Waste not, want not

In my disorganised garage occasionally I come across tools which I guess date from my grand-dad's time. Trowels, chisels, lump hammers and an implement for pulling thread through leather all feature. It seems to be part of the family tradition not to throw anything away until all possible uses have been explored. So there are obvious ones like the recycling of supermarket plastic bags for holding  the various kitchen waste piles; curtains becoming dust covers when decorating and padded envelopes which criss-cross the country several times.

My father used my school leather satchel for about 40 years as a source of leather for a variety of patches in his recycling projects. Old wellington boots were another source of "raw material" usually being stitched with waxed leather thread to create a replacement slipper sole for example (so inventing his version of outdoor slippers). It didn't surprise me too much when my engineering orientated brother designed and made a wellington stand for his daughter's family:

 Spot the old stair banister rail, poles from a windbreak, bits of pallet ?

 ( Wellies are new)

The downside of this mentality is what my wife describes as junk or clutter arranged in what appear to be random piles in the garage. Where I see raw materials - she sees junk, except for the old bedroom carpet on the garage floor which serves to keep down the dust. Also acceptable are the large flattened cardboard boxes that held the self-assembly furniture which now form good insulating layers underneath garage shelves and readily absorb liquid spills.

Using up portions of unwanted vegetables in my own home-made soup concoctions seems to go down well; and the new upper fence woven out of branches thinned from the willow tree seems to have approval as a view.

If only the vegetable peelings would rot down more quickly without producing the foul smelling black liquid that oozes from the plastic container. What I need is some sort of leak proof container that is easy to pick up and easy to pour from..and that needs little adaptation.

I'm staring at the photograph. No prizes for guessing the solution that is coming to mind...

Whollop whot a picture

A picture is worth a thousand words, apparently. I think I would need more than a thousand words to describe some of the photos seen lately on facebook or photobox. My daughter-in-law was presented with a new camera last Christmas and having fine photographers in her family is clearly an advantage. Some of her recent scenes and family photos are stunning.

I use my digital camera in a different way I think. In an attempt to get a natural pose I tend to fire off shots without warning the subjects, hoping that 1 in 20 photos will be worth keeping. I do get a lot of slightly blurred shots with shadows in the wrong place, red eye, closed eyes, winks, incomplete bodies and an excess of sky or water. But every so often there will be a gem that I will enjoy for several years.

Tiny "exploration" cameras are a whole new world, discovered last week during a visit to the dentist. His examination of the many constructions and restoration works I carry around produced the usual factual word list summarising the present state of decline. Usually I try to pre-empt dental comments with a sorry tale of how sweets and sugar in the 1950's were viewed as treats at the time, rather than the delayed action teeth rot agents they proved to be. Most dentists I see nowadays cannot relate to this and respond with one of those smiles you reserve for stories beyond your experience - I have such a smile for mobile "apps" and "i-phone" users.

So, with dental word list examination complete, x-rays followed then a long and detailed explanation of  the black, grey and white bits - having pointed out which areas of the x-ray were the actual teeth. Then, just for re-inforcement came a series of photos of teeth and gums taken with said exploration camera. Something primeval is going on in my mouth. All the photos appeared on a large computer screen in front of my face - scenes reminiscent of dormant volcanoes sitting in a sea of lava. (Not quite the mid-ocean ridge, but certainly an active seismic region). There were fault lines running across teeth and fillings; bubbling spots of irritation on the gums waiting to erupt; extinct metallic lava flows within teeth; a dark expanse surrounding a fractured root - and more, much more than I can describe no matter how many words I use.

There was quiet satisfaction in the dentist's tone as he finally decided on a treatment plan, and on reading the list I decided a visit to the optician would come next. 

The estimated bill was making my eyes water..

Drop 'em and Cough

There is often a corporate nervousness when strangers gather for a common purpose. The airport departures lounge is such a place, especially if there is a delay in the departure time. Nervousness shows in different ways. The well-seasoned travellers smile knowingly and reach for the book or playing cards. Travellers with young families react badly as stressed children get a sixth sense of how to pile pressure onto parents by demanding toilet trips/sweets/drinks or the freedom to explore the airport knowing that a parental refusal can be countered by a loud noise.

 Some travellers will move towards the check-out desk demanding explanations - in the naive hopes that they will be told the truth, and that passenger pressure can help. Nine times out of ten the broadcast reason for the delay will be described as a "technical problem" .This seems to be a blanket phrase covering anything from a replacement engine needed (as happened when we tried to fly from Manchester to Cuba), a need for a replacement light bulb (in the emergency floor lighting) to a crew shortage (pilot; or tractor driver to tow the plane out). Eventually passengers will board and the corporate passenger spirit will lift instantly.

Yesterday I arrived at a hospital as an out-patient ready to donate yet another blood sample from one of my bruised arms. The surgery opened at 09.00 so I was surprised to find a small queue at 08.30. Taking the small  paper ticket number 83 to the back row of chairs I settled in for the brief wait. The room rapidly filled (what a lot of blood letting in prospect!). Nine o'clock chimed and there was a corporate expectant hush. Number 80 please! No-one moved. Silence and a lot of sidelong looks. Who on earth was 80? Should 81 make a move? Would a latecomer call everyone's bluff and jump the queue?

A nurse appeared, confirmed that 80 was a leftover from the previous night, and called for 81. "Bingo!" quipped an "old hand" and he was rewarded with a corporate chuckle. On my left an elderly gentleman declared that the wait reminded him of Army medicals." Just one instruction - drop 'em and cough!" was the comment. At that point I queried whether I was in the right queue. I managed to suppress a question about how coughing without any trousers could be used in military action.

82 flashed up, followed rapidly by 83. Looked like the race was on  between the 2 blood nurses to see who could fill the barrel first so I charged into the vampire's lair.

I was out by 09.10, feeling slightly light-headed and bearing yet another rapidly forming bruise on my inner arm - a sort of corporate badge to be shown off for effect and evidence that I had indeed joined the right queue.

Shoots,leaves and eats

We were waiting for a transfer between Bodrum Airport and Bodrum Marina along with a hundred or so other passengers who were lining up behind designated signs such as Jones Taxi; Thomson; and Gallic Flights. Our board never appeared,at least not the board listed in the joining instructions. As darkness gathered we were suddenly aware of a minibus driver carrying a bit of cardboard with the word 'Fiesta' scribbled on it.

A stream of what we assumed was fluent Turkish, plus violent body gestures got across the idea we were to get on his bus - and to finally prove it he showed us a crumpled paper list which included our mis-spelt names. So we were off. The instructions had suggested a 15 minute trip.This turned out to be a spelling mistake on the information sheet, to put alongside alongside the "emergency" telephone contact that was 3 digits short of a full mobile number. 

After what could be called an interesting 45 minute drive, including lifts to random strangers encountered at any red traffic light, we arrived somewhere near the intended drop off point. Had there been much traffic on the road the ride would have been even more interesting, verging on exciting I would guess.

"Where exactly was the boat?", I asked in fluent English ; the common language of all the passengers, but clearly not a language for the driver. (In all fairness no-one could speak any Turkish so it is perhaps churlish to expect every minibus driver to speak English). Another stream of Turkish followed with more body gestures and a very disappointed face when I declined to give a tip.

So ..there we were, stranded at Bodrum's main harbour with only the name of the boating company (Barbaros) as a clue.There were only about a hundred boats in the harbour so it should not have taken too many hours to trail the luggage past each one. By sheer good luck the first Barbaros boat we approached was waiting for 2 passengers so we boarded,relinquished our passports, ate a hearty meal and discussed our good fortune. 

By 8 am the next day the real passengers had arrived; we were invited to leave as promptly as possible and to follow our guide to the correct boat. So much for a good start.

 If only the driver or skipper had been able to speak a little English...

A few days ago I was admitted to hospital with a suspected deep vein thrombosis in my right leg. I listened attentively to a learned doctor who told me about the possible effects of my condition and the dangers of a pulmonary embolism. As he was speaking English I paid attention and tried hard to register my understanding.

 Inside my head I was suddenly back in Turkey listening to a language which I could not understand. The same happens when I try to pin down a car salesman on the price of the car which interests me; or the ways of buying a three piece suite as explained by the clued up sofa expert. Why do people use jargon when clear English would be so much effective? And what do all the strange shorthand text messages on my mobile phpne mean?

The common motto seems to be "shoot first", followed by a "rapid retreat" and a juicy burger or two.

Missing a trick

Once upon a time families would play cards together. Just about everyone we knew could play dominoes using a pack that had double nines, or could play knock-out whist. The great attraction was that age did not necessarily give an advantage. Luck played a huge part, so children could take on adults of any age and show their superiority. Card playing uses many natural talents including memory, logic, the ability to bluff and the ability to interpret the behaviour of others. It's also usually a lot of fun, provided that 'post-mortems' are not allowed. Their major advantage over electronic activities is the social interaction generated. Also it's not vital to have a rapidly moving thumb or finger, so over 60's are not at a disadvantage.

Another historic family pastime that is still possible, thankfully, involves going for walks. In fact walks these days have become quite an industry. We have a local forest area on Cannock Chase which would probably take several years to explore all the walks and tracks available. One Forestry Commission site has the most splendid huge statues and wooden carvings scattered along a 'toddle walk' along with a fairy glen, maze, 'den-building and a set of empty plastic drums which produce a satisfying rumble when hammered with pieces of wood. Refreshingly there is also a playground housing a variety of swings, slides and climbing challenges. Only the car-park needs a cash feed! Bikes, horses, dogs and skegways are all welcome.

Somewhere between these two extremes there is the brilliant team game of Choral Singing , an all-age activity which is best when there is a wide variety of age and experience. Youthful enthusiasm combined with experienced voices make for an exciting noise and a real adrenalin rush especially if a public performance is involved. Hearing your voice bend with others generates a tingling pleasure that is the equal of scoring a goal, a rugby try or taking a wicket.

As winter approaches I look forward to board games and card games. It seems to me that reliance on television, Facebook and electronic gadgets for entertainment is missing a trick or two..

It was on a Monday morning

My wife decided to alter the focal point of the lounge. All we needed to do was to change a central light fitting, have a redundant side light removed and rearrange the furniture. Oh, and perhaps we needed a new radiator under the window. So after several quotes a plumber was arranged with a fortnight to spare before the job started.

Experience should have warned me that no changes around a house are straightforward. Inevitably the change ball began to roll. It would be a good idea to repaper the wall before the radiator was attached - you know how easy it is to decorate around a fixed radiator. A good look at the ceiling led to the need for the ceiling to be skimmed with new plaster and we had to get a move on to do this in the 2 weeks before the plumber arrived. Suddenly the pressure was on. All the furniture had to be cleared and the floor covered.The plasterer came at very short notice squeezing  our one day job into a weekend window of opportunity. Staring at plaster and willing it to dry quickly so that painting can begin has no effect whatsoever. It will still take a good 3 days, even in warm weather. Meanwhile a new set of concrete posts and panels finally arrived to replace the ageing wooden fence which was putting the Tower of Pisa to shame.

Along came the electrician who had been asked to change the light fitting. Since he was at the house already my wife decided to get a quote  for an outside light and a change of light fittings in the hall. The efficient electrician decided it would be easiest to crack on and do all the jobs while he was there - so the hour I had allowed for the original job became a full day and I was contemplating the problems of midnight paperhanging - at least enough rolls to cover where the radiator was to be fixed. Working around a window, electrical fittings, plugs and telephone connection all added to the fun.

I finished the wall papering last night and am now waiting for the plumber, who is late.I'm looking out at the new garden fence from a near horizontal position on a couch brought on by an inability to move easily at the moment. Retirement wasn't supposed to be this busy. 

It is however amazing just how much can be done in a relatively short time if you don't plan everything out in great detail and you hang on to a sense of humour.

A meeting of minds

The committee meeting this week was a rare one. We met, discussed items on the agenda, made decisions and followed them through. Easy. It was all over in an hour.

Bert would not have enjoyed this. Bert's tactic was to wait until a meeting seemed to be drawing to a close, then decide he had to discuss a few technical difficulties - usually ones that had no clear solution and ones that had been aired before. Sid was no better. Sid would arrive 10 minutes late, then waste another 10 minutes scrounging a copy of the agenda and details of the previous meeting - an unfortunate habit given that he was chairman. There would always be a spell of reminiscence and no attempt to control the content of the meeting, Ethel lived on her own. Consequently the chance to talk to other people was too good to miss; who could not fail to be enthralled with blow by blow accounts of parking problems, hairstyle nightmares and the challenges of telephone calls offering PPI refunds? The classic one however was Clive. Clive was not one for consensus decisions - the only way was "Clive's Way" - and whenever a Choral Society committee decision went a different way you could be sure of  several minutes of high drama to enliven rehearsals.

There do seem to be some unwritten laws about committee meetings.

Whenever the "boss" wants to avoid a decision the number of participants invited increases.

Minutes can be turned into an art form. Indecisive meetings require a delay before production of minutes and may contain references which few can recall (other than the minute writer).

Mobile phone calls/texts must take priority over meeting content.

Water bottles/drinks should be personalised and on full view.

Jargon is absolutely vital and should be thrown into conversations casually, confidently and in such a way that the comments sound plausible.

Commonly used words, such as "issues" and "like" should take on new meanings. 

"No problem"  along with "Don't worry about it" is the standard answer.

I suppose there is a chance that I have lost the plot and am just out of touch with modern ways of thinking. For example,  I was enjoying the closing ceremony of the London Olympics until the music started. In contrast that was the moment when "rapidly approaching teen-age" family members started to get interested.

It's an unnerving experience when, just now and again, meeting agendas work out as expected and minds actually meet. It makes me wonder whether I missed something...