The Cold(er) Blasts of Wintery Weather

Thursday12.00 p.m. It's a good deal colder this morning. I thought there was ice on my car before I drove off to the Oaktree Centre at around 8.50 a.m. to help set up the playgroup, but it wasn't ice, just moisture, so that was a relief.

Friday. 9.15 a.m. The washing is in the dryer. It will take around 45 minutes before it is dry enough to remove and for me to hang my shirts in the wardrobe and the rest in the drawer unit. Then, with my shopping list in my hand, I will be off to Sainsbury's.

Yet another relatively mild morning. Totally unseasonal.

Saturday. 6.55 a.m. It's dark. Well, that's a surprise? No, well, it is usually at this time of the morning in early December. 

Sunday. 8.10 a.m. My posts on here are getting thinner and thinner. 

The weather is getting considerably colder as the days go by. What do you expect in December?

The World Cup is dominating everything at the moment. I am no fan of football, so it's something to avoid. It's not necessarily the football that I find annoying, but all the waffle they dole out, the constant chatter which is more like padding between the games and the fact that all three main television channels have games on at the same time. You get highly-paid, so-called pundits, such as Gary Lineker, rambling on incessantly, and then they have what I think you call 'vox-pops', where they go out into the streets and ask members of the public for their views. Totally irrelevant and meaningless. Not journalism at all. Crazy. 

12.30 p.m. We had café church at SCF this morning. In fact, I have just got back. The idea is to attract non-church-goers into the Oaktree Centre and there's free cake, coffee, tea and other goodies and games for the children to play and a time to chat with anyone and everyone and make friendships. I have spoken to several people I haven't met or even spoken to before and a good sense of community.

3.35 p.m. I have resubscribed to Britbox, the streaming service which is owned by all the major British television providers, BBC, ITV, Channel 4 and 5. There is a lot of classic drama on there, Doctor Who, Keeping Up Appearances, Fawlty Towers and more and quite a lot of original content. I was interested in watching the new series of 'Staged' the comedy starring David Tennant and Michael Sheen, which is set during the pandemic and imagines them staging a play via Zoom. The new series is exclusive to Britbox. At £5.99 a month it seems excellent value and the content is constantly changing, with stuff being taken off and new stuff being added.

6.25 p.m. I'm watching the BBC's 1970s serialization of 'I Claudius' on Britbox. This was one of the BBC's hits in its day. Derek Jacobi was Claudius, with a stammer. It is somewhat stagey by modern standards. No exteriors and definitely studio-bound, but that was the way television drama was made in the mid-1970s. It has stood the test of time remarkably well. They must have spent a lot on sets and costumes. Also made on tape rather than film. It's more like a filmed stage play. Derek Jacobi's makeup is a bit ropey. I don't know what age he was when he played the part of Claudius, but he's made to appear as an old man, who is telling the story. Other actors who appear are Sian Phillips as Claudius's mother, Brian Blessed, (here far more restrained than his usual 'shouty' acting in later programmes and films.) and John Hurt as Caligula. 

'They Think It's All Over'?

Thursday. 6.50 a.m. I wasn't aware of the euphoria of England getting through to the final of the Euro 2021 football championship last night. I have no interest in football, as you will realize, but even so, it has to be quite an historic achievement, comparable to the 1966 World Cup win (although England hasn't won- yet.) So, the infamous quote by Kenneth Wolstenholme, 'They think it's all over . . . ' seems appropriate, although not . . . quite. Watch this space. I heard no crowds cheering, as I did the other evening, coming from the pub on the corner of Strudwick Drive and Oldbrook Boulevard, 'The Cricketers.' But, it isn't over until the final on Sunday evening . . .

I had to laugh the other day. I was walking back towards the flat with Alfie along Strudwick Drive when a youth shot past on one of those electric scooters, but he was looking at his mobile as he did so. He went to cross the road and as he did so he stopped on the island in the centre of the road and then dropped his mobile. I just thought it was just as well it didn't fall in the path of the next car or lorry which passes by as it would have been flattened. 

I sent the iPhone 7 back to Sky, having removed the apps. But I then got an email saying they couldn't credit my account until iCloud was disconnected. I really had no idea how to do this, but went on the Sky website and managed to click on what I thought was where I was supposed to, but it turned out not to be correct. Having rung Sky, after a lot of searching on the website (why bury this number? It should be in a far more prominent position.), and was told I would need to ring Apple. The same thing happened with this as I had problems finding the phone number, but eventually, I found it and got through.

I spoke to an Apple engineer how managed to talk me through the process of deactivating iCloud from the iPhone 7. Quite amazed that he could 'see' my iPad screen and direct me using the cursor, which made it considerably easier. So, problem solved and I trust that is the end of the matter. Why on earth they can't give you instructions regarding this type of thing that would make life so much easier. You always used to get an instruction manual with most things, but not with mobile phones and computers. I think they expect you to find anything from manuals to resolving issues via the internet.

Friday.7.15 a.m. It's really humid at the moment. I just hope it rains and clears the air. Not the best for me, but never mind.

My car insurance runs out at the beginning of August. I wanted to see if I could get a lower quote, so I went on several comparison websites, Compare The Market, Go Compare, and one other. I've been with Swinton for years. I pay in monthly installments and it was around £52 a month. I didn't get any extras for that, no breakdown cover or the use of a courtesy car. I did a search, putting in all my details, years of no-claims, etc and I have got what I think is a far better deal, at around £32 per month, with breakdown cover and courtesy car. I have paid a deposit and the next payment will be in August. Just seems crazy to pay more for less. Just a question of having a look for a better deal. As I'm not driving much more than a few thousand miles a year, which was taken into consideration when coming up with a quote. But it seems I get more for less, which doesn't make sense, but it's true. 

I have something called Grammarly installed on my MacBook. It isn't the full version, and it's useful to check not just my grammar but also my spelling. But I do object to it insisting I spell words the American way, for example, 'centre' for 'center.' When you've written a passage, it underlines the offending word and a window pops up and you get an alternate spelling. It's doing it now, as I save this section and it's insisting I spell centre as center. I know you don't have to agree with the alternative spelling, but it's still useful. A grammatical error it attempts to change is 'an historic' which is to change to 'a historic.' Which is correct? I wonder what my English teacher would say when I was at school.

Boring Football!!

I know, we've got football coming out of our ears. The World Cup is currently on in Russia. Not just on virtually every television channel known to man (stupid, it isn't but it feels like it at the moment.) You turn on the television expecting EastEnders (I don't watch it, but you know what I mean.) and the programme has been shifted to either another day or  later or earlier slot. If you don't watch, the alternative isn't exactly enticing. You can watch a second-hand episode of something else instead. Or the BBC has to celebrate the 70's birthday of the N.H.S., but rather over-does it with more or less wall-to-wall programmes. Not bad to celebrate, but it's just over-kill. You just can't avoid it, similar to how you can't avoid football.

The simple fact is, football bores me silly. I cannot see what's so exciting about 22 men running about on a piece of grass, chasing a ball and with the intention of kicking the thing into a net. It's just plain pointless. There's no sense in it at all. Similar, I suppose to cricket. Something I just don't get anything from. Maybe it was because I was never any good at either sport when I was at school (there is another blog post on this subject somewhere on here, so I may be repeating myself somewhat, but who cares?) We were made to spend hours and hours watching these wretched sports when I was at school, as well as having to play them. I was never any good, so I was virtually the last person selected when they were organising teams, so I was made to feel inferior because I wasn't any good and you can see why I have an eversion to team sports of this sort. Having to watch it on television is just as uninteresting. I suppose I can bear to watch Rugby because at least it has a sort of raw energy to it as a game, it's a contact sport and it's faster and angrier. They occasionally get covered in mud and all sorts of grime and dirt. It has a sort of Medieval battle feel about it.

I suppose the World Cup has the element of patriotism about it, 'come on England!' and all that jazz. But is it really? Unfortunately the sight of the national flag of England has connotations of the National Front and ultra-right wing politics about it. Which is unfair, I know, but I'm sure you'll agree where I'm coming from here. Those organisations who have a political agenda, usually with racist views, sadly. They use the national flag for their own use, as a sort of symbol.

There again, football does have the power to bring people together, to create bonds of friendship, which seems to be happening in Russia at the moment, which can't be a bad thing. Politics shouldn't come into sport, particularly when we have to remember what happened in Salisbury a few months back and the fact that Russia was supposed to have been behind that incident, but not actually proven.  At one point, in the lead up to the World Cup, it was suggested that we boycott the event, but fortunately it didn't come to that.

Football and Sunshine

Yesterday morning I managed to virtually complete the clearance of the brambles and weeds at the end of the garden. I did the work before it got to hot. Not a good idea to be outside in direct sunshine. There is still some more to do, but it can wait as I'm not risking going out in the blazing sun.

Carol needed to go back to the oncology department at Milton Keynes Hospital at 2.20 yesterday afternoon because they needed to check the P.I.C.C. line which was used to administer the chemotherapy. We got to the carpark and there were fortunately two or three spaces so that was one less thing to worry about. A woman came in and got in the way as we were attempting to park. Some people just don't seem to care so long as they get what they want, regardless of the other person. Never mind. It was far too hot to argue anyway. We walked into the oncology department and it was a lot cooler than outside. Not many patients. Quite a few of the chairs empty, but few staff to deal with things, as usual, so what nurses were available seemed to be doing several people's work. Carol was soon seen and went into the little room to have her line checked. She may have the line taken out, depending on what the next stage of her treatment is, and probably not until she's seen the consultant next Friday.

We walked back to the car and got out without having to use the ticket machine because the barrier was raised. All that bother to get the ticket checked and then there's no need to use it. It's so irritating that you have this constant annoyance and then the thing doesn't work properly or at all. Never mind, it's them that's loosing the cash involved if it doesn't work.

Some form of refreshment was in order, due to the heat. We drove to Oakgrove, a short drive along Chaffron Way and parked near Waitrose. We went into the nearby Costa and had cold drinks, their tasty strawberry-and-cream cooler which did the trick. It was fascinating to sit and watch people passing by as we sat inside. I can't say I was exactly over-enthusiatsit about the music they were playing in Costa's. That droning, reparative drivel that passes for modern pop music. It was awful. Why is it necessary? As we sat inside Costas we could see children walking past. It was only about 3 o'clock. They were leaving school. From the comprehensive school just over the road from Waitrose and Costa, Oakgrove School. A very different lot of children to those who attend Milton Keynes Academy. They look far neater in their dress. All wearing uniforms, with blazers with the school symbol emblazoned on them. Ties done up neatly (not just the boys, but also the girls.) Not in the least bit scruffy. Talking quietly. Amazing, but having said that, somewhat boring. I bet the behaviour is better than at the Academy. But somehow they looked mechanical, almost robotic. Too good to be true. This was going me ideas. As I'm watching the Channel Four series 'Humans' about robots or 'synths' these children do have the look and feel of synths. It could be as if they were  being controlled. Just the impression I got somehow. Think also of the Cybermen in 'Doctor Who.' Just a bit creepy. There's a story brewing in my mind . . .

I'm not in the least bit interested in football, and not bothered by the World Cup. There was a match on yesterday evening at 7 o'clock. England versus Belgium. Regardless of whether you've an interest or not there is the constant drip drip drip of football . . . football. . . football. Everywhere you go. The supermarkets are stocked up with beer, pizza, Coca Cola, and all the paraphernalia they expect people to want to buy. Nothing wrong with that. I suppose it's better than Brexit. The warm weather is adding to the excitement. Our neighbours were having a party or a barbecue. They were having guests. Quite a few cars drawing up outside the house. The time for kick-off was approaching. Carol was upstairs watching on the bedroom television. I was downstairs, completing the Futurelearn course on Shakespeare. I did watch the  England v Panama match with Carol the other afternoon, although I wasn't concentrating too closely. Just doesn't do it for me. No sense of engagement. I think they over-do the build up to such sporting events. Then afterwards the endless discussion, the dissecting of the game, the post mortem. They go on and on and on and on and on and on. Fair enough, but some of us are bored silly.

The football match wasn't exactly setting the world on fire. You would have known something was going on if there had been a goal scored. No cheers from next door, or from upstairs. It was after an hour or so that I ventured upstairs and there was a 0-0 scoreline. Carol said it was 'boring.' But looking at the screen, it looks remarkably like some sort of computer game. The grass on the pitch is too green, more like carpet. The players look like computerised graphics. If you remember the television show, which must have been one of the first things on Channel 4 when it started in 1982, called 'Max Headroom.' He was a computerised character. Well, the players look very much like him. Unrealistic looking. Tanned, with over-styled hair.  They seem to move in a sort of artificial manner to me. It looks really dull and lifeless. Why?  Loads of advertising all around the ground. What on earth is Wanda? It was being advertised at the edge of the pitch. You can't ignore the advertising. It's there, centre-stage if you like. I know the advertising is essential to the funding of these events, but it does tend to intrude. Is Wanda a person? An insurance company? A beer? A soft drink? Goodness only knows, but whatever she is, she's got a lot to answer for. The sport is being taken over by money. The players are payed in telephone numbers, for merely kicking a ball around on a piece of grass for 90 minutes. Hence the advertising. I think I may have answered my own earlier question. Too much money and if I was looking at the advertising, even if it was for a company I'd never heard of, at least I was thinking about that (which is earning money) even if it wasn't the football.

Watching the 2018 Winter Olympics

If you read my blog posts regularly you will have discovered that I'm not a great sports fan. To me football must be about the most boring sport ever invented. I can see nothing particularly interesting in watching a load of men running around on a piece of grass and chasing after a leather ball, with the intention of kicking it into a net. Just does not do it for me, I'm afraid. Rugby might possibly be another matter, as it's fast, dangerous and like some epic medieval battle. Far more of a skill in kicking a ball which isn't round, getting it to go over a bar at quite some height is definitely a skill. Even managing to get it to go in a straight line is an art in itself. Not just football as being boring to me, but cricket is another dumb sport. I think it's because I was put off the whole thing when I was at school, having to participate in something that I wasn't particularly good at. Most likely, totally hopeless. Having a leather ball flung at you for a start, and trying to hit it with a wooden bat, just not going to happen somehow. Standing about on a piece of grass, on a hot summer's day, waiting to bat or field and also having to field, as far from the centre of action as possible, not my idea of fun in the slightest. Footballers paid telephone numbers for doing very little. Who on earth is worth something like £400,000 a week? Crazy.

But this morning we've got the television on and watching the opening ceremony of the 2018 Winter Olympics from Pyeonchang, South Korea. (Goodness, I did manage to spell it!) I have to say, having a larger-screen HD television does make watching this sort of thing far more, how shall I describe it, immersive. How on earth anyone can strap on a pair of skis and fling themselves down a mountainside I can hardly imagine, or lay on what is little more than a sort of tin tray and hurtle as I have no idea how many miles per hour down a sort of icey railway track (not a very good way to describe it I'm afraid.) with no visible sort of protection, I can never comprehend. All these sports people at the Olympics doing something they love, to represent their country, but doing it without being paid a bean. And generally doing it exceptionally well.

The actual opening ceremony includes a rather amazing snow leopard or lion, not a real one of course, but a sort of large puppet. Also some, what look like mythical creatures, a dragon and some sort of bird, being operated by several puppeteers. A bit like how the puppets were operated in the show we saw at the Derngate last May. A phoenix we're told by the commentator. Amazing lighting, lots of dancers and quite spectacular. Almost on a par with the opening ceremony of the 2012 London Olympics. I think that has to be the sort of standard these ceremonies have to now be compared with.
All participants are wearing what look like white dressing gowns with furry edging and brightly-coloured flower-pot hats with sort of Christmassy decorations on them. Well, I'm sure they're not in the least connected to the festive period, but that's what they look like to me. How on earth they manage to coordinate so many people is quite beyond my comprehension. Having worked in stage management for a few years I have some idea of the huge logistics of dealing with that many people, not just off stage but on, and in such a huge space.

Later. Carol had to go to the Oncology Suite for 11.30 this morning for a blood test before the fifth chemotherapy cycle to begin on Monday morning. The carpark entrance was being repaired (or assume it was.) because when we arrived at the barrier their was a mechanic there with the cover off the machinery and handed us a ticket as we drove in. Fortunately we were able to find a parking space and then walked into the hospital as we usually do through the cardiology department.

Carol's colleague from Milton Keynes Academy, Sandy, who used to work as a technician in the science department, was in the oncology unit with her husband when we arrived so there was someone to talk to before the nurses came to do the blood test and check out Carol's weight and blood pressure. There was a television on in the unit with the Winter Olympics opening ceremony on. Each team was being lead into the arena with a lady dressed in what might have been Christmas characters, but obviously wasn't. A very good display of the various types of jacket and suits worn by all the participating country's teams as they walked through the arena.

It seemed that the oncology unit was somewhat short staffed as there didn't appear to be the full number of nurses on duty as there usually was, meaning that only a couple of nurses were doing several people's jobs. Which is probably why we had to wait for some time before Carol was seen to. It didn't matter too much as we had plenty to keep us occupied, chatting to Sandy and her husband.

By the time everything was complete we were beginning to get hungry. It was a good hour or more later when we left than when we usually have something to eat for our lunch, so we drove to Dobbie's at Bletchley to go to their restaurant. As we drove along Chaffron Way we were followed by a small car with a young man and a girl in it. The driver insisted on driving very close behind. Nothing unusual about this as it's happened many times before. He attempted to get me to drive faster but I wasn't going to drive any faster than is safe or at least within the speed limit. As a result he hooted at me, which made me jump. I continued driving on towards the roundabout and on to Grafton Street. Again the driver honked me. I ignored him and continued on. Eventually the driver turned off into Coffee Hall near the Shell petrol station. Just another ill-mannered individual more concerned with his selfish ways than any respect for other people on the road. We drove on and got on the A5 and continued on to Dobbie's. I had cottage pie and chips and Carol had egg mayonnaise baguette. Good-sized portions and just what we needed. It was surprisingly busy, considering it was a Friday. Having eaten, we went to buy some bird feeders and some food as the bird feeder in the garden was empty and it was well and truly time to fill it up. We also had a browse in the food hall and bought some cakes and fudge and then went back to the car to drive home.

Sport

Generally, I don't like sport. I can see nothing remotely interesting in the subject.

I can think of nothing more boring than being made to watch some stupid game of football or cricket. That was what was expected of me when I was at school and it has remained like that into adulthood. We were forced into standing around on a Saturday afternoon watching these stupid idiots kicking a leather ball around in the mud, in the freezing cold and with a howling gale blowing. Surely, nothing was more likely to put me off sport forever than that. The school I went to in Bedford, the playing field was at the top of a hill, and to get to it you had to scramble up this hill in the mud and the cold, and the wind blew really cold from across the town and I suffered terribly with the cold as a child. I don’t particularly like being cold, nor do I like being covered in mud, nor do I enjoy being kicked in the shins or anywhere else for that matter. Then there was the trudge back to the school to get changed, in a smelly changing room, and having to sit and pick out the caked-on mud from the soles of your football books. Yuck!

Maybe it had something do with the fact that I was mildly dyslexic, which meant that reading, and in some cases writing, was jumbled up and round the wrong way. I think that at the time I was beginning my education, in the mid 1950’s, you had to conform to being right-handed. I can imagine that it was better to have all the children in a class the same, in this case, right handed- and a left-handed child would be a really nuisance and stand out like a sore thumb. (why is a sore thumb thought of as standing out? I really don’t know, but it seems odd, thinking about it.) I think I was really left-handed, and was forced into writing with my right hand. If that was the case, when it came to playing cricket I would have found using a bat really awkward if I was supposed to use my right hand and really would have done better with my left, or, kicking a football with my left instead of my right, foot. So I became really ham-fisted at anything sporty, and this didn’t exactly help my confidence. You’d be laughted at, and made fun of by teachers and other pupils at school. As a consequence of all this I was never selected for teams to play anything and was usually the last person to be chosen for whatever sport we were supposed to play when we had games.

I think, actually, I wasn’t technically dyslexic, as my problem was actually with numbers, and I was really poor at maths and anything to do with numbers. I still am, I think, to a degree. I can manage the basics of maths, adding up, subtraction, multiplication, but when it goes into the complex part, formulae, complicated calculations, and all that stuff, my mind simply can’t manage. Algebra might just as well have been a completely foreign language and I still can’t see the point of it. I think the term was actually dyscalculia. I was scared stiff of one teacher at school, who would get really angry with me, which didn’t exactly help. I was thought of as being naughty and had to sit at the back of the class, which didn’t exactly do much for my confidence.

Those particular souls who were brilliant at playing games were sort of heros, and those of us who were no good at these pursuits were made to look stupid in front of the rest of the school. I just wonder where those people are now, and what they are doing.

Another reason that sport was so boring was that I never understood the basic rules. Oh, yes, I learned from an early age that you had to kick the ball in the OPPOSITE net to score a goal, as the one and only goal I ever scored was in the WRONG net, which never made sense to me. I still can never fathom out the rules of cricket, what an innings was, how the scoring system worked, and why you were out when you were actually in, what Silly Mid On was, or L.B.W. and one-hundred-and one really pointless rules and regulations. Does it really bother me? Not really, as I have never felt I have missed out not knowing these basic things, but it would have been nice if some teacher at that wretched school that my parents insisted in sending me to had spent some time and effort to explain the rules.

I say I don’t like sport, which is true up to a certain degree. I did actually enjoy gym (or P.E.) despite the fact that the master in charge was something of a bully and rather a nasty, raving, loud-mouth. I did learn to climb a rope, jump over the pommel horse (or whatever it’s called.) and I did learn to swim, which was just as well, as my dad had several boats, and, as children, we weren’t allowed to go on them until we could swim properly. A good principal in case there was a possibility of these boats capsizing and we needed to abandon ship (which, fortunately, we never had to.) I do rather like field sports, and the Olympics I can’t wait for in 2012. But the thought of cricket and football in particular does nothing for me. Its also the fact that you’re expected to be a fan of football and want to talk endlessly about the latest match that was on television, and when that happens, because I’m not in the least bit interested, I just sit there and my mouth goes up and down and nothing comes out as I have no idea what they’re on about. I think it has something to do with having to BELONG to some sort of tribe, because that, initially, is what football is about, your team is about belonging to a tribe, it’s about belonging to a community of some sort, which I suppose in this age of marriage breakdown and families splitting up, is a good thing.

I can tell you one particular thing which puts me off sport and that's people who endlessly talk about football, making out that they're some sort of authority on the subject, and then ramble on and on as if you are interested in the subject. On television, when a bit game is shown, you have to endure hours and hours of experts sitting in a studio rambling on and on about 'The Game' (leading up to 'The Match', and once it's over you get another couple of hours of them disecting 'The Game' and droning on and on about it until you really get fed up with it. It never occurs to anyone, those executives in television companies who show this stuff that there just MIGHT be viewers out there who aren't in the least bit interested. Programme schedules have to be changed because a game goes into extra time, but does it matter that the rest of us, waiting for the next show to begin, don't matter that me miss our favourite show? Not a bit of it.