Thoughts and Opinions and Other Stuff

Here are some more of my thoughts and opinions.

You may disagree with some of my opinions, and that is your right (and I have no problem with that) even though you are wrong. Obviously, I try oh-so-very-hard not to appear too smug. Humility - I am an expert on humility - and my modesty knows no bounds, so if what you read here astounds you don't be too surprised - it surprises me, too, sometimes.

...Oh, yes, thoughts and opinions below:

Smart Phones and Test and Track Apps

This got me wondering whether I was either poor or elderly or both, as I do not possess a Smart phone.

But then I reasoned that, as I still have a number of years to wait until I can claim my State pension, I am probably not old (and probably won’t be ‘old’ even then). And if I were to go into a mobile phone shop (when it became open after lock-down) I could pay for an all-singing, all-dancing Smart phone without needing to apply for credit. I could stare the shop assistant in the eye and give him/her cold, hard cash (a bag of gold sovereigns, probably) and walk out of the shop with my shiny new Smart phone stuck in front of my nose. I wouldn’t need to use a credit card or arrange an overdraft facility or have a pay-day loan man banging on my front door with his Rottweiler in attendance. So I’m not poor. (I am not rich either, I hasten to add).

I choose not to have a Smart phone – in fact, I very rarely go about with my old, dumb mobile phone on me either. I have no desire to hold something in front of my eyes, whilst walking down the pavement with no idea of what is ahead of me or who is coming towards me. I do not need to stand blocking a supermarket aisle, talking loudly into my Smart phone, telling the person on the other end (Jeff) that I am in Tesco’s buying beans. And if I am not at home and really desperate to phone somebody, I can always make use of a telephone box. OK, so they may smell of wee and sometimes the receiver has been ripped out, but there is always my legs and another phone box further on - undamaged, if not un-micturated (it’s not in my Chambers’s dictionary, but that word appeals to me - something to do with The Big Lebowski).

So I think the BBC report should have ended at this would exclude people who do not have a Smart phone ...and left the rest unsaid.

Giant Pandas

The storyline for Chin A Panda came to me one night on a bus out of Nottingham. As I journeyed towards Eastwood (home of a writer slightly more well known than me), I saw a sign above a shop which seemed to say CHIN A PANDA (I had been drinking). I thought this seemed a little cruel but later realised that, as the shop was a Chinese takeaway, it had actually said CHINA PANDA (what a silly sausage!).

Therein lay the seeds of the story. A man; a panda; a fight. Who wins?

The storyline required a zoo with a panda, and a search of the internet showed me only one zoo in the UK with pandas - Edinburgh zoo with Tian Tian and Yang Guang. The story was written and appeared in my short story collection, THIS NEVER HAPPENED TOO (which is available on the Kobo Bookstore for less than the price of entry to a zoo).

Obviously, if the panda pair are returned to China my story becomes a little redundant. But that is the way of the world: someone invents the motorcar and the brooding master of Thornfield Hall, with his horse drawn carriage, become redundant…

But getting back to Tian Tian and Yang Guang...

• I don’t think zoos should exist;
• I don’t think people should make money from animals;
• Cruelty to animals is bad (never chin a panda);
• and I don’t think zoos should exist.

Book Review: Uncommon Type by Tom Hanks

The first thing you notice about this book is that it has a large number of reviews at the front of the book. Not just the usual four or five, but TWENTY FOUR reviews, all from people telling you how good this book is and what a clever writer this unknown person is (who just happens to be - gosh! - Tom Hanks, the much-loved, famous recipient of two Oscars for Best Actor).

So is the book any good? As good as these reviewers make out? Well, no. But it is not bad.

The stories are well-written, about a variety of subjects (mainly, what I would call, 'gentle Americana' - but what do I know about that?), but anyone picking up this book expecting a series of stories about typewriters will be disappointed: there are no alien typewriters from space which invade the Earth or an Olivetti with super-powers keeping the streets of New York free from crime; typewriters feature relatively briefly (click-clack).

The stand-out stories for me are Alan Bean Plus Four and Who's Who; the other stories are enjoyable. Whether this collection of short stories would have become an international best seller if they had been written by an unknown writer is another matter...

Zoom

Over the past year we have become used to seeing public figures being interviewed remotely via Zoom from the comfort of their own homes, and what has been been interesting for me is not what they were saying but what lay in the background.

An interview on Channel 4, regarding Covid-19, with an eminent virologist from Bristol University, revealed a dead mouse trapped in a mass of cobwebs in the top left corner of her study. Also, her cheese plant desperately needed re-potting.

Interviews with a number of minor celebrities showed their bookcases to hold a copy of their latest ghost-written autobiography – strangely facing front cover outwards, towards the webcam.

But the one image that most grabbed my attention was of a rare interview with the UK Prime Minister (regarding kippers or some such subject) from his flat above Number 11. On his bookcase, sandwiched between How To Make Friends And Influence People and The Idiot's Guide To Government was not one, not two, but three Noddy books by Enid Blyton.

And I thought: yes!

My Collection Of Female Authors' Books

Some years ago I took note of the authors in my book collection. The majority of them were British, a large number were American and there were a few that were of other places in the world.
Most of them were 'white'. All - except two authors - were men.

The two women in my collection of books were Andre Norton - a writer of fantasy books (the excellent Witch World series) and a short story collection by Fay Weldon - Watching Me, Watching You. When I was reading the Witch World books I wasn't aware that 'Andre' was a woman (there was no indication on the inside cover of the books, and this was before the advent of the internet from which you could discover many things about the world and people).
At that point I hadn't even read the Fay Weldon book (it was a birthday present).

I was a little shocked; I thought myself a fairly easy-going, liberated sort of person and yet my book collection reflected something 'constrained'. So I read the Fay Weldon book.
But I didn't like it...

A recent article in the arts section of the i-newspaper suggested that men should read more women writers, and - given my example - perhaps that should be so. But subsequent issues of this paper generally hold reviews of female writers' books - perhaps because there are more women writing than men, currently? Also, interviews of these female authors (what can you see from where you write? what are you reading at the moment? which book character do you identify yourself with the most? etc) usually ask them for their favourite authors - and these are invariably a list a female authors. So, I guess, it works both ways...

So perhaps I shouldn't be so shocked about my book collection.

Andre Norton has gone (cleared out some years ago when I was 'down-sizing' my book collection but Fay Weldon remains there. In fact I am reading her book at the moment (June 2022). And enjoying it...

...but that doesn't mean I'm going to pick up a Jane Austen anytime soon.

Bike Lights

Some years ago I used to cycle to the railway station as part of my journey to work. (See my Green Credentials for details.) During the later and earlier months of the year I would be setting off or returning after sunset, so bike lights were an essential part of my cycling equipment. Due to concerns about my safety, someone bought me a LEZYNE MiniDrive, which has one of the most powerful outputs for a small, not-overly-expensive front bike light. This front light is so bright they recommend that you point it slightly downwards (3 degrees) to prevent you from dazzling other road users.

The first morning I used it a car driver pulled out just in front of me, from a side road, nearly knocking me off my bike. About two weeks later a similar thing happened, at a different junction, on my way home...

Memories of Cropredy

I have just re-read Dave Pegg’s wonderful book, Off The Pegg, and it brought back some of my own memories of the Fairport Cropredy festival.

I actually pre-date the festival at Cropredy, because our family used to have some lovely holidays at the Baylis Brothers’ Bungalow Farm at Greatworth. My great uncle Bill, who lived at Middleton Cheney, suggested Cropredy as a place for my dad to take my brother fishing. On other later family holidays it was a place to have a drive out to.

A few years later my brother ‘got into’ Fairport’s music and influenced my musical tastes (Fairport, Bowie, Focus). We had a trip down to my mum’s caravan on the farm for one of the first Cropredy gigs. It was at Prescote Manor and I have vague memories of the day (Peggy saying ‘Hi’ as he passed us in the street beforehand; the new album Bonny Bunch Of Roses on show for sale; the manor house lights dimming, because of a power overload, before a generator kicked in).

I returned a couple of times in the following years, stopping at the caravan at the farm with some of my mates from school days. I have some memories of the concert (a fight briefly broke out), but how did we get back to the farm? We must have walked back with torches lighting our way in the dark (it must be all of ten miles along dark country lanes).

I went again with my brother in 2018. This time he drove down in his camper van and we stayed on site (how times have changed). The highlight for me was seeing Al Stewart (another of my brother’s musical influences).

One year (1980, 1981?) I went on my own – with my one man tent pitched up on the site. I travelled down by train and arrived at Cropredy by bus. It must have been a Saturday because I remember walking back into Banbury along the canal the following morning. At Banbury bus station there were a number of people queuing for the bus. Some were locals using the local service; the rest of us were travelling to the festival. The bus set off, stopping to drop off or pick up locals. Someone’s dog was wandering up and down the aisle. About four miles out of Banbury somebody got off but when the driver closed the door, the dog stood looking at it. The driver, noticing the dog, turned to the back of the bus and shouted, “Whose dog is this?” No one answered; it was no one’s dog. So he let the dog off - four miles out of Banbury...

I often wonder whether that dog ever found its way home.

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