Friday 30 November 2018

Parallel Lines

There are times when, as you look back along the river of time, you can see how one strand in your life grew out of, or was spawned by, another.  I don't have to look back far this week for just such an incidence.  A year after I joined the Liberal Democrats in 2015, I was motivated ... or inspired ... or maybe just knobbled by a strong sense of newly empowered enthusiasm and the freedom of retirement.  The outpouring of these emotions - however identified - was that I spent five or six days over a period of three weeks helping at the campaign headquarters of the LibDems in the Witney by-election, that followed the resignation of David Cameron.

A year later, when a General Election was called, I was similarly motivated, emotions this time being strengthened by an 'old school tie' dimension, helping the campaign of the daughter of one of my school-friends as she tried to win the St Albans seat for the party.  The upshot of these two expeditions was that I acquired a good idea of some of the mechanics behind an intensive political campaign.

At the end of 2016, I found myself the victim, if that's not too strong a word, of a somewhat chaotic campaign of a different kind.  For many years our church has endeavoured to put a Christmas card through the door of every dwelling in the parish.  On this particular occasion the campaign to achieve this had not been well managed and some cards that were intended to be delivered by me had found their way to someone else, who sent me a text or an e-mail - I can't remember which - as a result of which I drove across the town to collect and deliver them.  Since the day was broken, and I had little else to do, I called in the church to see if there were any more to be taken round.  I duly found some and was quickly walking around a new estate, merrily popping cards through letterboxes.

My tranquillity was shattered when, after a cordial greeting to a friend across the road, our conversation revealed that she'd delivered to those same houses that very morning!  Uncertain how this had happened, but determined that it shouldn't happen again, the following year the two of us joined forces to prepare a parish-wide plan by which a few dozen willing volunteers could be recruited to achieve the desired result with no confusion, duplication or omission.  The plan was essentially based on some of those canvassing techniques I had witnessed in operation in Witney and St Albans; our efforts were welcomed, and proved most successful.

This year, after some delay resulting no doubt from oversight, a knock-on effect of the general trying-to-do-everything situation in the vacancy between losing one vicar and getting the next, I find myself in the midst of another Christmas card 'campaign'.  The cards were finally delivered yesterday, unpacked and counted into batches of 25, ready to be bundled street by street into delivery walks for volunteers to deliver next week.  It all sounds simple and straightforward, doesn't it?  And, indeed, it has been ... compared to the chaos of former years. 

The trouble is people ... isn't it always?  They grow old, suffer accidents, illnesses and disabilities, and whereas a year ago they were enthused to walk along with a bundle of 50 or 100 cards, in and out of gateways, sometimes up flights of stairs to flats, now they would rather do 20 with a friend, or perhaps none at all.  With the first 'event' of the Christmas calendar taking place tomorrow, the cards not being bundled until tomorrow morning, and still short of fifteen volunteers, time is against us, to say the least.  But we shall give it our best shot.  More cannot be asked of us at this late stage.

Meanwhile on the parallel track, last night saw the Annual General Meeting of our local Liberal Democrat branch, when my brief spell as acting secretary ended and was replaced by a formal election to the office.  If nothing else, as I get older, suffer accidents, illnesses and disabilities, (where have I seen that phrase before?) it will keep me off the streets and away from doorsteps ...!

Friday 23 November 2018

Things Old and New ... and Something that's Both!

The week (at least the bits I'm writing about) started and ended with peace and quiet in good company.

Last weekend I spent with my cousin and, in keeping with a habit recently developed on these occasions, on Sunday I took the bus into Nottingham.  As I walked down the aisle I could see that, for a Sunday morning, there seemed to be a lot of people on board and every seat was occupied by at least one passenger already.  I made to sit down next to a woman who quickly realised that the bags beside her would be in my way.  As she cleared the seat, she said, "There you are, sweetie!" which, coming from a lady only a few years younger than me, didn't seem in the least cheeky but more in keeping with the easy-going East Midland culture.

My destination was the Quaker Meeting House where, now on my third visit there, I took a seat briefly in the lounge chatting with one or two familiar faces before going into the meeting room.  After the hour's silence, interrupted by only two pieces of ministry, there was - in common with many places of worship these days - a chance for conversation over coffee and cake, where I enjoyed company with new friends as well as those now becoming established.

I returned from my break soon enough to get up on Monday morning for the usual prayer breakfast and life quickly returned to normal.  In addition to a Lib Dem AGM this week, and preparations for our own branch's AGM next week, there has also been a quick re-run of the results of last year's exercise to organise the distribution of the church's Christmas cards, with their arrival expected next week.  But by far the greatest non-routine time consumption this week has been family history.

Whilst with my cousin last weekend, we discovered that my records don't include the marriage date for our eldest maternal great-uncle and his wife.  As I began to look into this on Monday afternoon, I found that my record of our great-aunt's maiden name differed from one place to another!  The source of this apparent discrepancy indicated that the lady had not only been previously married, but that this marriage had ended in divorce scarcely a year before her second ... which possibly explains why little was known about this great-uncle compared to our grandmother and their four other siblings.

Amazingly, I discovered this unsavoury event listed on the National Archives website although, since these records aren't digitised, I could go no further online.  However, for the outlay of only £8.00, I have requested a 'page count', which will reveal the cost of sending me a copy by e-mail of the documents, which will hopefully unfold the detail of a close family story that has remained hidden from us for all of our lives!

Today I spent the morning on one of the hospice vans, servicing four of their retail shops and also collecting donations from a fifth.  After spending a surprisingly enjoyable hour or so unloading the product of these calls and helping to reload the van for this afternoon's deliveries, I joined my fellows at the dining table relaxing over my packed lunch before walking home for an afternoon ... at the keyboard once more.

Friday 16 November 2018

Lots of Effort ... and Quid Pro Quo

Do you sometimes get weeks when you know you've been busy, but you can't see just what you've achieved?  This has been one of those weeks.  It started, like many, with the men's breakfast at the church, for which we managed a full turnout of the regulars, despite some being engaged at an evening gathering on Sunday night.

Then came an errand that could have been avoided if I'd had my wits about me a week before.  Among my church responsibilities is that of being one third of the team responsible for the parish magazine.  Each issue includes a 'spotlight' profile of one of the church family that results from a personal interview with me.  I went on one such visit last week and was so impressed by the personal history thus revealed to me that I completely forgot to take a picture of my 'victim'.  On Monday morning, therefore, I paid my guest a second visit solely for this purpose.

Another chunk of my 'spare time' is devoted to the local branch of the Liberal Democrats, of which I have temporarily assumed the role of secretary following the resignation of the elected officer during the summer for personal reasons.  This is normally a quite undemanding role but, with our AGM coming up in a few weeks, there are certain preliminaries to be observed.  Most of our members received an invitation to this by e-mail last week; however, we don't have e-mail addresses for all of them, so the others had to be telephoned ... and guess on whose shoulders that responsibility fell!  The other job that I fitted into my busy Monday was preparing the paperwork ready for the meeting itself.

This week there was no drop-in, where I usually help on a Thursday morning, so I quickly found a replacement for my only other obligation this weekend and left to spend a few days with my cousin in Eastwood. When we made the arrangement for this a couple of weeks ago, it seemed convenient - with my ready agreement - for her to arrange a visit to the vet for the family cat and also an out-patient appointment at the local hospital, both of which could more easily be achieved using my car than needing to resort to a taxi or public transport.

It's always good to feel useful. Occasionally one feels that all one has contributed to a relaxing weekend is one's company, but sometimes there are ways of repaying hospitality, that somehow restore the balance in a family relationship.

Friday 9 November 2018

Secrets Revealed

This week's post reverts to the old standby, the diary ... or, put another way, "what have I done this week?" Two particular incidents in the week stand head and shoulders above the rest of mundane me and I'm ashamed to say that they reveal my prejudice and my senility.

A few months ago I used my hairdresser as an illustration in my 'other' blog.  You can see what I said here.  More recently, I discovered that she was pregnant, and she has now left the salon on maternity leave (or permanently, for all I know!).  Knowing that she only worked certain days, alternating with a colleague, I always made sure that I visited on the days when she would be there because (as your curiosity about my other blog will by now have revealed), she did a good job.

Now her colleague is there all the time and I have to say that there's something about him that I don't like.  I'm not sure what it is but, when - and it seems that it can't be soon enough for me - the time comes for the wave of the mirror behind my head and the inevitable, "Is that all right for you, sir?" and the equally predictable follow-up, "can I do anything else for you today, sir?", I'm very quick to pronounce my complete satisfaction, and release myself from the self-imposed prison of that chair, pay my dues and leave.

If it's such a bad experience, I hear you ask, why don't you go somewhere else?  The main reason is that I can't be bothered, added to which there is usually a parking space within 50 yards of the door.  So this episode reveals not only my prejudice but also my laziness.

Turning the diary page, as it were, the other evening I cooked some pasta for my dinner.  It seemed a good quick option, since I would be going out soon afterwards.  Once the water had come to the boil, I decided that I would have time while it was cooking to go into the bedroom and get changed.  I'd just about finished when I became aware of a burning smell and dashed back to find the kitchen rapidly filling with smoke.

Now, it's my habit - for safety's sake - to switch the cooker off at the wall in addition to switching off the hob I've used and, of late, I have become a little haphazard as to which I do first.  Clearly the last time I had used the cooker I had turned the wall switch off first and then my attention had been diverted before my hand had moved to the control for the grill, for it was this that now caused the problem.  Another habit - one I have now forsworn! - has been to leave the removable handle for the grill-pan on the pan and shut the whole inside the grill compartment out of the way.  In the few minutes I had been away, the heat from the enclosed grill had begun to melt the plastic of the handle and fumes were starting to fill the whole flat.  How long before a raging inferno would have developed I dread to think.

Needless to say, windows were opened, and a blower called into play to try to clear the air, but the smell lingered for quite a while ... and, indeed, can still be detected on returning from outside.  My meal consumed and the washing up done, I went out for my meeting and thought no more of the matter until I returned, probably not an hour-and-a-half later, to find the road to the car park blocked by a fire engine.  I pulled up behind it and was wondering what to do, when the driver got out of the cab and came towards me.   He asked if I needed to get past, and I indicated the car park, the entrance to which he had blocked, whereupon he asked which flat I lived in.  When I told him, he was immediately on the radio to his colleague in the hallway to say I had arrived.  I was just in time to save the firemen the task of battering the door down to see where the smell was coming from!

At the time, I agreed with their comment that I had very kind and thoughtful neighbours who had smelled the fumes and called the emergency services, but since, in the calm light of day, I have recalled the disaster of Grenfell Tower, and called to mind the speed with which a fire starting in the kitchen of one flat had spread to the whole block.  Perhaps what had been thought initially to be a kind and neighbourly gesture was really simply one of self-preservation!  All in all, it's been a week to prompt deeper self-examination!

Friday 2 November 2018

Folk Wisdom, Pre-Facebook

If you're old enough to remember life before Facebook, then I'm sure you'll be familiar with the grubby sheets of untidy typescript that were pinned to scruffy noticeboards, were sellotaped to workshop calendars and found their way to 101 other useful (or not) places in the factories and offices of the kingdom.  Here would be found 'Ten Key Rules of the Office' or '25 Uses for a Paper Clip'.

One of these came to mind this morning. It purported to be a guide to performance appraisal and in the section headed 'Communication' it suggested that someone who far exceeded requirements might talk to the Almighty, someone who merely out-passed them talked to angels and someone who just met requirements would talk to himself.  Those needing improvement would argue with themselves, while complete failures would lose those arguments.  I'm sure you get the picture of the sort of rubbish that amused us in those far-off days.  Living alone, I'm usually talking to myself or, put another way, I voice my thoughts aloud; sometimes I discuss plans with myself in strange accents or foreign tongues.

As I confessed recently, I've just started working a couple of days a week in the warehouse of the local hospice, which has tightened up some of the loose time in my average week.  Last week, the senior driver-cum-transport manager there was planning cover for his holiday and, being short of a replacement driver for Wednesday, asked if I would be willing to fill the gap.  As a one-off, I accepted the challenge and said I would, making adjustments and sacrifices in order to do so; earlier this week I had been debating with myself the wisdom of accepting this invitation to broaden the skill-base that I'm offering.

The occasion arrived and - with a confidence that, frankly, surprised me - I clambered aboard this box van that I'd never driven before and, after finally finding out how to start the engine, set it in motion towards the local roads.  The day went well and, as a bonus, I discovered on my return a chair outside that was destined for scrap, which was in considerably better condition than the one on which I would otherwise be sitting as I write this blog.  A beneficial exchange was duly made that would probably not have been possible had I not been working until this morning as would have otherwise been the case.

Today, spending all the time at home, I have been available to open the windows for painters to refresh the outside of the block, I have dusted and cleaned to an extent that exceeds normal practice and I have mended a bookcase that was in need of a couple of new pins in the back. I can also make suitable preparations to attend a conference tomorrow, some two-and-a-half hours' drive away.

As I discussed with myself today the merits of making this exchange, my alter-ego adopted a Yorkshire accent and told me, 'Tha wert reet!'