What was I thinking when I bought this: Part X.

During a recent forage into the geological time warp that passes as 'my wardrobe', I came across a tie I used to wear. I can just about remember buying it (in Bromley?) as an ordinary tie for work and, I must admit, I could make this one of my most prized possessions: let's face it, ties this hideous aren't easy to find. Yes, you can buy lots of joke ties that are intentionally horrid, but what makes this thing so awesome is that someone designed it in the 70's-80's as a serious tie for men to wear to work, business meetings, weddings or whatever. And I paid good money for it and did just that.

When I saw it again (my Howard Carter moment), I knew I'd stumbled on something rare and worth keeping. Someday I'm sure one of my descendants will think the same.

Unfortunately (or should that be 'fortunately'?), the picture doesn't do the bright colours justice. The vibrant reds, oranges, pinks, yellows, golds and a few previously undescribed hues make a pattern so striking that .....it looks like someone has thrown up.

Also, it's so wide at the bottom that you could wear a midriff-exposing shirt and no one would notice. Ah, here's a thought: perhaps with my increasing paunch, I ought to start wearing it again?

A stitch in time.............

A kind reader asked me why I hadn't been blogging much this week. Well, the reason why not is on the left: I've had some surgery on my right hand. The dressing came off today to reveal the track of 14 stitches, which will be taken out next week.

 

I'd been treated for Dupuytren's Contracture, an inherited condition which causes contraction of a tendon in the palm of the hand, which in turn caused my ring finger to bend inwards. The surgeon corrected this with some judicious prodding around and removal of the affected connective tissue. The less-than-small incision was necessary so that he had plenty of room to avoid severing any nerves.

 

Where did it come from? It runs in the family - my father had it - and shows a higher incidence in people with Northern European antecedents. And that's why the condition is also known as "Viking Disease" or "Celtic Hand".

 

Based on my two criteria of success for this operation (coming around from the anaesthetic and having the same number of fingers I started with), it's all looking good. And get this stylish splint I've got to wear at night for the next couple of months: pretty cool, eh?

Now you see me...............

I know not what dredged up this long-forgotten episode from my childhood but I smiled when it flitted through my consciousness.

When I were but five or six, I was idly killing time by exploring my nan's dressing table in her bedroom when I came across a jar of Pond's Vanishing Cream. Having heard about the Invisible Man serial on our wireless, I liberally smeared it on all my visible parts and then went down to test it out. I was most disappointed when my nan and Aunty Phyll said "Hello Deri" and walked straight past me. Was I the only child to be taken in by this stuff?

'Tis the nightmare before Christmas........reprise.

Readers with a long memory will think this one is familiar. Yes, it is but I still feel exactly the same. It's that time of year again and I've just had my first instalment of the 2014 compilation of my second favourite podcast (the first is, of course, the Best Radio Show You Have Never Heard. Try it and let your musical joy be unbounded).

The season is approaching, folks, when we curmudgeons have lots to sound off about. And there's nothing that irritates us more than the annoying, tedious and repetitive Christmas jingles and tunes we are confronted with wherever we go. Yes, it's time to be assaulted yet again by an excruciatingly dippy version of “It’s A Jingly Jangly Jolly Holy Holly Santa Snowy Sleigh Ride” or some such. It really is snow joke (sorry). Once I hear Noddy Holder dementedly screeching 'It's Christmas!', I want to perforate my eardrums with a hot needle.

But I never do, of course, because not all Christmas songs are totally naff. Let Santa Parsons give you an early Xmas present and point you in the direction of some festive musical fun that will make you forget the tuneless turkeys. You might just find your heart filling up with Christmas joy if you follow the link to the podcast called The Yule Log from Hell.

It's a compilation that comes out at this time of year of 'alternative' Christmas songs: some straight, some completely off-the-wall, some politically incorrect, some plain awful, some you would definitely not want your mother to hear but all of them infinitely preferable to Wham, Slade, Wizzard and their like. Take a look below at a few of the songs featured and think where else you could find them. Why not download them all and entertain your friends and family to around 15 hours of festive glee? I have and I will - so, visitors to Colinette Barn (you know who you are!), you have been warned!

 

*  We Three Kings – Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
*  Away In A Manger – Snap-on Tools Male Chorus
*  The Bell That Couldn’t Jingle – Herb Alpert & the Tiajuana Brass
*  Merry F*&$ing Christmas – Denis Leary
*  I’m A Christmas Tree – Wild Man Fischer
*  Nutcracker – The Simpsons
*  Got a Cold in the Node for Christmas – Gayla Peevy

*  Xmas in February - Lou Reed (RIP 1942-2013)
*  Give Me a Second Chance for Christmas – Mike Viola & the Candy Butchers
*  Kidnap the sandy claws - Paul Rubens/Cathrine O'Hara/Danny Elfman

The difference a few megapixels make.

I like my (relatively) new camera. By modern DSLR standards it's quite modest but it's more than good enough for me. It happens to have the best sensor of any camera I have ever owned - packing a mighty 18 megapixels. I remember buying a 2 megapixel camera a few years ago and thinking "nobody could ever need more than that". I remember telling someone that wanting more than 5 megapixels was nothing but being greedy and exhibitionist. I remember hitting double megapixel figures with another purchase and thinking "that is more than enough for the rest of my life".  No doubt within the next few months I will be penning another blog post as I try out some new 50 megapixel camera (message to Mrs P if she reads this - no I won't, my camera buying days are behind me. But I'm always in the market for another lens!).

Boots back on again!

A mid-November 7 mile walk on the southern fringes of Bodmin Moor. A dry, reasonably clear, day but wet underfoot in places.

The route of the walk. The open spaces of Bodmin Moor are to the north. As the elevation profile shows we descended to the mid way point and then climbed steadily - but not too strenuous ly - back to our starting point.

Trees festooned with moss and ferns are not uncommon sights around here, indicative of the prevailing climate - mild and damp!

What were they thinking about when they renovated this cottage? Pink walls! Pink walls! In an area of granite?

And in the distance, about 5 miles away, basking under the sun is the Cheesewring.

Is it a stream or a footpath? Both!

Something that I've never come across before - a white frothy exudate on an old tree stump. A quick Google when we got back reveals it to be Bacterial Slime Flux, due to a bacterial 'infection' of the tree. The tree produces resin and carbon dioxide from the bacteria produces the froth. Odd.

Moss, haws and rain drops.

The tower of the church in St Cleer. A fairly common style of architecture around these parts and, according to the buildings expert we had with us, probably all built by the same people. The tower was visible for most of our walk.

OK, not uncommon in many parts of the country/world, but they are on our walks. Deer, of which there were three. I think this is only the second sighting we've made on all of our walks. That's not the say that deer are rare in these parts, they are quite common - but elusive.

I laughed like a drain.

Do you ever get a 'ping' moment when something just resonates with you? I do and one such was on a solo Saturday evening drive last week. I was tuned in to Radio 4's 'Loose Ends' and listened to an interview with Imtiaz Dharker. Who she? She was born in Pakistan, grew up a Muslim Calvinist in a Lahori household in Glasgow and eloped with a Hindu Indian to live in Bombay. That marriage finished and she married a Welshman, Simon Powell, who died in 2009. She is an accomplished pen and ink artist, poet and political documentary film-maker. With such a background, the interview was bound to be interesting and the 'ping' moment came when she read her poem 'I swear'. It's a love poem with a difference and I like it because the genuine affection comes through in the language and the modulation of her delivery. I did two things when I got home: I went on the BBC i-player and recorded the clip directly from the programme and I ordered the book in which the poem appears. The publicity blurb for the book, Over the Moon, says that "these are poems of joy and sadness, of mourning and celebration: poems about music and feet, church bells, beds, café tables, bad language and sudden silence". From what I've read so far, I agree, and it will a great collection to dip into.

Here's the recording, followed by the verses. Both to enjoy - or maybe they only 'ping' for me?



I Swear

Because I turned up from Bombay
too prissy to be rude

because you arrived via Leeds and Burnley
you thought it would do me good

to learn some Language. So

you never just fell, you went arse over tits,
and you were never not bothered
you just couldn't be arsed, and when
you  laughed you laughed like an effing drain
and when there was pain it was a pain
in the arse.

That was just the start: you taught me
all the Language you knew
right through the alphabet from a to z,
from first to last, from bad to worse and worser
and the very worst you could muster.

I learned the curses. I learned the curser.
So proper you looked in your nice shoes and suit
until you produced Language like magic
out of your mouth and I was impressed

and oh I fell for you arse over tits
and when I said so you laughed like a drain
and we blinded and swore like the daft buggers
we were, all the way down Clerkenwell
and all the way up on the train
to the Horseshoe Pass.

And I tell you, since you went it's a pain
in the arse, and when some days I feel like shit
or when I say that I feel flat, I swear
I hear you laugh like a drain.
Not just flat, Mrs, Flat as a witch's tit,
that's what you say. Flat

as a witch's tit.

Narcissism with a technological twist

Not wanting to resist the zeitgeist, I've been attempting to take some selfies to post on my blog. As you can see from the following, my early efforts have been less than impressive. It's actually more difficult than I thought to get a decent shot, until..................

..I came across this little gadget - the Selfie Stick. An amazing piece of technology, it's a must-have for any budding narcissist. You just clip your mobile phone into the clamp on the end and, using the Bluetooth control, click away to your heart's content.

And is it worth the modest outlay? With masterpieces like this, surely there can't be any doubt? I tremble when I think of the joy it's going to give me - and my blog readers.

Birds, a bee, a tree and a fern

Over the past two weeks we've been in Pembrokeshire, Monmouthshire, Gloucestershire, Kent and Cornwall (of course). Lots of photographs taken and a few of them are destined to become part of my regular screen-saver rota.

Just a robin taken in our garden. Unusually it's in focus despite being taken through a double-glazed window.

Another in-focus robin that went bob,bob bobbing by - in the grounds of Grosmont Castle in Monmouthshire.

A solitary turnstone at the northern end of New Gale beach near St David's.



I have been trying for ages to get a decent photograph of a buzzard and, lo and behold, here's one above our garden.



A black swan at Leeds Castle, Kent.

A rather late in the season female red-tailed bumble bee in the herb garden at Leeds Castle.

 A rather splendid oak tree near Goodrich Castle on the Wales/England border.

Part of a fern frond glistening in the sun somewhere unknown.

My late night listening................

Just a little taste of Lizzie Ball on violin in performance with Jeff Beck and Tal Wilkenfeld (on bass) playing Women of Ireland. It is a rather tasty bit of violin playing, and the other two aren't bad either!
Compare and contrast with an earlier version by The Chieftains recorded in the early 1970s. It's a haunting melody and ideal accompaniment for a late night editing session.

Mindfulness or is it mindlessness?

I was flipping through one of those free local magazines that these days drop through the letter box like 1960s Radio 1 DJs falling from grace, when I came across a page full of horrendous banalities of the kind that seem to be the twenty first century equivalent of the cry of the snake oil salesman. "You can become mindful at any time you like just by paying attention to your immediate experience and situation", or so the article said. "Research", although, as you might expect, the precise nature of which is not specified, "indicates that living in the moment can make people happier, because most negative thoughts concern the past or the future". The entire saccharine-fest is topped off with the following little aphorism:

I do apologise if anyone has had to read that having just consumed their breakfast, the words are enough to make anyone feel a little nauseous. I have obviously been living my life all wrong for the past sixty-odd years (and some of those years were very odd), believing that we should learn from the past and plan for the future. But no, the past and the future are steeped in negativity - let us all live for today and to hell with the consequences. I'm not impressed.