Doesn't it Just Feel Good ... ?

... when things come together?  I have to say that, in my experience, it's rare that lots of 'stuff' goes right all at once without there being something big and festering in the middle to sour the whole shebang.  Looking back through the past week, since I wrote about old age, funerals and lovers not returning from war, I have to say that this has been one of those rare occasions ... and I'll try to summarise why.

It had occurred to me earlier that, by the final week in September, I ought to have received a new lease for my flat, but so far it hadn't arrived.  Not wishing to be turned out onto the street (although, I'm sure, it wouldn't have come to that), I was getting a bit anxious.  On Saturday, it arrived in a Royal Mail 'damaged post' package.  Deciding not to trust the post with its return, I walked into the agent's office with it that morning and was assured that all was well.

That afternoon, I watched my favourite football team start its adventure in the FA Vase competition.  After taking a 2-0 lead, they left fans a bit worried as they were set back as far as 2-3 before finally winning their qualifying tie 5-3 to progress to the First Round Proper in three weeks' time.

Replica Hawker Hurricane
fighter at Wimpole Hall

Sunday afternoon found me in a long queue of traffic.  Usually I find this a stressful situation, being unable to do anything to forward my cause.  This time, however, with no pressures and the sunshine around me, I was nicely relaxed as I inched ever closer to the car park at a local attraction, Wimpole Hall, where a World War II themed event was in progress.  It may be that my demeanour was helped by events earlier in the day.  I'd had a brief encounter that morning with someone whom I feared I had offended, but I'd been reassured that this wasn't the case and so was, in a sense, 'floating on air' as a result.  We met up later in the week and enjoyed a relaxed and wide-ranging conversation over a drink.

On Wednesday morning I had the opportunity to erase another blot on my escutcheon.  Some months ago, I had been invited to a coffee morning that had had to be rearranged at fairly short notice.  I failed to change my diary, though, and didn't turn up.  I'd been instantly forgiven, of course, but still felt uneasy about it.  This week another such gathering had been arranged, and I was able to redeem myself.  As well as the coffee and chatter, I had the privilege of briefly holding my host's baby daughter on my lap; it was the first time since Christmas time about thirteen years ago that I had enjoyed such an experience.  The older one gets, the rarer - and therefore more significant - such events become.

I wrote here a few weeks ago about prowling the streets with a notebook in connection with the planned distribution of church Christmas cards.  Another project recently came my way, that has had the same consequences.  I've once more been seen making surreptitious notes, this time about the industrial areas of our town.  Thanks to the welcome fine weather, this project, too, is nearing completion and, although this won't stop me walking, it will remove the obligation to do so, and the restrictions on my choice of routes.

And finally, a good experience to which I can't put a date and time, which may sound strange.  A couple of weeks ago, I 'attended' (if that's the right word) a webinar - an internet-based lecture or conference - for which I had to download a small program to enable the transmission to be received.  In the event, I don't think it was very helpful, and shan't need the program again.  However, the downloaded file was still sitting on my computer.  Try as I would, I couldn't delete it because - although I own the computer and am the only one who uses it - I didn't have 'administrator privileges'.  I tried to move it to another location, so I didn't have to keep seeing it there: this needed authority I didn't possess.  I employed the indirect strategy of re-naming the file so it no longer looked like a program: this could only be done by an administrator!  Annoyed, I gave up and resolved one day to seek my son's help (he had set the computer up for me when I bought it).  Yesterday, having done nothing further about it, I noticed that the offending item had vanished!  Grateful, I didn't go hunting for it, but I do wonder how, where, when ...?

Today is 'Old Michaelmas' day; the fine weather continues and, although there is no longer golden corn to wave fairly in the summer breeze, this is our church's Harvest Festival weekend.  More blessings for which to be grateful.

When it's Time to Say 'Goodbye'

I doubt the names Will D. Cobb and Paul Barnes will mean anything to you, but bear with me, and I'll try to explain.  As I reflected upon this Janus* of a week, a song came to mind that was published in New York some 119 years ago.  Cobb wrote the words while Barnes was responsible for the melody.  It first gained popularity in the Spanish-American War but, within a couple of years, slight changes were made to the lyrics.  The words "'Tis the tramp of solders true, In their uniforms so blue, I must say goodbye to you" were replaced by "'Tis the tramp of solders' feet In their uniforms so neat, So goodbye until we meet".  British red uniforms took the place of the American blue (although they were soon to be exchanged for khaki to blend with the veldt) and "Goodbye Dolly Gray" became a song of national support for our boys fighting the Boers in South Africa.  I wonder how many people thought to question the spelling of the lady's name.

My last post here looked ahead to a day of 'self inspection and teaching' at our church last Saturday, which we called "At Home Together".  It began with a morning of teaching about the theme of hospitality, and after lunch came a whole variety of activities, from swimming to sewing, from walking to painting, from talking to reading the papers to just doing nothing.  I felt it was a mixture that reflected what a real family might find itself doing on a Saturday afternoon. In the evening there was dancing to use up the last dregs of our energy.

My friend summed the day up amusingly: "Boogie-woogie Bible study", but then followed up with a more thoughtful analysis, "It was about us reconnecting and getting to know each other better, through having fun together, but we still managed to open our doors wide to those who need us most.  This is why I'm so proud of being part of this church family."  It was a time of looking forward to what we might be doing in the future, both collectively and as individuals or small groups, and the service on Sunday followed the same positive theme.

On Monday, I went to the annual school reunion, where there was a brief debate about winding up the society.  The school closed in the 1980s, so there is no more 'new blood' to be introduced; attendance and interest in a formal organisation is expressed solely by the over-60s now, and the organising committee felt it was time to go out on a high, rather than reach a point where dignity and willpower simply evaporate.  There is still a lot of feeling among some of the older members towards some kind of regular get-together, but indecision about how this can be arranged without some formal structure.

The whole thing has been left in abeyance until some of them gather for a Christmas dinner in a few months' time.  Most of the others are older than me, many having left the school before I was born, or soon after!  I have been a keen follower of the society in the past but, for me, the time has come for mental self-preservation.  While I recognise that, like everyone else, I'm getting older, I feel that having so many friends that are younger than me keeps me young ... in outlook at least.  If I have to be with older folks, then I would prefer to spend time with those I know, see frequently and with whom I can have some kind of relationship, rather than make an occasional trip to see people who are virtually strangers.  I admit this is selfish, but my enjoyment of this week's gathering was dulled as I thought of all the human decay around me.

By contrast, the next day was a most uplifting occasion.  We celebrated the life of a lady who had recently died after a long battle with cancer.  In the usual funereal way, relatives and friends paid their tributes and we learned something of her life long before her path ever crossed ours.  The service had been arranged very much following her own wishes, and I was privileged to be one of a small choir - with whom she had sung until shortly before her death - to lead the hymns and close the ceremony with one of her favourite choral works.

Before you go hunting in bewilderment for that tattered song book in your cupboard, I'll confess.  The exact words of my title are not to be found in the song, but I think you'll agree that the sentiment is appropriate to the events of this week.  I've looked forward, as those solders did when they marched away; I've looked back, as folk often do when they sing songs like this, to the early lives of those around them or whom they knew in times past; and there has been a facing of death, the raw emotion of being reminded of our own mortality, as soldiers might when comrades fall, or like the fictional Dolly, as she realised that her soldier boy wasn't among the returning regiment.

I'll be looking for a lighter theme to write about next week.

*Janus - a Roman god with two faces, for looking both forward and back.

Almost Like Being at Work!

In complete contrast to last week's calm, there have been times this week when that title was scarcely sufficient to describe its intensity ... for many different reasons.  One of these was this morning, when I exclaimed, "What NOW?" as one thing and then another clamoured for my attention, while I was already engaged on a third ... all to do with the same basic activity area. I'm sure many of my readers will know this feeling: one from which I had thought retirement would bring freedom.

The week began - for the second time, now - with the welcome and buoyant start that is our men's breakfast meeting.  It was very productive, even though only five of us were able to make it, focused this week on 'confession'.  Later on, I pursued further what has almost become something of a 'parish survey', in connection with the Christmas card distribution plan that I mentioned last week.  A brief meeting on Tuesday with my collaborator ensured that we are aligned in our thinking about the tactics of this, and now, subject to any change to details resulting from more road checks to be carried out in the coming weeks, the essential planning is done.

Ringing practice was as informal as ever, lightened even more this week by a visit from an occasional ringer who is celebrating becoming a granddad, passing around pictures of the new arrival.  The bond amongst ringers never fails to impress me by its openness, strength and endurance.

Tuesday found me in the throes of that family history catch-up of my cousin's husband's family, which has taken me so long partly owing to my propensity for distraction.  In one of these side-tracked moments, I found the name of someone who had married into the family in the 1840s that I thought I recognised ... and couldn't resist checking it out.  It transpired that, by marriage, he was part of my great-grandfather's family.  The result was that I could piece together on a single sheet a string of descents and marriages that link together my cousin and me with her husband!  Some weeks ago, I found a similar link on my father's side that links her husband to me, but I have yet to lay it out so impressively - yet another of those 'one day' jobs!

Wednesday was its usual combination of church and domesticity.  After attendance at the midweek service came shopping and ironing and our home-group met in the afternoon for the first time in the new season.  The leader confessed that she hadn't been able to construct many questions from the allotted passage ... but managed to conduct as broad and enlightening a discussion as ever!

I followed this by a brief visit to a 'pre-planning-application' exhibition regarding a housing development only a few streets away from my home.  To many present there seemed to be a number of glaring oversights to the suggested arrangement, including the number and layout of the houses; the fact of there being only one vehicular access, and that from a narrow lane with no pavements; and the matter of the preserved open space being tucked away in a corner, while the centre of the area is devoted to the back gardens of what would be, in effect, 'back-to-back' properties.

Yesterday was a day of outstanding success.  With no external commitments at all, I spent almost twelve hours - apart from a brief interlude in the kitchen converting a piece of meat and some vegetables into an appetising stew (rewarding in itself!) - working with spreadsheets.  The stepping-off point was my weekly review of investments which, of itself, normally takes less than an hour.  But, for some while there have been a number of anomalies from one set of records to another and, coupled with the need to make amendments to accommodate some new funds, in the way that one thing leads to another, there were thoughts of 'why don't I ...?' and 'wouldn't it be better if ...?'  With nothing to stop progress, all those questions were answered positively and I went to bed contented and ready to sleep the sleep of the satisfied.

Today there has been much preparation for the morrow, which will be a day of healthy self-inspection and enjoyment within our church community, involving some teaching, along with a variety of activities, communal eating and, finally, dancing.  Of course there will be lots of things to get ready and, as one of the designated 'shift and arrange' team, I shall be exercising in that direction shortly.  As Health and Safety Officer, my morning has been diverted to examine and approve risk assessments for some of the activities as well as following a recommended course myself.

As one of my friends has said, many times, 'It's all go here!' ... but I don't think I'd swap it for being back on the road.

... and Bristol Fashion

Things are very calm and quiet chez moi at the moment.  Over the last few weeks, as I've reported here, one aspect after another of my life is being tidied up.  After the advent of the new cleaner and the re-shaping of the bedroom, this week saw something of a spring-clean of (at least part of) the kitchen.  The dresser that I so fortunately got on Freecycle a year or so ago, disguised as a small bookcase, was beginning to look dusty.

The action of unloading it onto the dining table reminded me of an occasion in my childhood, when - I suppose I was about seven or eight - I was engaged to help my mother by clearing things from the pantry onto the kitchen table for just such an exercise ... although today we seldom have a walk-in pantry, and many kitchens are far too small to accommodate a table! However, once the whole worktop on which the dresser stands had been cleared, cleaned and replaced, a number of small items were found to have taken lodging there without purpose, and have now been Freecycled away.

The desk too, metaphorically at least, is getting clear.  Earlier this year, after my completion of the twin family trees for my cousin's golden wedding present, I had some 500 new people to enter properly to my genealogy database; this number, if not in single figures, is now at least below 20, and - as I reported recently - the transcription exercise I had been working on for FreeCen was completed after eleven months.

As the new term starts at schools and universities, my decks are clear for new tasks and challenges.  Some, like the next district of the FreeCen transcription, have already started.  The men's breakfast at church began on Monday - that 6.0 alarm was familiar, but not really welcome - and there's also a plan to organise the distribution of the church Christmas cards across the parish, which I'm working on with a colleague.  To this end, I've possibly aroused some suspicion as I've been walking the streets with notebook in hand, locating an amazing quantity of missing house numbers.  I'm surprised how many numbers have not been used in our streets.  The odd 13 is often absent for superstitious reasons, but these are sequences sometimes of 20 or more, including one where no. 73 is followed by no. 111!

I can't help thinking this week of calm is preparing me for something different, and I confess to being excited to find out what it is.

You might be puzzled by my title this week.  Like many of our sayings, it has a nautical origin, and the first part of this one is more familiar: 'Ship shape', meaning all neat and tidy.  The connection with the sea is not out of place this week.  Pictures of the devastation left by hurricane Irma look like something out of this world.  The thought of 95% of an island country wrecked is almost beyond imagining.  I looked around my 'neat and tidy' realm this morning and wondered how I would cope if such devastation were to hit my home.  In our fair and pleasant land, it's hard to think how this could happen, but ... Grenfall happened!

On the Brink

I expect you've noticed how certain dates and anniversaries are ingrained in your memory.  I remember, for example, the date on which my erstwhile girlfriend relinquished the shop that she and her husband had been running before his death.  I had a great uncle, whose birthday heralded a month to go until Boxing Day, and I know that when my dad's birthday came around yesterday it's almost back-to-school time.

So, now I've left school <pause for applause> I'm reminded of other things, such as a new term of home-group meetings at the church.  This year this calendar-mark carries a greater responsibility for me, since I shall be leading six of the studies between now and Christmas and my aim is to have them all prepared in advance, so there are no last minute panics.  That is fairly well on target, I'm pleased to report.

What else has been going on this week, then?  The bank holiday was spent as usual with my cousin.  The highlight of this one was the freedom to spend several hours ploughing through her box of family archives, making lots of notes with which to enrich the family history.  Every family acquires these, of course.  First that come to mind are the birth, marriage and death certificates, whether those issued at the time of the event, or copies obtained later for a variety of administrative requirements. Then there are the deeds and agreements that accumulate as a result of all manner of situations that involve legal arrangements and dealings with strangers ... like, for instance the purchase of a house.  Legal affairs inevitably bring letters from solicitors, and at the end of the day there is always a long invoice, in which the solicitor details exactly what he has done, down to the very last letter of that sinister closing phrase, "and to accounting to you for the same ..." followed by an unacceptably large total!

To most people these are just the nitty gritty of everyday life, or else the legal dross that is left after some great upheaval in life that now needs to be overcome or lived with, but to someone like me they are like gold dust, every last detail to be savoured, examined and tossed this way and that to see how it fits into the glorious picture that we build ... a picture that will never be completed because, even after a death, family life goes on.

I came home from my trip away to other signs of life going on.  My diary showed me one end of a chain of reminders, telling me to send an e-mail to someone giving her warning of something I shall need in a few weeks' time, so that she can fit its preparation into a busy schedule.  It's now in her diary instead.  A letter waiting on my doormat for my return told me that my flat is soon to be inspected to make sure I'm looking after it - echoes there of last week's post!

It seems incongruous that, in the midst of this fine and sunny weather, the 2018 FA Cup campaign is already into its third weekend of fixtures.  This afternoon, after scrutinising the list, I was able to fulfil an ambition of several years' standing.  Occasionally, one come across two churches in one churchyard;  I know of only one place - no doubt there are more - where two football clubs playing in the national pyramid have completely separate and independent grounds next to each other.  Today I visited Bedford Town, not to be confused with neighbouring Bedford FC, who play two steps lower down.

The visitors were a team I have seen in this area before, when they played a pre-season friendly match at Hitchin a few years ago.  Known as the 'Trawlerboys', Lowestoft Town brought with them a great footballing history, stretching back well over 100 years.  Their latest move was relegation from the National League North to play one level above today's opponents in the premier division of the Ryman League.  They scored - or rather were gifted an own goal - in the 27th minute, and matched this by scoring another in the second half.  Although the home side piled everything into their opponents' half in the last half-hour, the match was destined not to provide even one more goal, much less the three they would need for a home win, and the Suffolk team went home with a ticket into the draw for the next round.  Who knows where that will take them?

And who knows what I shall be writing about here next weekend?  We'll all have to wait and see.