Wednesday, 3 September 2008
Wednesday, 4 June 2008
Contemplating my leg-acy (pun intended...)
Good to be back - there's been some changes at Blogger apparently, and for some reason I've been locked out for a while.
So anyway, what's the pun about? Well, I was admiring Fred's legs. He's recently got into climbing at the local climbing wall, Alien Rock, and we were there a couple of weeks ago. I was taking it easy in the cafe, which is cunningly situated on 1st floor level (2nd floor, for our American cousins). This gave me a great view of Fred as he climbed up the wall right next to me.
And that's when I noticed what fine legs he has. I'm very proud of my own legs. They've served me well, especially when walking and cycling. They look good. They get me around the place. This is good, when you live in a place (such as Edinburgh) where you can get most places by walking.
So I'm really pleased Fred's inherited my legs - they seem to serve him well with the climbing, as mine did when I was his age.
Which leads me to think - there's all sorts of things you can hand down to the next generation. All sorts of ways of having an impact on the future. Our legacies are made up of myriad little things, and every single good thing you leave behind or pass on makes a difference.
Which is cool, because it means you don't have to do anything world-changing to change the world.
So anyway, what's the pun about? Well, I was admiring Fred's legs. He's recently got into climbing at the local climbing wall, Alien Rock, and we were there a couple of weeks ago. I was taking it easy in the cafe, which is cunningly situated on 1st floor level (2nd floor, for our American cousins). This gave me a great view of Fred as he climbed up the wall right next to me.
And that's when I noticed what fine legs he has. I'm very proud of my own legs. They've served me well, especially when walking and cycling. They look good. They get me around the place. This is good, when you live in a place (such as Edinburgh) where you can get most places by walking.
So I'm really pleased Fred's inherited my legs - they seem to serve him well with the climbing, as mine did when I was his age.
Which leads me to think - there's all sorts of things you can hand down to the next generation. All sorts of ways of having an impact on the future. Our legacies are made up of myriad little things, and every single good thing you leave behind or pass on makes a difference.
Which is cool, because it means you don't have to do anything world-changing to change the world.
Saturday, 10 May 2008
Insight and Irony
Picked up a great fauxtation the other day from Jamie McDonald, eminent coach and all-round lovely guy:
'Ironic, isn't it, that we can say we're afraid of our emotions?
Jamie is, I think it's fair to say, very sharp.
'Ironic, isn't it, that we can say we're afraid of our emotions?
Jamie is, I think it's fair to say, very sharp.
Friday, 9 May 2008
Withnail and... what?
I've just listened to The Reunion on Radio 4, bringing together some of the principal creators of the great, great film Withnail and I. Two things jumped out at me and really made me think, especially about the 60s. How British was the 60s? How English?
Richard E Grant spoke of Englishness and "the nobility of failure and permission to fail". Well, I loved that of course. Failure is very rich fertiliser for learning and the birth of new ideas. The British do culturally embrace failure, and I realised it's not about the vain, empty pompous gesture and the stiff upper lip, but about
Richard Griffiths (Uncle Monty in the film) pointed to Danny the dealer's great line at the end of the film - "We are 91 days from the end of the greatest decade in history, and there's going to be a lot of refugees." I'd never considered the great significance of the line before, but it's there in spades. There's been a decade of socio-cultural revolution; people have, up to this point, been able to know that they're actually IN the Sixties, the fabulous Swinging Sixties. By the same token, very soon they're going to be not in it any more. Where next for the revolutionaries, and for those who were displaced by the revolution? It's interesting that the very character who utters the line resurfaces in Wayne's World 2 to answer his own implicit question. (He by now is the world's greatest rock n roll tour manager.)
Richard E Grant spoke of Englishness and "the nobility of failure and permission to fail". Well, I loved that of course. Failure is very rich fertiliser for learning and the birth of new ideas. The British do culturally embrace failure, and I realised it's not about the vain, empty pompous gesture and the stiff upper lip, but about
Richard Griffiths (Uncle Monty in the film) pointed to Danny the dealer's great line at the end of the film - "We are 91 days from the end of the greatest decade in history, and there's going to be a lot of refugees." I'd never considered the great significance of the line before, but it's there in spades. There's been a decade of socio-cultural revolution; people have, up to this point, been able to know that they're actually IN the Sixties, the fabulous Swinging Sixties. By the same token, very soon they're going to be not in it any more. Where next for the revolutionaries, and for those who were displaced by the revolution? It's interesting that the very character who utters the line resurfaces in Wayne's World 2 to answer his own implicit question. (He by now is the world's greatest rock n roll tour manager.)
Wednesday, 7 May 2008
Lego Death Star animation...
If you've seen this already, you'll know it bears watching over and over; if not, you have to watch it. Eddie Izzard's sparklingly spontaneous and surreal monologuing meet Star Wars Lego on U-Tube. Not much more to say really...
Tuesday, 6 May 2008
Hurrah for ignorance!
I've had to admit to myself that I really don't know much - and actually, that's OK. In fact, it's better than that: there's something very liberating about being able to say 'I don't know,' and being happy and accepting and at peace about it. It's empowering - it paves the way for listening and learning. To quote Frank Herbert, 'If you understand, then you cannot learn. By saying you understand, you construct barriers.'
We're often called upon to have an opinion. 'How do you feel about...?' 'What's your view of...?' Politics, religion, the news, women, men, sport - the list is endless. Well, we know what we think, don't we? Nothing wrong with a healthy exchange of views. Actually what I notice myself doing sometimes is saying what I thought about it last time I thought about it. That could have been six years ago, but at least it gives me something coherent to say. After all, formulating opinions out loud would just look stupid, wouldn't it? Heaven forfend we might have an opinion that's wrong, or looks ill-considered.
So the danger is that the need to know stuff and to have an opinion actually prevents you thinking about things. Now that's REALLY silly. Ignorance is plainly a much higher state of being.
We're often called upon to have an opinion. 'How do you feel about...?' 'What's your view of...?' Politics, religion, the news, women, men, sport - the list is endless. Well, we know what we think, don't we? Nothing wrong with a healthy exchange of views. Actually what I notice myself doing sometimes is saying what I thought about it last time I thought about it. That could have been six years ago, but at least it gives me something coherent to say. After all, formulating opinions out loud would just look stupid, wouldn't it? Heaven forfend we might have an opinion that's wrong, or looks ill-considered.
So the danger is that the need to know stuff and to have an opinion actually prevents you thinking about things. Now that's REALLY silly. Ignorance is plainly a much higher state of being.
Wednesday, 23 April 2008
Family time
What a wonderful weekend I've just had!
I'm one of those people who's not the best at keeping in touch, especially with my family. This year though is an auspicious one for a favourit aunt and uncle of mine - 2008 sees her 65th, his 70th, and their 40th, if you follow me. So their kids felt, how could you let that go by without a surprise party? They organised an amazing bash of just such a secret nature, and people came from all over to converge on Yorkshire for the fun. (We made it with 30 seconds to spare, thanks to some slight trouble with lambing. But that's another story.)
It was so wonderful to see their faces when they were ushered into the village hall to see 90 of their nearest and dearest screaming "SURPRISE!" at the top of their lungs. A marvellous time was had by all; even Fred, whom professed to be bored most of the time, tried his first ever spring roll and was impressed. I got to have a whole weekend of catching up with my cousins, to whom I was very close when I was little. I stayed up chewing the fat and drinking calvados with my cousin Willie till 4am. Fred made friends with his second cousins. Kat and I made plans to come to Yorkshire regularly. And we discussed the fascinating business of our great-grandfather and our mysterious great-uncle.
I've come back feeling very warm.
I'm one of those people who's not the best at keeping in touch, especially with my family. This year though is an auspicious one for a favourit aunt and uncle of mine - 2008 sees her 65th, his 70th, and their 40th, if you follow me. So their kids felt, how could you let that go by without a surprise party? They organised an amazing bash of just such a secret nature, and people came from all over to converge on Yorkshire for the fun. (We made it with 30 seconds to spare, thanks to some slight trouble with lambing. But that's another story.)
It was so wonderful to see their faces when they were ushered into the village hall to see 90 of their nearest and dearest screaming "SURPRISE!" at the top of their lungs. A marvellous time was had by all; even Fred, whom professed to be bored most of the time, tried his first ever spring roll and was impressed. I got to have a whole weekend of catching up with my cousins, to whom I was very close when I was little. I stayed up chewing the fat and drinking calvados with my cousin Willie till 4am. Fred made friends with his second cousins. Kat and I made plans to come to Yorkshire regularly. And we discussed the fascinating business of our great-grandfather and our mysterious great-uncle.
I've come back feeling very warm.
Monday, 7 April 2008
A Grand Day Out
On Sunday Fred and I went for a good old roam around Arthur's Seat (central Edinburgh's main hill) with the year's first picnic (courtesy of Marks and Sparks) followed by a look at the Ansel Adams exhibition that's on at the moment. It was a fantastic combination, though I hadn't particularly planned it to be such.
Adams's amazing photos of the staggering landscapes of the American West had me rethinking the hike we'd just been on. Arthur's Seat isn't Monument Valley, but it's a big enough bit of volcanic pluggery that it has an awesome physical presence. Being outdoors is an important part of the physicality of a man. Rocks have a masculine energy. Strangely, it was the pictures of the outdoors rather than the walk itself that really brought this home to me. I mean, I've had those thoughts before; but it was a wonderful feeling to be reminded of them in such a way.
There again, maybe it was the other way round. Maybe the best way to look at pictures that have so vast a scope is to spend a couple of hours hiking around a big rock first.
Frankly, I don't care. It was a bloody good day out, with manliness and fatherhood content to boot.
Adams's amazing photos of the staggering landscapes of the American West had me rethinking the hike we'd just been on. Arthur's Seat isn't Monument Valley, but it's a big enough bit of volcanic pluggery that it has an awesome physical presence. Being outdoors is an important part of the physicality of a man. Rocks have a masculine energy. Strangely, it was the pictures of the outdoors rather than the walk itself that really brought this home to me. I mean, I've had those thoughts before; but it was a wonderful feeling to be reminded of them in such a way.
There again, maybe it was the other way round. Maybe the best way to look at pictures that have so vast a scope is to spend a couple of hours hiking around a big rock first.
Frankly, I don't care. It was a bloody good day out, with manliness and fatherhood content to boot.
Sunday, 6 April 2008
Mountain biking: the new skiing?
One of the things I do with my time is write articles for Bite magazine. I'm currently writing one concerning mountain biking for its soon-to-be-launched sister publication, Bite Life. While doing this, it suddenly struck me - is mountain biking about to become the new skiing?
They do have a lot in common, after all. Both began as very fringey, extreme outdoor sports, progressively becoming more diverse, popular and accessible. The skier and the mountain biker each get to go fast under a combination of their own steam and the assistance of gravity; so you get that marvellous melange of healthiness and danger.
One difference is that mountain biking is several decades younger than skiing. Already, though, there's an abundance of mountain biking holidays you can go on in Europe, America and elsewhere. And actually, living in Scotland, there's not so much need to get on a plane to do mountain biking. We're very well provided for here.
Perhaps the truth is that I've been pretending mountain biking's like skiing in that I don't get a lot of chance to do it. That's not true of course, but I've certainly not been taking the opportunity to do it. Which is daft, because when I do it, I love it. Especially if I do it often enough to ensure that I'm fit enough to get up the hills without too much suffering.
So I guess mountain biking needs instead to be the new jogging.
They do have a lot in common, after all. Both began as very fringey, extreme outdoor sports, progressively becoming more diverse, popular and accessible. The skier and the mountain biker each get to go fast under a combination of their own steam and the assistance of gravity; so you get that marvellous melange of healthiness and danger.
One difference is that mountain biking is several decades younger than skiing. Already, though, there's an abundance of mountain biking holidays you can go on in Europe, America and elsewhere. And actually, living in Scotland, there's not so much need to get on a plane to do mountain biking. We're very well provided for here.
Perhaps the truth is that I've been pretending mountain biking's like skiing in that I don't get a lot of chance to do it. That's not true of course, but I've certainly not been taking the opportunity to do it. Which is daft, because when I do it, I love it. Especially if I do it often enough to ensure that I'm fit enough to get up the hills without too much suffering.
So I guess mountain biking needs instead to be the new jogging.
Friday, 4 April 2008
Didn't we have a TV once?
Still no TV, and I have to say I've barely noticed. It's interesting that I used to think "How could I manage without a TV?" I mean, I really thought it would be a colossal struggle to cope without being able to watch a repeat of QI and a repeat of Men Behaving Badly per evening, plus a history documentary on the rare occasions that it's not about Nazis or the ancient Egyptians.
For once I'm not exaggerating for effect - that's pretty much my erstwhile TV diet. No addiction to soaps or any other genre. I don't like to waste money on buying DVDs since I'll only watch them a couple of times, yet also don't like to waste money on renting DVDs. I displayed constant disgruntlement with the monotony of what's repeated on the cable channels and the unsatisfactoriness of what's on the terrestrials. When some promising-looking new series came along you could trust me to forget its name, overlook it in the listings and never see it. I probably spent nearly the same amount of time scouring the listings for something worth watching as actually viewing. That's how keen I was to find an excuse for flopping sofa-wards and putting my brain and body into neutral.
And yet it's been so easy in a world without TV. What I'm left with is the thought that if it was so easy to let go of something that I seemed so terminally attached to, what else could I relinquish with amazing ease?
For once I'm not exaggerating for effect - that's pretty much my erstwhile TV diet. No addiction to soaps or any other genre. I don't like to waste money on buying DVDs since I'll only watch them a couple of times, yet also don't like to waste money on renting DVDs. I displayed constant disgruntlement with the monotony of what's repeated on the cable channels and the unsatisfactoriness of what's on the terrestrials. When some promising-looking new series came along you could trust me to forget its name, overlook it in the listings and never see it. I probably spent nearly the same amount of time scouring the listings for something worth watching as actually viewing. That's how keen I was to find an excuse for flopping sofa-wards and putting my brain and body into neutral.
And yet it's been so easy in a world without TV. What I'm left with is the thought that if it was so easy to let go of something that I seemed so terminally attached to, what else could I relinquish with amazing ease?
Thursday, 27 March 2008
The No TV Diet
My efforts at repairing it having proved in vain, the TV is now defunct. I suppose it could be repaired, but given that it was already past retirement age when I inherited it from my flat's previous owners five and a half years ago, I don't think it'd be worth it.
I have looked at replacements. Any excuse for a trip to John Lewis, after all. (John Lewis is the British equivalent of Tiffany's, in that nothing bad ever happens there. It's inconceivable.) I think I've even identified the set of choice. But then I cowered at the price tag, and thought of online ordering, which has provided a marvellous procrastination tool, since it'd take a couple of days to get here.
So we've had no telly for a week and a half. And I do believe I've stumbled on a potential new diet. With no TV, there's no slumping onto the sofa straight after dinner (or, indeed, to consume dinner). Instead I'm still active, getting stuff done. OK, it's not pounding the pavements, but it keeps the blood flowing. And I'm also barely drinking. Not only must this save a fair few calories, but they're saved at a time you shouldn't be intaking anyway because it's getting near bedtime. I'm losing count of the wins here, and I haven't even considered the possibility of Salsa classes, aerobics and the like.
So hurrah for the broken TV.
I have looked at replacements. Any excuse for a trip to John Lewis, after all. (John Lewis is the British equivalent of Tiffany's, in that nothing bad ever happens there. It's inconceivable.) I think I've even identified the set of choice. But then I cowered at the price tag, and thought of online ordering, which has provided a marvellous procrastination tool, since it'd take a couple of days to get here.
So we've had no telly for a week and a half. And I do believe I've stumbled on a potential new diet. With no TV, there's no slumping onto the sofa straight after dinner (or, indeed, to consume dinner). Instead I'm still active, getting stuff done. OK, it's not pounding the pavements, but it keeps the blood flowing. And I'm also barely drinking. Not only must this save a fair few calories, but they're saved at a time you shouldn't be intaking anyway because it's getting near bedtime. I'm losing count of the wins here, and I haven't even considered the possibility of Salsa classes, aerobics and the like.
So hurrah for the broken TV.
Saturday, 22 March 2008
Dadding and tools
Yesterday evening I set to trying to fix our TV, which seems to be dying. When I started out, intrepidly reaching for the tool box, I reckoned I was manfully defying our culture of built-in obsolescence and disposability. I was setting out to fix something that was trying to die on me and trap me into replacing it with something new, shiny, more up-to-date. Something flat. Something digital. (Actually, something capable of displaying the whole picture, now that everything seems to be being broadcast in widescreen. But I digress.)
As I dismantled the ailing beast though, I had to admit to myself that I had no idea what to do once I'd got the back off. I didn't know what I was looking for in the way of symptoms, and had no resources to call on if I did find something wrong. The closest I have to spare parts would be cartridge fuses, and even then only the ones that go into mains plugs.
In short, I wasn't doing this because I know how to fix TV sets, I was doing it because I know how to use a screwdriver.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is what it is to be a father.
As I dismantled the ailing beast though, I had to admit to myself that I had no idea what to do once I'd got the back off. I didn't know what I was looking for in the way of symptoms, and had no resources to call on if I did find something wrong. The closest I have to spare parts would be cartridge fuses, and even then only the ones that go into mains plugs.
In short, I wasn't doing this because I know how to fix TV sets, I was doing it because I know how to use a screwdriver.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is what it is to be a father.
Friday, 21 March 2008
Hello Facebook!
So I've finally put myself on Facebook, and immediately found myself back in contact with an old school friend. It's great to be in touch after 26 years! Certainly puts those years into a new perspective. No kidding.
She made an interesting comment, about being surprised to see me there. Interesting, because I kind of felt the same way. What was someone from my old school doing on Facebook? And then - why the hell WOULDN'T someone from my old school be there? It's not something you could describe as eclectic or obscure.
I realised that I have this notion in my head that all my contemporaries at school as belonging to the pre-computer/internet era. If I met any of them I'd probably be assuming unconsciously that they weren't particularly computer literate. This of course is no big deal. However, it does make me wonder what else I've been assuming about my erstwhile school mates. And all sorts of other people, come to that.
I'm looking forward to getting some more interesting revelations from being part of Facebook.
She made an interesting comment, about being surprised to see me there. Interesting, because I kind of felt the same way. What was someone from my old school doing on Facebook? And then - why the hell WOULDN'T someone from my old school be there? It's not something you could describe as eclectic or obscure.
I realised that I have this notion in my head that all my contemporaries at school as belonging to the pre-computer/internet era. If I met any of them I'd probably be assuming unconsciously that they weren't particularly computer literate. This of course is no big deal. However, it does make me wonder what else I've been assuming about my erstwhile school mates. And all sorts of other people, come to that.
I'm looking forward to getting some more interesting revelations from being part of Facebook.
Tuesday, 18 March 2008
Well, well, well...
Now I've got back to my pre-Christmas weight, I've been noticing some differences.
I've shed about 8 pounds, and am not yet pulling in my belt noticeably further than before. This isn't really a surprise; I'm expecting there to be quite a few more hours on the bike and less hours at the cheese board before that happens. But I have, as I say, noticed a couple of things, to my pleasant surprise.
One thing came to light the other day, as I was going up the stairs to our flat. We live three flights up, and hence often get observations from visitors along the lines of "I bet that keeps you fit!" To be honest, the stairs haven't been cutting the mustard in that department; though I must ascend 60 feet's worth every time I go home, unfitness has been steadily encroaching for some time. It's been over two years since I bounded up the stairs two at a time. Until last Saturday, that is! I suddenly noticed I was doing it just as I used to. The jeans may still be tight, but there's one triumph to mark up. Yay!
The other thing is even more unexpected. It's only in the past couple of years, in which I quit smoking and took up being happy and comfortable, that I've become sufficiently corpulent to generate belly button fluff. It never used to happen. And now, as if by magic, it's stopped happening.
It all goes to show you never know what the benefits are going to be.
I've shed about 8 pounds, and am not yet pulling in my belt noticeably further than before. This isn't really a surprise; I'm expecting there to be quite a few more hours on the bike and less hours at the cheese board before that happens. But I have, as I say, noticed a couple of things, to my pleasant surprise.
One thing came to light the other day, as I was going up the stairs to our flat. We live three flights up, and hence often get observations from visitors along the lines of "I bet that keeps you fit!" To be honest, the stairs haven't been cutting the mustard in that department; though I must ascend 60 feet's worth every time I go home, unfitness has been steadily encroaching for some time. It's been over two years since I bounded up the stairs two at a time. Until last Saturday, that is! I suddenly noticed I was doing it just as I used to. The jeans may still be tight, but there's one triumph to mark up. Yay!
The other thing is even more unexpected. It's only in the past couple of years, in which I quit smoking and took up being happy and comfortable, that I've become sufficiently corpulent to generate belly button fluff. It never used to happen. And now, as if by magic, it's stopped happening.
It all goes to show you never know what the benefits are going to be.
Friday, 14 March 2008
Learn, learn, learn
A client of mine recently said to me "Every day's a school day." I loved that - we learn till we die, and we're constantly surrounded by opportunities for learning. But of all things - learning in a 16-page business questionnaire? Yes folks, that's what I found today.
I hadn't realised it was such a biggie when I started filling it in, then as it dawned on me I started to get a little peeved. But then it was suddenly too late - I'd noticed that things were jumping out at me. The questions were highlighting things for me. It asked if I'd used resources a, b, c, d, e, f and g. I'd used a bit of d and maybe c a couple of times. I realised there are a lot of things out there I could be using which I'm not. One of the traps of being a solo business is thinking you have to do it all yourself. Actually, in lots of ways, there's loads of support out there.
That's the specific point. But zooming out, the real lesson is, you can learn something useful anytime, anywhere.
I hadn't realised it was such a biggie when I started filling it in, then as it dawned on me I started to get a little peeved. But then it was suddenly too late - I'd noticed that things were jumping out at me. The questions were highlighting things for me. It asked if I'd used resources a, b, c, d, e, f and g. I'd used a bit of d and maybe c a couple of times. I realised there are a lot of things out there I could be using which I'm not. One of the traps of being a solo business is thinking you have to do it all yourself. Actually, in lots of ways, there's loads of support out there.
That's the specific point. But zooming out, the real lesson is, you can learn something useful anytime, anywhere.
Tuesday, 11 March 2008
Fred goes west
A very special milestone in my son's development has been reached. At the age of eleven and a half, he has become a fan of spaghetti westerns. Last weekend we watched For a Few Dollars More (possibly my favourite of the original trilogy). As a colossal fan myself, needless to say I'm thrilled to be sharing this with him.
What's so cool about it, I ask myself? I think it's that I feel I've got stuff to contribute to him, in a way that I didn't before. Stuff that he'll enjoy after he has put away his childish things and grown up. In other words, I'm passing on things to the burgeoning man within him that's starting to emerge. It feels like I'm being more than a parent - I'm being a dad.
Feels gooood.
What's so cool about it, I ask myself? I think it's that I feel I've got stuff to contribute to him, in a way that I didn't before. Stuff that he'll enjoy after he has put away his childish things and grown up. In other words, I'm passing on things to the burgeoning man within him that's starting to emerge. It feels like I'm being more than a parent - I'm being a dad.
Feels gooood.
Saturday, 8 March 2008
Human Flying Squirrels!
I suppose it had to happen. Those crrrrazeee French base-jumping types have added a twist - a suit which allows the wearer to "fly" in the manner of, well, a flying squirrel before deploying their parachute. Have a look here for video proof!
Thursday, 6 March 2008
I'm 43!
It's my birthday!
What I notice as I veer into the next year of my life is that lately, noticing things is something I'm doing better. Particularly, I've been actively noticing things. I'm doing it with my efforts at weight loss - repeatedly getting on the new scales. Exercise, too - I've been using my new heart rate monitor, following a disciplined regime on the way to some semblance of fitness. You could call it choosing to look at things. Not just any old things, but things that amount to being steps towards something I want to reach.
The great thing is that it's quite the opposite experience from the childhood "Are we there yet?" sensation I expected. I thought I'd find it frustrating doing things bit by bit. Not at all. I'm loving watching these things steadily change, like the countryside with the seasons. Every tenth of a pound has been lovingly chiselled off, every slight improvement to how I handle my business admin gets appreciated.
The truth is, I'm on my way, and I'm enjoying the journey.
What I notice as I veer into the next year of my life is that lately, noticing things is something I'm doing better. Particularly, I've been actively noticing things. I'm doing it with my efforts at weight loss - repeatedly getting on the new scales. Exercise, too - I've been using my new heart rate monitor, following a disciplined regime on the way to some semblance of fitness. You could call it choosing to look at things. Not just any old things, but things that amount to being steps towards something I want to reach.
The great thing is that it's quite the opposite experience from the childhood "Are we there yet?" sensation I expected. I thought I'd find it frustrating doing things bit by bit. Not at all. I'm loving watching these things steadily change, like the countryside with the seasons. Every tenth of a pound has been lovingly chiselled off, every slight improvement to how I handle my business admin gets appreciated.
The truth is, I'm on my way, and I'm enjoying the journey.
Monday, 3 March 2008
Slimmer time
Last week I started a New Healthy Regime, after the doctor scared me by letting me know that at 14 stone 10 lbs, I'm nearly obese. A couple of days after that Fred was holding a ladder for me and observed that that made me technically too heavy for the ladder; that did it. The bike turbo trainer, which I've used twice previously in all the 14 years I've owned it, was pressed into service, along with the much more recently purchased yet similarly neglected heart rate monitor.
So this week I've cycled at a sustained cardio-vascular training type rate for a decent length of time nearly every day. I've made little change to my diet other than cutting out biscuits, which I was barely even aware of doing. And I've worked out how to make spreadsheet data display itself as a graph, just for the hell of it, so I could track the downward progress of my weight. As a result, I've lost 5 pounds in the first week. Yay! I'm now officially back at my post-Christmas weight.
Yes, I put on one pound over Christmas, and five over the period whose main culinary event is Burns Night.
So this week I've cycled at a sustained cardio-vascular training type rate for a decent length of time nearly every day. I've made little change to my diet other than cutting out biscuits, which I was barely even aware of doing. And I've worked out how to make spreadsheet data display itself as a graph, just for the hell of it, so I could track the downward progress of my weight. As a result, I've lost 5 pounds in the first week. Yay! I'm now officially back at my post-Christmas weight.
Yes, I put on one pound over Christmas, and five over the period whose main culinary event is Burns Night.
Sunday, 2 March 2008
Spreading the love
Yesterday I went for a bike ride up Corstorphine Hill, a good spot nearby for a bit of a play around in the woods (on bikes, at least). I've been going there for years; there's always a lot of fun to be had, and you get a wonderful sense of the seasons changing there.
As usual, I grunted up the climb to the wood and took a rest at this bench at the top:
which has this fantastic view towards Edinburgh:
Stopping at this bench is a special part of the ride for me, because it's one of those ones that's been placed by someone as a memorial - in this case, by two sons for their father:
'In memory of Richard Vanhagen
1902-1987
"He Loved Life"
Erected by his loving sons'
Thing is, I was one sitting on the bench doing my stretches and this old chap came by. We got chatting; he was visiting from South Africa. He turned out to be one of the sons who'd dedicated the bench. He plainly loved life as much as his father had, and was very pleased to see me enjoying it on their bench. It didn't bother him that at that time cycling was forbidden there. It was quite moving to think of how one man's love of life can so simply spread out and pass itself on through a bench to complete strangers.
So I always stop and think of the Vanhagens when I'm there, and how easy it can be to make a difference.
As usual, I grunted up the climb to the wood and took a rest at this bench at the top:
which has this fantastic view towards Edinburgh:
Stopping at this bench is a special part of the ride for me, because it's one of those ones that's been placed by someone as a memorial - in this case, by two sons for their father:
'In memory of Richard Vanhagen
1902-1987
"He Loved Life"
Erected by his loving sons'
Thing is, I was one sitting on the bench doing my stretches and this old chap came by. We got chatting; he was visiting from South Africa. He turned out to be one of the sons who'd dedicated the bench. He plainly loved life as much as his father had, and was very pleased to see me enjoying it on their bench. It didn't bother him that at that time cycling was forbidden there. It was quite moving to think of how one man's love of life can so simply spread out and pass itself on through a bench to complete strangers.
So I always stop and think of the Vanhagens when I'm there, and how easy it can be to make a difference.
Friday, 29 February 2008
Prince consorting with commies shocker!
So Prince Harry's being withdrawn from Afghanistan, after last night's leak that he was there on the front line. Top brass in the army, I heard on the Radio 4 News, took this decision after considering "the implications for the prince and his comrades."
The prince and his comrades? Excuse me? Princes don't have "comrades", surely. Not after what Comrade Lenin's comrades did to Harry's late relative and last Tsar of the Russias, Nicholas II.
Harry's apparently referred to his active service as "mucking in with the lads". This use of language I think we can consider just about acceptable. Embarrassingly hearty, yes, redolent of condescension, certainly. But the prince is young. Moreover, royalty-hating communists don't call each other "lads". At least not when they're on duty, as it were.
And while Harry, being royal, is certainly some sort of national institution, he's not the same sort as the BBC. Paradoxically, the BBC is more of a guardian of the Queen's English than her own grandson; he doesn't write the news for a living, though he may occasionally be quoted in it. So get it together, Auntie Beeb.
Though, to be fair, I can't see anyone referring to soldiers as "colleagues"...
The prince and his comrades? Excuse me? Princes don't have "comrades", surely. Not after what Comrade Lenin's comrades did to Harry's late relative and last Tsar of the Russias, Nicholas II.
Harry's apparently referred to his active service as "mucking in with the lads". This use of language I think we can consider just about acceptable. Embarrassingly hearty, yes, redolent of condescension, certainly. But the prince is young. Moreover, royalty-hating communists don't call each other "lads". At least not when they're on duty, as it were.
And while Harry, being royal, is certainly some sort of national institution, he's not the same sort as the BBC. Paradoxically, the BBC is more of a guardian of the Queen's English than her own grandson; he doesn't write the news for a living, though he may occasionally be quoted in it. So get it together, Auntie Beeb.
Though, to be fair, I can't see anyone referring to soldiers as "colleagues"...
Wednesday, 27 February 2008
Wisdom of the Shagwells
One thing that's always nice to have is another way to justify watching Austin Powers films. Here's one to add to the list. It's a quotation from the second one, The Spy Who Shagged Me, which is possibly my favourite of the three. After much capering around and travelling through time chasing Dr Evil so Austin can get his mojo back, Felicity Shagwell says
"You can look for your mojo, but maybe what you were looking for was always there inside."
Wise words indeed.
"You can look for your mojo, but maybe what you were looking for was always there inside."
Wise words indeed.
Tuesday, 26 February 2008
Feet of Carbon - begone!
Here's a cool thingy - go here and discover what your own personal carbon footprint is. It's brought to you courtesy of global trees.
The great thing about this site is that it gives you a way actually to do something about it. Find out your carbon footprint, and donate accordingly to have them plant the trees you need. It's cheap, because they're doing the decent thing and working as a charity instead of turning a fat profit from global warming. 95% of your donation goes directly into offsetting your carbon.
I generate 39 trees worth (and I don't have a car or do that much flying around). How about you?
The great thing about this site is that it gives you a way actually to do something about it. Find out your carbon footprint, and donate accordingly to have them plant the trees you need. It's cheap, because they're doing the decent thing and working as a charity instead of turning a fat profit from global warming. 95% of your donation goes directly into offsetting your carbon.
I generate 39 trees worth (and I don't have a car or do that much flying around). How about you?
Local offices for local MPs!
How MPs deal with their financial matters and running their offices was in the news today, and something grabbed me. Some member of the government was explaining that currently MPs run their own offices, employ their own staff etc. As he put it, it's rather like they run them like individual small businesses. He felt that if the running of MPs' offices were instead centralised, this would achieve the professionalism and efficiency that people expect from modern Human Resources practices.
It seems to me that he completely misunderstands small businesses. (Or perhaps he misunderstands big businesses.) Small businesses are fantastic. They're run on passion and commitment and individuality and personality. People like to interact with them. They feel intimate, in contrast to the perceived soullessness of monolithic big businesses. They're in touch with their locality - they're a part of it.
Isn't that what the constituency office of a politician - someone who's been elected by the community to represent and serve it - should be like?
It seems to me that he completely misunderstands small businesses. (Or perhaps he misunderstands big businesses.) Small businesses are fantastic. They're run on passion and commitment and individuality and personality. People like to interact with them. They feel intimate, in contrast to the perceived soullessness of monolithic big businesses. They're in touch with their locality - they're a part of it.
Isn't that what the constituency office of a politician - someone who's been elected by the community to represent and serve it - should be like?
Saturday, 23 February 2008
Whose turn is it anyway?
Just been watching Postcards From The Edge, and a line jumped out at me. Meryl Streep plays an actress struggling with her career, drugs, and her mother (played by Shirley McLaine), who has a very successful showbiz career of her own behind her. No pressure, right? It's from the semi-autobiographical book by Carrie Fisher, whose mother of course was actress Debbie Reynolds.
The line that got me was when McLaine's character says, "I guess I'm jealous that it's your turn now." I'm no movie star, and neither is Fred yet, but nevertheless that sounded pretty close to home. As parents we have to hand on the baton to our kids - maybe you could say there's a whole host of batons. The agony and the ecstasy of parenting. I find the difficult bits of being a dad are so often about that passing on of some crumb of responsibility. I really want him to have it, but what if he's not ready? Will he drop it? Will he hurt himself? What will everyone think of me if it all goes wrong? What will I think of me?
Oh, and let's not forget all my stuff about what he ought to do with his opportunities. That's where the jealousy kicks in. I mean, if he's getting all these chances to open things up in his life, isn't there a parallel process of possibilities shutting down for me, one generation ahead?
Well, no. There's also a wonderful scene in Postcards From The Edge where the mother throws a party for the daughter. During it, she sings a song to piano accompaniment, and really makes a fabulous number out of it. She belts out the song, she flirts with her audience, she flashes her legs. All eyes are on her even though it's the daughter's party, and given the tense mother-daughter relationship, a fight could well ensue. But instead, Ms Streep's character's face is full of nothing but love and admiration. Her mother's sharing, and she's loving it.
Which all raises the question - what if it were always everyone's turn?
The line that got me was when McLaine's character says, "I guess I'm jealous that it's your turn now." I'm no movie star, and neither is Fred yet, but nevertheless that sounded pretty close to home. As parents we have to hand on the baton to our kids - maybe you could say there's a whole host of batons. The agony and the ecstasy of parenting. I find the difficult bits of being a dad are so often about that passing on of some crumb of responsibility. I really want him to have it, but what if he's not ready? Will he drop it? Will he hurt himself? What will everyone think of me if it all goes wrong? What will I think of me?
Oh, and let's not forget all my stuff about what he ought to do with his opportunities. That's where the jealousy kicks in. I mean, if he's getting all these chances to open things up in his life, isn't there a parallel process of possibilities shutting down for me, one generation ahead?
Well, no. There's also a wonderful scene in Postcards From The Edge where the mother throws a party for the daughter. During it, she sings a song to piano accompaniment, and really makes a fabulous number out of it. She belts out the song, she flirts with her audience, she flashes her legs. All eyes are on her even though it's the daughter's party, and given the tense mother-daughter relationship, a fight could well ensue. But instead, Ms Streep's character's face is full of nothing but love and admiration. Her mother's sharing, and she's loving it.
Which all raises the question - what if it were always everyone's turn?
Friday, 22 February 2008
Why am I here (2)?
The funny thing about my checking out of the monologue is that actually, I really did make a big step with my Dad. For quite some time there was one specific thing I was stuck with, a question I wanted to ask him. In his excellent book "Manhood", child psychologist Steve Biddulph recommends every man to get his father alone and ask him what it was like for him growing up.
A simple question, but I was having a lot of difficulty asking it. (Hence the embarrassment, I guess.) I came up with some great excuses - getting him to talk about his past would be like pulling teeth, he just wouldn't get it, he wouldn't have anything to say for himself anyway, and I'd never be able to get him away from my stepmother in the first place. So I never even raised the question of raising the question.
Until I did, one weekend last November. I just asked him if he wanted to have lunch, just the two of us. And hey, he said yes. We lunched, we talked. He told me about his childhood, growing up having adventures in the Lake District during the war. He told me about the places the family went for Sunday lunches, and how his dad took him to work with him in the school holidays. We talked of other things too. Dad had been doing some digging around into the family tree. We've known for some time that his grandfather was from Barden Towers - now it turns out the Listers have been there for at least a thousand years. He's also discovered that the Listers of Barden Towers are mentioned in an account of the Battle of Flodden in 1513. Looks like I'm not the only history geek in the family after all.
What I discovered, in a scales-falling-from-eyes sort of a way, was that there's so much of me in him. We've got so much in common. I always knew he's an outdoorsy sort, like me. But what I saw that day was that what we share is not just an appreciation of the outdoors. It's something deeper, more innocent and joyful; a relish for the spirit of discovery and adventure it represents.
All from one simple question. Guys out there, I urge you to do the same.
A simple question, but I was having a lot of difficulty asking it. (Hence the embarrassment, I guess.) I came up with some great excuses - getting him to talk about his past would be like pulling teeth, he just wouldn't get it, he wouldn't have anything to say for himself anyway, and I'd never be able to get him away from my stepmother in the first place. So I never even raised the question of raising the question.
Until I did, one weekend last November. I just asked him if he wanted to have lunch, just the two of us. And hey, he said yes. We lunched, we talked. He told me about his childhood, growing up having adventures in the Lake District during the war. He told me about the places the family went for Sunday lunches, and how his dad took him to work with him in the school holidays. We talked of other things too. Dad had been doing some digging around into the family tree. We've known for some time that his grandfather was from Barden Towers - now it turns out the Listers have been there for at least a thousand years. He's also discovered that the Listers of Barden Towers are mentioned in an account of the Battle of Flodden in 1513. Looks like I'm not the only history geek in the family after all.
What I discovered, in a scales-falling-from-eyes sort of a way, was that there's so much of me in him. We've got so much in common. I always knew he's an outdoorsy sort, like me. But what I saw that day was that what we share is not just an appreciation of the outdoors. It's something deeper, more innocent and joyful; a relish for the spirit of discovery and adventure it represents.
All from one simple question. Guys out there, I urge you to do the same.
Thursday, 21 February 2008
What the Lister saw...
I've discovered I'm really good at sawing!
There's been some DIY going on chez Mark. Shelves, yes, flatpack assembly items, of course. Naturally, the proper jobs requiring real expertise, like plumbing and hanging wallpaper, have been taken care of by people who know what they're doing. GSI, as my friend Ian calls it, or Get Someone In. Today the final step - the carpet was laid, by a couple of very nice chaps from John Lewis.
Trouble was, they had to take the door off to make room for the thickness of the carpet. It would have to be planed down before rehanging, which would require a new appointment. "Needs half an inch taking off the bottom. Cost a hundred quid just to come out. You'd be better off buying one of those mechanical planing machines," said the carpet guy. "Unless you're really good at sawing."
So I got my saw out. And did a flawless and most enjoyable job. I've only just found out, but I'm very good at it. I found out by listening to the various tradesmen who've been hanging out here lately. All very good at what they've been doing, but to a man they admit defeat when it comes to clean, accurate sawing. The trick is to let the saw do the work - don't try to force it. That makes it a lot easier, and it goes really straight. I had thought that everyone knew that, and I was an average sawer - but no. I have the knowledge, the patience and the lightness of touch to take a dead straight sliver off the bottom of the door and rehang it even better than it was before. Yay!
Just goes to show - sometimes you don't know how great you are.
There's been some DIY going on chez Mark. Shelves, yes, flatpack assembly items, of course. Naturally, the proper jobs requiring real expertise, like plumbing and hanging wallpaper, have been taken care of by people who know what they're doing. GSI, as my friend Ian calls it, or Get Someone In. Today the final step - the carpet was laid, by a couple of very nice chaps from John Lewis.
Trouble was, they had to take the door off to make room for the thickness of the carpet. It would have to be planed down before rehanging, which would require a new appointment. "Needs half an inch taking off the bottom. Cost a hundred quid just to come out. You'd be better off buying one of those mechanical planing machines," said the carpet guy. "Unless you're really good at sawing."
So I got my saw out. And did a flawless and most enjoyable job. I've only just found out, but I'm very good at it. I found out by listening to the various tradesmen who've been hanging out here lately. All very good at what they've been doing, but to a man they admit defeat when it comes to clean, accurate sawing. The trick is to let the saw do the work - don't try to force it. That makes it a lot easier, and it goes really straight. I had thought that everyone knew that, and I was an average sawer - but no. I have the knowledge, the patience and the lightness of touch to take a dead straight sliver off the bottom of the door and rehang it even better than it was before. Yay!
Just goes to show - sometimes you don't know how great you are.
Wednesday, 20 February 2008
Why am I here (1)?
One thing that kept me away from Father of the Man recently was a bit of an existential credit crunch. Thing is, I got to thinking "This is supposed to be about being a bloke, and particularly about my efforts to have a stronger relationship with my Dad. It's not really going that way though. I'll pack it in."
(Subtext: I'm not really doing anything about my relationship with my father. By now, people might be noticing. Perhaps I'd better just shut up before it gets really embarrassing.)
But I guess there are plenty of things we could talk about besides me and my Dad. Oddly interesting things on Radio 4, things that occur and strike me as being worthy of note. Cool stuff. In fact, we've been doing that anyway - maybe I could just accept it and enjoy it! And perhaps Dad and / or Certain Guy Issues might crop up along the way. Or not.
So today I'd like to trumpet Katherine's extraordinary homemade muesli, which includes brazils, pumpkin seeds, almonds and sunflower seeds. Nutrition a-gogo, and definitely cool stuff. Except we're currently enjoying it with a wintery, Scottish twist, and making it an ingredient of porridge. No salt, no sugar, just oats and muesli, garnished with honey or raspberry jam. Delicious-nutritious.
It's not stopping me shovelling in the biscuits, but at least now I feel I'm not leaving out essential minerals and vitamins.
(Subtext: I'm not really doing anything about my relationship with my father. By now, people might be noticing. Perhaps I'd better just shut up before it gets really embarrassing.)
But I guess there are plenty of things we could talk about besides me and my Dad. Oddly interesting things on Radio 4, things that occur and strike me as being worthy of note. Cool stuff. In fact, we've been doing that anyway - maybe I could just accept it and enjoy it! And perhaps Dad and / or Certain Guy Issues might crop up along the way. Or not.
So today I'd like to trumpet Katherine's extraordinary homemade muesli, which includes brazils, pumpkin seeds, almonds and sunflower seeds. Nutrition a-gogo, and definitely cool stuff. Except we're currently enjoying it with a wintery, Scottish twist, and making it an ingredient of porridge. No salt, no sugar, just oats and muesli, garnished with honey or raspberry jam. Delicious-nutritious.
It's not stopping me shovelling in the biscuits, but at least now I feel I'm not leaving out essential minerals and vitamins.
Monday, 18 February 2008
Back again!
I've been off the radar, and people have been saying so. That makes me feel appreciated! So I'm back.
The business of re-blogging after an absence feels like it demands something. Should I explain and / or apologise for my absence? Should I make a virtual song and dance, make a speech? Should I make some sort of attempt to recap on what's happened since I last posted?
Well, explanations and recapping somehow don't seem that relevant really. I'm noticing that one of the great things about blogging for me is what an in-the-present process it is. Old news doesn't belong here, just current thoughts.
So, what am I thinking right now, as I get back on the field? Father Of The Man is interesting. It's interesting to do, and for some, interesting to read. What else does one need?
On reflection, that did feel like making a speech. But that's what I'm here for.
The business of re-blogging after an absence feels like it demands something. Should I explain and / or apologise for my absence? Should I make a virtual song and dance, make a speech? Should I make some sort of attempt to recap on what's happened since I last posted?
Well, explanations and recapping somehow don't seem that relevant really. I'm noticing that one of the great things about blogging for me is what an in-the-present process it is. Old news doesn't belong here, just current thoughts.
So, what am I thinking right now, as I get back on the field? Father Of The Man is interesting. It's interesting to do, and for some, interesting to read. What else does one need?
On reflection, that did feel like making a speech. But that's what I'm here for.
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