don’t thing I moved all night, after the exercise yesterday little wonder. I feel good this morning, energized - the clouds are around with a keen wind, but that matters little. I’m to have a day of rest today - listen to music and read – life is good, but time is moving too quickly for me. I’ll be the 1st of February tomorrow, and I need to start travelling a lot more over the next few weeks if I’m to do all which I have planned.
There is so much I wish to do, writing is but one of them and I need to make time for that also, but I can always do that when I get back to the UK. Normally I am very good at planning my time, but things have gone a little Topsy-turby since I’ve been out here, but I have read authors I would not normally read, so there is also a learning process going on, for me learning is a like owning a dog. It’s for life.
I’m cooking tonight for seven people, (12.20pm) but everything thing is prepared, I had intended making pork shoulder stuffed with apricots – a new recipe I wanted to try, with roasted vegetables, but changed my mind. I want to read this afternoon not cook.
So it’ll be spaghetti bolognas with potato wedges in garlic, oil, and herbs – I have this down to a fine art. For dessert, I am making a coconut cake with chopped apricot-raisin filling (sauntered first in a pan with a little raw sugar) with custard to serve. A tip: place a small amount of Vanilla Essence with the custard, it makes a bit difference to the taste.
(24.50pm) I just made the cake for dessert this evening: coconut with apricot chippings inside, the top of the cake (I’ll turn it upside down) dried apricots, which I boiled and grazed with raw blown sugar which are embedded in the top of the cake – in the over for around 25 minutes, the rest of the time I’ve read.
I’ve tried to get into Fay Samson’s novel, `The Silent Fort,” it’s a short novel, I’ve read 25% of it but that’s it, I can’t get into her writing, I have another of her novels `The Land Of The Angers,` but I’m not reading it, both I’m taking back to the library later this week.
The clouds are in for the day, wind also, the leaves on the trees are moving rather strongly in the wind, outside my window it’s all trees, it’s really beautiful, anyway, back to reading, and then I’ll lay out the evening meal, plenty of time yet.
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