Plans and Plausibility

Boiling the ingredients

Well, I did make he cauliflower soup I was planning, and it went well. The situation at the moment is that I can get a cauliflower for £1.20 or a large cauliflower for £2. You get more than twice as much cauli if you order the big one so it’s much better value, as long as you don’t mind cauli for three meals.

I have not yet got round to the pickled eggs because I can’t face the thought of peeling all the eggs. I need 12, so I will add at least three more to allow for breakages (and possibly a few more so we can have sandwiches) and it becomes a mountain of eggs to peel.

But I did settle down to do the writing plan. So far I have 93 things listed, and probably still have another 20 to do. It includes some new forms I have tried before, and makes a regular feature of magazines I have only tried a few times. Allowing for sloth and disorganisation and rejection, I can probably manage to keep up the numbers, and if I keep up the quality I can probably get the same results as this year despite the loss of a couple of magazines. At that point I ask myself why I didn’t try harder last year.

When I remember why, I despair about my memory. I was ill at the beginning of the year, and Julia was injured. Strange how easily I forget. The key is obviously to stay healthy. I was going to try that anyway, as five days in hospital is not the sort of experience I want to repeat. It’s a Burns sort of moment here – “The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / Gang aft a-gley, / An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, / For promised joy”

Before the addition of Stilton cheese

That sums up the pain of planning – things often go wrong. However, what is certain is that if you don’t plan you will end up with nothing but a pile of regrets. I’ve done that often enough. I wonder what I will be saying at this time next year.

Other than that I spent much of the day watching TV as I couldn’t find the enthusiasm to work while Julia was out wood turning, I then sorted out various medical things, including appointments (my blood clotting is now back on course and I am back to monthly testing) and insurance. I had been putting off the insurance. I was, as I feared, trapped in a labyrinth of customer service bots and had to give my information four times before they connected me to a human. Even then, it didn’t go well, though it is at least sorted. and I don’t need to worry about it.

Brooches from WW1 – cost 1 shilling and 6 pence in 1914.

The latest two articles on the website of the Peterborough Military History Group are a summary of military sweetheart brooches (where I noted a typo and several places where I could have written better) and one on the Home Guard training school at Osterley Park. It was quite an impressive place – set up by an ex-member of the International Brigades and associated with George Orwell. That led me to browse the International Brigades and George Orwell, then into his diaries. The bits I read are much more historic than my equivalents. He was writing during the Battle of Britain, though he still managed to discuss his income tax affairs in one entry, so even well-known diarists still have trivia in their diaries. It was a pleasant interlude, during which I discovered that James Robertson Justice (Sir Lancelot Spratt in the Doctor films), once played professional ice hockey between the wars, fought in the International Brigades and was invalided out of the Royal Navy with a shrapnel wound in 1943. And this was just the tip of the iceberg of the life of a man I always thought of as a supporting actor in comedy films. Time spent with Orwell and a network of Wiki links, is never wasted.

I am now going to send Christmas cards to my cousins. I always think I should sprinkle them with wit and good cheer, but will probably settle, as I normally do, for expressing the hope that they are staying well and will have a good 2026. I normally start thinking in November, and finally get round to it about now – close to the last posting date. Such is my life.

Badges on Mother of Pearl discs – WW! and WW2

Pickled Eggs and Gingerbread

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Biscuits

I started off by writing a post called “Things I Wish I’d Done”. By the time I’d done 150 words I’d depressed myself and, if I’d published it, would probably have spread this depression round. It is currently dispersing itself in cyber space, a selection of pixels slowly growing smaller a bits flake off. The only thing that survives is the title and a memory, but the way my brain is going, the memory will be gone fairly soon.

That’s the beauty and the tragedy of memory. Long term memory survives (which is why my Dad could still beat me at dominoes when he was over 90 and suffering with dementia). The tragedy is that you can remember all your mistakes with painful clarity. But you can’t do anything about it.

Anyway, enough about memories. I bet you’re wondering how far I got with my planning for next year. Having said that, anyone who has read this blog before isn’t going to be expecting too much. In fact, my dedication to procrastination is so pronounced that I’ve just been tidying my desk rather than getting down to any actual work.

Peppermint creams in preparation

The facts of this morning are that I got up, started work just before 8.00, wrote a post I deleted, looked at a few comments, checked emails, had breakfast, decided to have some toast, made coffee, washed up, watched birds and squirrels, sat at the desk, tidied desk, paid some bills and finally wrote something. As you are probably already thinking – it wasn’t worth the build-up.

I’m off to boil some eggs and make cauliflower soup now. I’m doing a dozen pickled eggs for Christmas – six ordinary, six with chilli. That should see us through to New Year and after that I intend trying to make a new recipe a week and try to bake every week. That, as you may have noticed, has no bearing on my poetry plans for 2026. I did however, write about baking in a poem I had published in Contemporary Haibun Online.

I had the title for years, because I’d used it for a blog. It looks like I had the title for nine years, in fact. It took me starting to bake again before I found a poem to go with it. It’s not even original, I pinched it from The General of the Dead Army by Ismail Kadare.

Look at that, an effortless slide from biscuits to Albanian novelists. Makes you wonder what this blog is coming to, doesn’t it? There was a time it was all compost, alternative toilets and sausages. Those were the glory days when I was trying to make the world a better place. Now I’m just happy if the world is still there when I wake up in the morning.

Poppies and corn wreath

A Plan is Born

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Plans for next year include writing more, writing better, managing my time and, most importantly, finding new markets. I’ve done over 80 articles on coins and related subjects but they have all been published in the lower levels of society journals. I don’t want to be rude about them, but it’s not really a challenge getting into something where you are one of two regular contributors and they are read by about six people.

The situation with the articles is that I am either going to have to up my game or stop writing them and use the time for something else. In my first stint as a poet I wrote for new magazines and those known to be easier to get into. It produced results, but when I restarted a few years ago I aimed for the better quality magazines. It has gone quite well and I feel like I have produced something worth doing.

Next year, instead of producing 85+ articles for society Facebook pages and the like, I want to appear at least 12 times in magazines which pay and the journals of the more serious kind. I think 12 is realistic, just as 50 (again) is realistic for poetry. That’s why the target is now set at 60 and 15 – there’s no point in sitting back and feeling complacent. At the same time, I still want to support the societies I’m in but I’m going to reduce my output to around 50. I’ve asked other people to help but they haven’t responded, or have made excuses, and they can’t complain if I do other things.

Photo by Roman Koval on Pexels.com

That, of course, is the easy bit. I now have to work out how I’m going to manage my time and actually achieve the targets. That’s the trouble with planning to write more – the first day or two will be taken up with planning. And I just remembered that one of the regular magazines has pulled out. That will be six fewer slots to aim for.

I will, to be honest, simply send more poetry out and develop a new range of work. I’ve never done a haiga, for instance, which is a photograph with a haiku. Nor have I ever tried any of the linked forms where you put haiku or tanka together to form longer poems. It also feels like time to get back into free verse. And there you go – a plan is born.

Orange Parker Pen

Using the pen pictures reminds me once again that my efforts at product placement have not met with much success. Either that or my complimentary Parker pen has been lost in the post.

Next year I may lower my sights a bit and use pictures of snack food.

Some Thoughts of a Retired Gent

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Tufted Duck

It’s a bit nippy this morning but the heating is on and I have plenty of clothes, so it’s not going to be a problem. Christmas, which is coming rapidly, is always a time to think about people sleeping rough and that leads on to thoughts of refugees. It’s a privilege to go to sleep at night with the knowledge that in the morning your roof will still be there. That’s not something you can rely on if you live in Gaza or Ukraine.

So, this morning, I’m not going to complain about faulty Amazon deliveries or the iniquities of our local Post Office, which are both at the forefront of my mind. When I moved to Peterborough I thought of changing my monthly donations to local charities dealing with the homeless, because dad and mum used to volunteer for the local soup kitchen. I had a look at the website details of the local soup kitchen this morning but decided to donate to one of the associated charities that gets people off the streets. In a way, I feel like it’s the easy way out, but I’m not sure I’d be a lot of use making sandwiches or serving drinks all night.

Goosander male

Meanwhile, as I sat and watched a bit of TV with my morning coffee, I watched Fake or Fortune, an episode on musical instruments. Establishing provenance should have been a piece of cake compared to some of the paintings they research, as they only needed to go back to the 1960s. However, nobody seemed to be able to remember back to the 1960s and 70s, so it all petered out without a positive identification. The laws of libel probably prevent me commenting on the causes of this amnesia.

Despite the title, these aren’t all the thoughts I have had today. I’ve been thinking about what I’m going to put in tonight’s coleslaw, for instance, plus “What was that?” (it was a picture falling off the wall after Julia had straightened it) and “Why didn’t I make a note last time?” when I had to order new bags for the kitchen bin. It’s a busy place, my head, though not necessarily as orderly as I would like it to be.

Photos are water birds from December 2016.

Mallard drake

2,571?

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The title is the number of subscribers WP tells me I have. I once went through the list and deleted a lot, but these days I don’t have the time. Quite clearly it is a fiction and at least 2,550 of them aren’t pulling their weight. Such is life on WP. Most of them, I seem to remember from checking last time, only visit once.

Julia, on the other hand, just went to the shops and it took her ages because she kept bumping into people she knows. We’ve only been here a year, how does this happen? She’s a lot more sociable than I am, and a a lot more friendly, but it still seems like a lot of new friends. I could go to the shops in Sherwood, where I lived for nearly 40 years , and maybe nod to a couple of people. At least you know every one of those people actually exists.

Then, when I’d finished digesting this, I went to find Laurie Graves on Facebook. She’s retiring from WP. You can get friends on Facebook. I did once, when I first signed up for it, but then I realised how pointless it was. Viewed as statistics they are meaningless and viewed as actual friends they are pointless. If I ever met most of them we wouldn’t be friends in real life. At least, with the conversations we have on WP I can be fairly sure that everyone I think of as a friend on WP would be reasonably pleasant.

A decorative touch

One entry I found, whilst trying how to become a friend of Laurie, has been suggested as a “friend” by Facebook. It’s one of the bleakest things I’ve ever seen, and probably a pointer to the direction society is taking as we all sit by our keyboards. I actually know him in real life and we have probably been put together via the Numismatic Society. I have changed his name, just to be on the safe side.

“Albert Bates” the entry says “has 2 friends.”

Pictures are from December 2019 when we spent Christmas in Suffolk. Except the heart-shaped one. That’s going to be used in the next newsletter of the Nene Valley Railway, in which she pretends to be Winnie the Pooh. It’s hard finding a fresh approach each month.

Notes from a Decaying Island

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I was awake at 6.40 this morning, pondering on the subject of insomnia. More particularly why I sleep better in a chair than I do in a bed. I managed three hours in a chair last night, and woke feeling very rested. I also felt cold and stiff and had to spend ten minutes relocating my limbs. Sleeping in chairs is a pastime for the young.

Anyway, after a trip to the bathroom and some time feeling warm but wakened, I decided to call it a night and get up. By 6.30 I was at the computer, checking emails, answering comments and reading a few blogs. I then went of Amazon to buy a couple of bits and claim a refund for an order they seem to have lost.

It rapidly became 8.30 and after a leisurely breakfast and some planning, it is now just after 10.00. How the time flies!

Robin Hood lurking in the Forest

I suppose that’s what happens when you live in a decaying country with weak leaders and an evil Mayor of London. Still, as I said to Julia, although we miss out on the benefits of the USA’s high living standards, strong leadership and gun ownership, I’m quite happy with the way we are. We will just have to put up with universal healthcare, low murder rates and women having control over their own bodies. It’s obviously an imperfect system, but not every country can achieve the peak of perfection.

As for our “horrible, vicious, disgusting mayor” in London, I have to admit that I don’t know much about him, but even he has some good points – he’s never been photographed with Jeffrey Epstein, for instance.

Pictures are random shots from previous Decembers.

Robin at Clumber, Nottinghamshire

Bananas, Breakfasts and Boiled Eggs

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I have now had 52 acceptances for the year. It’s a nice round figure and I, once again, have to remind myself that quality and quantity should not be confused. The only area where they might coincide is that things, including writing, improve with practice and I may be improving my quality by writing more. It seems like a reasonable link.

That was Saturday, but we have had visitors over the weekend and my routine has been disrupted so it is part written on Sunday, but won’t be published until Monday. It’s good to have a change. My father, as he grew older, started to insist on routines about meal times, and I remember being concerned at the time. It always seems like a forerunner of decline. I currently sleep until I’m ready to wake up, have breakfast at a time that varies according to time of rising and any other plans for the day, have lunch at a time that depends on what we have for breakfast, then eat in the evening at a time based on what is on TV It’s fluid.

Breakfast – 3 fruits plus wheat

(Monday Morning)

Breakfast is likely to be cereal and toast this morning. I base this prediction on Julia having a lie in and me already at the computer. I don’t like making breakfast in these circumstances as I don’t want to wake her if she is warm and comfortable. Nor, having gto into my stride, do I want to have to stop typing when she gets up. She always makes cereal and fruit, because she is healthy. The toast comes later because I feel hungry and will make toast to top up. We used to have toast and marmalade every morning but decided to cut it out as a way of saving a few hundred calories a week.

I’ve just been looking at the top ten healthy breakfasts. Weetabix with fruit is number 5. It’s convenient and, I thought, healthy, and verges on one of those things you eat for health reasons rather than pleasure, so I’m disappointed to find it isn’t nearer the top.

Toast and jam – it’s the closest I have to a photo of toast and marmalade

Toast and marmalade is number 9. That’s a surprise as I would have thought a couple of slices of carbs plus a spoonful of sugar (even id it has been shown to an orange) would be much less healthy. Mainly, though, I’m surprised that anyone considers it a meal. Toast and marmalade is a snack or garnish, not a meal.

I suppose at this point I should start thinking about definitely not having toast with breakfast.

My preferred option, as I sit here, hungry and typing away, would be bacon cobs, but they, for some reason, don’t even make it into the top ten.

The top healthy breakfast is porridge. That’s great if you want to start your day washing a porridge pan. They always seem so clogged up by the end of the cooking.

Overnight oats is second. We have drifted away from these, but as I look at the list, it looks like we should start doing them again.

Oats – I have no photos of porridge and most of my “oats” search results feature boats or goats. I must check the titles of those photos.

Next is toast and eggs. Eggs should be boiled or poached to avoid added fat. It’s one of my preferred breakfasts, though not with boiled or poached eggs, and a garnish of bacon never goes amiss. And a few beans. Possibly black pudding and mushrooms and tomatoes . . .

Fourth is shop-bought muesli. Even the added sugar variety they use as an example is ranked higher than Weetabix. How can that be? Weetabix reminds me of the baled wood shavings you put in hamster cages. How can that possibly be less healthy than something that has added sugar? It contains not only dietary fibre but moral fibre, being, like porridge, half food and half penance. Yet, the manufacturers seem to be able to sneak lots of rubbish in there too.

That’s a breakfast . . .

I just drifted on to bananas. After feeling guilty for eating them (they have been getting a lot of bad press over recent years) I now find they are good for me. That’s good, as I like bananas and was feeling bad about having them sliced on my Weetabix.

Please note I use “Weetabix” to describe my breakfast cereal, when I really mean “cheap supermarket own-brand versions of Weetabix”. Seeing as I don’t enjoy them, I don’t want to pay too much for them.

Olympic Breakfast – classic British meal from the now defunct “Little Chef” chain of roadside restaurants

Mondegreens, Mandela Effect and Mungo

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Just saw this photo when looking for photos and it reminded me I’d seen a Red Admiral basking in a morning sunbeam on the end wall of the bungalow next door – just like this Peacock earlier in the year.

It’s just turned 10am and I have survived without any major disasters or ludicrous occurrences. I did have a parcel that resisted my efforts at opening it, but a big knife and profanity soon solved that. It was one of those old-fashioned padded envelopes with a paper outer skin and a padding comprised of what I would describe as “shoddy”. However, I may be misusing the term. I use it for shredded waste, but when I look it up, it is more properly used for the cloth made from the shredded waste. It’s an interesting subject on its own, being an early example of recycling – rags being gathered, sorted and once again, being used to make clothing.

As for my misuse of the term – it’s vocabulary I learned from family members who used to work in the textile trade in the north, and I may well have been inaccurate in my learning. A bit like Mondegreens and the Mandela Effect.

Having said that, I’m doubtful that the Mandela Effect really exists. A lot of it seems to be the internet building something up and turning it into a new thing to write books about. Just because people with bad memories can get together on the internet to pool their faulty memories, it doesn’t necessarily mean there is a whole science of collective misremembering. It’s just how we are.

I can explain a number of the quotes that I supposedly remember badly. I’m actually being 100% accurate in quoting published misquotes. They are easy to remember compared to a fleeting moment in a film. It’s not a science of shared mistakes – it’s the dissemination of misinformation by modern media. I’ve watched Casablanca once, I think. Or maybe seen parts of it several times. I’m not a film buff and I don’t find it that easy concentrating on a whole film when there are books around and cups of tea to make. But I’ve seen the misquote “Play it again, Sam.” so many times it has taken root. Same for “Luke, I am your father.”

Christmas is coming

As for misremembered deaths – I agree I can’t tell you when Neil Armstrong died, but if I’m honest, I thought he was still alive. Celebrity deaths are so easy to miss or forget. I’m not one of the people who thought Nelson Mandela died in prison, because I noticed him being President of post-apartheid South Africa, and I don’t remember Mother Theresa being made a saint whilst she was still alive because I know that doesn’t happen. You have to die first. It’s a fairly strict requirement, like the Pope being Catholic. Churches are very keen on detail. That’s not a scientific phenomenon, it’s the coagulation of ignorance.

However, I digress. I’ve just been having brunch (an omlette made of leftovers and odd bits) when a parakeet landed on the bird feeders. Unfortunately, it couldn’t get much from the squirrel-proof feeders so it may not come back. I keep meaning to keep a camera by the back window . . .

And the title – mungo is a lower quality version of shoddy. I wouldn’t have thought that was possible.

St Mungo is also the patron Saint of Glasgow, and the German for Mongoose.

Coffee Cup (from six years ago). I don’t get out6 much.

Tests, Telephones and Temporary Blindness

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Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

The day started badly. Knowing that I had a moderately early appointment for a blood test, I tried to get an early night (by my insomniac standards), woke at five feeling hot (some days the heating feels hotter than others) and ended up unable to get back to sleep.

Eventually I got up, answered a few emails, made breakfast, woke Julia (who had no trouble sleeping this morning) and set off for the doctor. The road was closed, but the diversion signs were clear. While we were following the diversion I mentioned to Julia it seemed a strange sort of route, but didn’t think any more of it until we got to a sign that sent us back the way we had come from, and took us right back to the start of the detour. Other people were ignoring the signs, so we did. There was no road closure and no need to use another route. Strange . . .

We were still early despite this and I secured a good seat in the waiting room (the high, wide one with arms). It’s ideal for large, creaking people like me, but is usually taken by someone who clearly doesn’t need it. And today, instead of being able to enjoy it, I was called through early.

The nurse, when I asked, told me the roadworks have been like that for three weeks, nothing has happened and they are beginning to suspect an elaborate joke.

It’s Christmas . . .

I had to have two blood tests, one the normal INR test, the other a repeat of the one I did a month ago to allow me to keep having anti-arthritis drugs. For the second time the NHS has failed to access the results and are accusing me of not having the test done. I don’t mind that too much, but I object to them threatening to take the drugs away because of something that is their fault. The telephone call I made to their answering machine bordered on terse.

On getting home I sat at the computer, picked up my glasses and dropped something on the floor. I couldn’t see what it was, so I put the glasses on and turned to the screen. The screen was badly blurred and I found I couldn’t focus. For a moment, I admit I panicked. Then I realised that the frame had split and it was a lens that had fallen to the floor.

That was a relief. It’s annoying that it had broken but I buy them by the box from Amazon and still have several pairs yet. It’s probably time to order another box. So I did. I could have had some which block blue light, which are supposed to be better for computer users, but I checked on-line and there is actually no evidence to support this, just people trying to sell more glasses.

Glasses from Amazon. With hindsight, the zebra pattern was a mistake.

Nor did I buy the set of stainless steel dental tools that would allow me to clean my own plaque. Very tempting at just under £7 a set, but common sense dictates against buying cheap tools and starting to prod around in a mouth of ageing teeth. I have the same feelings about expensive tools too.

Time to make lunch now, so I will go.

Cynicism Sets In

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Arnot Hill Park, Arnold, Nottingham

Sorry, several days seem to have passed since my last post, despite my good intentions.

I did try writing yesterday but I had left it too late and was too tired to write. It didn’t stop me spending an hour trying but by the end I had written nothing worth reading. It’s my own fault. I can still function after midnight if I know what I am doing, but if I just start writing and see where it goes, it rarely goes anywhere useful. I just ramble. Fortunately I usually mange to spot when that is happening and delete it. Yes, about 500 words were wasted, but as I’ve observed before – words are cheap and plentiful and can be deleted without major trauma. I deleted 500 words last night, I will save a few of them and write another post.

However, the good news is that my stats have spiked (he said sarcastically). This has happened several times recently. My month will run along with about 30 visitors a day and 10 or so comments. Then it will suddenly come to life In the last three months I have had three spikes in stats with a couple of thousand views in a day. Strangely, it’s never accompanied by a rise in comments or likes. In fact yesterday’s spike in visitors was accompanied by poorer than average figures for likes and comments.

Pied Wagtail at Donna Nook nature reserve.

This where the small hours effect takes over. I then suggest that this is WP trying to make me think my stats really reflect something useful, then I move on to suggesting it is possibly a sign of rogue computer power as AI tries to take over the world, or even the US government tracking down enemies of the State by scanning social media. The abyss of internet politics then beckons and I begin to spiral out of control.

There are no real government conspiracies, I tell myself, as governments are generally incapable of organising themselves in a unified way. Even old-style Communist regimes had to have periodic culls to preserve the facade of unity. More open systems, where you swap between parties, would be incapable of keeping a conspiracy together. I refer here, to normal governments, the current US government, if it had an inkling that Democrats had ever covered up an alien landing or the existence of primitive hairy creatures living on mountains, would be right on it. The former would be deported as illegal immigrants and the latter would be quickly registered as Republican voters.

And that, coming dangerously near to the world of politics, is where I am going to stop.