Don’t tell the mushrooms that fish eat pencils

I don’t recall writing anything to antagonise the wicked Ms Nature recently so I am at a loss as to why lefty is playing up. I can only think that my ex-wife has made some sort of faustian pact because there is no logic in its behaviour. I am getting a lot of pain in my left hand which makes no sense, my right hand is a bit of a historical mess and obviously my wrists, well they are no longer wrists but the left hand is pretty much ‘out of the box’.  It’s not arthritic pain and I havent done anything to injure it must be the work of Ms Nature, I am sure a hot bath will resolve it.

I was idly listening to a combination of daughter, mother and grandmother on the train into work this morning and was wondering why people lie to their kids. The daughter was asking various questions about trains and railways in general, when she asked what the external door control was on a passing train nan confirmed it was “where they put the fuel in”. The discussion about the overhead wires and how they were connected to the train revealed that this was the “power that they put into the rails”, this gem confirmed by mum. The daughter was at least 12 and had a smart phone, why not tell her you don’t know the answer. That was three generations that were perpetuating a myth, alright it’s not a critical piece of information but that’s not the point. If you ask me whether cats like lemonade or if mushrooms can hear human voices I will tell you that I don’t know, what is the point in making up the answer. Information is so readily accessible now that there should be no excuse for not providing children with the correct answer. If we lie to our children then they will not trust our answers and there are some pretty important questions that you want them to listen to the answers to. If you don’t want little Janet thinking she can’t get pregnant if Johnny leaves his T-shirt on I suggest that you learn the phrase “I really don’t know, lets look it up”.

It did occur to me that the subject of misinformation  may be linked to a conversation from the weekend. I sat in the Driftwood watching fisherman with Dave and we got to wondering, how do you know when its time to move, when you wont catch a fish in that location? We concluded that fish are far from territorial, they don’t have little plots of ocean or river, they just kind of mooch around so presumably if you stay still long enough they will come by. hen of course you have to question night fishing, given that its dark under the sea why would fish be more prone to snacking at night. We concluded that worms must be an obscure delicacy for fish, after all they don’t dig their own do they. Why on earth would a fish decide to eat a worm hanging on a hook any more than I would eat a pencil dangled in front of me.  Top marks to Dave though, when we considered why you catch crabs with bacon his response was “well bacon goes with crab”. Have generations of fishermen used worms because one young boy asked his dad what fish eat and rather than admit he didn’t know he said “worms”. A final word on fishing, it disproves the theory that I read in a paper today that nature favours cooperation. You see if fish cooperated then by now they would have sussed us out “Oi Bob have you seen this, there’s a bloody great worm just floating in front of me I’m gonna see what it tastes like” “Nooooo Bob don’t do it, George said the same thing last week just before he shot out of the water and we havent seen him since”

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Tired and old but still my jewel

My trip south on Friday was improved no end by the first train company’s failure to sell me a ticket. I tried at every available opportunity without success but I like to think that offsets the fact that the second company offered no off peak discounts. I had the opportunity to travel on the drain to waterloo, something I haven’t done for years. I fail to see how anybody could not be enchanted by the drain (waterloo and city line). This is a railway that has only two stations but is also the only fully subterranean metro in London, with the road being dug up to lift trains in and out. Doesn’t sound enchanting? No I guess not, but what about when I add that there is a long tunnel to the platform, offered as a choice of stairs or travelator, and no ticket office! I know there are signs saying ‘ticket holders only’ and I know that we’re all oyster card users nowadays. But today I watched a family, having bounded down the stairs, distraught at the prospect of returning to the top to purchase tickets.

This small design decision is a well known source of humour. In the midst of the rush hour there is nothing like having to force back against the flow because you failed to followed instructions. As a means of education humiliation works brilliantly and I doubt any tourist makes the mistake twice.

I arrived at Portsmouth less than 3 1/2 hours after leaving home, a fairly impressive time by my reckoning. Dave was about 40 minutes behind me which gave me a chance to stand at the railings at Gunwharf Quays and watch the traffic. I remain thoroughly enchanted by the island, like a child with the first glimpse of the sea I feel the stress melt away as I reach the coast. Portsmouth is but a staging post for me with every minute spent there spent waiting for the ferry. I watched the FastCat, the car ferry and the Hovercraft and remain convinced that this is the way to commute. I guess that I have always justified working away by saying how lovely the coast is, it’s all about working to live not living to work after all. The island is just an extension of this.

In fairness the hovercraft is not a viable commute, it starts too late and finishes too early. The FastCat is the commuter vehicle and the 7.24 train on Sunday morning had us safely in Portsmouth by ten past eight. Yes it’s a long trip to London but what a gem to come home to on a Friday. Ours was a drunken lads weekend, thoroughly enjoyable of course, but still an opportunity to enjoy being ‘home’. I have done my winter research into trade volumes on the island but I was very surprised by the state of the seasonal uplift. Obviously we all know that tourism is in decline and that is witnessed by the lack of development in coastal resorts. The rate of decline does seem to have accelerated dramatically but I am not sure if this is because the island economy is so visibly tied to tourism. We found quiet pubs, even the Driftwood was far from busy, and empty hotels which is not a good sight in the first week of August. I will certainly be studying the tourism data but simple numbers don’t show a whole picture. For the licensed trade it is also important who those visitors are, there was an awful lot of Chinese tourists, certainly not a pubs best friend.

It is sad to see harsh economic reality taking livelihoods away, every closed or abandoned building is an employment opportunity lost after all. Sadly UK planning makes the loss so much more visible. The Wight city complex closed for good at the end of last season but planning difficulties mean it has been left as an eyesore, a sadly common way of encouraging consent. It doesn’t take much to maintain a facade but the failure to do so drags an area down. A conversation with one of the girls at the hotel revealed that as a ‘jack of all trades’ living in and pretty much always on call she earned £210 a week, paying £3.95 a day for food. As a lifelong island resident this is a good job but shows the inescapable cycle that is so destructive for our youth. There is no progression in this role, the business couldn’t sustain it, and in truth there is no future. Once a grand hotel the occupancy is low and the fabric tired, when the current owners give up the business will close. Where do all the young staff go then? According to the Daily Mail up to 40% of children in coastal towns are in singe mother families, a career choice perhaps? Scarily birth rates rise in depressed areas whilst financially stable families tend not to have children because of concerns over their future stability.

Of course nothing will change this stubborn old man’s view, I adore the Island and it will be my home just as soon as I am able.

Rock clinging and escaping bears

English seaside tourism really is something to behold. I watched the spectacle again yesterday afternoon as the wide sandy beach was divided into territories. With not a breath of air the wind breaks were still deployed as demarcation of property lines. Swingball, coolers and blankets are all put to use defining each families area of sand. The early arrivals secured waterside real estate with later arrivals having to tread a careful path through them to reach the ocean.

Now this is where nature (not Ms Nature) has her fun, at the expense of tourists who seem to have the memory of a goldfish. As the tide comes in so they move to higher ground. Estates shrink, barriers come down and people get closer. By mid afternoon tightly packed groups are clinging to the rock breakwaters and it’s standing room only on Albion beach. Like some sort of theatre they play out life in town as wide open spaces are exchanged for close proximity and tight spaces.

I wrote about the garbage issue with tourism yesterday, nature has her way of punishing that as well. Locals all know that Albion beach is not where you want to spend your time. Tourists bury their rubbish in the sand you see, presumably under some misguided belief that the ocean cleans it. The Albion beach only gets washed by the sea at the highest of tides. In effect the force of nature corrals the tourists into their own trash pit.

Lovely to see my friends doing a good trade this weekend. I did try and explain to their young barmaid that being exhausted and stinking of beer is the mark of a good shift but I don’t think I convinced her. For me the best shifts were those where I collapsed into bed too tired to shower. I am convinced stale beer helps with the aches and pains but, like a sticky bar floor, it is certainly the mark of a busy shift. It is also interesting how many people can run a busy pub. When a pub is full and turnover high everyone could do a better job, I never hear the same conversations on deathly January nights. Look at the number of failed pubs, behind every one of them is someone that could do it better. The skill of the publican is not just reflected in how he copes with busy times. It is more accurately reflected in how he copes with the quiet months, there is an awfully long year to ammortise brief profits over.

I discovered that Sean has added a virtual tour to his driftwood web page this weekend. It was almost as good as being there to walk through the photographs. I could almost feel the sand on the concrete floor and the sun burning through the windows. The pictures were shot on a nice day and looking out over the emerald ocean I swear I could feel the breeze coming through those windows and taste a cold Coors. A look at his merchandise display found a ‘sorry all items are currently out of stock’ I remember trying to purchase a driftwood teddy a few summers ago for an absent friend. When told they were out of stock I tried to talk Mona into selling me one from the display cabinet only to find it is sealed. They had the cabinet built around the merchandise meaning the only way in was to smash the glass! There is a lesson there I am sure. Mona managed to find me a spare teddy in the end and so the last bear to leave the driftwood made its way to Essex, I wonder where it is now….

Bring on the Appley

Failed rides and smelly cups

Whilst catching up with Island news over the weekend I hit upon a transport story. There are delays and disruption to all forms of transport and whilst these are generally annoying that is the only emotion associated with them. How odd that reading of an intercooler failure on the St Claire made me envious. Not envious of delays and disruptions, that would be silly. But envious of the Solent crossing and the experiene of being uniquely separated from the mainland. Yes there is disruption and crossings add a cost and difficulty to travel but for me it is well worth it for the idyllic scenery and laid back pace of life.

Just the mention of a ferry that  I have used so many times makes me yearn to be back there. I keep Sean’s wondeful Driftwood webcam on my pc at home and love seeing the most spectacular sunrises and sunsets accross the ocean. I have written before of my love of the raw power of the ocean, it is amazing how simple water can reek such destruction on things like steel and concrete. My path may be long, it sure feels it, but like the ocean I wont be stopped and I will achieve my aims. I look forward to joining in the grumbling voices when ferries break down soon. I look even more forward to welcoming friends from the ferry into my pub, its only a matter of time. Thank you as always for your support.

Today I would also like to share a couple of tips from a hotel dweller. The first relates to finding an unclean cup or glass, do you leave it and use another? No the thing to do is to leave some dregs from your drink in the errant recepticle, this ensures that it is replaced without the awkwardness of a complaint. Tip number two relates to the same subject, a seasoned hotel dweller will never use a cup without a hot water rinse. If a hotel maid has no reason to dislike you they are likely to use a towel or washcloth to clean your cups, if they dont like you……. Don’t beleive me then smell the cup next time you check in.

If that’s you who is this?

I would like to apologise to anybody that I failed to acknowledge yesterday. It was not that I didn’t recognise you it was that I almost recognised you and that just isn’t enough. Is it just me that gets those days? when almost everywhere you see people who are almost people who you know. I am not talking about a one-off doppelgänger but a veritable community of look a likes. I must have seen six people who were near replicas of friends but, on the double take, were not quite right.

I am sure that the Payntrix will have an explanation for this but I am between two ideas. Either I am in some sort of parallel universe where everyone has taken slightly different paths so look slightly different. If this theory is correct then they must also think that I look very similar to somebody that they know, I shall check this next time. The alternative is that either my brain or my eyes have adopted a fuzzy filter hence the apology at the beginning. I have posted before about human facial shape recognition which I see everywhere but this is something else. Yesterday was akin to watching a revival of an old movie, sure I know that’s Batman but he isn’t quite right.

In other news technology turned on me yesterday but it is ok we are friends again now. Last weekend I replaced my router at home, the old one was not performing. Given the relative cost of these devices I was left with little choice other than to buy the all singing all dancing one, honestly its true. So I now have the fastest wireless connection available to a broadband service that is uses spiders to carry the data packets to the exchange (even they have to take a break). Last night I settled down to some work, this involves logging on through my router with my work laptop, oh it sounds so easy. This has never been a problem before but last night it would connect but I still couldn’t see anything. Having rebooted windows the obligatory 4 times and repeated the same problem  I decided that it had to be the super complicated router. Out came the old router and all associated connections were made, conflicts resolved and…. the same result. Having reset everything to where it started and confirmed the issue still existed I cracked a beer and turned the TV on. This morning everything is ok, I wish I knew how my IT people know when I have new kit and why they always chose that precise time to have an issue.

Having shared the delightful young tomboy on the train (as wrong as that sounds) I have to share the young couple that I observed at the station yesterday. The young couple (early twenties) came complete with a small child in a buggy, said buggy being weighed down with shopping. Having arrived at the bench next to me on the station the young lady fished through the shopping and produced chocolate for the child and a pregnancy kit which I presumed wasn’t for the child. The young lady studied the box for a while, I have never understood this step surely they all say “pee on the stick”, and concluded it was what she expected. At this stage step forward her partner, ever chivalrous he wasn’t going to expect his Mrs to perform the test in public was he. Oh no our man had a better idea “there’s a thing down there go behind that”, the thing in question was a signal location box so think smaller than a standard wardrobe.

They looked reasonably pleased with the result but what if it is positive? Do they name their child Platform One ‘cos that’s where we found out init’. Imagine the stories when the child is older ‘we went up town and robbed a test outa savers, that’s when we knew that little Nike was getting a brother or sister’. I know that I am old but I am alone in finding it sad that we seem to have lost the magic of parenthood.

A final note, more of a reminder really. I awoke at 5 am this morning grabbed a cup of tea and turned the PC on to get some bits done and I have to thank Sean. The Driftwood webcam (link below) showed that most glorious beach empty and peaceful and I have kept a studious eye on it as it wakes up. Thanks mate, wont be long till my Appley.

 (http://driftwoodbeachbar.com/webcam/)