Kindling

I have just finished reading Ray Bradbury's Martian Chronicles and now I'm in need of a new book, or rather ebook. I have several candidates in mind including three biographies and four specific fiction books. Then again, I am in the mood for some historical or political non- fiction. Then again, maybe Conn Iggulden has published the third instalment of his War of the Roses series by now. As you can see, thanks to Amazon, the list is nigh-on endless.

In the days before I got my Kindle fire I used to go down the library regularly and get a non- fiction book about whatever I was into at the time and a fiction book. Now I might seem a bit anorak-ish but I used to work my way through the alphabet to discover new writers. If my last fiction book's author began with 'C' I would scour the 'D' section till I found something interesting. This probably sounds a bit daft but I discovered the likes of Martin Amis, Wiliam Boyd and Terry Pratchett this way amongst others, authors I might not have picked up otherwise. There was a large collection in the library and this made selection easier but the number of ebooks seem almost infinite, and therein lies the problem. How do you choose?

The problem with ebooks is that many of them are bloody awful. At least with actual books you had a professional publisher who had to put money into the venture and this acted like a kind of quality control. Now people can self-publish so you have to pick your way through the weeds to find anything decent. Amazon doesn't care if it sells or not because it doesn't cost them anything. It's like those times when you would rent a likely looking DVD from the shop, take it home and realise in the first ten minutes the film was going to be awful but you keep watching hoping it will pick up. It never does and it's hugely disappointing.

Another phenomenon I have noticed sneaking in is the 'companion book' or 'after-read.' A short while ago I finished reading The Martian (as in the film). As I flicked over the last page no less than five recommended books popped up. At least three of which appeared to be extended book reviews written by either A level students or pretentious English teachers to tell me all about what I had just read. None of which were from the original author or claimed to have any further insights apart from their own interpretation. One claimed to explain the science in the book, no doubt using Google and Wikipedia as information sources. Even if it had been written by a bone-fide NASA scientist it would be as interesting as reading a washing machine manual. I just makes me want to scream 'stop cashing in and blood-sucking off of other authors by peddling your own puerile shit off the back of their success. Go and do your own work, you're not an author you're a leach.' I might been over reacting a little though. ' That reminds me, I've been meaning to read George Orwell's 'Road to Wigan Pier' for years, now there's a guy who would know what I'm talking about. 

It's in the Bag.

I bought some goods the other day and was pointedly told by the shopkeeper that the carrier bag was free. It was free because he is a small business. If he had 250 employees, he would have been legally obliged to charge me for the bag and his shop would have been very crowded. He then went into a rant about police standing on street corners monitoring who charges for bags and who doesn't and the general pointlessness of un-enforceable laws in the way of bored English shopkeepers all over the country. Fundamentally though, I agree with the principle of the charge. 

I don't mind paying for carrier bags, it's only for a few pence and also I agree with the stated reasoning. Anyway, what's the alternative, I'm far to sartorially elegant to walk around with plastic bags sticking out of my pockets just in case I happen to need one. I certainly don't want one of those 'Roy Cropper shopping bags' as featured by the less than macho Mr Cropper on Coronation Street to carry backwards and forwards to my local Tesco nor one of those shopping trolleys used by old ladies. I couldn't stand the indignity, I would rather pay 50 pence a bag.

I'm clearly missing the point which is to make me think twice about my need for a bag and to save the world by not buying one. No doubt there are 'green minded' people who would reuse bags anyway and those for whom no amount of charge would make a difference and all the shades in between. For me, five pence isn't enough to persuade me to festoon myself with empty bags in case I might need some.

The DEFRA website says that is up to the individual retailers to spend the money on 'good causes' of their choice as long as they report the amount raised to the government annually. All the major retailers have got on board and nominated various charities to donate the money to. Many of the charities cover things that the councils used to cover but can't afford to now. Things like tiding up public land and 'community projects.'  

One can't help but be saddened by islands the size of small countries made of plastic and adrift in our oceans. The scientists seem to be agreed that there is nothing that can be done about them due to the cost and enormity of the clean- up operation and lack of political will. I would gladly pay 50 pence per bag if I thought it was going to an international effort to seriously tackle these 'great garbage patches and other worldwide environmental issues but it's not. It does however, seem to be going to further the stated Tory aim of de-centralising government. They have already said they intend to do this by using charitable donations and local community projects to help people take care of themselves; sound familiar? This seems to me like a landlord saying that he still wants you to pay the rent but now you have to do your own house repairs and improvements because he doesn't want the responsibility any more.

Call me a cynic but I'm suspicious of the government's motives for this carrier bag charge. I am sure overall people will use less bags but will the bag producers just ramp up their refuse sac output to cover the loss of revenue. Will there be less plastic manufactured? It's unlikely. An old phrase springs to mind, which, given a little twist and taken literally, seems to sum up the situation. Cameron is 'not as green as he is cabbage looking.' You can take that both ways.

33 RPM.

When we were young, my brother and I listened to a lot of music. In those days it was either vinyl or badly recorded tapes made at home. It was the golden age of hi-fi when folk would spend hours discussing the various merits of speaker and amp combinations. They would spend their time gazing out of the window listening to every nuance of every instrument on their equipment which was the size of a side-board. Not my brother and I, we would crank it up and party on down. Our records were used and abused and played to death on our cheap system. None of that prog rock hippy shit for us, we were into punk and ska, new wave and the blues. 

Technology moved on and vinyl went the way of the Ford Cortina and the horse drawn plough. I sold some of my old punk records which I still regret and stashed a box of LPs in the loft. Some of these records I seem to have acquired rather than bought. I'm please to say I definitely don't have Andy's supercharger album so my life is safe for the time being as he threatened to kill the bloke who nicked it. I might have an old friends Led Zeppelin IV though and I think I have one of Paul's Small Faces albums. I used to lend them out quite freely in those days so I have probably lost at least as many as I have gained. The last album I bought on vinyl was Kate Bush The Hounds of Love which was released in 1985, that means my records have not seen the light of day for nigh on twenty years.

Just recently my most excellent brother in law from Hemel dug his expensive Hi Fi out of the loft, refurbished it and spent a lot of money on a new stylus and has re-discovered the superior sound of vinyl went played on a quality system. 
He and his lovely wife invited Dearly Beloved and I round for a drink so I took my treasure chest of musical gems round to join the party. I had forgotten what excellent musical taste I have and what an awesome collection of records I had amassed, although I also saved Dearly Beloved's Wham and 80s Tina Turner record but we won't mention those.

Now as I have already mentioned I saved all my favourite ones, those heroes from my youth that had been played to death and it seems death is the correct word. My old troupers have many wounds in the forms of nicks, scratches and dents. I was like a general surveying his troops after their return from a bitter conflict with Dave ( my Brother in Law)examining them and giving his prognosis like a sympathetic doctor giving bad news, he should have been wearing a white coat. We arrived at the conclusion that my battle weary soldiers were only fit for retirement, sad but noble warriors that they are. We tried to play a couple of the better ones but alas, even those jumped.

The question is what to do with them. I can't bear to throw them out so I will respectfully retire them to the loft like a bunch of Chelsea pensioners to moulder away and wait for their final resting place. I was supposed to go back round Dr Dave's to listen to some more vinyl and quaff obscene quantities of red wine but I had to cancel due to having to fix the floor in the kitchen. Dave messaged back with something like' it comes to something when your laying vinyl instead of playing vinyl.' an excellent comeback I thought which sums up the passing of the years and the heavy burden of responsibility that comes with being an old git. It would have been even funnier if the floor had actually been vinyl instead of wood.

Postscript; regarding last week's post, I have checked with another of my colleagues and she confirms the ghost does exist. It also moves furniture around in their lounge area and she once woke up with scratches on her arm which had drawn blood although her finger nails weren't long enough to have done it to herself... Spooky eh. 

In Praise of Chips.

I'm on a diet, not a proper recognised one but I just watch what I eat as does everyone else over thirty who has noticed with alarm their growing paunch. Alas all my good intentions become undone as this diet doesn't extend to alcohol. I have been promising to give up the demon drink since 1985 but there has no progress on this front as yet although I am still hopeful. Due to my self-imposed eating regime I hardly ever have chips but yesterday was an exception.

I had spent the morning sitting in the waiting room of a cold and draughty garage getting some new tyres fitted and my brake pads replaced. The garage was definitely in my home town but the draught came all the way from Siberia and the door wouldn't close properly so three of us sat there shivering. It was one of those bleak, grey overcast days that threatened rain and makes you depressed just looking at it. After the garage expedition I went to the council dump to off load some rotten wood and other household junk then came home and fiddled about trying to fix the dish washer which was leaking so I got wet, hey ho. It was about lunchtime by now and I was exceptionally hungry and my usual fare of rabbit food or grilled vegetables just wasn't going to cut it.

Sometimes, for me at least, only a plateful of unhealthy stodge will do. It's like extreme comfort food so off to the chippy I went for a large chips, jumbo sausage and steak and kidney pie. I put on a DVD which I never do during the day, turned the heating up and stuffed myself; it was wonderful. I resisted the urge to photograph it and post it on Facebook which seems to be the thing to do these days. I could have had an egg salad but for some dark psychological reason I don't understand, I felt need for the loving embrace of a mountain of stodge. I must admit to feeling much better after and quietly content with the world. Some people like cake, others chocolate but for me it's a huge plateful of chip-shop chips with a pie and sausage balanced on the top.

Today it's back on the straight and narrow, I cycled to work in the pouring rain with my lunch of cold rice, mixed beans and diced chicken tucked into my back pack, it was as appetising as it sounds. I must be doing something right as I managed to cycle up a hill in sixth gear that I used to have to walk up although I'm still a fat bastard. Clearly the much maligned and unfashionable British staple has mystic powers of rejuvenation and spiritual replenishment not to be sneezed at. Jamie Oliver take note.


  

** Ghost Story **

There is accommodation on the top floor of the building I work in. It's for employees staying over for various courses and is often used by staff who, for one reason or another, need a temporary home. It's even been used as a place to crash for people who have been out on the town. It's basically a long corridor with rooms coming off of it that would make a Travelodge look palatial. According to one of my colleagues who has been staying there for a few weeks, it's haunted. 

The sound of someone in heels pacing down the corridor can be heard at three o'clock in the morning. When anyone is foolhardy enough to try and catch the culprit, there is no-one there. My colleague says he doesn't believe in ghosts but is at a loss to explain it. Many people have experienced this according to my colleague but I have not had a chance to verify it with anyone else. I see no reason to doubt him; he seems quite reliable and is unlikely to make himself look like a chump by mentioning it otherwise. 

I have spoken to many people over the years of supernatural matters and most people seem to have a personal ghost story, even if they are reluctant to mention it initially for fear of looking like an idiot. We used to have friends who recounted a story involving an attic room and a door. I don't remember the exact circumstances but I do remember the conviction with which he recounted the story. This otherwise level headed couple were unshakably convinced it was a ghost and couldn't be swayed otherwise.

Dearly Beloved and I booked to go to to a hotel that purported to have ghosts. We were originally going there with my most excellent and northerly 

Brother and Sister in Law who believe in this kind of thing but they had to pull out which was a great disappointment; Dearly Beloved and I went anyway. The reported apparitions were a large black dog that appeared on the stairs and a woman who walked down another flight of stairs that no longer existed. They didn't make a big fuss about it at the hotel although the dog had been seen the previous week by a guest who had no idea the place was haunted. He wandered into the bar and casually enquired who owned the dog. The Woman hasn't been seen for a couple of years the staff told me. I didn't see any such spooks myself; I can't say I'm surprised. 

I have never had a definitive event to prove to myself one way or another although I did once have an experience that was quite strange. I was in army cadets at the time and we were running about in a forest on Army land when our unit came across what looked like a stately home set in a clearing. It had manicured lawns and a gravel driveway leading to large metal gates, the house itself was behind a 10 foot high surrounding wall. Our unit ran across the lawns and along the wall to the back of the house and back into the woods. I could feel the lawns soft and springy under my boots and starlight sky above was crystal clear. In the morning it became clear that there was no such house or clearing anywhere near our location. Our little party discussed it at the time and even afterwards when we were back home. In fact two persons who were there are recipients of this blog, my brother Gary and my oldest friend Simon, perhaps they could verify the story and prove I am not suffering from early-onset dementia. 

For me, the jury is still out although I have spoken to people who have had experiences who believe wholeheartedly. The is no reason why a ghost would want to haunt my place of work and all the theories explaining their existence seem like superstitious mumbo jumbo to me, but still, the stories persist despite our technological age of reason and they do say there is no smoke without fire.