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Understanding through Sensuality

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Wednesday 4 March 2026 at 10:02

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[ 4 minute read ]

Understanding through sensuality

Understand not just learn

 

Every now and then I put my books away, back in my library (bookcases in the living room), but because my library is so far away from my office (also in my living room) I find that I select a book, carry it to my office, and tend not to immediately return it to my library (within arms reach of my desk). If I was married or lived with someone I suspect I might be more inclined to tidiness and even notice some of the biscuit crumbs that like to sneak up to the books on the floor that I haven't moved for a month or so. Oh! I sweep but I don't lift the books.

I suppose just like deliberately paying attention to someone's garden we might try to fathom how their mind works, we might also, by looking at the books someone has recently read or, in my case fail to return to the bookcases, glean some further understanding of what either entertains or distracts someone. Once, in a job interview I was asked, 'What distracts you?' The question was code for how many times a day do you look at your phone?

Some of the books on my floor, which though they are at the lowest elevation they might be at, they are in the most favoured place. Far from them being considered lowly and not important enough to be in a protected environment, they are the most interesting books to me, at this time.

Of course, there is the Roget's Thesaurus, The Concise Oxford Dictionary and Simply Psychology. There is also the Oxford Latin Dictionary; The Undercover Economist; Zen and the Brain; Encyclopedia of Superstitions; and The Fiction Writer's Handbook. The Personal MBA by Josh Kaufman is in the bathroom because it has very short chapters. 

A new arrival to the floor is an AS and A2 revision book on Religious Studies.

I have three lap tops and one peripheral monitor and my garden is scrappy but at present has some Giant Winter leeks growing in it. There are about twenty growing cuttings from a Box shrub, and about twenty to thirty garlic plants struggling, as well as, when I put them outside each day, three heritage tomato plants and a single Bell Pepper plant from last season that I somehow managed to overwinter in my bedroom.

What can we deduce from this?

I like words; a lot! I am not fascinated but interested by how plants grow and like to lazily experiment with them; and computing is important to me. Actually, the last is a bit misleading in that the reason I have three laptops is because I separate tasks between the three in order that there is no obvious connectivity between all my digital actions. One of them never goes online.

The A3 and A4 size pieces of paper Blu-tacked to my walls with pithy paragraphs taken from books and online are the give-away. I am focused on understanding, which is a step beyond learning. They remain on my walls because I like to try to apply templates across different disciplines.

Yesterday, I attended a lecture on Reflective Commentaries (following some creative writing). I really wanted to contribute by telling the room that a complex system always starts with a simple system, and that a complex system cannot be created without there first being a simple system. That is the theory given by John Gall, a Systems Theorist. I had this in mind when I asked the question, 'Do you think it is a good idea to write a skeleton piece and then embroider literary devices onto it?' and later stated, 'I shall finish the story, write the reflection, and then revisit the story to make changes.'

People who highlight passages in text books and dog-ear the pages are doing the same as me with my 'Posters of Wisdom' on my walls, the latter of the two, dog-earin, is by far the furthest I would deface any book. Even if we have no bookmarks we do have cereal boxes or something to cut up into strips. The good thing about cereal boxes and strips of paper is that we can write the annotations on them that we would otherwise have written on the pages. The best thing about this is that we can remove the annotations on the strips of paper and read the text again unfettered by our prior thoughts and circumscribed beliefs. That, for me, is more about understanding than learning.

My neighbour was upset when I told him I have not read his wife's published cookery book, which they gave me a few years ago. I think he was upset because he felt I have a duty to read it because his wife put so much effort into recording her recipes and actions and then went through the publishing process. I have no duty to fulfill. Certainly, as someone with a PhD in Electronic Engineering, he was puzzled when I told him I don't follow recipes; I experiment. I may not be a good cook, but, effectively, the recipe book is as much use to me as a guidebook on Ancient Athens to someone of the period who lives in Athens, or something thereabouts in value. I like to learn and understand flavours, and find new combinations; you know, Basil goes with Tomatoes and you can't put lemon juice on mushrooms but you can put it in scrambled eggs.

I suppose I am a sensualist.

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Leopard People

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Monday 19 January 2026 at 11:01

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[ 6 minute read ]

Now you see us, now you don't

I met a wonderful woman in ALDI yesterday, whom I could meet every day and never be bored. She is excited and pleased to be alive in a very strange world.

In the frozen produce aisle, Marion had apologised for leaving her basket on the floor next to the frozen fish cabinet, which she thought was in my way because I was leaning sideways over it while I rummaged for Basa (a South-East Asia type of catfish).

       'Oh! No!' I said, 'I was avoiding standing next to that couple moving away there.' I pointed at two people at the end of the aisle near the baking products. 'They were standing the other side of your basket and I didn't want to be too close to them.' I thought I had better explain that. 'The man pulled all the boxes of washing-up liquid off the shelves looking for something and then just shoved them all back all higgledy-piggledy. I thought they might do the same to the fish, so I didn't want to get too near.'

Marion nodded approvingly. 'What? I hate it when people do that! 'Why?', and then fell into telling me how invisible she felt she is sometimes. 

       'People just bump into me and then look straight through me as though I am not there. She gestured with her hands, moving them away from her face, indicating tunnel-vision.

       'I'm sorry! Are you talking to me?' I said. 'I was just talking to myself and then suddenly here you are!'

She smiled, but wasn't quite sure if I was serious. She looked confused, bless her. I immediately liked her, and feeling sorry for putting her off balance, I said. 'They probably don't drive.'

She nodded profusely. 'Probably! They are so selfish and just carry on as though you are not there.'

       'Well,' I went on, 'If they do drive, it will be a black SUV.' I smiled but knew I had messed up. I don't know her at all. Maybe she drives a black car. At the same time I thought black SUV drivers need to know how despised they are by other road users.

      She picked up on my mistake. 'Mine is parked in the car-park,' she frowned at me.

I had it coming. 'Of course.... you would,' I said and went on, 'As soon as I said it to you I just knew the ironic probability was just too high.'

       'Not really.' She said, and smiling, wandered coolly off.

Touché, I thought, touché!

Feeling chastened by recognising my mistake, I picked on a young couple to cheer them and myself up. They had to go a little bit around me, while I watched Marion walk away.

       'I'm sorry,' I said, 'Was I in your way?'

       'No, no. You're fine.' The young woman said.

       'I'm practising getting in people's way to get my own back.'

They laughed. Part of me hoped they drive a black car; I was laughing too.

One of my favourite times in supermarkets is when I keep meeting the same person in each aisle. It is so awkward. Both of us have agreed that our conversation earlier has fizzled out and now we have to ignore each other or nod, or wave, or blow raspberries at each other or something. We both feel foolish and embarrassed. I sometimes wish I had never spoken to them earlier. Maybe we might hunch our shoulders at each other to say, 'Who would have thought it?' or 'What a surprise!' I usually just play it safe and leave it at 'Hello'. Most of the time I can see they think the second meeting is awkward, the third uncomfortable, and the fourth excruciating. That's when I turn around and go back to the first aisle, chuckling to myself.

After I had stopped weaving through the busy supermarket I went to pay. There was only one till with a person open. I joined the queue. Marion had her back to me, right in front of me, so I carried on our conversation to her back as though we had not parted.

       'Crikey! For a moment there you just disappeared and I was talking to myself.'

She smiled, 'Oh Hello again.' She seemed okay with more conversation. She seemed very relaxed, even pleased to see me, and that is when she told me about the leopard people.

       'Have you seen the people who come in here every few days and look like leopards?'

       'No, I only come about once a week. They look like leopards?'

       'Yes. They have spots of different colours, and just walk in and load up their baskets, and then walk out without paying; every few days!'

       'Leopards? Black and white?' I was thinking of vitiligo, which is a lack of pigment in the skin, most obvious as patches of white but healthy skin on black people, and is an auto-immune disorder which can be worsened by stress or environmental conditions.

       'Like lepers, not leopards. They have lumps and bumps all over their faces and hands. Nobody stops them.'

       'Yes. Patches of decaying white skin falling off.' By now though, I was checking to see if she meant pustular psoriasis. I only know it as psoriasis, which I have seen. It is not contagious. The 'pustular' bit I had to learn about this morning.

I have only seen leprosy in an old film on the telly, 'Papillon', in which a convict escaped from Devils Island and shares a cigar with a leper in the jungle. 'How did you know I have dry leprosy? the leper asked in the film. 'I didn't,' is the reply.

I, like many other people, heard about leprosy in history classes at secondary school in the UK. Bits of their bodies deteriorate and fall off, I heard. Of course,  I also heard that medieval monasteries and convents took in and cared for lepers in Europe and the UK, so I understood it was not confined to jungles and damp, warm places, and it is contagious. I didn't learn in school that it can be dry leprosy and not contagious. My school did not tell us about syphilis.

In my head these people had vitiligo or psoriasis, not leprosy, and maybe wore leopard skins but the lumps and bumps, when she said it, chased away the notion of them actually looking like cats and wearing cat-skins.

       'Would you stop them?' I asked amused. This conversation has potential, I thought?

       'No.' she accepted. 'The security don't search them.'

       'Would you search them?'

       'No.'

       'I don't think they should be stopped.' I said. No-one treats them as their equals so we shouldn't expect them to act as our equals. In fact, they are turning our disability into their ability. Maybe the police won't search them either.'

In my head, these 'leopard people' are immigrants that have come from a country where they were ostracised and pilloried, and they have no idea that they might be treated differently in the UK by the health service, even if not by the public. I haven't seen them, but it sounds as though their affliction is quite severe.

Even though they are plainly more visible than other people once we have noticed their skin, they walk in a strange liminal place, somewhere between physically visible and unsightly to us, as in us not wanting to see them. They are so sensually visible, that we try to eradicate their visage from our perception.

I am reminded of a conversation I had with a Customs Officer at Immingham docks near Grimsby. I asked him how he can tell if someone should be stopped for questioning and searching. He told me they have a formula and what the formula is,  but added that they do use experience and just pick the right persons mostly. (Customs staff knew me quite well because I would play pranks on them, and they did the same to me and their colleagues. Frequently going through customs with a van can be great fun if you let it happen).

       'One time,' he said. 'I tried to stop an African man, but he wouldn't stop walking and kept telling me that I couldn't see him.  Later, we found he was smuggling heroin, and discovered that he thought that a witch-doctor's spell made him invisible and he would be able to just walk through customs without being stopped. Unfortunately for him, because he wasn't holding up an EU passport we, of course, stopped him.'

The thieves that Marion told me about are in the same strange category of visibility, but diverse within it. What a wonderful world!

'We are the leopard people. You can see us, but you don't want to.' To them we all drive black SUVs. Even though they are there we ignore them and pretend they are not.

Vitiligo (Wikipedia)

An example of sensually inappropriate is: I used to enjoy Rollmop Herrings; loved them. One day, my mum told me that they are raw just as I was chewing on one. I can't look at them now. Rollmops, to me, are sensually inedible.

The woman on the till told me she was pleased to have a conversation with me. She said it lifted her and set her up for her shift. From the looks of disdain from the customer behind me; he couldn't afford a black SUV but would definitely buy a smaller black car, even if it never left his front garden.

Now you see us, now you don't.

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