originally published on February 1st, 2007 I went to the doctor about two unrelated issues. The upshot was, no action or prescription. But I came out of there a new man, with a spring in my step etc, which lasted at least two hours. All week I'd been dreading it: the inevitable physical examination and… Continue reading a Shot at Redemption
Tag: interesting pictures
Yes Dear
retrieved from a post published elsewhere on October 20th, 2016 In my last I mentioned “a post in preparation, called ‘Just Words’, but it may take several days, or forever.” All very well but there is real life to be lived, can’t leave this hanging & festering like a debt with mounting interest due. “Just… Continue reading Yes Dear
On Fresh Air Alone
Previously published on January 5th, 2015, a favourite reminiscence from my days working for Notts.* County Council , as described in this post If you want to go somewhere and enjoy an undisturbed smoke I suggest the Nineteen-Fifties. If you were actually around at the time, it’s no problem—wings of memory will take you and… Continue reading On Fresh Air Alone
Spaces
Written on June 19th 2019 but apparently not published. We 'd been staying a few days in a rented flat, not far from these sights. As I lay awake this morning before getting up, a great procession of thoughts came to visit me. Thoughts? I'm not sure what a thought is. They were dwelling-places of… Continue reading Spaces
The Story of Tools
I got this little volume of 44 pages from a book sale in West Wycombe Village Hall, many years ago. It's plain to see that it was specifically designed to help educate members of the Young Communist League appreciate the advantages of collectivism—as against the deadly enemy, Capitalism. Good for them, I say. This may… Continue reading The Story of Tools
Cause for Aala m?…
...or at least the first tear after appealing to a tribunal. It's a shame there are tears at tribunal appeals. It may be the prospect of multiple tiers in a long-winded legal process They seem to be in business (a) to ease the flow of would-be immigrants (b) to intervene in extraditions (c) to encourage… Continue reading Cause for Aala m?…
Joy without a cause
previously published on November 17th, 2020 Inspired by G.K. Chesterton's Ballad of the White Horse and recently recalled by Malcolm Guite: . . . it is not the first time that this poem has come to life again when England was in crisis. Chesterton saw that a renewal of the vision of joy and humility,… Continue reading Joy without a cause
Hymn of the Cherubim
Written in November 2018, never before published on Wayfarer's Notes https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SZQzW_QfPew Natalie was asking readers if they could identify the old-master original of one of the drawings she found in her papers from years ago: I spent an hour or two on this quest without success. At some point, I stumbled upon the piece by… Continue reading Hymn of the Cherubim
The Pen is Mightier than the Sword
In 1954, my mother married my stepfather Septimus Charlton. He wanted to give a present to his new father-in-law, Vincent Ward, from whom I get my name. Impressed by the coat of arms, he used the design to make a 3d model in Perspex sheets, using available colours. My sister keeps it as an heirloom.… Continue reading The Pen is Mightier than the Sword
Me and the Little Rock Nine
Another post to republish, written in March 2013, and relating to my life in 1958, aware of a momentous event in American history Now that my 16th birthday’s out of the way—it’s become a family event, this year bigger than last—the most exciting thing going on in my life is Winter’s retreat and Spring’s approach:… Continue reading Me and the Little Rock Nine
Modest Ambitions
Originally published on Thursday, September 28, 2006 on perpetual-lab.blogspot.com via the Wayback Machine I mentioned the other day wanting to blog less and write a book instead. Books are real enduring literature, I told myself. I’d have more readers than now. In a book the reader’s attention is engaged for longer so the impact will… Continue reading Modest Ambitions
My first real job
previously published on 1st December '22 after a lunch in the ancient Cookham pub Bel and the Dragon, see pics below After I graduated in 1963, I supported myself with various jobs, including selling ice cream in Butlins in Clacton that summer. When I got married, (to Gail as mentioned in the above post) I… Continue reading My first real job
Visit to Dalkey in 2014
"The James Joyce Tower and Museum is a Martello tower in Sandycove, Dublin, where James Joyce spent six nights in 1904.[1] The opening scenes of his 1922 novel Ulysses take place here, and the tower is a place of pilgrimage for Joyce enthusiasts, especially on Bloomsday. Admission is free. The novel starts like this: "Stately,… Continue reading Visit to Dalkey in 2014
Greenhayes Across the Years
Mark at 13; a language student. my half-sister Mary at 7 — Is it legal to take stones from the massive deposits lying around the mountains? If it is illegal then who should I contact to collect said stones? — No, it would technically be theft—you'd need to ask the landowner for permission Originally Snowdon… Continue reading Greenhayes Across the Years
Escaping from a Festival
We're a bunch of old friends from University days, on our way to somewhere in Wales, in an old Land Rover. Without our copy of The Readers Digest Book of Roads (400 pages), cross-referenced to signposts, we'd have had no chance. Our route takes us up hill and down dale, in a maze of narrow… Continue reading Escaping from a Festival
A call from “Alma Mater”
Last night I got a call from a bright young woman in the Alumni department, clearly a student volunteer. They ring from time to time to see if you can donate to their charity in aid of disadvantaged students from overseas. this is from their website https://www.birmingham.ac.uk/ : Birmingham is a truly global university producing… Continue reading A call from “Alma Mater”
The Blues
Back in '65 I acquired a battered and rusty National guitar, gift of a friend who also gave me various cassettes copied from LPs, including Alabama Blues by JB Lenoir. The only thing I learned to play was Big Leg Blues, by Muddy Waters. I never got beyond the first line, couldn't play the chords.… Continue reading The Blues
Housewifery
HOUSEWIFERY is the efficient running of a house, and embraces problems of widely different natures. It includes the problem of running the house economically, seeing that the money available is spent to the best purpose. It includes keeping the house clean, for cleanliness and hygiene are the basis of healthy living. It includes a knowledge… Continue reading Housewifery
Life-story part 2
I looked again at this post today, it's not good enough, nobody will follow its intricacies, & nobody but I will care. Will try to make it more readable. Consider it as under refurbishment. "My father died in the war," I used to say, "so I never met him." It wasn't true but I wasn't… Continue reading Life-story part 2
Life-story, part 1
I want to tell the story of my entire life up to the present: the bare-bones series of events, with no fanciful embroidery. Let it be like a series of chess moves without the expert commentary. Let it be like a dispassionate ship's log. Let the facts tell their own story. As far as possible,… Continue reading Life-story, part 1
When the Past Haunts the Night
Lighten our darkness, we beseech thee, O Lord; and by thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night ... I find myself surprised to discover that the boarding school* I was so glad to leave in 1954 is actually still open for business, run by the same headmaster and his… Continue reading When the Past Haunts the Night
Eleventh Child
I woke in the night after a dream, went downstairs to jot it down in the great leatherbound book from Margaret in Canada; then went back to bed and slept again. On awakening once more in the morning, I jotted down another dream. I tried to polish up the drafts into something coherent, but it… Continue reading Eleventh Child
The Exchange of Gifts
As Dr Johnson put it: Depend upon it, Sir, when a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully. Even a personal health scare, when you don’t really know what’s going on, does concentrate the mind to an extent, till you decide that it’s going to be all… Continue reading The Exchange of Gifts
How everything fits together
Things fit together, said I. That’s what they are supposed to do, said Karleen. If only we have faith, said I—in the right things, of course. We were having our morning tea in bed while doing the cryptic crossword, where things always fit together, if you puzzle over them enough. The clues fit the answers… Continue reading How everything fits together
John o’Saturn meets women from Earth
Written in 2002 for La Lettre Powysienne, a periodical edited by Jacqueline Peltier How many autobiographies have been written in which the author fails to mention his own mother? One at least: and in this instance he goes further and omits from his narrative any reference to his five sisters and two wives. If I… Continue reading John o’Saturn meets women from Earth
Kindness (audio podcast)
click to to access the podcast transcript … I don’t know why, but the pain and the weariness started first thing Sunday morning, February 5th and here it is today, on the 23rd. I don’t even know what. At first, when I was told it was diverticulitis, I took the antibiotic and thought it was… Continue reading Kindness (audio podcast)
Just pix
impromptu pose
Four Weddings and a Funeral
We managed to make it to his last show yesterday, but not to any of his weddings. That’s him on the left when he came to ours. We didn’t know him well but his acts of kindness were unforgettable. Often it’s the way of things that you don’t find out what a person is till… Continue reading Four Weddings and a Funeral
If I had stayed in Cowes
We took a short day-trip to The Island. I went to live there aged 12 and left at 18, so it speaks to me in tones of a golden hue, of all that I did there—and didn’t. Especially in Cowes, East and West, where I lived first. It remains much as it was sixty years… Continue reading If I had stayed in Cowes
Living in a body
In my last I described how a stranger’s eyes met mine in the street. I imagined that his glance said “My soul soars, but I’m stuck in this body.” I don’t claim the power to discern a person’s thought from his silent face. More likely, the thought had lain dormant in me for a while,… Continue reading Living in a body
Brexit dream 2
Yesterday I succumbed to a feeling of exhaustion, after the strain of the last few days, which got to me in spite of trying to detach from it, for I knew that the situation was not mine to untangle. So after breakfast I went back to bed and succumbed to a blessed emptiness. After a… Continue reading Brexit dream 2
Brexit dream 3
I dreamt about Clive again, along with two other friends. We’ve been on a trip to Brussels (as I did with school friends in ’58): the headquarters of the European Union. Now it’s time to go back. Our Metro train has just arrived at Brussels Midi, the terminus for the Eurostar train to London. You… Continue reading Brexit dream 3
England’s green and pleasant land
I’ve been agitated lately, it started a day or so before Polling Day. I was astonished to find how much this Referendum mattered to me. In the end I went to the favourite spot I’ve written about before (England Have My Bones) with camera & voice recorder; recalling as I went Ellie’s comment on a… Continue reading England’s green and pleasant land
Our planned trip to Brussels
There were bombings in Brussels two days ago, at the Airport and a Metro Station, by a group calling itself Islamic State. g The last time I went there was in 1958, along with three friends my age, to see the Brussels World Fair, the first of its kind after World War II. Countries built… Continue reading Our planned trip to Brussels
England Have My Bones
I suppose we all have an idea of what constitutes real living. It’s not all those compromises we endure while we bridge the gap between yesterday and tomorrow. Real living is when we can say “this is it!” asking nothing from tomorrow at all. By this criterion, my real life has lately begun. The evening… Continue reading England Have My Bones
A trip back
When I was 12 I lived in East Cowes, shown below on the left of the creek they call the River Medina. The next year we moved across to West Cowes. The constant to-and-fro of yachts on the Medina with their tall masts makes a bridge impossible. ferry arriving at East Cowes. we'll get on… Continue reading A trip back
The Trip
Trip, n(1): 3. A short voyage or journey; a ‘run’. Apparently originally a sailor’s term, but very soon extended to a journey on land. 5. slang (orig. U.S.) a. A hallucinatory experience induced by a drug, esp. LSD. In my last I recalled three authors who pursued the Zen form of enlightenment and tried to… Continue reading The Trip
Here I am
On Sunday morning I walked to a local supermarket for fresh milk and bread. I felt a tangible perfection in the air. I want to analyse that phrase, extract meaning from it. There was something, it was tangible, I don’t suppose it was literally something in the air; but it made me feel I could… Continue reading Here I am
Why did the R101 Crash?
I mentioned in the comments section of my last that scientists these days are dependent on research funding, academic tenure etc., so they may feel constrained in what they can say or do; whereas in the nineteenth century and earlier, scientists could speculate fearlessly. Agreeing with this, Natalie suggested that some ideas derided by orthodoxy… Continue reading Why did the R101 Crash?
Intelligent Design
I’m sure there must be various ways to introduce the elements of science in schools, some good and some bad. Let the reader judge. Aged 9, I was excited by the prospect of Science lessons. We started by proving the existence of air, a project which seemed disappointingly trivial and uninteresting. We thought we knew… Continue reading Intelligent Design
Blessed Life
This was written on December 14th, 2014. Back then, such thoughts came that I find astonishing today*. Simply to be alive is such a blessing that we rarely find ourselves able to grasp it. To grasp something is to feel it in the moment, not just as a logical proposition but an experienced reality, that… Continue reading Blessed Life
The Creative Mind
The other morning I turned on Radio 4 whilst washing the breakfast dishes and it sounded interesting, a kind of reminiscence. I’d missed the beginning and took a little while to catch on. I liked the sound of the lady though, full of fun, approachable and without false modesty. When she mentioned a former post… Continue reading The Creative Mind
The Practice of Compassion
We arrived on foot from our house in England, aided by 2 buses and a plane across the Irish Sea. Hunger and thirst took priority over shelter so we went straight to the Patriots, a fine old pub well-named and well-placed. Another day the thirst for culture took us to the IMMA and the life-changing… Continue reading The Practice of Compassion
Stepping on Air
I ’ve spent a few weeks in awe and praise of Meister Eckhart. I’ve had enough of him for the time being. I’ve no intention to publish a draft-in-progress called “More on Disinterest”. Indeed, this morning I find myself arguing against him: him and his way to God, wherein he places disinterest above love: The… Continue reading Stepping on Air
Rebuilding from within
By day, my bedroom window is transformed into a viewing platform to watch the renascence of my Sun-dial Factory across the road. On April 29th 2013, I wrote a piece beginning: I see things as imbued with meaning, like fragments written in a foreign language. Sometimes I can decipher them; sometimes even put them in… Continue reading Rebuilding from within
Ellie Clayton on William Blake
In 2021, Ellie Clayton wrote a series of pithy paradoxical observations, on the lines of Blake's Proverbs of Heaven and Hell. She published them on a blog Divine Economy. I was inspired to format them into a printable document: you can download it here.
Inside Out
previously published on Blogger Where is it, this book I long thought I would write some day, when I had the time? I have had that time in the last seven years, almost limitless in its horizon, though doled out in surprisingly small quantities each day. I used some of it to write this blog,… Continue reading Inside Out
Dreaming of Paris
I hardly know Paris.* That’s what inspires me to write about it, at book length if necessary; so that I can fill out that slight acquaintance with a body of research, and report back. The research is not to be carried out through the study of texts (other than my own notes), but through the… Continue reading Dreaming of Paris
At sixteen
Here is the text of the essay I referred to in my last, as written in 1958. I don’t suppose it is intrinsically entertaining. To lighten it I’ve embedded some group photos in which my face may be seen, and an aerial shot of the place, Swainston Manor, which became my true home for a… Continue reading At sixteen
Amsterdam
I have a special relationship to Holland because Mulder is my surname and I spent four months near Arnhem in 1947 staying with my supposed father's sister, Auntie Non. I've described that sojourn here In 2012 we took a break to Holland to celebrate our anniversary and her birthday. The other day I looked for… Continue reading Amsterdam
Film Noir
One of the most stylish and effective films I’ve recently seen is The Man Who Wasn’t There, starring Billy Bob Thornton. Set in 1949, it tells the story of Ed Crane, a small-town barber, who faces life with an eerie impassivity, whilst not enjoying his job, becoming a cuckold... He cuts the hair of a… Continue reading Film Noir
Night navigation
It was an eventful day, not without its petty annoyances, but our house-guests were happy, that’s the main thing, and enjoyed a merry evening. I was exhausted and as soon as politely possible retired upstairs. My dreams were scantily populated, and their spaces were wide. I was in a tall office building, looking for the… Continue reading Night navigation
Capturing the Moment
I was going to write about Wales. And then I was going to write about child looters rampaging the evening streets of English cities. I probably won’t finish either of these essays though they exist in partial drafts. So here instead are a few photos of a recent camping trip. You can click on them… Continue reading Capturing the Moment
When memory strikes
Why do people remember where they were when they heard of the death of President Kennedy? I have a mental snapshot of my precise surroundings when I heard of the deaths of King George VI, Marilyn Monroe, John Kennedy, John Lennon and Princess Diana. As to when Martin Luther King and Elvis Presley died, I… Continue reading When memory strikes
Museums and Women
Lately I seem to be getting more from literature than from life. A misleading observation, since reading is an act performed like any other, in life, as opposed to a dream. Again, this is misleading. Leisure reading fires the imagination as dreams do. By "life" we sometimes mean living, in the sense of an interactive… Continue reading Museums and Women
Affinity
Why do I write, if I can’t write any better? But what would become of me if I didn’t write what I can, however inferior it may be to what I am? In my ambitions, I am a plebeian, because I try to achieve; like someone in a dark room, I’m afraid to be silent.… Continue reading Affinity
Dreaming spires
Oxford is everything that my own town is not, and it’s only 30 miles away. I decided Park and Ride was the best way to enter in triumph, using my new electronic bus pass, on a superb day in June, discovering that the students are in exams and the streets are a motley of tourists.… Continue reading Dreaming spires
Lisbon
To mark a double celebration, we took a few days off in Lisbon, a city of beauty and charm which I’ll try and convey in snapshots rather than words. Click on any picture to enlarge it. Our hotel was not far from the great Praça do Marquês Pombal, above. I didn’t discover who the Marquess… Continue reading Lisbon
Possessed by a god
Suppose I took it on myself to explain what a blog is, to someone who’d never encountered the idea. How would I go about it? Is there a common root to which all blogs are connected? I’m not thinking so much of topics, which are clearly as diverse as the authors themselves. But I wonder… Continue reading Possessed by a god
Keeper of Souls
The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: yea, it is even he that shall keep thy soul. I saw this on a tombstone at Hambleden, a tiny village that doesn’t seem to have changed since the Middle Ages. For all I know it may be still enmeshed in the feudal system, though its origins… Continue reading Keeper of Souls
A Single Moment
One thing that language can do, and I think it only possible in written language, is to unwrap the content of a moment of consciousness, to examine and share it. Perhaps such moments are rare, and the stuff of poetry. Such a one occurred today as I crossed a car park to enter the supermarket.… Continue reading A Single Moment
The yet-to-be-invented eWriter
The 1980 Microwriter. Source: Wikipedia There is more to inventing something than having the idea. I had the idea of the eWriter in 1978 but never did anything about it. Never mind my inability to build a prototype. I lacked the skills even to write about it coherently. Let’s see if I have improved at… Continue reading The yet-to-be-invented eWriter
On Christmas Eve
The Christmas spirit is a special thing. What is this “Peace on earth, goodwill to all men”? It’s tangible, that’s certain. I always feel that I receive it from others, never that I impart it to them. Or if I do emanate any of the glow, I feel it has been ignited first from a… Continue reading On Christmas Eve
The soul just feels
The soul is feminine, I mean passive. It initiates nothing, does nothing but feel. It seems helpless to assert itself against will and intellect; like a slug on the sidewalk after rain, defenceless against accidental or deliberate squashing by human feet; or like a majestic brooding silence, the silence of a wilderness, defeated by the… Continue reading The soul just feels
Will and Intellect
Intended as preface to a book I was planning in December, 2010 The soul is feminine, I mean passive. It does nothing but feel. Will and intellect are the masculine elements, delighting in action and creativity for their own sakes. In young men is a naturally warlike instinct: to fight, regardless of the cause espoused,… Continue reading Will and Intellect
Lambs and us
All you need to be a philosopher is to ask “Why?” By this standard, most three-year-olds are philosophers. When he hears the obvious answer, a philosopher thinks, “I’m not satisfied with this. There must be more to it!” The three-year-old responds to every answer with a further “Why?” until the adult tires of the game.… Continue reading Lambs and us
The Chilterns
This is specially for Ashok, for comparison of the Chilterns with his real hills at Nainital. Here, the height above sea-level is never more than 200 metres. These vistas are all within walking distance of my house, which is near the middle of town, in the factory district. St Lawrence’s Church & Dashwood Mausoleum, photographed… Continue reading The Chilterns
The Grand Scheme of Things
I’m on a section of the “Round Aylesbury Walk”. If you go clockwise, the town is on your right and level countryside is on your left. I talk to myself as I go, into a digital recorder. 'Suppose everything is just as it should be, already? Suppose everything goes on being just right, no matter… Continue reading The Grand Scheme of Things
Alley creatures
At the weekend, Karleen and I went walking on a hillside meadow, full of wildflowers, that you can see across the valley from many vantage-points. Amongst the blooms was lots of ragwort, notorious for being poisonous to grazing mammals. I looked carefully for any sign of the cinnabar caterpillar, but none were to be seen.… Continue reading Alley creatures
Gerrards Cross
My wanderings usually take me through wild footpaths and unpretentious housing estates. I’ve had no occasion to visit the village of Gerrards Cross, which “has a reputation for being very upmarket and exclusive, with house prices being considerably higher than average. Located in the commuter belt of London, the village is the most expensive postcode… Continue reading Gerrards Cross
Four-leaf clover
I wrote a piece called Lucky in July 2008. I had wanted to illustrate it with a four-leaved clover, the symbol of luck. I had never found one, though in my dreamy childhood, I must have spent hours searching for them, especially when deployed as a fielder near the boundary of a cricket field. Perhaps… Continue reading Four-leaf clover
A modest school reunion
I often “dwell in the past”. It’s a fabulous museum, where you can look at the same exhibits time and again, and discover new ones you hadn’t noticed before, and see the familiar ones from new angles. My fondness for this pastime owes a lot to my sense that I didn’t live my life fully… Continue reading A modest school reunion
Back home in Blighty
Whenever I leave the country for a few weeks, something crazy happens to it. I still feel guilty about the Falklands War, which broke out during my sojourn in Kuala Lumpur as a consultant to the Malaysian Ministry of Health, which itself happened for a crazy reason. In such circumstances, we happy band of expatriates… Continue reading Back home in Blighty
Jamaican album
This is a personal selection from 175 photos taken on the trip. Most are of reunions with Karleen’s family and friends, after five years’ absence. I will not bore you with that kind of vacation snaps; only with these! Jamaica has beautiful skies like England (or most places). These were taken from our hotel in… Continue reading Jamaican album
90 minutes in New York
Taken from my seat on our Miami to New York flight I'm not well up on the Odyssey. Isn’t it Homer’s tale of a long trip home? His hero Ulysses wants nothing more than to get back to his wife Penelope, his dog, and the embers of a familiar hearth. Home is that cosy place… Continue reading 90 minutes in New York
The past rewrites itself
Further to my last I’ve made a start on some real writing, as opposed to these blogging ephemera. Instead of an occasional post to commemorate a day, I am engaged on a so-far shapeless project to put down something a little more lasting: not just for a book, but a hardback; allowing myself a length… Continue reading The past rewrites itself
Night and Day
If Day is the realm of Nature, then Night—at any rate to this brain, at this hour of darkness, still a long way from dawn—is the domain of artificiality. There are other claimants to the imperial mantle of Night. The most democratic, the winner of the majority vote, is Sleep. But I am interested in… Continue reading Night and Day
Winter Visit to Cowes
waiting at East Cowes to cross the Medina by chain ferry Window shopping* View from the end of the High Street The Solent—sea and sky Seagull and yacht Crew, sail and clouds *PS April 7th, 2026 She saw a lovely necklace in the window, but there was a sign to say the shop was closed… Continue reading Winter Visit to Cowes
Holiday Job
After graduation I was determined not to stay in my parents' bungalow any more. Especially because my mother was curious about how I'd got on with Christina after my brief visit to her house. All I could say was that she was nice, but that we had no plans to meet again. Which indeed was… Continue reading Holiday Job
Unto the hills
“When I was someone else, that I am not now ...” continued. Let us assume that each one of us contains multiple personalities. Vincent exists in the written word, is not quite the same as his author, who inhabits other dimensions never written down. Vincent is several persons, separated by time-slices, spliced together into fragments… Continue reading Unto the hills
Here I’ll stay
Two years ago, when I’d just moved into this house and couldn’t get online, I’d go to the internet café on the Desborough Road and compose a blog post in an hour. One post, “Being Ordinary”, is an example, perhaps the only one, and didn’t work out too badly. Where did that simple spontaneity go?… Continue reading Here I’ll stay
This blessed plot
If I have a favourite spot it is Cowes, or more precisely five acres overlooking the Solent, the strait which separates the Isle of Wight from the English mainland. I lived there aged thirteen for a year; and again at seventeen, at a different house nearby. Each was a front-row seat at a non-stop theatre… Continue reading This blessed plot
Enhancing the sky
I suppose I’m generally a fatalist, accepting what comes. “Che sarà, sarà / Whatever will be, will be”. So I rarely have cause to pray for anything. In small ways, I can impose my creative ideas through focused effort and perseverance: for instance keeping the house and garden shipshape. But my scope is narrow, and… Continue reading Enhancing the sky
Parallel Paths
I’ve been meaning to write more about happiness, but the topic is elusive to say the least and it seems there has not been enough time. I wasn’t sure until yesterday what this meant (what interval of unbroken time would be enough?), but this morning, rising at 4.30 in the morning I know even more… Continue reading Parallel Paths
Long Journey to Now
I’m walking through Hughenden Park, pondering the suitcase of old photos, wondering what I can tell and what I cannot. There is no point in showing the emotive or personal ones because it will be impossible to share the feelings they evoke without a volume of history and explanation. I have picked out two whose… Continue reading Long Journey to Now
Old photos
I've been loaned a set of family photos and it's a voyage of discovery, reminding me of aspects of my childhood and introducing me to the childhood of my own grandparents.
Portrait of Two Kings
I'm sure it was done by a professional photographer. I don’t think amateurs would have been able to do much indoor photography in 1867. Electric flashguns had not been invented. If they had, there would be the problem of synchronizing flash with the camera's shutter. I'm no expert but remember from childhood a book which… Continue reading Portrait of Two Kings
In the footsteps of Basho
If a website can merit its own patron saint, then I choose Basho, that wayfarer and Zen monk whom I commemorate above with a quotation. In his travel writings—prose interspersed with haiku—he tours Japan on the pretext of pilgrimages. (See typical extract below, in my first comment.) I went a little further afield yesterday, drawn… Continue reading In the footsteps of Basho
Flight and Pursuit
The weather here in High Wycombe remains unusually mild for this time of year, a minor effect of global warming no doubt. I just stumbled on this old post. On my way to bed the other night I was brushing my teeth in the cold bathroom, when a thought occurred to me, which I’ll tell… Continue reading Flight and Pursuit
Ghetu files a new story
I had been so curious to read his new story. It had been such a long time since the last that I could hardly believe he would be able to write as he used to, with such extraordinary power and naturalness and ability to wrap a world into a narrative, a world moreover which would… Continue reading Ghetu files a new story
Then and Now
Days pass. Not much wayfaring and not much writing. The two are connected. I had promised to dedicate a post to Lady in Red, who writes “I love it when you describe the places you walk through, bringing it alive for those of us who can only imagine both the countryside and the industrial areas… Continue reading Then and Now
Running with Bulls
In hindsight, my last post sounds a little Quixotic: retired man goes on mysterious Quest, tries to attach importance to his ramblings — the ones on foot and the verbal ones, both. That’s a fair enough summary, especially the reference to “hindsight” — a theme I’ll develop further. On the walk I partly described in… Continue reading Running with Bulls
The lure of literature
Originally published on Blogger on September, '08, when blogging was very much a thing. Many of those who commented had multiple blogs which are still alive and kicking. Some see blogs as self-indulgent monologues. But to be pedantic—and who’s to stop me, this is my own self-indulgent monologue—a blog is not a literary form and… Continue reading The lure of literature
Bonfire of the vanities
Since this photo, the fire’s gone out after consuming the fence and denuding finally gone out after consuming the adjacent fence and half of the overhanging tree. In the scale of things, gratitude is now in order My next-door neighbour, bottom left in the pic, had complained to the Council about the state of his… Continue reading Bonfire of the vanities
Cowes Horizons
In process of being restored When you live in East Cowes, your attention is drawn to horizons. Boats are constantly coming and going. All kinds: ferries, tankers, container ships, yachts, dinghies, powerboats, even fishing vessels perhaps. And it’s not just the visual movement that draws your attention to far away. The first evening, when we… Continue reading Cowes Horizons
Only the bicycle shed still stands
It’s fifty-four years since I lived in East Cowes. It has the air of being past its best, but it had the same air in 1954, so you can say it has hardly changed. Fifty-four years before I lived there, Queen Victoria was still alive and she lived there too, in the house she had… Continue reading Only the bicycle shed still stands
Pilgrimage to Cowes
I've had my camera two years but only recently realized it can hold hundreds of photos if I put in a larger memory card. Just as well, because I was able to take some beautiful photos of a recent visit to the island where I spent my teenage years, the Isle of Wight. Here's a… Continue reading Pilgrimage to Cowes
Walking Alone
What makes us the way we are? What sets us off on our own unique path? Heedless of a fine drizzle, I set out on foot to West Vale, pondering on these questions. There is nothing like walking to set imagination and memory alive. On this afternoon of purposeless wayfaring, I saw my whole life… Continue reading Walking Alone
A stroll round the neighbourhood
I shall take you on a guided tour of our part of town. We are in the valley bottom, where the factories were built at the end of the nineteenth century. I don't know what was there before. I haven't seen any houses older than 1872. This area of the Chilterns has plenty of beech… Continue reading A stroll round the neighbourhood
In the Industrial Valley
rescued from archive.com on Saturday September 20th 2025 I shall take you on a guided tour of my part of town. We are in the valley bottom, where the factories were built at the end of the nineteenth century. I don't know what was there before. I haven't seen any houses older than 1872. This… Continue reading In the Industrial Valley
Fresh air
The barrenness of these pages lately means doesn’t mean I’ve not been thinking of offering something to my reader. On the contrary. Though afflicted by a species of writer’s block, I’m not bereft of thoughts and inspirations, and each day scribble them: in Word, on voice recorder, in the black notebook, and failing those, they… Continue reading Fresh air
New Pub
These photos are specially for Jim, who asked what the ancient farm illustrated in my last post looks like now that it's a pub. I wanted to take some photos of the inside too, but the camera's batteries died. The first photo was taken from the same position as the old one: on the footbridge… Continue reading New Pub
Fog on the Solent (Norfolk House 5)
The Solent may have been the busiest sea-lane in the world and the most varied in its traffic. There were ferries between the mainland and our Island; the Royal Navy base at Portsmouth; the transatlantic liner port at Southampton; the Sawley Oil Refinery where tankers plied from the Gulf; and innumerable sailing craft. The Royal… Continue reading Fog on the Solent (Norfolk House 5)
Norfolk House 4: Vignettes
Illustration from a wood engraving by Eric Gill Please note that the Norfolk House story begins at “Nest of Dreams”, so I’ve numbered that “0”. Also that the mention of my “man-flu” affliction introducing yesterday’s piece was a warning that it would be rough. It’s edited extensively now. In “Nest of Dreams” I referred to… Continue reading Norfolk House 4: Vignettes
Writing Instrument
We think we know somebody. They think they know us. It’s nice because we can always be surprised. My son takes present-buying seriously. He went to a hippy shop and toyed with getting me a piece of angel merchandise or a Native American dream-catcher; but fortunately thought better. I received a hastily-wrapped book and opened… Continue reading Writing Instrument
Christmas 1944
9 thoughts on “Christmas 1944” Hayden May the season's blessings shower you and yours, Vincent! Merry Christmas! Vincent Oh Hayden, thanks! And you too, and your dreams and plans and your past history. What would the present moment be without all those? Rob Cute picture. V One day at Christmas. Someday Christians and Pagans will… Continue reading Christmas 1944
The old telephones
One of the useful functions of retirement must surely be to relive one’s youth. In between comes a time of working-to-support-a-family-and-pay-a-mortgage, which can be irksome to the spirit. It’s easy to forget how hard it was to become adult: to find somewhere to live and pay a month’s rent in advance plus a month’s deposit… Continue reading The old telephones
Why Write Memoirs
Between July and September of 2007, before the move which brought me to my new home, a worker’s cottage in the factory district of a Chiltern town, I’d got into a rhythm of posting chapters of a memoir, on this very blog. I produced a series of vignettes, not always in chronological order, covering my… Continue reading Why Write Memoirs
Preferring the old telephones
One of the useful functions of retirement must surely be to relive one’s youth. In between comes a time of working to support a-family and pay the mortgage, which can be irksome to the spirit. It’s easy to forget how hard it was to become adult: to find somewhere to live and pay a month’s… Continue reading Preferring the old telephones
Ecstasy and unreason
The single-minded pursuit of ecstasy — that’s what my life is for. Perhaps this is not for everybody, but it’s the only thing that works for me and I’m glad I realised it whilst I still have time. I’ll be resuming my memoirs soon, when things (never mind what) are straightened out a little. The… Continue reading Ecstasy and unreason
Living an Ordinary Life
For some months now, I’ve been drawn to the ordinary. I can’t exactly explain why. Perhaps something has rubbed off from walking the streets in Babylon Town and in this narrow valley. I live not far from a little river which sneaks behind factories, workshops and the common dwellings put up for workers in the… Continue reading Living an Ordinary Life
King James I School
At the school there was a Scout Troop in addition to the Cadet Contingent. At some point in my bookish diversions I had read Baden-Powell’s Scouting for Boys and been seduced by it just like millions of others world-wide. The essence of this seductive power was contained in the bush-hat, the neckwear and the badge-adorned… Continue reading King James I School
Some rare photos
It may have been the day I met Marlis, a German girl from West Berlin who came over for the summer. Friends and family were fascinated at this instant liaison. Our subsequent dates away from prying eyes too place on a country footpath near Battle, and in a local cinema. I don't remember any more… Continue reading Some rare photos
New day-school
My most vivid memories are not of the first days at my new day-school, as you might think, but of coming back home each afternoon. I’d been five years at boarding-school and could not imagine a greater luxury. Let out at 3.45, I’d arrive home from a country-bus ride, ravenous. My mother let me cut… Continue reading New day-school
August
I’ve been wondering what spirituality means. I don’t see how I can possibly know; which is odd considering how I spent the last thirty years. Religion has become opaque to me, for I feel myself to be an animal: maybe a puppy not properly trained. I have only to leave the confines of Indoors to… Continue reading August
Woodside
Aged eight to eleven, I was often taken by my mother & stepfather to Woodside, on the Isle of Wight, in the summer holidays. We reach the end of the country road. A sign says Woodside House Private and we go through the white gate, down a long winding drive to a red-brick residence, from… Continue reading Woodside
Fantasies
Recalling materials for a memoir is like being an archaeologist. Sometimes you have to make do with nothing but a handle, or a spout. From this you deduce and reconstruct the rest of the jug whose fragments have been ground small by Time. Painstaking effort must be aided by guesswork, for you don’t have every… Continue reading Fantasies
Ship of Dreams
I’m not finished with the mv Rangitata, which brought me as a four-year-old from Fremantle to Tilbury. The Rangitata hasn’t finished with me either. Our acquaintance was a six-week voyage sixty years ago but memories can still be triggered; the shuddering vibration from its engines, the smells of hot paint, engine oil, bleach, disinfectant, sewage.… Continue reading Ship of Dreams
Eager cupped hands
Having started my memoirs at age four, the sensible direction to go is backwards, till I have explained how I got to be born at all: you know, how my parents met and all that, which might involve telling their life stories too. I hope it won’t be too boring. The aim is to write… Continue reading Eager cupped hands
Litter
Litter used to enrage me. I passed some young men once just as one of them threw down a paper coffee-cup and they were getting into a car to drive away. I put the cup on the car roof and said politely, “This is yours, don’t forget it.” I wouldn’t have been as bold if… Continue reading Litter
Portmeirion
Why do people remember where they were when they heard of the death of President Kennedy? I have a mental snapshot of my precise surroundings when I heard of the deaths of King George VI, Marilyn Monroe, John Kennedy, John Lennon and Princess Diana. As to when Martin Luther King and Elvis Presley died, I… Continue reading Portmeirion
Good and bad
Jim wrote a comment on my last piece, Human Animal. My response grew into this post. Thanks, Jim, for spotting what was missing! My piece for what it’s worth was partly a spontaneous outpouring though I admit a temptation to think of it as philosophy. I am glad you mention good and bad, Jim. These… Continue reading Good and bad
Stepping out
For several weeks I’ve had nothing new to say. Were this a movie, my wordlessness could be wordlessly conveyed. The scene opens to a man turning the platen of his typewriter to feed in a fresh white sheet of paper. Surrounding him are bookshelves on all sides. He stares at the blank sheet. After much… Continue reading Stepping out
Liberation
In the last year I have been reminded, time and again, by smells and various other stimuli, of a period I spent in Holland when I was five. It was a young age for roaming alone in streets and woods, but that's what I did. I’d been dumped with an unwilling bogus “aunt” in a country… Continue reading Liberation
Musical Delirium
I’ve come down with “man-flu”. In a woman it would be a simple cold but in a man it’s tantamount to dying and requires tender concern from all the females around. Yesterday morning I drove early to Bracknell; conscientiously completed the vital tasks at Fujitsu on which the team depends. Then I found myself every… Continue reading Musical Delirium
Leaving Space on the Stage
A new male temp has joined the office. He’s large, grey-haired, about my age. He demonstrates in every word and action that an old clown is more pathetic than a young one. His sense of self-importance might have a certain charm if he were an eight-year-old. There is nothing that he does not boast about.… Continue reading Leaving Space on the Stage
Yellow
The lichen was on a wall outside the office. Vincent van Gogh taught me to see, especially yellow. And each day I teach myself to see, to hear, to smell and so on. Beyond all these senses is something "infinite", but that is just a word, how do we know what it means? Better to… Continue reading Yellow
Stairway to Heaven
MaxiRam Castle, as its fictitious name implies stands as a grim fortress against the skyline, eleven storeys high. The backside building in my illustration belongs to the same corporation but prettier. It's actually the Fujutsu headquarters in Bracknell but while working there I wanted to write anything freely. I nicknamed Bracknell 'Babylon Town'. Today I… Continue reading Stairway to Heaven
Mozart and Angels
I’ve been preoccupied with engineering of late, getting my hands dirty on oily metal, instead of this digital thing, tapping on a keyboard to send digital signals, using digits of the hand, co-ordinated by the eye. Coincidentally, I've been watching The Train (1964), starring Paul Scofield, Burt Lancaster and Jeanne Moreau. The drama of the… Continue reading Mozart and Angels
Divine Anarchy
I want to speak theologically, to say what I think about God and angels. But then, it’s a bit hard putting abstractions into words. No, that’s completely wrong. It is all too easy to put abstractions into words, and give them an imaginary reality. So I’m rather glad to find myself talking about bees and… Continue reading Divine Anarchy
Wasp honey
We’d had family over Christmas, and as luck would have it, just as they were leaving after two days and we were seeing them off, a couple of Karleen's friends arrived with a bag-full of drinks to spend the evening with us. To a solitary like myself, the boredom of exchanging inanities for several hours… Continue reading Wasp honey
Time consumes; art distils
Time is like a forest fire, consuming everything in its path. Our most intense moments burn bright and hot, leaving nothing but fragile tatters of memory. Where would we be without art, snatching moments before they disintegrate into oblivion? What else but art, crucible for smelting the ore of our lives till we get a… Continue reading Time consumes; art distils
Being a nobody
In the last post we were talking about ideas as wildfire: they burn and destroy, they have awesome power and are therefore dangerous. There is a school of thought very dominant in the world at present that power is intrinsically good. Needless to say this is an idea promoted exclusively by the powerful, just as… Continue reading Being a nobody
Why do ladybirds have spots?
Why do ladybirds have spots? I don’t know, but I’ve just guessed the reason for their shape. It gives them a hemispherical hard-top, like a sports car, to conserve heat during hibernation. Unlike other insects which seek cosy cracks against the weather, they can choose quite exposed places. I found these little bugs clinging to… Continue reading Why do ladybirds have spots?
What Grandma told me…
In 1964 I became friends with my landlord’s son when he came to paint the window-frames. I was suffering from depression and he recommended a psychoanalyst by the name of Theodore Faithfull, a white-haired gentleman in his eighties, the grandfather of Marianne Faithfull, who had just recorded her first hit, "As Tears Go By". (These… Continue reading What Grandma told me…
Baggage
If a sage today were to give one piece of advice, what would it be? What could best guide the lone seeker towards spiritual fulfilment whilst improving communal behaviour in our shared home, Earth? It’s easy to assume that the semi-mythical words of Buddha or Jesus are just as potent today as when first spoken… Continue reading Baggage
Powys and the dead frog
I don’t normally post extended quotes, but this—including the dead frog—expresses in more masterly language what I would have liked to write today. "When one considers how dependent we all are—especially such parasitic weaklings as artists, poets, writers, priests, philosophers—upon the hard one-track energies of the industrious producers and shrewd traders, it seems only fair… Continue reading Powys and the dead frog
Having no enemies
Many people supposedly educated don’t understand that the meaning of a word is in its use. Dictionary compilers know this of course, for their task consists in collecting usage as lepidopterists collect butterflies, pinning them to a board and labelling them. Dictionary compilers follow, not lead. So, as Alice learned, we are free to use… Continue reading Having no enemies
Memorable Achievements?
we were living at 78b West Wycombe Road, the upstairs flat. We'd installed a table in a corner of the bay window to put our two newly-bought second=hand computers. I set up a website perpetual-lab.blogspot.com, and often drew inspiration by looking a the sky or the scenes below. Once again I am summoned to an… Continue reading Memorable Achievements?
Pheasant
Where we live, there's a magnificent network of public footpaths and bridleways, allowing everyone to explore the Chiltern Hills. It would be be possible to roam even more widely, if it were not for various signs saying, “PRIVATE – please keep out”. These restrictions are to encourage the breeding of this creature—the pheasant. I found… Continue reading Pheasant
What is soul?
I have not been finding it easy to write about soul. I’m not interested in traditions, scriptures or beliefs. If I cannot know what soul is from direct experience, then why should I care about it? I liked what Jim wrote in his comment to Sunday’s blog: Soul is Pure desire for life. Even in… Continue reading What is soul?
On the Side of the Angels
In everyday life I act as though there is a power beyond Nature, that brings luck, answers prayers and sometimes sends miracles. When catastrophe strikes, I assume that in some way it is all for the best, at least in my own life and the small circle of those I know well. I accept that… Continue reading On the Side of the Angels