John had

Great Big
Waterproof
Boots on;
John had a
Great Big 
Waterproof
Hat;
John had a
Great Big
Waterproof
Mackintosh --
And that
(Said John)
Is
That. 

'Happiness' by A.A. Milne & 'When I was six'  by A.A. Milne, in decades - or epochs?

When I was One                                                                     I had just begun.

When I was Two                                                                    I was nearly new

When I was Three                                                                 I was hardly Me

When I was Four                                                                   I was not much more

When I was Five                                                                    I was just alive

But now I am Six, I'm as clever as clever.                                 So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever

Serendipity or synchronicity? My sixties stride serendipitously, seemlessly, soaring, skidding, slipping.. AARRGH... enough alliteration, on with an almost rantless blog... by the way, I am not clever :-((
My Mental Health Issues are my focus at the moment... and the BBC's... a psychiatrist's... a psychologist's... some trainee G.P.s... my G.P.... and last but very much not least 3 wilderness therapy groups ( should the group name for wilderness' by an orgy? Try saying it out loud - " An orgy of wilderness' " - it reverberates round my mind... but back to the BBC etc..

I was head down bug hunting amongst the dying runner beans when Matt, my manager at Feed Bristol, said " here's Helen from BBC radio; she's going to interview you now for Countrywise ". Putting down my bugs (I didn't know whether she was a country girl or not) I turned to find a live furry microphone in my face. I knew the BBC was on site but thought I would be the last person they would want to interview; I have little recollection of what I said but remember eulogising about nature, plants, wilderness' and their impact on mood, especially depression.

Early March last year was when I was attempting suicide - literally: I had put my affairs in order, worked out a couple of likely methods, cleaned the flat but -  told no one; it was not a cry for help! My lovely 70 year old psychotherapist, Bob, has said I had survived despite having been, at the time, the most depressed person he has ever spoken to; he should know, he's has been a volunteer on The Samaritan's suicide line for 12 years so probably knows more about such things than most.  Anyway, back to the BBC and why I support outdoor therapy.

The BBC Countrywise team were at Feed Bristol as we are a 'community focused' wildlife friendly organic food growing urban site; allegedly it is a coincidence that a number of enviromental activists, Rising up, are living up our trees to prevent the council tarmacing over our wildflower meadow and the adjoining alltments.  I was at Feed Bristol as part of my personal, self directed therapy.

My 'wilderness' & 'gardening' therapy eulogising has not gone unnoticed.  Bob introduced me to a local forest and it's guides at Westonbirt National Arboretum last year as part an Over 50's group (part of the Bristol Drugs Project) visits.  Their approach uses the John Muir Trust's award scheme to structure wilderness therapy, which neatly ties into Feed Bristol's wildlife and food growing therapy which raggedly ties into All Aboard's water based therapy.

Furthermore (keep up... keep up , I know it's a lot but I'm not incoherently rambling... much) I met Dr Alan K through Feed Bristol who is going to use me as an exemplar at a G.P. holistic lecture. He's a psychiatrist previously specialising in Learning Difficulties but now promoting and treating through nature therapy etc. usually in Leigh Woods, another local treasure, for grief and PTS issues.

Lots going on, all long term projects with no funding so all voluntary, no job prospects for at least a year and then part time so today's conundrum is a. take a job that will put me back in the dark places or b. hang on accepting my benefits will be cut to £35 a week in May but might be able to hustle a liitle paid work.

Realistically I'm just too old for confusing dichotomies, hurricanes deep sea I understand, petty politics and fiefdoms I don't.  If something works, proven in other countries, just do it - by the way it's cheaper per month than the prescription meds I should have been taking for the last year and would be on for the rest of my life. Serendipity or synchronicity?

That's all folks, fair winds and following seas, may your gods be with you, J

A short war

Five hundred years ago John Kennington's legacy was one farm at Scartho, Linolnshire, and all thereon and also to Gie(?) Kennington half an acre of barley; that will is the earliest record I know of. We are a family of stewards of land.

One hundred years ago, 5 miles away to the west on the Wolds, his descendant John Kennington's heritage was farming; possibly he expected to enjoy harvesting crops in the late summer, he was wrong.

I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorpes, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever. 

The politicians had other ideas, ideas that did not include Alfred Lord Tennyson's idyllic scenes scribed in 'The Brook'; ideas such as fighting a war, a war we were woefully unprepared for - no uniforms for the 100,000 extra troops (never mind guns of course), in the absence of khaki the war office had bought 500.000 surplus Post Office uniforms to become a well known site - school boys loved them.

So they swarmed up, over the top, and across No Man's Land, only to discover that in warfare things do not work with clock-like accuracy. 15 Officers and 487 men (out of 1000) killed, missing or wounded; it was on this occasion that Lieut.-Col. Kennington, my grandfather, distinguished himself and won the Military Cross. It was to be a short war, almost certainly over by Christmas, that was the populist view 100 years ago but not Field Marshall Lord Kitchener of Khartoum's.

Kitchener agreed to the creation of Battalions formed from men of a common background, of common occupations, professions, sporting associations or even youth groups such as the Boy's Brigade and these Battalions became the 'Pals'. Of around 304 such Battalions, only one chose to become know as the 'Chums', these were the 'Grimsby Chums'. One volunteer was Kennington, John, Serjeant, number 469 of the Lincolnshire Regiment Reserves 5th (also known as the Territorial Army).

Ready to serve

Gazetted! The Grimsby Battalion, The Lincolnshire Regiment, The undermentioned to be temporary Lieutenants: Dated 9th September, 1914. John Kennington; so the nightmare started, The Great War.

Ready to fight for King and Country

The Chums embarked for France on January 4th 1916. They reformed at Le Havre and set off for rest camp before deployment in the Armentiers sector. The section of the line held by the Chums and their 101st Brigade comrades was at La Boiselle. Prior to attack, at 7.28 am a large mine was exploded beneath the German line, the Chums were then to attack at 7.30 am. Unknown to the Battalion, the mine fell short of the German positions and during the 2min gap between the explosion and the "whistle" the enemy had the chance to set the machine guns.

Roll call in the trenches at the front

Several attempts to attack were made with the remnants of the Battalion on the 2nd and 3rd July, but as the roll was called when they were finally withdrawn it read 15 Officers and 487 men ( out of 1000 ) killed, missing or wounded.Here they took part in the great attack on Vimy Ridge on April 9th 1917, with the 34th Division on the right the Highland Division, and in that magnificent fight they reached their objective without any great sacrifice. It was on this occasion that Lieut.-Col. Kennington, then a Major, distinguished himself and won the M.C.

The London Gazette 17 July 1917 Issue: 30188 Page: 7234

Temp. Capt. John Kennington, Line. R, MILITARY CROSS.

For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty. He commanded the two leading companies with great skill and courage, setting a splendid example at a time when it was most needed. Later, although badly stunned, after a brief rest, he completed the consolidation of his line.

In the last stage of the attack the Battalion advanced 1600 yards with practically no support, with their flanks "in the air," led by Col. Kennington. For five days they held the position, five terrible days of snow and sleet, with the cold so bitter that 50 men were taken from the trenches suffering from exposure and exhaustion.

A Grimsby Chums grave at The Somme

Most horrible of all the battles on the Western front was the attack on the Passchendaele Ridge in the latter part of 1917, horrible because of the mud and slime through which British soldiers struggled foot by foot. Here again we find "The Chums" attacking at Langemarck, where Major Emerson led them and won his M.C.

SUPPLEMENT TO THE LONDON GAZETTE, 21 JULY,1917 7435

Line. B.

Temp. Capt. J. Kennington to be temp. Maj. 17 Oct. 1916.

SUPPLEMENT TO THE LONDON GAZETTE, 15 JULY, 1918. 8281

War Office, 15th July, 1918. - REGULAR FORCES. INFANTRY (ATTD.).

Line. R. Temp. Maj. J. Kennington, M.C., from a Serv. Bn., to be temp. Maj. 3 June 1918 with seniority 17 Oct. 1916.

SUPPLEMENT TO THE LONDON GAZETTE, 14 DECEMBER, 1918. 14759

INFANTRY. R. War. R.—Temp. Maj. J. Kennington, M:C., Line. R. (attd.), to be actg. Lt.-Col. whilst comdg. a Bn. 21st Aug. 1918.

SUPPLEMENT TO THE LONDON GAZETTE, 1 FEBRUARY, 1919. 1607

T./Maj. John Kennington. M.C., Line. R.,

attd. 1st Bn., R. War. R.

For conspicuous) gallantry and devotion to duty east of Arras, on August 30th, 1918.

When his battalion was assembling for the attack it was heavily shelled, and he was wounded in three places and badly shaken. In spite of this he carried on, launching the attack under most trying conditions, and, owing to his careful organisation and attention to details, bringing it to a successful conclusion. 

His determination and courage had

a stimulating effect on his men.

The above is Grandpa's 'Mention in Dispatches' relating to his Distinguished Service Order (DSO).

Posted lest we forget.

I can't find any mention of leave just promotions and citations in the field, did the chums stay in France for 4 years? I also wonder, looking at the dates of promotion, how many were of the last man standing, though given his later life I suspect they were for his abilities, and whether Grandpa, a farmers boy, ever ran the French earth through his fingers.

Finally some addenda: in the pre-War situation, there were two Territorial Battalions of the Regiment. A territorial battalion was one raised and largely financed by the local County Territorial Committee. The two in existence at August 1914 were the 4th and the 5th. The 4th recruited from the south of the County and the 5th from the north, the recruiting centre being Grimsby.   http://www.genuki.org.uk/big/eng/LIN/military_linc.html#WWoneFirst published in 1991 and written by the Grimsby Telegraph’s Odd Man’s Week columnist Peter Chapman, here we begin the full serialisation of his book, Grimsby’s Own: The Story of The Chums.
Read more: http://www.grimsbytelegraph.co.uk/Grimsby-s-Story-Chums-Read-serialisation-Peter/story-21661488-detail/story.html#ixzz39KZWfojP
Grimsby Telegraph book link http://issuu.com/grimsbytel/docs/chumspt1?e=0/8676116
The Royal Lincolnshire Regiment was raised on 20 June 1685 as theEarl of Bath's Regiment for its first Colonel, John Granville, 1st Earl of Bath. In 1751, it was numbered like most other Army regiments and named the 10 Regiment of Foot. After the Childers Reforms of 1881, it became the Lincolnshire Regiment after the county where it had been recruiting since 1781. After the Second World War, it was honoured with the name Royal Lincolnshire Regiment, before being amalgamated in 1960 with the Northamptonshire Regiment to form the2nd East Anglian Regiment.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Royal_Lincolnshire_Regiment


Battle Honours
Great War: Mons, Le Cateau, Retreat from Mons, Marne 1914, Aisne 1914, '18, La Bassée 1914, Messines 1914, 1917, 1918, Armentières 1914 Ypres 1914, '15, '17, Nonne Bosschen, Neuve Chapelle, Gravenstafel, St. Julien, Frezenberg, Bellewaarde, Aubers, Loos, Somme 1916, '18, Albert 1916, '18, Bazentin, Delville Wood, Pozières, Flers-Courcelette, Morval, Thiepval, Ancre 1916, '18, Arras 1917, '18, Scarpe 1917, '18, Arleux, Pilckem, Langemarck 1917, Menin Road,Polygon Wood, Broodseinde, Poelcappelle, Passchendaele, Cambrai 1917, '18, St. Quentin, Bapaume 1918, Lys, Estaires, Bailleul, Kemmel, Amiens, Drocourt Quéant, Hindenburg Line, Épéhy, Canal du Nord, St. Quentin Canal, Beaurevoir, Selle, Sambre, France and Flanders 1914–18, Suvla, Landing at Suvla, Scimitar Hill, Gallipoli 1915, Egypt 1916,

A wanderer is not necessarily lost nor a man alone lonely; remember that when thinking of me.

High points in 2013 included: a lovely Down's Syndrome teenager giving me a most wonderful smile - I'd remembered his piece of rope he likes to trail in the water during his weekly 'sail'; a bunch of excluded teenagers telling me I was a great sports coach because I didn't try to 'teach' them; an Autistic c. 40 year old confiding in me (in a stage whisper) that an Autistic c.25 year old shouldn't be allowed to touch the throttle as he was prone to 'max it' (his words); watching a solo sailor control his dinghy during a championship race... using only a mouth piece; teaching primary school kids to sail (girls more motivated - why?); moving into my own flat after 2 years in recovery care homes and being released from being classed as a vulnerable adult.

Low points were very rare: I got irritated at the national governing body for sailing - the RYA - the one behind the Para Olympics - the one I work for at Bristol Sailability - that a disabled person cannot be an
instructor. My rant did not help as it was eloquently performed to a very senior National Disability Organiser in public so he now ignores me ( I wonder if that's why I failed the course I was on when I dared to point out the contradictions?); I also 'failed' the first 2 job interviews I had - the first I have ever had but I do know why I failed them... HR has invaded care homes and I don't use the correct words but I have now been taught the language & format used by all the Polish, Romanian and Spanish applicants so crossed fingers... sorry, digits..., sorry, phalanxes.
OK, so that's the minimalist annual of a 59 year old feeling his age because he's just had his first free Flu jab! Now for a Tiggerish bounce into 2014... ouch, forgot I'm decrepit Dodo of a pirate, an abb free incorrigible grump in gestation. Galumph.

I'm in between jobs at the moment as the charity I was working for has run out of funds for wages, the trustees are spending money on new rather then maintaining existing so volunteers are trying to look after the 47 boats I maintained though we do have a nice new indoor fitness suite. Enough of that, onto my job hunt. I'm probably going to end up doing a night shift stacking supermarket shelves which would leave my days open for sailing for the disabled here in Bristol (that's the guys I've been working for). The government has allowed me to sign onto the dole which pays my rent, council tax and £70 per week for food & utilities - but sometimes fortune smiles on me, NPower's computer has 'given' me 5 1/2 months free electricity that they can't charge me for, lol and brilliant. Job hunting is extremely web intensive, pity those who do not have a home computer or the skills to use one so my mates who have come from being on the streets are automatically disadvantaged without training which takes months part time as full time is not allowed except for youths which massages the unemployment figures etc. etc. blah, blah and there are other weird conundrums (set rant to simmer).

Weirder still slothfulness is a government requirement to stay on the dole, I found that out when I mentioned to my 'job seeker advisor' that I had started a care workers entry level course. A 5 minute lecture ensued, the gist was 'that shalt not gain qualifications whilst job hunting': "Surely" I replied, " What I do I my own time to improve my chances of getting a job is acceptable?" ... and the gist of the reply was ... "No".
Utterly surreal... perchance political reality... a hidden agenda... whose reality does that fit into?

I admit I do get confused about reality, my reality that is; I've been following a series of articles in the New Scientist (don't worry, I won't go mathematical on you) which philosophise on reality using simple, observable facts to prove hypotheses of what the universe is, Higg's and all. A simple experiment at home with a torch, a white wall and a card with a minute hole in it can demonstrate that light behaves as a wave - the light/dark stripes of the diffraction pattern on the wall - and as a particle - excited atoms in the torch emit photons which can be seen by your eyes. You can go to your local physics lab. (CERN will do) and get them to repeat that experiment with a 'torch' that emits 1 photon at a time, put a 'card' with a 'hole' in it in front of the 'torch' & a whole load of 'cameras' where your eyes should be and hit 'on' but get the lab. to run the experiment before you arrive at the scene to see the result.  Each photon should hit the same spot as there is no interference between waves, there is only 1 photon at a time, but the diffraction pattern will build up, why? The latest thinking is that it does so because 'I', the observer's mind, believe it will (bit egocentric!). Greek philosophers came up with that viewpoint too, that 'I', the observer's Id & Ego, create the 'reality' I experience including the quantum mechanics and mathematics to prove it... by the way the proof is only understood by a very few, and the debate furious, Steven Hawking recently reluctantly accepted this 'empty set' proof though I'm just going to accept I can't even effect my love of ice-cream. 

Prospects of me getting paid employment for the job I want are vanishingly small, so apart from job hunting (repetitive) I keep my mind, which now has 'senior moments', active by involving myself in citizen science - notably the Galaxy Zoo Serengeti Snapshot project. It involves sifting through thousands of shots taken by sensor activated cameras so we (the citizens, about 100,000 of us) can click on empty, empty, empty.. another bloody Wildebeast, empty, empty... etc then WOW, so look at our 'best of' collage then look below at the photo -  when you find her - WOW... I hope.

Happy New Year

PS A salmagundi of my nurture is at https://sites.google.com/site/jkakathepirate/

A longing buried?

"Sometimes we decide to bury a longing that seems impossible to fulfill because we cannot bear the pain. The danger in doing so is that we forget the name of that longing. And if we cannot find it again, we lose a piece of ourselves." ~ Oriah Mountain Dreamer from The Dance. I have great faith in our deepest longings, the inner soul-sounds we sometimes push aside to do what we feel must be done. I know that these deepest desires will find us again if we let them, will take us home & help us walk away from what does not have value for to & soul. May we pay attention today- feeling the places where something unnameable gently tugs within or softly whispers to us beneath the busyness. Oriah's FaceBook page

Trailing fingers in the water attracting mermaids, watching the shadows of the weeping willow dance,listening to the hum of the mechanical wizard, sensing friends serenely shifting the child calms, gently holding the carers hand; arcadian expressions flutter across the rictus, the blank gaze flashes an otherworldly intensity but no words, no communication to compare with a politicians filibuster - just a trust in us.

Four long years since last seeing my daughters I passed yet another of my eldest's birthdays bound in law not to even send her a card. Instead of a slough of despond, exuberance; instead of melancholy, merriment - Bristol Harbour Regatta elated me albeit for a few hours only.

Tasked with shepherding model 'yachts' across the harbour we idled in our safety boat, the commentator by my side interspersing the names of the builders (local primary schools) with the names of sponsors (local business') and observations that untreated cardboard is not an ideal, nor common, hull material. 

Absolute calm ensured chaos - some 'yachts' coyly approached parties on gin palace bathing platforms; some voyaged up the Frome reach; some just sank; but a winner was finally declared by the commentator, who had for the last ten minutes taken to frequently switching off his mic. and swearing, on the grounds of distance made good - not crossing a finish line. 

Listening to his voice echoing over the loudspeakers JR (crew & past Commodore) and I started collecting sodden models; aware of the gaze of hundreds of spectators watching us and that most would be videoing us in the hope that one of us would do something worth posting on you-tube - we attempted professionalism as an emblazoned scarlet boat and my bush hat does not equate to anonymity. I didn't take photos of this race as I was skipper of the 'safety' boat!  

The next race was much more promising... for our delectation crews had built their own 2 man rafts from cardboard and tape... interestingly no women entered.  We had had to go back to our centre as we were supposed to provide the buoyancy aids (my 'oops'), the crowd welcomed us back as the commentator had just announced it was our (my) fault the start was late, luckily he said Bristol Sailing School (our commercial side) not Bristol Sailability (emblazoned on the side of my power boat ) which is my focus. 

These boats, left, were allegedly built and crewed by undergraduates; it does not bode well that the engineers did not make the first mark, their effort disintegrating into it's components, though I can attest that they were extremely heavy - the components that is - they were not effective. Two craft were, I suspect, made by using a kayak as a mould and the cardboard used like a child creating a paper mache toy - they led. Others, coracle in style, aimlessly voyaging but enthusiastically crewed, provided inspiration for the hecklers. Yet more sodden cardboard was collected such that we ended up resembling a New York waste barge for our weary return.

Satiated by our promotional efforts I returned to my flat which some would call my home. My previous abode was St James, a charitable hostel for vulnerable adults (me) with addictive personalities (me again) that are homeless and unemployed (guess); so being offered and taking up a full time job caused an unexpected problem... where to go, I cannot get 'council' housing. Addicts simply do not get non-nepotistic jobs outside the recovery industry, nor a year earlier than the system provides for. A government scheme does provide a damage bond and advance rent allowance but locally has such a bad reputation that professional landlords despise it... I tried it and had my own name sullied by association.

The answer... be economical with the truth, rob Peter to pay Paul ... etc. blah, blah, blah. Chicanery, swerving, manipulating ... all contrary to recovery suggestions but necessary to keep my job - a job that is keeping me normal(ish).  A Job!  Job : definitions; a (1) : something that has to be done (2) : an undertaking requiring unusual exertion <it was a real job to talk over that noise>; b : a specific duty, role, or function; or c : a regular remunerative position.

Allow me an indulgence re these definitions, taking them in reverse order: I am paid albeit for enjoying myself; specific 'role' should read general 'dogsbody'; unusual exertion applies only if one does not habitually lift non-swimmers from docks; lastly 'something that has to be done'... something - in my case taking people boating, people that are unique not average, idiosyncratic not peculiar, our sailors are not standard issue people but are sapient beings who trust us to aid and abet them to survive in our world, so has to be done. I am not alone amongst our staff in believing a minuscule difference in DNA on the bell curve of 'normality' should condemn a person to a life locked away; kept in isolation to avoid embarrassment; unloved by their own; too much trouble to care for (and since the latest round of care cuts too expensive to care for at home, this government prefers institutions (now in private hands) to a care allowance); and sadly often forgotten, never visited. 

All-Aboard's sole purpose is to introduce people to water sports, simply that. I have the privilege of working for them as, primarily, bo'sun (there is an element of 'shovelling shit' but that is true of any job and I'm used to it) and, secondarily, skipper of very small boats in a small harbour with a funny (by any & all definitions) crew. A salmagundi of personalities; funny, fun loving, playful, thoughtful, naughty, intense, aloof etc.  etc. etc. - just like a child, any child ... just like mine were, hence the opening paragraph by Oriah.

I have no illusions, our sailors are my children because "Sometimes we decide to bury a longing that seems impossible to fulfill because we cannot bear the pain The danger in doing so is that we forget the name of that longing. And if we cannot find it again, we lose a piece of ourselves."

Punctuate this if you can ‽
"James while John had had had had had had had had had had had a better effect on the teacher"; it's a well known example of lexical ambiguity, meaningless as written but unambiguous punctuated as...mmm, maybe not yet - you'll have to indulge me, see answer below, no cheating, go on - test yourself. I had that rule, amongst others, taught to me at the age of 10 by the English teacher, Mrs Wilkinson(?); she enjoyed hitting us on our knuckles with a ruler and sending me to be caned by the headmaster for the incorrect use of English grammar consequently missing other lessons... DUH... apprehension results in incomprehension.

Caning me only reinforced my ethic of non violence eloquently paraphrased by Isaac Asimov as "Violence is the last resort of the incompetent": whilst deploring my primary schools method of controlling the populace I do applaud advocates teaching at least the basics of punctuation...whichever language; my mobile (cell in 'murican), a basic model, can use 99 languages, it's set to English (United Kingdom) not one of the other 14 English flavours offered from Australia to Zimbabwe, with 38 punctuation marks in each.

Consider, if you please, the following 

phrase:"woman without her man is nothing" which a misogynist would mean "woman, without her man, is nothing" whereas to a misandrist it means "woman: without her, man is nothing"; self-contradictory meanings caused by introducing ',' & ',' or ':' & ',' ... it's not surprising that texts and tweets, often written in haste, are woefully misunderstood when ',' is on an alternate keyboard i.e. 4 keystrokes away from ':' ...relationships have evaporated with less cause. When I bought my £10 mobile last week I had to choose one of 14 English dialects from 99 language options then choose one of a myriad of messaging options just to text a 3 line query - it's not surprising time impoverished 'tweety birds', (close relatives of the 'tellychat', right) manage to mismanage communication so frequently.

['Have I got old news for you', hosted by Alistair Campbell, Ian Hislop and Paul Merton being supported by Nick Freeman and Ross Noble, exemplifies correct, devestatingly witty communication used to force AC, Tony Blair's Machiavellian spin doctor, into silence - by brilliant use of deadly repartee discombobulating a supposed master of the art - watch it if you can.]

My issue is with Alcatel & Nokia, Intel and Microsoft, respectively the cell infrastructure, chip and software manufacturers who cannot, apparently, create a mobile phone that knows: a. who I am, that's no secret - my name's on the EPS till receipt; b.where I am, that's no secret - I'm holding a GPS chipped mobile; and c. the language I use, that's no secret - I publish on social networks so why, even on the latest £500 4G phones, should any of us have to waste so much fffing time setting the phone up?

Come on guys, do some joined up thinking, perchance we need another Gates thinking 'outside the box'‽ My laptop tailors adverts to my location, language and politics and has done so for years - so guys ... go shrink a cookie - size isn't everything (tablets are for handbags).

The lexical answer? "James, while John had had "had", had had "had had"; "had had" had had a better effect on the teacher".

Dog, as a devil deified, lived as a god

Dogma: I am God
Never odd or even
Do geese see God?
Don't nod

God saw I was dog
Ah, Satan sees Natasha
Go deliver a dare, vile dog!
Don't nod

Kay, a red nude, peeped under a yak
Madam, in Eden I'm Adam
Oozy rat in a sanitary zoo
Don't nod

Satan, oscillate my metallic sonatas!
Evil did I dwell; lewd I did live
Dammit, I'm mad!
Don't nod




I wrote this a few months ago for my own pleasure: for an arts and literature group I was part of; for the satisfaction of creating a palindromic 'poem'; to test my abilities as not just a blatherskite but also as chronicler of individually unimportant utterances coalescing into a salmagundi of persiflage (rant) ...

[The gang rape and murder of a young, female, medical student on a bus has been headline news recently; those words originally opened this post but have been moved to my gallimaufry 'JK...etc' as it developed into a chapter on my ethics! ¿Why don't we return to toasting testicles? ‒ we're no longer civilised]

I'm in limbo...several limbos really; pertinent definitions are a: a place or state of restraint or confinement ‒ as an alcoholic in recovery I must be aware & take care b: a place or state of neglect or oblivion ‒ I'm still recovering from toxic neuropathy c: an intermediate or transitional place or state ‒ here or d: a state of uncertainty ‒ the polychotomy of ¿What next?

So, thanks to Jules' post reminding me about New Year resolutions, I will post mine omitting the perennials of stopping smoking etc. :

considering I hold the miriad of all but two, minor, certificates of competence I could return to being an 'Old Man of the Sea' on yachts ‒ some of the owners are still alive, just, for references ‒ but see 'a' above ;

or stay here i. I should recover reasonably good health by the year end, serendipitously the same moment I should consider leaving this abode but I could procrastinate, but see 'b' above (b for boring), if nothing else my life has not been boring ‒ it drives me mad ... boredom that is ;

or stay here ii. I could continue hitting my, now mushy, head against the brick wall surrounding 'working with ADS/EBD etc. youths', but see 'c' above ;

or, having been invited to Turin by a friend, to move there to try teaching English to native adults, see 'd', aftermath unknowable.

¿The Resolution? I will make a decision by the end of March. Only one but a critical one, easy in a way, almost no baggage, no home, no children...

Tempting thought. Happy New Year.

PS Global warming has opened The North West Passage to yachts and numerous owners are exploring high latitude parts ‒ away from the crowd.

PPS Buy the book - Extinct Boids, Ralph Steadman's birds are unbelievable.

Seasons Greetings: scintillating pinpricks of joy leaven 2012’s concluding chronicle, a damp Albion pervading, but I’m still here in my bubble! 

Almost five decades of memorable mid-winter festivities survived; reflections on events (at the bottom-you'll have to wait), memories of loved ones that have passed on, friendships honed or ended, new beginnings, opportunities rising-taken up or discarded; Grianstad an Gheimhridh is the rarely used Celtic celebration of the solstice, often dramatised by shafts of the dawn light striking the depths of caves, announcing the new year, growth not decay, spring after bleak midwinter, of course as a recovering addict I don’t wake up like a ‘Blackened Thront’ !

I have recently learned from my ‘sick pay’ managers that they do not expect me to return to ‘work’ for another year-so another year of living on £10 a day. One alternative, that of ‘jails, institutions or death’- relapsing - does not appeal; my gratitude to my adored sister, Annie, for her role in getting me into recovery cannot be exaggerated - the doctors said I would not have lived much longer, not that the ‘life’ I had was of any value - and her continued support is invaluable, especially considering other, more important, pressures on her. Renewal and rebirth works, not repetition other than at a cellular level, I truly believe my journey through recovery is an example of looking forward with hope, noting but not dwelling on past misdeeds. Amends have been made, where possible, to all affected by my drunkenness, and even though some have chosen to ignore my ameliorative advances or possibly misunderstood them, I again offer my sincere, unreserved apologies.

The upside of being ‘off sick’ for another year is being able to continue my work with youths and young adults with special needs. The joy of witnessing: an 'imprisoned in their mind' ASD mortal realising they can 'drive' a boat, the calmness of a higher level ASD soul watching the water and 'their mermaids', the incredulity of an EBD cocooned soul allowed to control a boat, the realisation of the excluded that they can do things without guards present; it's quite incredible. Often it is quiet comments that hit home hardest, one guy mentioned we were the first people he had ever spoken to that were not paid to be with him (he's in a very small 'secure' unit), how is he supposed to cope with becoming adult? He is, by the way, very bright, probably a savant.

The local college has accepted me onto a level 3 (≈ A level) Special Educational Needs course but funding issues will take ages to sort out - I am overqualified again! - so my head will continue to ache from banging against the brick wall of blinkered cronyism. 10 months of targeted voluntary work still hasn’t resulted in a job offer but some glimmers of hope are there, typically an addict in recovery takes 18 months or so to find employment, so whilst frustrated I will keep going in the planned direction, I'm a navigator.

Now back to the memories of past Grianstad an Gheimhridh: chucking a $ billionaire off a charter yacht on xmas day for upsetting my crew (I wasn't even reprimanded by the owner or agent!); New Years Eve at Basils Bar (Mustique-lobster) watching Princess X dancing on her table right next to us - wondering aloud with Lu where the security guards kept their guns (silently reprimanded by a 'stare'); Singapore & Hong Kong for my 17th; sleeping rough for my 19th; Church Farm, Boarstall, Esher and USA for huge family dinners; Storm Force conditions deep sea (no tree!); Missions to Seamen in Hamburg docks, extremely simple but the comradeship of the sea; numerous others of note; and this winter solstice, the seventh in a row with no partner at all, no kisses & cuddles, celibacy suits me, I prefer it - no nasty belittling. 

Grianstad an Gheimhridh this year will be with a friend's family for the day, a family that has had more than their fair share of tribulations but still offered hospitality to me, a stranger, co-incidently an archaic Arab tradition - now, apparently, discarded. No Christmas Eve midnight church choral service as, according to friends in a large, well attended C of E congregation, there aren't any here in Bristol - not traditional anyway. 

All 'best wishes' and 'seasons greetings' cards have been sent by Facebook and e-mail (with links to this blog, it's open share) as the only time I use snail mail is to contact those with cyberphobia.

May your gods be with you all.