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It is merely a matter of understanding appropriately

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Monday 9 March 2026 at 13:04

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Shred, blend and rewrite books

[ 8 minute read ]

From a selection of 'Emotional Intelligence' by Daniel Goleman; 'Locke' by Michael Ayers; 'The Pattern on the Stone' by W. Daniel Hillis; 'Trainwreck' by Sady Doyle; and 'The Devil and all his works' by Dennis Wheatley.

I rearranged my bookcases yesterday and ended up giving myself a whole bunch of books to read 'urgently'. Once again, I feel like I would just like to plug myself into a digital stream and assimilate the words; but that is all I would do, absorb the words. I might just as well as read a dictionary, which would be a great deal more fun. And there it is. Actually experiencing the words and the definitions in a dictionary is preferable to just ramming words into my brain. Without real-time processing, I would understand nothing because I do not have a computer's operating system in my head. My brain does not compartmentalise everything it experiences, ready for close attention of only designated information at its own leisure.

Still in my head from yesterday is the crazy marshall at a fun-run who waved two cars through a red traffic light when I was crossing the road on my bicycle. I had to leap out of the way with my bike because she distracted the drivers by so wildly gesticulating that they didn't see me crossing. Still in my head from yesterday, is her marshall friend who, once I had leapt back from the cars, came over to me and said, 'Excuse me, there is a queue.' On the pavement / cycle path were a bunch of cyclists. I, however, was on the road; a road-user. I had arrived at my position on the road by using the road. Once the cars had passed there was no queue on the road. Some people are merely hazards to the rest of us. I forget, though, that not everyone can see the world as I do. Oh yes, it seems I am arrogant and merciless. However, we all believe that what we perceive is the same as everyone else perceives; and we are all certain that what we believe is the same that everyone believes, and when we find out that this is not so, we are puzzled, and I suggest, a little scared.

Absorbing the information in the books I want to read now, I think, would be absorbing it through a lens of resentment for me. I am so self-absorbed that I want blinkered people to just leave me alone. Of course, I must admit to also having tunnel-vision. My microcosm of existence is in a macrocosm we call the world. It really is incumbent on me to make sure that everyone else's happy microcosm is not negatively affected by my jaded attitude. Hence, I shall be reading the book, 'Emotional Intelligence' by Daniel Goleman. Most of the time straplines and sub-headings do nothing for me, but 'Why it can matter more than IQ' really sings the right tune to me when I consider how the marshalls were weirdly important to themselves. They will never understand what really happened because they pat themselves on the back for doing an entirely different task. 

Michael Ayers, a British philosopher and professor at Oxford University, on writing about the philosopher John Locke (1632 - 1704) in his first chapter, 'Ideas and Things' writes, 'Locke's epistemological thesis is that the ways in which we conceive of the world, including ourselves, are determined by the ways we experience the world.' Although I started reading the book some years ago, I really must read it again with new insights. (That is why I never deface books with dog-ears, highlighting and annotations). Apparently, there is a YouTube video of Professor Ayers talking in 1985 about Locke and Berkeley. I think it is Bishop George Berkeley (1685 - 1783) of Cloyne of the Anglican Church of Ireland, who was an Anglo-Irish philosopher, writer, and clergyman and is regarded as the founder of immaterialism.

Dennis Wheatley in his 1972 book, 'The Devil and all his works', begins with a statement, within which he posits a loose, though considered, opinion that 'To many Christians...the doctrine of the Trinity is no longer fully acceptable. God the Father has faded into the background, and most people find the role of the Holy Ghost somewhat difficult to understand' He then goes on to offer an idea that, using words that were ?acceptable? at the time, [Africans] 'prefer Allah, as the one, indivisible God', for this same reason. I might have to ignore any inference to levels of mental acuity that Dennis Wheatley has inadvertently created with his statement. Reading on, I cannot find that Wheatley was racist, but that may be because it is not important to me. He seems to be able to separate his point from his attitude, and that is enough for me.

 I am not really concerned about inappropriate language, my interest lies firmly in why modern Christians favour 'Jesus' over the 'Father'. I have no care for the Christian God being male or female, because I don't think that God is limited to only one gender. If I believe in a Christian 'God', I also believe in omniscience, omnipotence and omnipresence. If I also believe that males and females are equal, yet do not believe they are the same, this does not conflict with the language that was used to talk about any Christian God, or the language that will be used to talk about any Christian God. If I believe that males and females are the same, then 'Father' is the same as 'Mother', and it is only semantics that troubles people. Perhaps a nod to modern attitudes on gender equality by modern Christian churches has exacerbated the state of confusion that Dennis Wheatley talked of.

Likewise, W. Daniel Hillis, in his 1998 book, 'The Pattern on the Stone', which has the sub-heading, 'The Simple Ideas that make computers work', makes an assertion about how computers may, or may not solve, the 'Travelling Saleman' problem. I believe it is a Maths problem, which is given to students as, 'Given a list of cities and the distances between each pair of cities, what is the shortest possible route that visits each city exactly once and returns to the origin city?' Hillis makes note that the time grows exponentially with the size of the problem, 'No-one knows any algorithm that is order n2 or even n3, or n to any power, that will accomplish this. Yeah, I am confused by 'n' too, but I think 'n' is the number of cities in this problem. Welcome back to those happy days of algebra! Hillis wrote, 'If we add ten more cities to the salesman's itinerary, the problem gets a thousand times harder'. I don't know about that because I only think in ways to solve problems using my analogue brain. A bit further on, Hillis, writes, 'No predictable technical breakthroughs in computers will help solve the travelling salesman problem, since even a computer a billion times faster will still be stumped by the addition of a few more cities. 

What I find interesting about Hillis's statements is his complete lack of realising that just 28 years later, his belief is tested by A.I. I don't pretend to understand whether he is now proved wrong; it is not really my aim to do that. I am interested in how something we believe to be true today is false tomorrow. I suggest that, no amount of studying in 1998 that Hillis may have undertaken might have led him towards building A.I. assistive technology. Just as John Gall, the Systems Theorist, said, 'A complex system that works is invariably found to have evolved from a simple system that worked'. Likewise, It is the evolution of understanding that fascinates me.

'Trainwreck' by Sady Doyle, in her 2017 book, with the sub-heading, 'The women we love to hate, mock and fear....and why', writes about the shaming of Mary Wollstonecraft (and a lot more else). Doyle finishes a paragraph with: 'Even if you believed in the brotherhood and equality of all mankind, you didn't want to march into battle calling yourselves the Crazy Slut Fan Club'. Doyle continues her point with, 'The only way for a woman to engage in feminism at all it turned out, was to actively participate in the shaming: Harriet Martineau, one of the few to carry the torch, declared that. "Mary Wollstonecraft was, with all her powers, a poor victim of passion, with no control over her own peace, and no calmness or content except when the needs of her individual nature were satisfied". Doyle finishes with her own alarm that there was an idea that real feminists were entirely unlike Mary Wollstonecraft and allowing her into the movement set it back. She quotes Harriet Martineau again, '[Their] advocacy of Woman's cause becomes more detriment, precisely in proportion to their personal reasons for unhappiness, unless they have fortitude enough [...] to get their own troubles under their feet, and leave them out of the account in stating the state of their sex". Doyle goes on to say that Wollstonecraft was considered to be a whore, a madwoman, an idiot and a joke, and most of all, responsible for setting women's rights back and so was 'wrecked'. I think today, we might say 'cancelled'; except that by modern standards, women today might consider Wollstonecraft as being nothing less than a free woman.

I have never read about Mary Wollstonecraft in the same light that Harriet Martineau casts on her. My interest is not in feminism and whether it is right or necessary or who advocates for it best. My interest is how opinion changes according to the information we are given, and importantly, the environment in which we receive it.

I selected the book 'Emotional Intelligence - Why it can matter more than IQ' (1996) by Daniel Goleman, because it fell open, after a few previous openings, at the chapter, 'Pandora's box and the power of positive thinking'. After Pandora had let almost everything out of the box, she was just in time to stop 'hope' flying away. Daniel Goleman mentions a study by a University of Kansas psychologist, C. R. Snyder, in which the psychologist found that hope is elemental in recovering from disappointment, and thus achieving higher grades after a setback. People with low hope levels just gave up and plodded along believing they could do no better and like a self-fulfilling prophesy continued to get low grades, while people with high hope levels accepted the setback and studied harder, which invariably meant they achieved higher grades than the disappointed 'plodders'. Goleman's book contains a whole lot more on EQ.

My task is to mesh all my chosen books together; to find parallels and connections and attempt to portray how I understand the world, myself and others. But not portray it to all and sundry. No, I need to portray it to myself.  I need to be able to 'see' the invisible whiteboard with pithy statements on it that fit my mind. And this needs to be in a format that, if I ever want to, I would be able to explain to others. If it cannot be explained to others, I feel that it is of no use to me, since it would suggest to me that I have lost my way, and fabricated an illusion of the world and all that is in it.

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Can the village fix my bike?

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Sunday 8 March 2026 at 19:09

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You just can't rely on guesses anymore

[ 8 minute read ]

There is always something going on in my village and groups to connect with other people. On the back page of a frre A5 sized booklet we get each month, in colour, is a notice that the 'Men's Shed' group will soon be recommencing meetings at the Recreation Ground Pavilion. It really is that type of village that calls the playing fields a recreation ground.

I am thinking of taking one of my bicycles to the 'Mens Shed' on the 18th March; they have a little note on their page saying if you have a small item that needs fixing, bring it along. I know that my bike is not small, but it isn't a washing machine, and I have all the right tools to fix it but don't seem to be able to make any progress. The thing is, this particular bike is so old that it seems the gear-set has sort of bonded to the spindle.

I am fairly certain the men in the shed will simultaneously raise their hands to their chins and as one say. 'Well, if you have tried all that and it didn't work, maybe you should think of buying  a new bike.' Even the old men these days are consumers and not fixers, I feel. I shall, if they do this, not tell them that I have four more bikes just the same, because I believe in experiencing bikes and not just throwing things away when things get ugly. Of course, I may be wrong, but I am familiar with my village and its residents. When I helped one of them with a puncture on his bicycle he offered to pay me! You know, I am a villager so let me monetise it!'

I sometimes pass some women riding horses, and I am on speaking terms with one of them. Well, I asked her how fast her horse goes. She said she had a pick-up car drive alongside her in a field and her horse reached 30 miles an hour (48 kph).

I think she might know someone with a Shire Horse or Percheron or Suffolk Punch, or something to pull the gear-set off. I will try anything, because the project to renovate the bike has gone on for over three years now.

St Mary's Church and the Baptist Church Centre is a good place to have some light fun. At St Mary's church there will soon be a 'Music Cafe' on two Saturday afternoons. It is free but seeks donations. I always keep the booklet page open to remind me of places and events I want to go to and attend, but never go because something distracts me. The Church is looking for local musicians to play music while tea-drinkers carefully and smoothly sip. In my village there will be no slurping. On the booklet page there are images of a clarinet and a guitar. One can't help imaging that we might hear 'Strangers on the Shore' by Acker Bilk and possibly 'Take Five' originally by the Dave Brubeck Quartet, but we have an academy, and not a secondary school in our village, so perhaps it will be something by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov or Brahms.

I doubt there will be anyone wrenching a guitar to mimic Jimi Hendrix, but maybe we might get 'Sunrise' by Norah Jones or 'Cavatina', the theme tune to 'The Deer Hunter', composed by Stanley Myers, or maybe just a cavatina.

I just 'YouTubed', 'clarinet music' and the Iceland Symphony Orchestra arrived with Mozarts, 'Clarinet Concerto in A major, K. 622'. How kind of them to scour the island to find so many classical musicians from a population of only about 349,000; nearly 70,000 of which are immigrants.

At Customs:

     'Hello. What is the purpose of your visit? Business or pleasure?'

     'I can play a musical instrument.'

     'Wonderful! Would you like to live here...please? '

     'Thank you. I can chant at important international football matches too.'

     'Marvellous! Would you consider running for mayor?'

Surprisingly I have met a few Icelandics, and they are great fun and not at all a subject for disrespect. I am just following a comedic line based on the low population. I once remarked on it and joked with an Icelandic man and asked him if he had met everyone there. He said, 'Probably'.

I somehow doubt that a clarinet and guitar will be paired to play Gypsy Jazz in St Mary's church, but I have heard Dr Seuss quoted in an Anglican church by a lay-person in my birth-village.

Do you want to know how your grandad lost the family estate in a card game? Because when he threw a used match in the ashtray after lighting his cigar or pipe, someone else threw in another match that landed cross-wise over your grandad's. That is how to cross out luck, according to the book on Superstitions I have. We just never know how we came to be so poor.

If I told you that I am not superstitious and take such nonsense with a pinch of salt, would you think it much different to me saying I am not superstitious because I think it is bad luck to be superstitious? There are fourteen separate pages on salt in the Superstitions book. Be careful what you do with it; even pinches.

However, I have just had a thought on how to fix my bike. I might 'manifest' it fixed. 'Manifesting' is something I think I used to do when I was a teenager and wanted to borrow some money from my mum. I was pretty much left to my own devices when I was sixteen and lived in a house with my nineteen year old brother as my guardian. Think Cinderella for boys, and me never going to the ball, and you will get the picture handsomely. Back then, I read in a book titled 'Mind Games', that if you want to borrow money from someone you should, before asking for the loan, think about the money at every moment in the conversation preceding the request. As far as I know it worked, because my mum, who lived a three hour cycle ride away, never refused me.

I know that I have, in the past, accidentally cast a 'spell' by saying aloud. 'Who stole my...(whatever it is I cannot find)' and whatever it is appears right away, just a few feet away from me. I think things only reappear in order to make me feel foolish, and clumsy in my attempts to hunt properly. I suppose I should learn from that, but I also know that I often get tricked, just so someone or something gets a laugh at my expense. Nonetheless, it always works. Maybe there is a supervisor who slaps the imps down and says, 'Leave him alone!'. I have never stretched the way of it by saying aloud, 'Who stole my fortune' with a hope that a huge amount of money will suddenly arrive on my kitchen worktop and spill onto the floor. I know it won't. Years ago, I did my Chinese Horoscope, and it quite plainly told me that I will not be able to accrue any savings, so there is no fortune to be found. Incidentally this is the Chinese Year of the Horse. I think I might try saying, 'Who broke my bike?' and accuse the world, but I actually know the answer to that, and if there is a 'supervisor', so do they.

     'Oh, I say, dear spirit, would you be a dear and fix my bike. I simply must break my fast with chickpeas, egg and rice.' (I have run out of bread and Baked Beans).

I think if I really wanted to, I might be able to cheat and bend the edge of the spirit world over my bike for a time, but I am afraid that the bike might try to kill me one day by letting one of the brake cables snap at a vital moment when emergency braking makes me squeeze the calipers firmly shut. I am pretty sure that I only need to loosely tie a limp piece of string to the front gear set tonight with the other end tied to another bike, and I would be woken by a loud 'clunk' and tomorrow the gear set will be on the floor. But I would have to 'pay the piper', as they say.

There is a lot going on in my village; maybe the garage owner can help me.

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Hatch your thought-progeny

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Sunday 8 March 2026 at 08:25

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[ 8 minute read ]

My mind is an incubator

'All power of fancy over reason is a degree of insanity' Samuel Johnson (1709-1784)

I randomly opened one of the books on my floor; the place reserved for 'Books to randomly open at any page' or for ones that are likely to be referenced often, like my Roget's Thesaurus and 'Simply Psychology'.

The quotation above, by Samuel Johnson is under the chapter heading, 'Is Mysticism a Kind of Schizophrenia in Disguise?' in 'Zen and the Brain' (James H Austin M.D., 1999, Massachusetts Institute of Technology - MIT)  I have long been fascinated in our febrile states when we dream, and the reasons given for why we dream by 'sleepologists', or at least people who have studied sleep and dreaming, as being so we can process the day's, and prior events, in our lives. I see it as a fountain of data thrown into the air and the brain catching bits as they fall in an attempt to make a coherent pattern or shape while using templates it has made in a similar way before; a bit like the old video game Tetris.

Anyone with a mental disorder, temporary or otherwise, I suggest, claims it as their own, and as it being a part of them. To make any statements on a specific mental state is likely to offend anyone who suffers from any of a myriad of mental illnesses. The chapter title I found in the book is as much an irritant to many people, as it is smack bang in the middle of my intrigue. I haven't read it yet, but I definitely shall. 

I suggest that just as a mental illness or disorder is claimed as being an integral part of someone, so are the templates or heuristics we make as a result of our febrile dreaming. If I am exposed to radical ideas in my days, my dreaming will shake up this information and other information stored in my head, and my brain will process it it like the old game 'Tetris' with falling (or suspended) pieces that need to be aligned and placed securely with no gaps between them. if there are any gaps they have to be thrown into the air again. Wake up before this has happened and we are not rested.

When I was about sixteen I had a fever. It lasted for at least three days. I had nightmares and lay in bed for those days and nights. One night I had a dream in which there were hundreds of wires that needed to be joined. There were an equal amount of red, blue and yellow wires (primary colours you might note) that needed to be joined to corresponding red, blue and yellow wires. The problem I faced in my lucid dream was that I could not test to see if the wires were joined to the right wires until I had joined them all up; then, and only then, could I test it, or 'turn the circuit on'. It seemed that I was 'doing' this for hours. If it was a real physical task it would have taken years. However, there is nothing so quick as the human brain, and dreams, lucid or not, are scripted to take a specified length of time so we can understand how we got to a result and formed a corresponding template, or new premise or heuristic, so it could have been only a minute; but I think my bedside clock told me it was actually three or four hours. 

As soon as the 'circuit' worked, meaning all the hundreds of unlabelled red, blue and yellow wires were correctly connected (in my dream) I fell asleep and woke much more rested than the previous nights of the fever. During the day, I improved as I moved around my home. The next day I was fine, just as if I had never been ill. Of course, as a teenager not eating for a day or two didn't really have any noticeable affect my energy levels, so things were good.

Anyone would have a hard time convincing me that I was unaware that my body was attacking a virus or whatever it was. I am convinced that different antigens were stuck to T cells that were marched out to battle and messages were sent back with intelligence on the enemy invader. My brain, I am certain, made changes to the antigens and stuck them to new T cells and mass produced a weapon that eliminated the virus threat. Because I was interested in electronics at the time my dream was of the complex and seemingly ever-changing conundrum of how to connect electronic circuits. (My understanding of biology and chemistry is sadly much limited and so no-one should believe that I know what I am talking about when it comes to immunology).

Because I fully believe I was prescient during the final battle in my body I cannot turn from considering that the chapter title, 'Is Mysticism a Kind of Schizophrenia in Disguise?' as being wholly relevant.

Many people believe different things. I believe that people are limited in what they believe, because they either lack mental acuity or the ability to focus it; because their mental development is still undergoing significant changes which require more shake-ups and vivid dreaming; or because they have formed a set of templates that negate either disparate or opposite suggestions. In a group this is an hegemony (Link opens a new window on my post about hegemony and doctrine) in that even the articulation of alternative ideas is inhibited.

I am disruptive; I can set aside my emotions in most scenarios. I am ruthless because in setting aside my emotions only reason and the truth is measured. People don't like this in me, and they don't like it in anyone else.

Imagine if an adult enters into a game that three, four and five year olds are playing. The adult may introduce ideas on mortgages and loans, and work, and fitting kitchens or fixing cars or booking flights and holidays and might try to get the little kids to play their own game but with the adult's rules and experiences. I strongly suspect that the kids will be confused and the enjoyment of their game will wane until it becomes only a boring bane to them, if the adult won't let them leave.

I forget every day that everyone is the centre of their own universe. I forget about 'Sonder'. (Link opens a new window with my post on sonder). I forget every day that everyone needs to feel secure in their thinking; that they are confident that they made the right choices, and confident that they listened to the right people. There are, however, persons who set themselves up as superior in knowledge and understanding who seek to create 'thought progeny' in others.

I might claim to be the first person to put 'Cool', 'Calm' and 'Collected' in a sentence decades ago. I might claim to be one of the leading persons who first put 'kind' before 'regards' at the end of letters. I might also claim to be one of the leading persons, if not 'the' leading person who thanked recipients of my letters 'for their patience and understanding in dealing with this matter'. Certainly, I had never heard or come across any of these devices prior to me inventing them in my personal world. Certainly, modern customer service follows this line of obsequious thinking but is not really clearly evinced. The 'Cool, Calm and Collected' I came up with when I was sixteen, and walking to the top of my road tossing the idea about that I should test my environment so I could understand it better by being 'prickly' that day, and then I thought, No! Cool, calm and collected might be a better approach to protecting myself my mental anguish.

It doesn't matter if I am correct in believing this. However, let's say I am correct on all three counts of being an initiator of consequent common action in the modern world. These actions that come from how people think in the modern world would stem from my 'thought-progeny' and a certain amount of pride could be felt and shown, if only that I happened to mention it in a paragraph, above.

Yet, everyone affects the world in some fashion. We just don't get to see it unfold because it takes decades, at least it did.

We should be mindful that a lot of people want to be influencers. What does this mean? 'Think like me!', and by inference, buy what I buy so you can be like me. This is, as I have mentioned a few times before, seeking validation. Someone's thoughts or understanding, no matter how many people share the same thought, either because it was born by immaculate conception as a leap of innovation, or a particular assembling of pieces of the day falling down in dreams; or through insemination by someone else's strong idea or belief, are not necessarily correct.

Once upon a time, the Romans thought it was a good idea to crucify people. They weren't the first to do this though. Today, Romans and their fellow country-people might not be so keen to nail people to wooden crosses. Yet, some people might consider it to be not good practice only because, to them, realistically, it is unhygienic, and some rotting fingers or toes might fall on the kids playing below. This is a prime example of weighting our thoughts.

When someone is in a position to influence my understanding of the world, I, like everyone else, hold hard to my own carefully considered beliefs. They are part of me. Tell me I am wrong and you insult me at the very core of my existence. To this end, I eschew strong opinion. I will listen to anything and adjust my thinking accordingly and appropriately, but zealots are brutes who seek to plants seeds in other people in a deliberate attempt to hatch thought-progeny. The action of seizing someone else's mind, throwing it to the ground and spearing an idea or thought or belief into it, is something that they are proud of. When they see the change in a person who has been thoroughly abused in this way they are pleased, and if there are enough of these changed people, zealots are able to confirm their own bias. 

'All power of fancy over reason is a degree of insanity' Samuel Johnson (1709-1784).

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Where is the moon and the tree?

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[ 4 minute read ]

Go past the tree that isn't there anymore

Did you know that you shouldn't castrate a farm animal when the moon is declining, or if you kill a pig at that time, the meat will shrink in the boiling?

Nor me. In my 1972 book, 'Encyclopedia of Superstitions', 'It is customary almost everywhere in Britain to turn over silver in the pocket when the new moon is first seen.' 

How many of us know when there is a new moon? Or if it is waning? We are just not the same as people were back in 1972, I guess.

A while ago, a woman was looking at a tree in the city near to me. I know one or two types and I like to think I am helpful. Because I have never polled anyone on that I am still guessing.

     'Hello. I couldn't help seeing you paying close attention to the tree. Are you wondering what it is?'

     'Yes, it's unusual. I haven't seen one before.'

     'It's a Rowan.'

Since then, I have looked in my 'How to identify trees' book and think maybe I made that up. However, it is the conversation that it led to that I liked on that day.

We were both disappointed with ourselves because we couldn't identify trees that we see every day so we sheepishly hung our heads in shame, but 'invisibly and secretly held hands in a team effort to share the guilt'. I recounted to her an anecdote of when I asked for directions on a remote Lincolnshire road. I can't remember where I needed to go to now. (Lincolnshire is in England)

     'Hello, would you tell me how to get to ....., please'

     'Oh yes. Of course. let me see. No. Ah yes! Maybe not. Okay. Keep going straight until you come to a large house with a black door. Mrs Wright lives there, well she used to and since she died the black door has been painted over.  I don't know what colour it is now. Turn left after the house and then right. That is where the Post Office used to be. It is just a house now. Bob lives there after his dad died. You will know it is the right place to turn because there used to be a Horse Chestnut tree growing there. Keep going until you pass a five bar gate that leads into a field with a horse in it. I expect Rachel will be on the horse so you won't see it there, so watch out for it on the road. After the field you will come to a white house and that is where you want to be.'

I thanked the helpful local and drove on, smiling to myself. 'Wow!'

The woman in the city looking at the Rowan tree that probably wasn't a rowan tree smiled.

     'Wouldn't it be great if we all knew our trees?' I said. 'We could say, "Turn left at the ash tree and when you get to the lime tree turn right but first go past the house with the Wisteria on it."'

She wistfully agreed, even though I had given a rather twee example. We went our different ways; me towards where she had been, and she towards where I had been, but only geographically. I wish it could be different for a day or two.

There are a few things going on here that I think we no longer have in our lives. The book of superstitions was published in 1972. It seems that there was an expectation that knowing the moon phases was common among people; the directions I got in Lincolnshire were plainly from someone who knew the area intimately. Even if the stuttering start didn't give away the shuffling of huge amounts of information, the history of the area was quite evident of knowledge of people's longevity in the spaces he described. And towards the end, when I obliquely suggested that we all ignore our natural surroundings, and this was echoed by the woman not looking at a rowan tree, I gave an impression that we had lost something in our selves.

Even though I longed to know the trees I came across right from being a child, bad eyesight prevented me from seeing leaf shapes. But, the biggest bar to learning was not having conversations with the older folk in my village who could identify trees and shrubs as a matter of course. I presume they knew their trees because they had conversations in which trees were as significant as roads and houses. 'The ash tree lost a limb in the wind last night so you night want to take the high road out of the village.'

These days, finding out about trees is a singular pursuit with, for me, a book, and for others, a SmartPhone with a camera and the internet. I, however, would like to smell the damp person telling me about the tree, and be mindful of their abrupt and impatient mannerisms. I want to experience the immediacy of the encounter and have a growing anticipation that it will soon end when the older person gets hungry or cold or something, and suddenly turns away and leaves.

I once saw someone striding purposefully across a cow pasture near a river; a field I know very well. Tourist, I thought. No local walks like that in a field.

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Just do your Job well

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Thursday 5 March 2026 at 07:50

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[ 11 minute read ]

No Thanks

Just quietly do your job

While the world seems to want to be more closely linked in personal ways, I vehemently eschew such interaction. There is a strap-line for a Google SmartPhone that goes something like this: 'If someone asks you a question and the answer is on your phone, why not let your phone answer for you?' When the world got widespread availability of mobile phones we all wanted to talk, to share our experiences in real-time. It was fun and fine to do this. I liked it. Then we got social media in which we were able to make artifices of ourselves; we could pretend we live in a big house or near a white sandy beach when we really live on a council estate in Manchester. 

It is okay to lie because we all seemingly do it even if we don't recognise we are doing it. 'I don't have time to do that' You probably do. 'I did the best I could' No, you didn't.

Now though there is a drive towards the personal approach in business and business entities. This came about decades ago when after-sales care became interesting for businesses, largely in the USA. It transmuted itself into the UK and now the personal approach is making itself known in the government bodies in the UK.

I received a text message on my phone. It used to be until quite recently that my phone was not a SmartPhone with internet capabilities. However, the government practically overnight took away our hopes of privacy by mandating that the 3G network be discontinued. DumbPhones worked on the 3G network and as we know, they are dumb because they have no internet capability. That is precisely why I had one. I have a whole gamut of procedures to prevent my personal information escaping from my devices. The most important one is that I never let my SmartPhone go on the internet, not even to update itself. It is a phone, not a media device, to me. I have laptops with internet capability that have manual switches or manually inserted dongles to access the internet, if I want to play.

It is no secret that I am an Open University student; A.I. established that long ago; before I even realised it did. Here is an example of why I never let my SmartPhone go online:

My local council sent me a text that said that they are updating their records and that I should use the link (in the text) to access an online form. Of course, I could allow internet access because I have 20Gb data allowance with my SIM plan, but I didn't. Instead, I very carefully typed the link address into the website bar in one of my laptops. I received a default message, ostensibly saying that there was a problem and access is not enabled. I am used to coding and recognise that the tiniest error will result in absolutely nothing happening. The address though is very simple and I rewrote it and treble checked it; same result. I phoned the council and told them that I could not access the online form. 

     'Let's fill out the form over the phone then, Mr Cadwell'

     'Okay'

     'What is your date of birth and national insurance number?'

     'Why do you want to know that?'

     'I don't know.'

I did not announce who I was when I phoned, but because they have my telephone number on record they knew who was calling. I explained that I would never click on a link on my SmartPhone, which is what prompted the offer to fill out the form over the phone. I knew that by allowing my phone to go online all sorts of interrogatory software would be downloaded and everything on my phone would be uploaded somewhere. That is a matter of course. Samsung, the phone manufacturer, wants to know how we use our phones. Does it have expanded memory? for example. Google want to know who we are and what we do and like, and who our contacts are. Remember, if it is on your phone and someone asks you a question, why not let your phone answer for you?

We all know that a government body can use our national insurance numbers to ascertain our tax position. My council, if I tell them what my national insurance number is, would be able to place me in a socio-economic band. Why do they need to do that? Even credit reference agencies can do this with our national insurance numbers. As an ID it is not as good as a passport or driving licence so asking for this information is not for the purposes of identifying someone, in itself.

The reason the link in the text from the council didn't work when I typed it into my laptop website bar is because the link goes to a site that expects a SIM to be in a SmartPhone with the appropriate operating system. My laptops do not use any SmartPhone operating systems. That is why I use them for internet use; because practically everyone else uses their phone to access the web, it makes my web fun safer since there is a reduced chance of phishing software accessing my data; simply put, it is inefficient to write software to also deal with computer operating software when data can easily be garnered from people's phones anyway.

Just as the person answering the phone at the council office can see on their screen who is calling if they have recorded a number associated with a  person; the web form where the link would go would interrogate a SmartPhone and find the telephone number associated with the SIM, and then be able to present a personalised form to the user. That is fine, except that it demonstrates that interrogatory software is being used. What is your date of birth and national insurance number and what is your email address? It takes me no time at all to recognise that I would willingly and with full permission be creating a profile of myself using an online form, or over the phone, without knowing what the information would be used for. Why would anyone want to have an identifying profile of me? Why would anyone be foolish enough to say, 'Here is my profile, do what you like with it.' ? I presume that if I ask the council they will tell me that they want to personalise their contact with me. And that, is precisely why I never want personalised contacts. That whole idea is merely a way to garner personal information for a profile to be built. I happen to know that our bank accounts can be accessed by Government bodies. In the past, I have signed into my Experian account and been able to see my bank balance in real time. I expect the council for would ask for my bank details. Where do I spend my money? Is there a repetitive amount that denotes a gambling or alcohol addiction or do I have a lot of insurance or a loan, perhaps. In my case, I pay for a website. Might be worth a look to see if I post subversive content, eh?

Imagine this. In its beneficial clothes, personalised contact can make age appropriate information available. If you are young, you might want to be made aware of an upcoming music event; if you are older, you might want to hear about a new lawn bowls green, or vote on one being built. However, the young person will not hear about the new bowls green and the old person will not hear about the music event. Even if neither party cares not for the preferences of the other, the opportunity to search for what interests us is diminished, even if we do not become marginalised by our supposed physical and mental ability or supposed preferences.  Let me elaborate: If I want an ice-cream and an ice-cream van comes along, I am unlikely to walk past the ice-cream van to the shop nearby. My opportunity for satisfying my want is increased by the arrival of an ice-cream van; but it really isn't. Having an ice-cream van immediately before me will stop me going into town to a shop and buying a bowl of ice-cream in a cafe; it will stop me going into Lidl or Marks and Spencers to buy ice-cream and a few lollies as well. So, personalising messages reduces social interaction, just as if your phone answers a question for you. It really is a case of, 'I can't be bothered. In any case, I have done enough, and I have done my duty to interact with you by allowing my phone to answer questions and make decisions for me.' (the settings on the phone being a conduit for suggestions from business entities).

I suspect though, that the council has a hidden agenda. If an empty form came up on my laptop when I typed the link in, I would have been able to enter my name; which is a far safer way of accessing and filling out forms. What the council thought appropriate is that my personalised telephone number should be accessed and sent whizzing through the air as data, that data is in a form that can be harvested (hence the resultant personalised web form). Not a good idea yesterday, today or tomorrow! I can only guess whether the pictures of my garden would have also been harvested from my phone. Of course, there are no pictures of my car or my family or of any persons, or even a pet on my phone. All of these are absolutely part of a highly personalised profile if they ever exist somewhere else.

       'We only wanted to establish a personal way to approach you. How do you want to be approached?' This seems evident because the person who took my call at the council actually offered to only send letters to contact me. That is weird in itself because no business wants to use paper, that has a cost attached to it, to contact anyone. So, it seems highly likely to me that the council has completely got things wrong in that people actually want to have a personal relationship with them as though they are friendly and listening. This is merely a limping alternative to just doing their job. 'I am sorry you are not satisfied, we understand your frustration...' Just do your job!

On education with he OU: I absolutely do not expect to need to ask any tutor for advice while I am an undergraduate. If I cannot understand the text books it is because the OU has failed to supply adequate and appropriate material. Just supply the information in the first instance. End of story. 'Actually, Mr Cadwell, we don't know how to any more. We recognise that people have different needs and so we propose to treat everyone on a personal basis by getting to know them.' That is no doubt due to the current weird way of educating people in UK secondary schools wherein the strongest are compelled to hep the weakest and so the weakest feel empowered and think they can later do a degree - hence the need for tutors being friendly and approachable. Instead of people recognising their limits they have been sold a lie. I have already written on why not everyone can be what they want.

I understand how to build a rapport with someone because I have studied it. One can 'pace' and 'mirror' someone when you are in their presence, for example. If this is not do-able, then sharing common values is a good way of building rapport - 'agreeing', in other words. However, in agreeing with me the tutor gets to tell me about themself. Here is the rub, for me. A tutor is not part of the subject material. I never need to know what a tutor likes or does not like. I never need to know what their preferences are or how they interact with the world. I only need to know the subject material. I absolutely do NOT want to store information with a hook that is associated with any person who is not part of the subject material. Just mark the assignment and say where I went wrong. You know what? Even though I despise A.I., give the task to an bunch of algorithms and let the feedback be emotionally arid.

But this attitude I have is not normal in the UK today. It seems that because people are so connected with their digital devices they have become augmented by their digital devices to such an extent that removing the digital implants from them would likely bring on a mental breakdown that doctors would foolishly diagnose as PTSD, when all it would really be is acute anxiety. 

I worry that world conflict may inhibit me completing the current module I am studying, so I shall jump to the End of Module Assignment, due in May this year, because even with an amazing score for all the Tutor Marked Assignments throughout the academic year, without a pass for the EMA by the deadline I shall fail the whole module. This means that I shall skip at least one TMA, but I have achieved a high enough score at Level One to not need more marks for TMAs.

I cannot imagine beyond being incredulous what people would be like if the phone network breaks down even a little bit. I rather think that most people would die if they were washed up marooned on an island, not from lack of food or water, but from severe anxiety because they have completely lost their personal contacts and reliance on 'how to' advice from the internet. 

In today's climate my reluctance to share my personal information makes me seem hostile. No, that isn't me. I simply loathe personal service. As far as I am concerned, personal service is an excuse for not doing the job right in the first place; that is excepting establishments such as expensive restaurants and hotels that were originally built on the novelty of offering personal service.

Of course, if I had been sold a lie when I was younger and actually believed that I can do anything if I am in a team I would never have noticed that the Council are trying to harvest information.

My tutor means well. He simply doesn't realise that I never believed anything about myself that I didn't discover by myself. 

My degree is my degree. It is not going to be a team degree. Unfortunately, the Open University seems to award degrees on the basis that undergraduates can't do a degree by themselves. Part of my degree, it seems, will be based on social interaction, or teamwork, or a deep reliance on tutor assistance. I vehemently discard such notions as being a valid position or qualification to aspire to.

Thanks, but no thanks.

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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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The Languid Squid

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Tuesday 3 March 2026 at 09:28

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[ 6 minute read ]

Languid Squid

I am not really sure what 'languid' means. I have never heard anyone say it out loud. Rarely, have I read it. Yet, I have used it a few times. In fact, I used it as recently as yesterday.

Words change over time and the meanings much more frequently than the spelling. For some people, a word means one thing, and for a different set of people in a different cultural milieu, or generation, another. Many people use words metaphorically, if that is even the right word. James O'Brien, an LBC radio presenter, will use the word 'strong' for a solid argument that might stand a series of robust attempts to destroy it; he is not unusual in doing so.

The word 'languid' troubles me because I want to use it, but cannot. It is much the same as when I bought a Collins Pocket Thesaurus when I was sixteen. I felt misunderstood so I bought a book of words hoping that someone would recognise one of them and then nod when they heard me use it. I would then have felt that at least I was communicating in the right language and someone understood me, even for a moment. Of course, I had PTSD by then, so there really was no hope of that. My words were the same as everyone else's but I had attached different weight to many of them. When I said. 'I want to talk to someone' others heard me say, 'Let's have a conversation about nothing in particular.' I meant I want to throw up and vomit all my feelings and then feel better - that is what 'talk' meant to me.

The Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, also known as linguistic relativity, suggests that we are influenced by the language we speak; the words in our language and the meanings we attach to them influence how we think and perceive our environment. Of course, I can't leave it at that, and there is criticism of it. I am not particularly interested in what the criticism is. In my life, I only need seeds for which to crystalise my thoughts on. The danger, of course, is believing that what I think is true or realistic. Largely, I am able to avoid shelving any thoughts as complete so they remain as jig-saw pieces that I like to try to fit into the puzzle of life.

I can guess many people would argue that it is our environment that influences the way we think and perceive (paradoxically) our environment. I suppose we could look at a picture of a scenic place while trapped in a cave and attribute different thoughts to the environment in the picture, to if we saw the same picturesque scene in a picture when we are lounging on a beautiful yacht moored in a magnificent tropical bay. I suppose, then, we might choose different words in our conversation. In the cave, I suppose the conversation might be about a rescue, so there is a notion of a geographical transition albeit a small distance. On the boat, the conversation may be about lunch or whether to titillate ourselves with a shore visit, or on deciding whether to up-anchor and feel the wind in the sails and the bump and shove of waves.

I listened to the dawn chorus this morning and was glad that it is now Spring in the UK. Some of the migratory birds have come back and are claiming their place with their loud voices. It made me feel lighter and better able to face the little problems that we all trip over in Winter when the sounds are different. I thought about the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis. Well, I remembered the words 'Sapir-Whorf' and remembered their hypothesis is about language and environment and perception. Each of the birds is speaking its own language, which although I can't understand it, I do understand from what wildlife people say, is a shout that says 'I am here. This is my place. Find your own. I might fight you.' Of course, none of them are a threat to me because, although dinosaurs they may be, they are not big enough to hurt me, by themselves. 

I initially thought that it is the cadence as well as the sound in a language that makes me feel or perceive my environment differently. If I never understand any French words and no German words and I heard them in precisely the same environment would I perceive the environment differently? I rather think I would. 

I have long been fascinated with how people speak, and by extension how I speak. With all the love and respect I can give to the Germans I much prefer the sound of the French accent and the less staccato word formation. It is to my ears. I think like the German language, my speech, although it is English, is sort of German. My speech is functional. We only have to go back and remember that I bought a thesaurus to assist me in ramming my point across. It never entered my head to entertain someone in conversation back then. If I had bought a book on love, as well as the thesaurus, my language today would be entirely different. The intent then, had I have bought both books would have indicated that I was keen to be focused on becoming a good conversationalist. 

I have no idea what I would have done with a book on love and a thesaurus. It would only take a mean streak and, ironically, I might have become a con artist; a manipulator of people. 

In hindsight, I should have bought more than just a thesaurus. I should have made my speech interesting and compelling. 'Ah! Now you can hear what I am saying, because you like the sounds and the feelings that the words invoke in you.' It never happened though, because I wasn't interested in you or anyone, including my own health.

Languid

The Cambridge Dictionary online gives this: 'Languid means moving or speaking slowly with little energy, often in an attractive way.

Merriam Webster online gives this: 'The meaning of languid is drooping or flagging from, or as if from, exhaustion.' 

https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/languid

Squid

Brittanica online gives this: 'Squid, any of 300 speces of 10-armed cephalopods (order Teuthoidea) found in both coastal and oceanic waters.'

https://www.britannica.com/animal/squid

Other than the rhyming value between 'languid' and 'squid' why would I put these two words together?

WARNING! 

Squid, like octopi (octopuses) like to eat shellfish and they grate and scrape away the shell to get to the flesh inside using a tooth. Let's just say a human diver doesn't want a squid or octopus on their head for too long.

If I choose the nicer definition of 'languid' by The Cambridge Dictionary; and use 'languid squid' as a template for communication, I might be able to convey how I perceive language, the meanings and sounds, to be both a sword and a pillow. It can both cleave and soothe, depending on how it is used, or unfortunately how words, even kind ones, are misunderstood. I am not keen on laying out my thought process further, so I shall just leave it at the door-step for anyone to unwrap. 

I suppose I could put it in a sentence: 'Like a languid squid the thought once introduced to me, persisted in my mind and buried itself deeper.'

I haven't come close to giving any credence to Sapir and Whorf for their outstanding work in the field of linguistics. It is enough for me, for now, to have come across their hypothesis and to be able to hear the birds outside and wonder if I am different today because it is Spring or because the birds told me it is Spring.

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I chose you

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Monday 2 March 2026 at 07:23

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[ 5 minute read ]

I made the right decision

Why can't I can't hear you say it?

Ralph Waldo Emerson, essayist and poet, said, 'Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in, forget them as soon as you can. tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.'

To be honest, after a very brief bit of researching; and I am no researcher, I think the above is a bastardisation of what Emerson wrote to one of his daughters in 1854 and it was rehashed by James Elliot Cabot, his literary executor, to be closer to the 'quote' above who also sent something similar to his own daughter, but what the hey; let it be attributed to Emerson and so be anchored.

I think the intention behind the sending of this smoothing tone was to encourage their daughters to recognise that we all make mistakes and that by dwelling on our mistakes we cannot make the best of the new day. In other words, that they should not have hindsight bias.

To make a shortcut into what hindsight bias might be, we only have to dig up the expression, 'Love like you have never been hurt' and know that this revolves around carrying emotional baggage that would negatively affect the love of today, or even prevent it occurring or growing straight.

Josh Kaufman in his book, 'The Personal MBA', elaborates with 'Every decision you ever make will be based on incomplete information - we have to use 'interpretation' to fill in the blanks. Since you are not omniscient, you'll always have more information when you evaluate the results of your actions than you had when you actually made the decision.'

I can't help thinking that Emerson's and Cabot's daughters were bemoaning their woe and regret at having made some mistake in letters to their families back home.

Of course, the more we do something the more practiced we become at it, and dwelling on a mistake when we are still young in experience may well cause us to shy away from making more attempts. But, that is really only because we either didn't like how it feels to fall off a horse; it hurts, or because we berate ourselves for being foolish - 'If I hadn't have accidentally squirted her with the squeezy tomato ketchup in the canteen she might have accepted a date with me.' I rather hope that if someone is squirted with tomato ketchup that they do accept a dinner date and insist on the 'clumsy' person ordering a spaghetti dish and not allow them to use a spoon.

Unfortunately, students need to live with their mistakes for at least a few more days; and that is after they receive the feedback for their Tutor Marked Assignments. Here is a case of 'What did I do wrong and how can I fix it?' in a perfect setting. Isn't it a pity that we cannot get printouts from our partners and spouses, even our children and work colleagues?

     'Huh!' Yes, husband, that means that you are an idiot because you didn't get up to tend to your son who was crying in the night with a nightmare.'

     'What?' Yes, wife, that means that you are an idiot because it is obvious I wanted to make breakfast in bed for you but you got up first, like you always do.

Blank stare. Yes Dad, you are an idiot because you stood there for a whole second before you turned away when I was about to talk to my desire.'

I am very much the sort of person that puts the effort into an assignment and then believes it has been done and dusted and I never need to deal with it again. But then I am also the person who had to hear from my wife and best friend who stood shoulder to shoulder and jointly told me. 'It is not what you say. It is the way you say it.' I didn't know what to do with that. If you know that, then rearrange my words; I am doing the best I can. Or was I?

I should have asked questions. A while ago, I got into some hot water by appearing to say that we should be humble and there are lessons that can be learnt from being humble. A whole bunch of bees got shook from the nest with that view. I do think we should be humble. If my wife is upset with me is it because I married the wrong person? Did I make a mistake? In hindsight, she is an evil witch hellbent on destroying my life by sapping my energy and feeding it to our children so they can hate me more. Of course not! If I do only one thing, I would have to recognise that if I had put myself in that position it would be my fault for being foolish. I could have checked her references by asking her ex-boyfriends about her; but how does one prepare a list of questions for that? You can see that I am persisting in believing that I have the moral, emotional and intellectual high ground. Not at all humble. Of course, my wife is not evil and vengeful. At least she wasn't before I met her, I think. She really isn't, and never was, and never will be.

Ralph Waldo Emerson has a point with his encouraging message to his young daughter. 'Never mind. Dust yourself off and look with bright eyes to the future.' Yet, there are times in my relationships that I really do need to think about the mistakes I made yesterday(s) so tomorrow(s) can be free from pain.

Why can't I hear you today? I know I made the right choice in you, but I can't hear you. Why? 

References

Josh Kaufman, 'The Personal MBA', Portfolio Penguin, undated

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Fool for your skill

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Sunday 8 March 2026 at 20:32

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This is a comedic take on air travel safety. If you are about to fly do not read this.

[ 4 minute read ]

Let me have a go

I discovered, a few days ago, that much of the landing of an airliner at airports is handled by the autopilot. This is even when passengers are onboard. For example the approach speed is monitored and the autopilot makes sure it stays within safe parameters; too slow and the plane drops out of the sky unflyable and too fast and it won't stop on the runway. Autopilot also finds a homing beacon to align the plane with the runway. You can imagine a radio signal extending at a perfect angle from the runway and the plane flies down the strongest part of it. There have been crashes because the pilots were not trained to fight the autopilot or work with it when something went wrong.

Across the sky a privately chartered Gulfstream G650ER streaked.

     'Right. Autopilot is on and we have seven hours of tedium to fill.' said Mark the captain.

     'What shall we do?' Crumbs sprayed from Mark's mouth and fell to his bloated belly. He eyed his co-pilot, Bill, as he munched another Custard Cream. 'Well?' brushing the crumbs from his shirt.

     'I-Spy?' suggested Bill. His eyebrows formed a quizzical arch on his flushed face. Once again he had had too much too drink before boarding, and it showed in his wavering hand movements as he stabbed a fat finger at a button. 'Music anyone?'

     'C', called the flight engineer laconically.

     'Would that be clouds, Brian?' asked the captain humourlessly.

     'Sod this!' Brian blurted. 'I'm going to string one up.' He quickly rolled a joint. 'Mark? It's Lebanese.'

     Nah, I'm good. I got this', brandishing a half-emptied bottle of Black Label Whisky. Air ascended as he swigged and swallowed, swigged and swallowed. He closed his eyes as the sweet aroma of cannabis met his pitted nose, masking the smell of hot metal and melting plastic.

Bill's head was already nodding and drool was forming at the corner of his mouth. He mindlessly rummaged down his trousers.

In the passenger cabin Sandy Shaw, world-renown author of twenty-six thrillers, pulled her laptop from her bag and began to type, sure in the knowledge that there were several hours of relative peace now and the plane was in safe hands. 

A few hours later she addressed her Personal Assistant, Theresa Green, 'How about a snack, Theresa? Hungry?'

     'Ravenous!'

Sandy closed her laptop and left Theresa playing Royal Kingdom but pretending to be applying herself to her spreadsheets, and made her way to the galley. She returned with sandwiches on a tray. Theresa eyed them thoughtfully, took one, bit into it, and looked thoughtful again. 'What's in them?'

     'Tinned mackerel, cheese and Marmite.'

     'All in one sandwich?'

     'Yup.'

     'Riiiight!'

Sandy smiled. 'They're for the lads up front. I expect they are hungry.' She made for the cockpit, while Theresa jealously admired her long, slim legs. 'Money' she thought.

     'Sandwiches!' cried Brian, the navigator. He put down the spoon he had been admiring his face in, grabbed a sandwich and wolfed it down. Snatching another he spoke around it. 'They're great!'

Sandy gave the tray to Brian who kicked Mark's chair and then Bill's to wake them up.

     'Something is burning.' murmured Bill suspiciously.

     'It's fine. Have a sandwich.' said Brian.

  • End

Of course, pilots are tested for drugs and alcohol in their blood before they fly but I am not sure if they are tested after the flight. Sometimes things go wrong with the autopilot because information it receives is somehow corrupted and it tries to make the plane ascend when it should be descending, and that is when the pilots can turn off some areas of control that the autopilot has. It is then that the pilots can find themselves fighting against the mighty hydraulic forces that are available to the plane's computers. Thankfully, most pilots haven't blagged their qualifications and are in fact real and certified. 

I am aware of the problems that Customs and Border control personnel have at airports when passengers have unusual items in their suitcases and they have to discover the reason for the passenger's quirky habits.

     'Mr Cadwell, whenever you come to New Zealand from Australia you never have any clothes with you and only have a single suitcase with an inflatable dinghy in it. Yet, whenever you make an internal flight you have hand-luggage with fire extinguishers and a crash helmet in it. Can you tell me why?'

I might just as well pack my clown outfit with the big shoes instead of the safety devices because they are equally indicative of my stupidity. There is no person more foolish than I when it comes to safety. In order to learn to sail I bought a sailing boat in Kent (UK), motored out of the Medway River and then ran out of petrol so I had to sail off the Southend coast, in enough wind to heel my boat so far over that water spilled over the side a bit. I had never sailed one bit before then. If I can do that, we might all just get on a plane and hope for the best. Sometimes it works.

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The Chess Game of Life

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Sunday 1 March 2026 at 06:07

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[ 8 minute read ]

I want to swap places

Ah! The chess game that is life. Depending on where we are placed on the board before the game starts determines how we will move, even think; at least for a while. There is, however, one place on the board that determines what we will be and if we were placed there, we can never change; except in the most exceptional circumstances. But it isn't a piece we recognise because it has no form, no shape.

From our milieu grows our habitus. Like mycellium it spreads its tendrils within us and there is nothing we can do about it. We are not even aware we have anything called, or like, an habitus because we are absorbing patterns of behaviour from our youngest days. Even if we are told, when we are in our most impressionable childhood years that we can be anything we want, this is still determined by where we were placed on the chessboard before the game commenced. Sounds pretty fateful, doesn't it? I think it is.

In chess, just as in checkers or draughts, any pawn that gets to the opposite side of the board gets to change into a piece with different qualities, or move capabilities. In checkers, any piece gets to be able to leap almost everywhere, as in, it is no longer bound by having to leap only forward to attain a goal.

I eschew teams and teamwork and that is why I have never been more than a pawn and never will be able to be anything other than a pawn. Yet, I am not a pawn, as we shall see. That though, has nothing to do with where I was born on the chessboard or the social and cultural milieu that conducted an orchestra of influences into my habitus. Unusually, my habitus is largely closed and circuitous. If you imagine a hollow ringed doughnut rolling within itself, that would be my habitus. It is an old-fashioned smoke ring or a ring of bubbles blown by a scuba diver. But like these rolling rings there is movement. A fish swimming into the bubbles will disrupt the form and there is chaos. What once was held to be attractive, is in fact useless in nature, and nature will claim everything.

Simply Psychology says 'habitus shapes how we see and act - without us noticing.' and, 'These patterns become so familiar that they feel like common sense.'

I might be ruthlessly blunt and concatenate a bit onto the end: We gravitate to type.

     'You can reach the stars' and 'You can be who[m]ever and whatever you want.' Do you believe that? Truly?

Without even considering mental acuity, is it not the case that most of us are of our milieu and our time. My neighbour is also my neighbour's neighbour. Our surroundings are the same. But look at the differences. I grew up in a wealthy village, one of my neighbours did not. I was taught to read and write before I attended primary school. One of my neighbours was taught only at school. I was born twenty and thirty years after two of my neighbours were. 

The opportunities that were, and are, open for my neighbours are significantly different to the opportunities that were, and are, open to me. Yet, these are my neighbours. One might assume from this that we do not live in mansions. One may also assume that we do not live in caravans alongside the road. One can be sure that as checkers pieces we were not once crowned and have now gravitated to type. One can be sure, that either in a team, or acting as a singularity, in a game of chess or checkers, we did not get to the opposite side of the board and permanently become something else. 

Why? or Why not? I grew up in a wealthy environment wanting for nothing. I started life in an environment and with a position that most people work their whole lives to attain. I have a very high IQ (this is not always a good thing so don't think I am boastful) that is a result of early and intense stimulation at home. Yet, I did not change into something else. In a game of chess I was not a pawn that could change. I was one of the pawns that was sacrificed or was carelessly lost by a bad player (I shall leave that as cryptic because the explanation detracts from the intent).

While many people might rise up in revolt to that last sentence in the paragraph above, it is with a pitchfork and not a scroll that they might do so. 

     'We make our own lives!'

     'You can't blame others for how you are!'

and my favourite, which comes from psychologists across the world:

     'You are responsible for your own behaviour.'

Well, habitus does influence behaviour, since it is a sense of what is 'right' and what works, in each of us. I can't help thinking that we make excuses for ourselves all the way through life and it is only if we actually attain our dearest goal that we stop hiding from ourselves. 

Life, for me, is not a game that I own and can pack up whenever I want.

     'It's my ball and I am going home!' 

Many times, I have not liked the players and many times the players have not liked me. 

The thing I find most interesting is that I was never a pawn or a checker-piece. I was a pre-formed castle, or a knight or bishop. If I got to the opposite side of the board I could never metamorphose into another character (like me) or become the almighty Queen (promoted pawn or checker-piece) that moves in almost every way. My milieu after I left that village were poorer areas with lots of pawns. I could freely move forward and back and across the board from left to right. In checkers, I was already 'promoted'. I had everything that the pawns around me wanted and they could only move in one direction. They were defenceless against a scything attack. They could be swept from the board because they were stymied by a blocking pawn equally stymied by them. I could dodge failure, or any mortal cessation, if there was ground for me to go to, but I could never be anything other than what I am, or become anything that what I already am. 

I might ask someone why they want to be something or someone else, though the question would not be pitched like that.

     'What do you want to be...do in life?'

     'I want to be a doctor... no, a solicitor or lawyer.....no, a zoo-keeper.....no, a stockbroker....no, an engineer...'

We all know that all of those jobs require adequate training and certification, right? What is common among them, excepting the vocational zoo-keeper, is likely to be a desire to be different to their milieu. Of course, Doctors marry Doctors and beget little doctors, but in the main, the Doctor we see in an hospital has parents who were, I suspect, not Doctors.

We get our habitus from our milieu and then want to change into something else. Isn't that sad?

     'You can be who[m]ever you like, and whatever you want [you just have to work really hard and never, ever give up].'

No. You can't. You don't own the game and can't take it home whenever you are losing. You have to be playing with players that don't cheat, or are not mean or just plain weird.

     'If you are lucky and you concentrate on your game-play and have a good team around you at all times, you can be an imagined version of yourself, whom you will come to believe is your true self. From there, my young one, you will never be able to go back to how you are now. I am sorry, my love, you are not immutable and cannot keep changing; you do not own time.'

I have still not gotten to the kernel of what I am trying to say. You see, I, like most people am trying to find a way to convince others that I have not failed, or my failures are because someone else took the ball home when it was my turn to take a penalty against an open goal with no goal-keeper to stop my effort.

Given the keys to success I somehow didn't use them in the right vehicle. Those keys fitted every vehicle in the garage, but I liked the green and yellow one with red wheels and a blue roof. It was the same as my friends had, although a little more comfortable.

When you have the keys to any vehicle to be anything you want, through academic study no doubt, you have already become the owner of the 'all'. There is nothing to attain that resembles congratulation for achieving a goal that signifies ability or capability (mental acuity and focus) when you think you could easily do a PhD in practically anything. So, one sets to thinking why would I want to have that position (moving on from the metaphor of vehicles and keys representing mental acuity and IQ) or that position as a doctor or astronomer? I did fancy being a barrister but that got put aside when a 'friend' asked me to look after his marijuana plants because he feared detection. I didn't take drugs, but got convicted. Bad actors meant no future for me in the legal profession.

Helping others or helping myself. I couldn't decide. I have made a significant amount of money and my family was wealthy anyway, so changing into something else just never occurred to me. Believe me, having a high IQ, and knowing it, is akin to the immortality that a teen feels. But that is what makes me, 'me'. It is the most dangerous tool I have ever had to use. Unsharpened, it will grind away at its housing, and sharpened, it will destroy others if it is not handled with empathy and care. Would I give it away and start afresh a game of chess as a pawn with a strong chance of being swept from the board? Probably.

The epithet on my gravestone, 'Nobody knows who he is but we called him Feckless'

Habitus - 'Influences what we believe is possible or realistic' - Simply Psychology

Milieu is a French word meaning surroundings, location, or setting. It can refer to the social or cultural environment of a person or group.

References

Simply Psychology, https://www.simplypsychology.org/pierre-bourdieu-habitus.html

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Cuckoo or cuckoo-clocks?

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Friday 27 February 2026 at 09:30

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[ 4 minute read ]

Now where was I?

I think I lead a better life without me being there sometimes. At least, my memory is never invited to the events of my better or more interesting life. 

A while ago, I needed a Phillips screwdriver, you know, the one that some people call a cross-head screwdriver, and is also the one that almost every one uses for the screws that have an 'X' in the head (some people use flat-head screwdrivers or knives). I looked in the usual places for lost things in my home: in all the kitchen drawers; behind the chairs; behind the microwave oven; in the bathroom; in the bookcases, behind the books; and, of course, in my toolboxes. I even tried a spell - 'Who stole my screwdriver?'. That spell usually leaves me feeling sheepish when I find a lost item within twenty seconds of evoking it (usually the right one). I still didn't find the screwdriver. Nowhere! Eventually, I bought a new cross-head screwdriver.

A while ago, I needed some screws. I usually have packets of them in the 'compartmentalised screw, washer, whatsit, and thingammy-bob container'. I could not find the right size screws there. This time I didn't look in all the usual hideouts for lost things. I had a half thought, 'I have used them....' The rest of the thought should have been furnished with my memory of where I had used them. My memory had nothing. Puzzling.

I use the same once expensive office paraphernalia back-pack at least twice a month (I bought it cheap in a charity /thrift shop). Like most backpacks it has compartments for stuff. This one has a laptop pocket and those little loops that hold pens, so unless I am going to my Westminster office or the one on Wall Street, I don't use it. In truth, my office in the UK is called the toilet, or when I am in the US, the bathroom  (I have never been). All I use my special office paraphernalia backpack for is a bit of light shopping that goes into the main compartment; until yesterday when I attended an event. Someone gave me an A6-sized card and I had to put in somewhere. I found the Phillips / cross-head screwdriver and three packets of screws of three different sizes.

Where had I been and when? I often find that I am at a specific time and place that should have a link to a part of my past, yet I don't know what it is. They are kind of like when someone comes up to you as though they know you and gush a bit, and you are struggling to remember their name or why they like you so much.

     'We must catch up more often!'

Not going to happen!

Newly found screwdriver and screws ahand (sic - but you will struggle to find the definition online - 'in hand'. It is a bit like 'afoot' and 'abound')

(Newly found screwdriver and screws ahand) I thought 'Spooky!' Clearly, I had used the screwdriver and screws somewhere outside of my home, and not locally, otherwise they would have gone into my pocket. If I put them into the office paraphernalia back-pack I probably also put something else in the main compartment. Since I use the backpack fairly often and have done so many times since I lost the screwdriver and screws, either the tool (if it was a tool) is back in the toolbox or a cuckoo clock (If I ever had one) is on someone's wall.

You know when optimists say, 'Never say never!'? At this stage in my critical thinking, I am going to say, 'Never say I never had a cuckoo-clock'. I might have had more than one but like the screwdriver and screws disappearing and appearing a while ago Cuckoo-clocks or jars of honey (no screws needed) might also have done so. Did I go with them?

I have recently been thinking about whether mass can cross from one plane of existence to another, and haven't reached a conclusion on that. However, I am fairly certain that it can't. This leads me to understand that I have done a job nearby but have absolutely zero memory of it. Although I do remember when I could not find the screwdriver; from which I extrapolate, I probably last used it two years ago. 

I just really hope I had a good time when I fixed something somewhere some time ago. Did anyone come up to me and gush a bit and say 'Thanks'?

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Commodify Your Life

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Wednesday 25 February 2026 at 16:23

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[ 6 minute read ]

Now we are cooking?

I am so naïve. I thought people in the modern day, in the UK, ate the food on their plates and in the fridge, larder or cellar, garden, or locally by the road, before they buy more of the same in a shop. Don't people plan what they are going to eat during the next two weeks or month?

I spoke to someone from Japan a while ago and his response to a question on the low level of obesity in Japan was:

     'We only eat 85% of what we think we want to eat.'

Which I think means that he is saying that typically, Japanese people eat only 85% of what is on their plate or in their bowl. Yet, I think there is at least one suppressed premise, because I think throwing food away in Japan would be frowned upon. So, perhaps he really meant that they cook food, and put what they want to eat in bowls and plates minus 15% OR (although there does not need to be a binary meaning) they provide portions to individuals according to how much they normally eat, by applying common-sense and heuristics, and anything that is not then eaten gets to go in the fridge, or is combined into the next meal of the day. All that from a single sentence might include a lot of speculation and if and buts, and there is clearly room for a lot of error (mine), but doesn't that make sense?

He did clarify his statement a bit:

     'We don't eat until we feel full; like we don't, or can't, eat any more [food]'

That seems to imply then that they leave food to be returned to the kitchen. But, I believe a lot of Asian people use a number of bowls and plates to separate their food and pick and combine from each as they go along. This, crucially means that one item in their meal does not get contaminated with another, and each can be preserved for later use.

In the UK and with modern eating habits, Baked Beans gets on the mashed potato, which in turn has been tainted with the innards of a Chicken and Mushroom pie (which may or may not have had extra gravy made from a packet poured on it). Difficult to see how to salvage the mashed potato, Baked Beans and pie gravy mess, and a third of a Chicken and Mushroom pie, isn't it? I think leaving 85% of what is on our plates to go back to the kitchen to be salvaged and made into something else is difficult. If the mashed potato was served separately, however, then it could be made into Bubble and Squeak later, especially if any cabbage from yesterday that was not eaten and had been served separately, was also in the fridge.

Something that comes to mind is that most of us don't have big enough tables to be able to place separate items of a meal in separate serving bowls. Here is how only 85% of what we want to eat can be accessed AND all of the food left in the serving bowls can be salvaged for later meals. The chicken or roast beef is no longer carved at the table; and why should it be? Supermarkets commodified meat decades ago.(commodify - to make into a commodity, sometimes at the expense of its intrinsic value). Now we buy seven or eight pork chops in a plastic box-type tray from a supermarket, instead of buying pork loin to our preferred size, to suit our needs, from the butcher. Why? A 'pork loin cut' from a butcher can be cut to any size and sliced, at the butchers, to a desired thickness. If my family has three members at home, then I could have bought three thin pork chops from the butcher, which would ensure that none of it gets left on the plate and that no chops remain in the fridge to be overlooked for a few days and goes 'bad'. You see, seven is not divisible by any number except one and itself because it is a prime number, and eight is divisible only by one and any even number, which means that there cannot be three, five or six family members at home, unless the cook is prepared to dice one or two chops and put them into a curry or do something else with them, like making pork kebabs. You can look at any commodified meat unit in the supermarket and discover that it rarely fits most families needs (I don't think I have ever seen less than seven pork loin chop units in one container in a supermarket, unless a smaller number was more expensive - it is economically better to buy more).

In one of my local post office shops I saw boxes of three mince pies and nine mince pies, as well as twelve and fifteen mince pies. Shoppers could almost buy exactly the right amount for a small family or for a family get-together without overeating that extra one.

What we have ended up with is tons and tons of good food thrown away AND Jane-Plan and many other expensive small meal portion businesses. Why? Isn't the solution to avoiding obesity and spending lots of money on small meal portions from these businesses, AND avoiding food waste; to buy less food in supermarkets in the first place? Isn't the result a better holiday with saved money with a beach-body? Oh! I forgot; people can't cook, or they don't have the time. I think the solution to both of these problems lies in technology.

If we have internet capability we can learn to cook OR if we have internet capability we don't have enough time to cook; you choose. 

One of my neighbours is a teacher and is absent from the home for about eleven hours a day. With sleeping, preparation for sleep and ablutions, I estimate there is only two and a half to three hours free time each day. This person has enough time to cook a full Sunday roast every day, but not to eat it. Of course, a teacher also has homework, so only has enough time to cook and clean up afterwards for one hour each day - the time it takes to prepare and cook a curry, or make a pizza and peel potatoes and cut and cook chips from scratch. This teacher has someone else at home (I did include 'fortunately' in the last sentence and then deleted it). But that is another story.

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Serendipity or Accident

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Wednesday 25 February 2026 at 08:16

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[ 12 minute read ]

Accident or Designed for Change?

In 1988, I made a huge amount of money by winning 46 consecutive horse races that I had bet on. It started with my friend coming over and he finding me watching horse-racing on channel 4 on the television. In those days, there really wasn't much else to watch on the 'telly'. He suggested we put some money on the races. We chose a horse in a race that had a start time that was after the time it would take me to cycle two and a half miles to the nearest betting shop. My horse won and his lost. He went home and I made another choice, cycled, bet and won. 

This started an interest in gambling that never became an addiction. I told myself that I would stop betting once I lost, and I did. But that loss was on a different type of horse race. In that Summer, I had been betting on 'flat' races with the horses never having to jump fences. Track conditions remain pretty much the same ('firm' and 'good' and not 'heavy' or 'soft') and the horses form and jockey weights can be read by anyone.

Word got around that I always won and friends and acquaintances gave me their last money and told me to make a bet for them. They always got a good return, of course, and had a good night in the town that evening.

I lost that 1988 Autumn because the horses went over the 'jumps'. In Autumn, the flat (no fences) horse racing stopped and the Autumn and Winter races had fences for the horses to jump over. The ground conditions were changeable even on the same day and became a variable that could not be relied on, but there was a factor that I had not recognised before. It is quite difficult for a jockey to slow a horse down without some protest being made when they race over the 'flat'; people can see what is going on. When a horse jumps over a fence it 'might' jump badly. A horse could be in the lead as it jumps and then by the time it recovers after it has landed, is fourth or fifth, even seventh. I also noted that it was much more difficult to find horse races with less than seven horses in it. But I was intrigued by how a horse jumps and lands and recovers.

Anyone who has seen the Grand National can see for themselves that horses with no jockeys still jump but not nearly so well that they get to the lead, even without the weight of the jockeys on them. Quite obviously, a jockey can guide a horse to jump well or not. This is a variable that is not openly quantifiable, in that not many people know if the owner or the jockey wants a horse to perform well. 

I realised that I had been paying close attention to the odds of a horse winning over the flat, and knew that if a horse performs badly enough times, the odds of it ever winning could become quite large indeed; 33-1 and 60-1 were not uncommon. This meant that in a fantasy horse racing video game, as an owner I would instruct the jockeys to 'pull' my horses (hold them back when they jump) for a while, knowing how good my horses really are and then place a million pound bet for it to win a race when the jockey was instructed to win.

I have made more bets on horses and F1 but only with pence and only after decades without betting. It is too easy to lose by not recognising that we can't see all the 'opportunities' of serendipity likely to become 'opportunities' of failure and loss. I heavily hedge my bets when betting on the Formula One races these days, quite simply because it is much more difficult to see a pattern and so I would never make a large bet on a single racer or team.

All the above is entirely true, in that I hedged my bets but always returned a significant profit; and so I lost as many races that I ever won, apart from the first two in 1988. The tiny losses I make these days are because I don't hedge my bets and I only spend pence so it is really to check for the same things i could see forty years ago.

What follows is a work of fiction based on how my imagination works and real facts. The race results and events in Formula One are accurate; the boxing and football are all true, but whether I made any money on them, or why, is based on imagination inspired by my earlier days of betting on horses. The Swiss Cheese method is absolutely real.

Incidentally, it is true that I have been able to apply the same mental tactics of hedging my bets with betting strategies in horse-racing on Formula One races and always come out on top. A good story should always make the audience believe it is true; sooo...I leave it up to you to pick out the fictional parts or make your own 'guesses'. 

Accident or Designed for Change?

In 2007, Lewis Hamilton narrowly missed out on becoming the Formula One World Champion. In the final race, at Interlagos, Brazil, he only had to finish third; he was set to do so, and then mysteriously, and suddenly, his car developed electrical problems and his position slipped to seventh. (Wikipedia states that it was a gearbox problem but I remember Murray Walker (it wasn't him) saying it was an electrical problem -it also states that Hamilton needed to be second or better to win but I heard the commentators say it was third). Mysteriously, Hamilton's race car, once he was safely in seventh position, started running at race pace again. He had no chance of improving his position and remained in seventh for the rest of the race. He lost by a single point to Kimi Räikkönen; so seventh is where Hamilton needed to be to not become World Champion. Had he have won the World Championship he would have been the first rookie (first year of racing at that level) AND the first black F1 Champion. While Michael Schumacher was winning his World Championships, Formula One races were widely seen as representing merely a procession of highly tuned, and very expensive, race cars; people were getting turned off from watching the races at home and, I suspect, there was something else more interesting to watch on the television. This meant that, although I can't be sure, revenue from TV rights to air the races was dropping or negotiations were showing a lessening of interest to show them. 

The Swiss Cheese Model

In high-risk and complex systems, such as in aviation, healthcare, and manufacturing, it is incredibly difficult to establish what when wrong when there is a failure in the systems or when a lot of people suddenly die; was it human error or did something in the manufacture or amalgamation of a non-human system break?

In 1990, British psychologist James Reason developed The Swiss Cheese Model of accident causation. His model has been 'widely adopted to help identify and mitigate risks by emphasizing that accidents are often the result of multiple, smaller failures that align like holes in Swiss cheese.' (Michael Matthew, 2024).

Essentially, if we imagine some slices of Swiss cheese (lots of holes) taken at intervals in the cheese (random slices), not all the holes will line up. If we take a pencil and stab at these slices there will be almost no chance the pencil will pass through the slices by only moving within the holes (in other words not damaging the slices). While we can understand that not all complex systems are designed with random Swiss cheese slices in mind, we might understand that John Gall, a systems theorist told us in Galls Law that a complex system must first start from a simple system; so there is always in the development of complex systems, significant opportunity for 'slices' of the system to be aligned in order that no 'pencils' can pass through any aligned 'holes' in the complex system. In aviation and space travel particularly, there are as many as two redundant systems just for vehicle control, such as for attitude, direction, and elevation. If one of three systems breaks there are still two that are available. There are often three computers that do the same job in complex systems. At least two of these computers must agree as to what is taking place, and/or agree as to what to do next, just for normal activity.

Moving the slices

What if we wanted to generate an 'accident' or perhaps more generously, someone or an entity wanted to manipulate an environment for some reason. That may come across as sinister, but there is a common term for this, 'moving the goalposts'. Most of us will understand this to mean that if we interacted with a system, it used to be easier than now to benefit from it. Those of us who do not understand the common term; imagine that goalposts in a game of football (soccer) are 4 metres apart today and 3 metres apart tomorrow, it would be harder to score a goal tomorrow than it is today.

The football match (soccer) is a good example for showing that something can be made easier to do if the 'goalposts' are moved or the 'slices' are moved so more holes line up. A while ago, 'Match' footballs (soccer balls) used to be made of leather and were quite heavy (even heavier when wet). It was difficult to score goals from far from the goal-line simply because it was heavy. Moreover, footballers had less control of the ball, it didn't bounce much, and no-one really wanted to head the ball. Later, 'Match' balls were vulcanised rubber covered in leather panels; modern technology and innovation was the primary drive towards this. These were still pretty heavy due to the leather component.

Ultimately, Adidas, who had the contract in 1982 for making World Cup match balls, started the process of changing the scoring rate in football, by moving the 'slices' so a favourable event, a goal, became more likely simply because their 'Tango' football, although still having leather panels, were coated in polyurethane to make them water repellent.

In the late 1980s, the World Cup match ball had no leather and instead had a latex bladder and synthetic outer panels; way lighter and did not get significantly heavier when wet. Sometimes we see footballers dry the ball on their shirts when they 'thrown in' the ball from the sideline to one of their team-mates. We can guess that they want the ball to be as light as possible, by removing the water (which also creates drag) so the receiving player can control it better and thereby increase the chances of scoring a goal. Football became much more exciting and new generations of talented footballers became stars with their clever ball manipulation; 'Bend it like Beckham'. A talented footballer can take advantage of the drag on a football moving through air, simply by making it spin for longer than a slightly 'furry' leather panelled ball.

Slices of Boxing

Floyd Mayweather Junior, by my understanding, is undefeated in all his fifty fights. In 2015, he fought Manny Pacquiao and won (obviously). That was a while ago. BBC news, on their website, has reported today that Pacquiao and Mayweather are to agree to another professional match. Pacquiao is 47 and Mayweather is 48.

Here is the thing. Many people say that Mayweather is only undefeated because he never faced a good challenger. Well, Pacquiao was a very good fighter; he won twelve world titles across eight weight classes. So, why did Pacquiao lose? And why is the BBC reporting that Pacquiao saying he will only agree to fight Mayweather if the two fighters come to understand one another? Doesn't this imply Pacquiao has always been upset by how Mayweather has remained undefeated?

Slices of Formula One

In 2007, The results for the final race were:

  1. Kimi Räikkönen
  2. Felipe Massa
  3. Fernando Alonso
  4. Nico Rosberg
  5. Robert Kubica
  6. Nick Heidfeld
  7. Lewis Hamilton 

(https://www.formula1.com/en/results/2007/races/824/brazil/race-result)

In 2008, Lewis Hamilton in the final race of the season, in Brazil, only needed to come in the top five to become 2008 World Champion. On the chicane immediately preceding the finish line Hamilton was running sixth behind Timo Glock. For no apparent reason Glock went wide on the bends and Hamilton overtook him, to become F1 2008 World Champion.

I won a lot of money on Hamilton being the 2008 F1 World Champion because I understand how holes in Swiss cheese can be aligned; and he developed engine problems in 2007. I think Manny Pacquiao and Floyd Mayweather know their sport exceeding well. My large bet in September will fully, and firmly, be on Pacquiao winning. I shall also bet on the fight (of however many rounds it will go), as being, going right to the very end. It will go the whole distance for full excitement factor for the fans. I can't decide on which rounds either of them will be knocked down, nevertheless, it will be really close to the bell for the end of the round; for both of them. Perhaps, I shall instead hedge my substantial stake on who the winner is, by betting on both of them being floored twice, as a very safe bet!

You can lose more than just your money if you gamble.

References

Michael Matthew, 2024, 'What are the key principles of The Swiss Cheese Theory of Accident Causation?', SAFETY.INC, https://www.safety.inc/post/what-are-the-key-principles-of-the-swiss-cheese-theory-of-accident-causation

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Sweet tarts and milky tea

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Thursday 12 February 2026 at 06:26

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[ 4 minute read ]

Inedible and undrinkable

Good Crikeyness! I am forever surprised by how stupid I am. I have been trying to make a tart for over a year now. Most of the time I forget to buy the ingredients, a lot of other time is spent wondering how expensive, making this particular bake really is. On top of that, I am wowed by how unhealthy it is. 

You know when you get an idea of what you want the tart to be like; according to your own or family's preference? You just have to have a go at it. As an adult, I don't like things too sweet anymore. I still have two sugars in my tea and coffee, but I can't eat a Snickers or Mars bar. I know that the sweetness of the sugar I buy in the shops can't be too much different to the sugar that Mars buys, so I am certain they just use more of it in their chocolate snack bars than they used to. I know that, according to my friend in The Netherlands, Kelloggs Corn Flakes in the UK has more sugar than Kelloggs Corn Flakes in The Netherlands; he tries to get me to import boxes and boxes of it through The Hoek of Holland, so he can sell it to English people in his English shops in Delft. He won't call it smuggling.

I have bought the Woodapple Jam for the tart (and the butter and flour many times over) but I wanted to make the filling (woodapple jam) a bit sharper and with a hint of something else. I suggested to myself that Nestle Carnation Condensed Milk would reduce the sweetness and add a milky background that I could use as an undertone when it is mixed with the woodapple jam. 

I ran out of milk for my tea yesterday and having never gotten around to making the tart still happened to have had a tin of Condensed Milk in the cupboard. I was going to boil it in the tin for a while to make the caramel for the tart. That is the only reason anyone buys it, isn't it?

I seem to have a memory of being able to pour condensed milk from the tin , like evaporated milk. The only time I ever had to use a spoon to get it out of the tin was when it had turned to caramel. Not these days! There is so much sugar in it that you almost cannot pour it at all. Nestle knows that everyone wants to use it for cakes, tarts and sweet pies, so they have added so much sugar that many of us no longer need to boil it to turn it into a sticky caramel, except it isn't caramel and it doesn't taste like caramel (or milk). I shudder to think what would happen if I actually did boil it for an hour.

As I said, I have two sugars in my tea. I don't put sugar in my tea if I use Nestle Carnation Condensed Milk instead of real milk. It really is that sweet. In fact, I have to have a weaker tea than I like, because otherwise, to lighten it I have to use too much sweetened condensed milk, which makes my tea either too weak or too sweet. What is going on?

I looked up Nestle Condensed Milk and discovered that right from the late 1800s it has always been sweetened. I am pretty sure I used to be able to drink it from the tin when I was younger.

Today, I completely opened the tin to get at the milk and one level(ish) tablespoon was enough to lighten my tea; and it was too much sweetness - more than two sugars it seems.

Interestingly though, it doesn't seem to have a lot of lactose in it; at least my body doesn't think so.Bear that in mind lactose intolerant people but don't take my word for it.

I cannot think of anything I can use condensed milk for these days other than in tea or coffee. Weird. I am going to have to experiment with evaporated milk - which does have significant lactose in it. 

Hmmm... If I really believed that we might be attacked by aliens and need to hide underground for a hundred years, I might consider that bags of sugar might get wet, so I could buy thousands of tins of sticky sweet milk, I suppose.

I think a 20cm tart using woodapple jam, butter and evaporated milk and other flavours (ginger, vanilla, salt, cinnamon, lemons) would cost me over £5 just for the ingredients. It really is a fools errand to try to make it. No wonder people buy ready made addictive rubbish from supermarkets. 

If only manufacturers would stop putting sugar in stuff, the price would come down, and we could all decide how sweet we want something  - Double Win!

Another one: Mulberry Molasses - waaaay too sweet! Yet, they don't add sugar to it. I can't use it for anything! Ah! maybe a walnut and lime cake with a hint of rum.

I know sugar is a good preservative but I do wish I could just buy tinned fruit without sugar. Pick the pears, cook 'em and put them in tins; same with apples (apple sauce without the sugar), damsons (they turn mushy); and bananas (also mushy).

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Ruthless Wisdom

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Thursday 12 February 2026 at 21:01

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[ 8 minute read ]

Fight like a General

According to The Art of War, attributed to the ancient Chinese military strategist Sun Tzu, in the section on Cowardice, there are five dangerous faults which will affect a General. Here are four of them explained.

I like to consider that we, in the modern Global North, are all Generals in that we have to navigate our own ways in more and more individualistic settings. There used to be a family way which had family values, and shame could be showered down on the whole family if a single member was naughty or rude. Now, it is every man and woman for themselves. Well, it seems so.

Bravery without forethought

Ts' ao Kung said this causes a [person] to fight blindly and desperately like a mad bull. Chang Yu offered that such a person must not be encountered with brute force, but must, instead be lured into ambush and trapped (slain). 

Does anyone know how to set an ambush? I think in the modern world we are looking at people who just blindly attack with words and only sometimes we come across a person who thinks that punching is a solution. Attacking with words is just so easy to do. On the road: 'You naughty monkey! You cut me up. Why didn't you just wait your turn. You make yourself so angry!' might be a polite way of saying that someone is an idiot and should not be allowed out without their parents or care-giver, but it gives us no clues how to set a trap. 

Consider this: When we are affronted, it is often because we have been in a verbal confrontation. If the perceived attacker is in a work environment or is a 'professional' a written complaint can be made. I have an example of a complaint I am still setting up as an ambush: In an interview setting, the interviewer admitted to be still under training. My suspicions had been aroused because the interviewer's technique was dated and not at all conducive to following a pattern of open discussion. It irritated me. I asked to speak to a manager to highlight the problem. The manager re-enacted the same scene to see if I was triggered by that environment. My actual point was on the choice of words that caused people to feel as though they had no choice. Having no choice triggers my PTSD. My complaint about the manager must not include any reference to why I was annoyed at being put through an enactment of the original interview. I need the investigators to ask the manager, 'Why did you re-enact the environment to which you think he was complaining about?' Remember this: I was merely suggesting that the interviewers stop using the word 'must' and instead use the word 'should'. 'Should' is softer and implies that there is a choice of action. I was not complaining about the interviewer or the interview in itself. I need the manager to answer the investigators, 'I wanted to see if his PTSD was triggered by the interview technique.' Bingo! The trap is sprung. The manager knows I have PTSD and 'must not' deliberately trigger it or act in a way that is known or suspected to trigger my PTSD for any experiment. If I include in my complaint about the manager that I suspect my PTSD was deliberately triggered, there will be no expectation of inadvertent admission of guilt by the manager because the manager will not use it as a reason for re-enacting the original interview.

Because my PTSD relates, in a lot of ways, to being physically, psychologically and verbally attacked, I perceive verbal confrontation as an attack and the prelude to a battle. According to Chang Yu (above) I should not engage in a 'to and fro' argument with ever rising voices and loss of logical control. In other words, I should withdraw without letting my emotions control my actions.

Ssu-ma Fa, summarises it thus: 'Simply going to one's death does not bring about victory.'

Cowardice which leads to capture

Ts' ao Kung defines cowardice here as: '... being of a [person] whose timidity prevents them from advancing to seize an advantage'

Of course, we have to understand that in the modern world in which we are not attempting to acquire someone else's land or treasure we would consider someone who seeks to take advantage of a situation to destroy another person to be a monster. Here though, is the modern world as it really is.

     'I see you have an item for sale for 1,000 monetary units. Would you take 500?'

This is someone trying to take advantage of a situation. The item is for sale. There are generally two reasons for this: flipping it to make a profit; and selling it to cover a debt. Let's look at profit. The seeking and acquisition of wealth is a drive that is shared by persons who have no other way to satisfy themselves. They are weak and are no different to drug addicts whom, let's face it, most of us despise because they are 'weak' and probably treacherous. They are not. By the way, drug addicts don't despise other drug addicts solely on the basis that the despised person, is an addict.

The other reason for selling is to overcome a debt. Someone selling property to overcome a debt is plainly a person in a weak position. Selling property is often a loss to a person's wealth since more is usually paid to purchase it in the first place. There is however, the third position; selling an item because it is no longer needed.

     'No, I will take 850 monetary units, though.'

There are a couple of things that may be going on that rankle me. I loathe negotiating a price for these reasons: The seller's price is higher than the value of the item to the seller. The much reduced buyer's price is much lower than the value of the item is to the buyer. Looking at both positions I call both the seller and the buyer cheats. Game on, then. Let battle commence. They deserve to destroy each other. If I buy something from someone I always ask why they are selling it.

Continuing - Cowardice which leads to capture:  Wang Hsi said, 'who is quick to flee at the sight of danger,' T'ai Kung said, '[They] who let an advantage slip will subsequently bring upon [themself] real disaster.'

In battles, there are usually two opposing forces. In an office environment a single statement can serve to cause the whole office to decide on taking and defending opposite standpoints. A cry of 'sexist!' will usually work to encourage more supporters to the accuser's side than the accused's. Most of us can weather that, if it gets to a decent manager's attention and we can show the claim to be out of enmity, vicarious animosity, or vindictiveness. However, if the claim is quietly made among co-workers there is a potential that anyone in the same camp of agreement by dint of being gullible and persuaded by a  good orator, will perceive the accused as less effective in their work and as a manipulator and a bully. A general air of resentment will permeate the workplace and no manager will recognise the source or effect, and so it will remain like a foreign agent 'sleeper' in a spy film, waiting to assassinate the accused. Time to advance methinks, before the 'sleeper' gets into a good sniping position behind the curtains. The cheat or liar or vicious accuser needs a bucket of fluorescent paint thrown over them so they can be easily seen for what they are.

Meng Shih said, '[the person] who is bent on returning alive; this is the [person] who will never take a risk.'

A hasty temper, which can be provoked by insults

It is not really difficult to imagine someone who shuts themselves away from a fight and is then so incensed by continued insults that they rush out ill-prepared and attempt to fight. Of course, in the modern world, a sustained barrage of insults is definitely bullying, so this 'hider' if they are canny will never come running out with a blunt sword. However, if they did they would be a bad General of their own self. It is a bad fault for a General to have a hasty temper, that can be provoked by insults.

A delicacy of honour which is sensitive to shame

A sense of honour is not the bad thing. Honour and integrity must be sought, valued, and guarded against attackers. Sun Tsu condemns an exaggerated sensitiveness to slanderous reports. If we return back to the slanderous claim that someone is sexist, a bad General will act in a desperate manner because they are immediately thrust into making decisions from within an emotional cul-de-sac.

Indeed, we have moved on from being able to shame our families in the modern world so this is not a consideration that bars inappropriate behaviour anyway, so there is a reduced chance of having such a delicacy of honour as is proposed to be susceptible to shame in the same way as it would have been only a generation or two ago.

Personally, I have an ongoing situation in which I made a suggestion as to how some language and written approaches could be enlivened and at the same time made less provocative. My suggestion has been taken to be an emotional response to a single comment. I am allowing this scenario to unfold as such. The responders are basing their responses to me from their emotional standpoint in the hope it connects with my own emotional standpoint. Yet, I did not use my emotions to declare a fault. I have a greater plan; but it will take time for it to unfold. It is vital that I do not have a real time conversation in which I may lose track of my original point by being distracted, or worse, providing tools to undo my original point.

Sun Tsu: 'an exaggerated sensitiveness to slanderous reports, the thin-skinned [person] who is stung by opprobrium, however undeserved.'

Mei Yao: 'The seek after glory should be careless of public opinion'. Which is somewhat paradoxical because glory is played out in public. I think it means that public opinion should not be a reason not to seek glory.

Reference

Giles. L (trans). Gutenberg Press (2024). 'Sun Tsu on the Art of War', 1910. Available at: https://www.gutenburg.org/files/132/132-h/132-h.htm

Accessed 01 December 2024 - Now no longer available 

Try this available site: https://suntzusaid.com/book/8/12

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Pink T-shirt

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Tuesday 10 February 2026 at 08:16

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[ 5 minute read ]

Look at me walking on the edge of a fence

I am living by the seat of my pants; by the skin of my teeth I get by. I face the world without vitamin supplements and coffee and laugh at the consequences.

     'Ha ha ha! I laugh at you! Stand back and make way!'

I have no augmented assistance. I rely solely on eating and sleeping. My imagination is dull; my memory has holes in it; and my creativity is quiet.

     'Is this what it is like to be free from contaminants?' I ask myself.

I have seen the young women throw themselves down a ski-slope on snowboards and spin and loop in the air and I heard that one young woman makes sure she eats at least one slice of pizza a day at the 2026 Winter Olympics. The male snowboarders are nearly all over 30 years old, even in their forties. I wonder why women under twenty five don't compete with men in the snowboard tricks event; smaller body means faster spins which surely means more rotations are possible for the small people, (some of the men are small)  but these fast spins are not so likely accomplished for big bodies. 

In the 1970s, when James Hunt raced Nikki Lauda in Formula 1, the drivers used to be partying the night before, smoking at the track, and almost never did physical workouts to improve their core strength and stuff. Nowadays, all race drivers and sportspeople maintain a diet and exercise regime; otherwise they don't win.

It seems to me that we, as the general public, don't want to perform well. 'It will do.' is a silent sigh that follows slight effort. 

Later, I need to go and buy coffee and vitamin and mineral supplements in the city. I shall, of course, cycle. But I am not going to wander over to my bike and lift it into the street today; nor shall I merely doff my hat to the people I pass. No, today I shall warm up with some crunches and press-ups. I shall jump with both feet together towards my bike and lift it into the air above my waist while I turn it 180 degrees and plant it down rear wheel first. I shall climb on one side and immediately get off the other and then push it forward. Then I shall raise it on its rear wheel and spin it 360 degrees. Only then will I mount it before I fling my right arm backwards in a high arc to afford me a strong and focused look behind me. I shall smile, bring my arm back to the handlebars in a sharp straight movement, turn my head back and then allow my body to follow. Then I shall start to pedal. The neighbours will go wild. They will clap and look for a high score from other neighbours. 

I am wacky enough to do all of that. But it won't be for scores or particularly for wry smiles from the skulking cats; their haughty backward glances of disdain mean nothing to me. I shall do it for the same reason that I bought a pink T-shirt twenty five years ago. I mentally addressed the world. I don't care what 'you' (the world) think of me! Your bias or confusion does not matter to me. Just because 'you' have not developed a pattern of thinking that allows freedoms that 'you' would not allow 'yourselves' to embrace, I will not conform to 'your' hegemony.

Some people allow their speech to leave their mouth without finely tuning the words in their mouth and with their tongue. The vowel sounds a, e, i, o, u are all formed in the larynx and these are adapted in the back of the throat and mouth, and with the tongue, into words. We can form the vowel sounds without changing anything in our mouths; it really is just wind moving through a pipe that we constrict a bit, or not.

I think it is incumbent on us to speak with finesse and even flourishes. I don't mean we should all get elocution lessons; I mean we should pay attention to what we are saying and how we say it. I can perform wordy tricks because I have practiced using words. My sentences do somersaults and balance on high-wires; they loom large and fade towards a sad end and then rise and laugh at my fate. At least they do in my head. I have done the gym work. I have not done enough competition work though. 

My competitors are also my audience. They are other supermarket shoppers. I use my words to slide up to them and introduce my performance. 'Hah! You wasn't expecting that!' I silently tease them. I have to do it silently because they don't know they are in a competition and I am winning. They have no idea I have practiced and practiced for the event, and they are unaware of the hard work I have put into learning my routine. They have no reason to consider that I can throw sentences into mid air and perform loops back to the beginning. Why would they?

just like the snowboarders perform their 1200s or 1440s, back-switches and 'banana-split clockwork monkey handshake kiss' moves, my supermarket audience cannot see how seamlessly I skip sentences. They cannot connect the hanging dots in my phrases. I am meaningless to them; a fool that they would not sit next to on the bus. It is only I who applauds myself.

The leaps and flourishes are realistically only mere slight movements that barely change my tone. The words are mashed a little and the edges are not honed in my mouth. My tongue says, ' It will do.' 

I need to buy another 'pink T-shirt'. I need the energy that augmentation gives me. I need to own it!

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Emotional Dogs attack Logical Cat

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Sunday 8 February 2026 at 09:27

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[ 8 minute read ]

The knee of emotion

Logic makes open challenge

P1:

P2:

C:

If I write a sentence by stating my opinion and follow it with a sentence that seeks to qualify it as valid in a wider community what am I trying to do?

Let's look at this from the position of someone who is making a knee-jerk reaction to something.

First, I need to explain what I mean by 'knee-jerk'. If a doctor hits your knee in the right place with a little hammer your knee will reflexively jerk and your foot will flick forward. It is uncontrollable, and is a reflex action. Ducking your head, in order to avoid injury, when you perceive something moving towards it, is not a reflexive action. It is a movement that is both learnt and controllable. Neither is it instinctive; babies and infants will not move out of the way of items that are about to impact them. However, babies will blink and jump if you blow hard into their faces; this is a reflexive action and is an act of self-preservation.

With this in mind, someone who has determined that a particular belief is worthy to be embraced and nurtured as either their own or as a subscriber to a wider view of something, often makes that belief integral to their daily life and how they deal with the world and its complications. We, as humans have a need to feel that we belong to a group. We also have a need to recognise that we wear a lot of hats; mother, father, boss, politician, doctor, drug-dealer; whatever position we find that allows us to imagine that we possess some degree of usefulness. It is an 'ego' thing. I shall not elucidate on what I feel that 'ego' means since my interpretation of it is clear from the 'wearing hats' thing.

I am however, going to use 'ego' as a coin in the game of life. My mum used to play board games with me and lose. Her ego was not dampened by being bettered; she deliberately lost to me. Her 'mother' hat allowed her to take a lower competitive position as an individual in order to boost my confidence as someone who can win; she took 'ego' from her individual bank, deposited it in her mother bank, and then transferred it to my individual bank completely without me noticing. She made logical decisions.

Ego is controllable but it takes a conscious decision to recognise ego and position it in an hierarchy of values. In the case of my mum beating me at board games; she did not actually spend any ego, she merely reshaped it. 'I am doing the right thing by not quashing his confidence (and ego) by not consistently thrashing him at every game we play'. Her ego remained intact. What this means is that ego when controlled in the right way can pay dividends. Unfortunately, if the dividends are not passed on we have an overblown personality. 

An example of an over-blown ego, or as I just mentioned 'personality' is someone who has paid dividends from their personal or individual ego into their public role by wearing a hat of responsibility. Believing oneself to have the right idea and promulgating it as concrete and infallible is someone with an overblown ego or personality. Often, though, these persons need to belong to a group of like-minded thinkers, such as a church. Now, I am using the word 'church' as a short-cut because it has connotations that most of us are familiar with; that of a group of like-minded people gathered together to support each other in maintaining a belief system. A family is a church in the same way. I am using the word 'church' because it has a recognised structure to it.

They need to 'belong' because their belief and indeed their daily life is based on their emotions. As far as I can tell, emotions need to be topped-up and stroked and individuals need to frequently talk to their emotions to re-assure themselves that they have chosen to believe the right things. This is beyond mere companionship. Unfortunately, there are occasions when individuals barging through life with their emotions as a banner presented as themselves, come across an incident, that taken from their emotional standpoint, is an antithesis to their carefully cultured ego, even though they have not consciously shaped it. 

     'Oh no! This person has views that are contrary to my own. I must drive a wedge between the value of this person's opinion and that of my group's belief.'

This is when a sentence starts with 'I' and is followed by a sentence that includes 'we'.

     'I believe that taxes are too high. We don't want high taxes.'

Firstly, the individual has every right to state how they feel. It is freedom of speech, which is valued throughout nearly all of the English-speaking countries. Here I have intentionally poked the sleeping tiger in many people. Some will think of the United States of America; some will think of countries in the United Kingdom; a few people, I believe, will think of Canada, Australia or New Zealand. People who thought of African countries or India are thinking of the spread of English through imperialism. In all examples there is room for debate since there are different views and an opportunity to introduce and share nuances within the scope of the argument. Viewpoints should be offered as premises in an argument; almost inevitably they are not, because people have over-blown egos. Perhaps an argument could be made for quelling free-speech, or an argument could be made for shaping free-speech.

Canny people will recognise this post as a loose argument for shaping free-speech.

     'I believe that taxes are too high. We don't want high taxes.' This is a rallying cry. It is a trumpet calling troops to a battle. It is a fox-hunters horn to draw other warriors and hunters to quash a rebellion or have some 'sport'.

I read somewhere that most people find conversations more interesting when they have done most of the speaking. Loosely: Mental stimulation is greater when we have to form sentences rather than absorb them. Many domestic arguments occur in homes that have stale marriages and mundane daily activities simply because domestic arguments are mentally stimulating. 

Calling our 'brothers and sisters' to arms either for sport or to attack a contrary belief has its own reward. Many people feel that they are supported by belonging to a group. However, many people are not content with belonging to a film-lovers group or a tennis club. Many people see themselves as warriors for a cause. These are dangerous people. They enter environments with their egos and emotions, not only exposed but honed, before any sense of logic gets a chance to raise a hand for permission to speak. Emotions are not polite.

Knee-jerk reactions thrive on raw sensation. In the real world, in the doctors surgery, it is the nervous system that is tested with a little hammer gently knocking a knee. In the mental world, it is logic that knocks the knee of emotion.

Devoid of emotion, logic does not care for individuals. It espouses politeness. It tears down belief systems. However, logic is not a weapon used for destruction; it is an equaliser.

     'Taxes are too high. We don't want high taxes.'

This is a rallying cry that demands a division of persons. A line is drawn. Everybody who agrees go to the left (or right - this is not politics); everybody who disagrees stand on that side.

Many people will support one view and many people will support any opposing view. Logic tells us that the statement above: 'We don't want high taxes' can only belong to one of these groups. Hence, it is only valid if it is supported by at least one other person ('we'). In this way, it calls for at least one other person to stand behind the banner of its meaning. Consequently, it is without doubt, a rallying cry to a specific group of people.

Here is the problem: If there is only one person with a logical view or approach and there is a call to arms of a group with an opposing view; one that is emotionally charged, we have an opportunity for subjugation of an individual. A person using logic cannot make any calls to arms on an emotional level. Hence, logic is overwhelmed by an emotionally charged majority group.

In my head, logic is a referee in a fight between emotions. In other people's heads it is an enemy to their ego.

Here is a good and valid argument:

P1: All quadrupeds have four legs

P2: A cat has four legs

C: Therefore, a cat is a quadruped 

There must be at least two premises to make an argument, so the argument below is not valid. Moreover, the premises may not cancel each other out or negate any other premise.

P1: Films and documentaries about firefighters allow boys to imagine becoming firefighters

C: Therefore, films and documentaries about firefighters are good

Interestingly, an emotionally charged person may feel that this is a sexist opinion. It is not. It is an invalid argument AND it does not present itself as gender exclusive because no premise excludes girls.

This (below) not a good argument because there is no premise that tells us what good is:

P1: Films and documentaries about firefighters allow boys to imagine becoming firefighters

P2: Films and documentaries about firefighters allow girls to imagine becoming firefighters

C: Therefore, films and documentaries about firefighters are good.

This (below) is a good and valid argument:

P1: Films and documentaries about firefighters allow boys to imagine becoming firefighters

P2: Films and documentaries about firefighters allow girls to imagine becoming firefighters

P3: Firefighters save lives and property by extinguishing flames and with rescue operations

P4: Imagining becoming a firefighter helps to drive people towards becoming a firefighter

C: Therefore, films and documentaries about firefighters are good.

However, since P1 and P2 can be combined as:

'Films and documentaries about firefighters allow children to imagine becoming firefighters', it is possible to backtrack and assume that by missing out either P1 or P2 in the argument above, the argument IS gender exclusive because if either of these premises are removed the argument is still good and valid, yet this is not necessarily so. However. the reason given as premise P3 above: 'Firefighters save lives and property by extinguishing flames and with rescue operations'. or any other premise that acts as a qualifier in this argument that has a conclusion that states it is good, MUST remain because 'good' needs to be either qualified or quantified. Where there is no qualifying or quantifying premise there is no good argument and unconnected statements remain only personal opinion. In countries where there is free-speech, opinion may not be attacked. There should not be a call to arms because there should not be a feeling of one's ego being dented. However, be warned; there are monsters out there which approach everything with an emotional lens which they use to analyse everyone else's statements. They have no, or eshew, manners and seek to overwhelm reason with sentiment.

The only thing that can be said in response to a bad or invalid argument is, 'That is your doxy.'

My understanding of LOGIC should not be considered to be entirely correct and I advise and encourage everyone to choose a course on, or read about, Logic, Negotiation and Social Interaction for themselves.

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Change! Change!

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[ 3 minute read ]

I love learning

I hate controlled spewing

I fear becoming someone who resembles people I am jealous of. Don't get me wrong; I want people to take me seriously. Personally, I take people who do not ramble and who speak in measured tones seriously. On the other hand, I love being me and not at all like those organised-thinking persons.

I have to organise my thoughts to write essays. I hate doing that. I ride in a small boat tossed on a raging sea of mystery, discovery and excitement. An essay to me is mooring up and explaining to the harbour-master the shape of a single wave from many in a storm and explaining how it affected another wave. Worse still; why one wave affecting another wave is important. 

I feel like I have to take a notebook onto a roller-coaster and while everyone else is screaming and raising their hands; vomiting and passing out; I am recording the sound of the cars and the vibration through the trucks and how it all affects the experience, even the puking. I sometimes just want to get off the ride having had fun. 

Learning is fun; telling someone what you have learnt is dull. 'That was then, this is now.' I hated that throwaway comment until I finally understood it to be indicative of someone experiencing an attenuation or 'braking' of an experience. 'You are killing my buzz, man!' works for me. 

Yet, I have to accept that it is in the telling that I learn the most; it is the consolidation and shaping that counts. Though we are some weeks past Christmas, I have an image of Christmas tree baubles laid in a box and reverently taken out and one by one examined by the excited person about to dress the tree. It is great fun to look at the baubles but the experience is enhanced by their relevance as decoration for only a short Winter period. What use is it to look at them and then just rebox them? As a child, my family had German painted-glass baubles that became scarcer and scarcer as over the years they broke; so sad every time it happened.

I look at men and women who seem to stand more upright when I hear the way they speak. Perhaps they have had practice at being relevant or are even successful through no effort of their own. It is a bit like noticing a physically fit person walking; you cannot emulate their walk; you have to be fit. I wonder if the practiced ladies and gents had their spoken delivery tempered by needing to organise their thoughts in order to write essays. Certainly, contrary to these fine people, I can recognise any attitude of 'entitlement' because I invariably experience contempt and disdain, and it tends to be directed towards similar people. This, however, is probably due to sibling rivalry and me being the youngest recognise unfounded seniority.

I don't want to change, but I already am, even as I mature still further. There is a force in me that tries to shunt the change off to a closed part of my mind; to lock it away and deny having it.

     'That isn't me! It is just a temporary being that is a vehicle to moving onto the next learning stage. I am going to cherry-pick from it. Honest!'

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Iridescent life in a monotone world

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Wednesday 4 February 2026 at 19:14

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[ 2 minute read ]

I love Puddles

Wet and Warm

I am fed up with how technology is offered to the people in the form of games, and presents itself in the form of devices that entertain idle thumbs. We all have Smart Phones now, which are neither phone or computer. Even I have a Smart Phone; which I charge every few days but never use more than once every nine or ten charges (a month?).

Most of us don't like poor weather. I like puddles but these days modern technology and wisdom has got us all to stop leaking petrol, oil and diesel onto the roads so I no longer see the iridescent film over the puddles in Summer sunshine. I think I also miss seeing the odd crisp packet, that used to tell me that there was a passing person earlier in the day; or better still - was it a month ago? Oooh! a mystery! Then again I really don't want to see litter after all. I suppose writing murder mystery stories is much harder now that there are no cigarette dog-ends with lipstick on them; a woman killer or a gender-fluid assassin?

     'No idea, Ma'am' the sergeant murmured, scratching under his wig.

No, I think technology should be used for more practical purposes than just toys and telling us about micro-particulates in our food. I want a machine that can roll up puddles, now that they are no fun, and package them to be sent to dry and arid places where they can be digitally restored. If such a machine or puddle transporter ever gets invented I shall set up a travel company for tourists to go to the hot countries to take selfies next to a newly unrolled puddle. I would also give them a complimentary 5ml of oil to drip onto the puddle so they can also get swirling colours on top of them. Of course, I would have little boxes of sunshine to sell them and tripods on which to mount the sunshine, with special analogue tools to make them experience the whole sunshine - puddle - oil 'thing'.

     'Oh my goodness! Is this what grandad and grandma had to do after it rained in Summer?'

     'I think so. Where is the 'on' button for this caterpillar?'

     'Oh wait! I think you have to put it in the puddle and rescue it. Hang on. Let's see what the instructions say...'

     'I've got it! You roll up the puddle, put the caterpillar on the ground and then unroll the puddle on top of it.'

     'Like it just suddenly rained!'

     'Wow! Imagine not knowing it is going to rain. How did caterpillars ever survive? Turn it on.'

     'Ready?'

     'No, wait. We've got to hang these clouds up. We gotta make the picture look realistic!'

     'But then there will be no light reflected from the puddle.'

     'That's what the boxes of sunshine are for! Put the caterpillar there. Oh No, there's a fly; chase it away. Our poor grandparents!'

Later, they might go to my museum where they can see an old crisp packet with mud on it, and a Coca-Cola ring pull that hit someone on their ear.

The tab can be broken from the ring, turned 90 degrees and pushed into one of the little slots either side of where the tab was attached to the ring. When the ring is pulled back and released the tension in the tab launches the ring up to 30 feet or ten metres.

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Cast your Books Aside

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Tuesday 3 February 2026 at 14:27

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[ 10 minute read ]

Defacing Education

Scrawls, scribbles and random ideas

I read a question a few days ago on what someone should do with their defaced text books now they had finished their studies; presumably because he felt that the information in the books was now once read and dissected, useless. It is so useless that it can be discarded or mulched or burnt. I was horrified.

A while ago, my brother worked for me for the odd day or two. He is one of those people that mark informational books for an immediate purpose; in this case it was one of my UK Road Atlas's.

I ordered a book on, I can't remember, economics or logistics, from an online used book seller. It arrived with passages highlighted, text underlined and annotations on every page. Every page! The whole book was somehow highlighted! Think for a moment on that. If the book remained unmarked it would have been similarly relevant. I sent it back, expensively it seems at the sellers cost.

Years ago, I bought a van and decided to set myself up as a delivery service. One of my customers had just finished studying for, I think, a PhD in Comparative Literature. He had hundreds and hundreds of books and none of them were in boxes or were wrapped. We had to gently lay them next to each other in the back of my van and carefully stack them so there were no gaps.

     'Please be careful with them; they are my babies!' he pleaded.

To me, they would have been safer in boxes or even wrapped in paper but he thought he knew best. I had to drive as though they were eggs but not in egg boxes. I have been injured in an ambulance and it drove faster and swerved more than us that day.

I think making annotations in books; underlining text; and highlighting passages is a 'Marmite' thing. There are people who consider their studies over once they have been tested; and there are people who consider that they have never learned enough. There are people who can remember that there was a piece of text in a book they once read and go back to read it weeks or years later because it is suddenly relevant; and there are people who simply don't care what is in a book once a goal has been reached. 

Take for example a dictionary: Many people regard a dictionary as a device to tell us how to spell a word; others want to 'know' the meaning of a word. Imagine highlighting the words in a dictionary as we go through an academic year and then simply throwing it away. Why throw it away? Why mark it at all. Well, the first question is easy to answer. Once a book has been marked it is, to me, almost useless, so the best thing to do is buy a new one as soon as possible.

I think we have to be honest with ourselves. Why do we think that certification qualifies us to do anything other than operate a piece of machinery? I am an undergraduate; that means I hope to one day 'get' a degree, but not the same sort of degree that an Archeology graduate got. Her degree said she had successfully completed a series of lessons and tests that culminated in certification. I had been lucky enough to spend six or seven hours the day before with someone who had just finished studying for a PhD in Archaeology, so we got chatting. I could not have the same conversation with the graduate. She was not at all available for an open discussion. She had carefully balanced all the relevant information on her head before writing her final dissertation, I suspect. 

     'Right! Job done. I can relax now. I have a degree! Woo Hoo! No more studying.'

Maybe in archaeology, people don't need to learn more than what is taught for a degree to be able to attend a dig and catalogue artifacts. I don't know.

The books in question; the ones in the first paragraph above, the ones that were defaced after they had been read, and the Tutor Marked Assignments were submitted, and the module completed, are copies of books to which I have copies. I have also finished the same module. I subsequently went on to do another module within the same field of study. I remembered that I had read something in the books for the previous module and so I flicked through in the approximate area for the passage I wanted to reread because I wanted to expand on a point in the immediate Tutor Marked Assignment I was working on. There were no highlights or annotation to distract me and I easily found it. Most importantly, I arrived at the passage with the same thought pattern and intent as when I left the more recent and subsequent study books; unadulterated by my previous trains of thought I had last year.

I write from top to bottom, freely and without going back to align anything with something that occurs before. My train of thought is 'in the now'. Of course, i can remember the main points of what I have written but the nuances will definitely cause my thinking to be diverted towards my previous trains of thought. This will inevitably result in circuitous thinking. Although I like being able to tie the beginning to the end, I need to let my understanding 'kick in' with all the 'clean' thoughts of before; ready to 'add to the soup of my fancy', if you will. None of my previous thoughts should be encapsulated, bound or circumscribed to be only available for attribution to a single goal. In other words, I must NOT highlight them. By repeatedly going back to them with the mistaken idea that they are the most relevant ideas I had, will, as sure as there is writing on the wall, the die will be cast, and there cannot be any other conclusion to any future focus.

Of course, writing for fun is a lot different to academic writing. It might have a lot of similarities though. I am not going to explore that because that would require me to stop expunging my mind and start focusing in a direction that is not the one I am attempting to follow and portray. I have a plan.

The road atlas my brother had for the day was in conjunction with a SatNav. Any serious driver uses a road map to get somewhere, because it shows all the escape routes and experienced drivers can ascertain the best route to get somewhere according to traffic flow; the vehicle being driven; and the load that is carried (It is not cool to drive past a primary school carrying fireworks at school-kicking out time). 

My brother marked a single town on a page; his destination. It is also not cool to to look at an atlas while you are driving. Yet, the amount of time to recognise where to go from where you are if you glance at a road atlas is the same amount of time it takes to glance at the speedometer and know your speed. That is unless there is a highlighted town on the page.

If you consider a page of a road atlas to be like the proverbial football pitch that was described by early radio presenters as being divided into numbered squares: (Robson in 2 passes to Green in 3 who fumbles the reception. Michael collects it and it is back to square one where Bublé gathers it), then you might realise that the driver knows which 'square' of the atlas to glance at as being the square where the driver currently is. If there is a highlight on the page the driver is distracted by the mark and he has to glance again with the recognition that the mark should be ignored. That is do-able with a single mark, but incredibly irritating and probably means that the driver needs to find a safe place to stop just to glance at the page for the extra necessary half-second. That is not going to happen! It is time to buy a brand new road atlas.

I don't deface any book. I don't dog-ear them and I don't mark them in any other way. I could mark a passage on growing parsnips in one of my home-gardener books and it would not impinge on my search for information on tomatoes. At my level of understanding horticulture, the information is quite distinct, in that a parsnip is a root vegetable and a tomato is a fruit - same soil but with different nutrients. When it becomes complicated and crucial I really don't want to be drawn to the potassium requirements for good root production when I am looking for the requirements for good fruit production. My gardening books, even at entry level are unmarked.

I am an advocate for stumbling across information that may or may not be relevant or interesting; that is why I have a Roget's Thesaurus with real pages that I have to flick through and accidentally reveal weird words before I get to the ones I am seeking. I NEVER highlight any words. I note them down and stick them to my wall for later inclusion in a worrying discussion.

If something is interesting I either rewrite it in full as a direct quote in a Word document; use calligraphy with the idea, point, or concept on an A3 sheet of paper to stick to my wall; or write it in a notebook. Sometimes, though rarely, I summarise stuff. But that is like writing something down when you come back from the pub and trying to make sense of the sentiment the next day, even if you can read your handwriting.

Most of us can read at 200 wpm (words per minute). I think we are doing well if we can type at 135 wpm. The reason we can read faster than we write is because we 'chunk' words on a page and read it like a single word; 'words on a page' is a single chunk. To a large extent we can predict what words will appear in a sentence from our previous experience. Writing something down means we have to hold chunks in our heads for a longer time than if we read it. We still chunk parts of sentences if we directly copy text; otherwise we would need to look at every single word of the text, type it and then go onto the next. So what is the merit of directly copying text instead of highlighting it in a textbook? I shall follow this question because there are many people who will just scribble in books and then revise from their scribbles, and they are, no doubt opposed to my thinking. It is the chunking of words when we copy them at a slower rate than reading that allows us to slot the words into our long term memory, thereby increasing understanding and reducing revision time.

Highlighting and annotating is fast; really fast. It allows for speed-reading and in some ways negates having to make notes. It allows someone to have an individual approach to the text. If I like politics I might (I never would) highlight the political aspects of an ancient society in history books; someone else might (I hope not) highlight agricultural practices. It is, however, linear learning. Oh Dear!

Well, coming up with 'Linear Learning' is, for me, the equivalent of mentioning a certain German Fascist dictator in an argument. The person who mentions the WW2 leader will not brook any argument that contrasts with their own. 

I despise Linear Learning. Maybe other people do not. Maybe my primary school put magic mushrooms in the school milk, or the cows ate them.

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Begrudgement

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Monday 2 February 2026 at 11:02

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[ 9 minute read ]

You break me

Passive voice or passive aggression?

Is it possible to hate someone just because they hate you, but having never been the recipient of their distaste?

Well, I can hate every mobile telecommunication business I have yet to be a customer with, based on my experiences of their competitors, with which I have been a customer. That though, is like hating my wife's brother because I hate her other brother; isn't it? Not in this case, I think.

Heuristics and forecasting would allow us to make judgement calls on who or whom to leave well alone, and who or whom to allow some time to prove themselves. However, I propose that this is not so with mobile telecommunication businesses. When you set up a contract with one, you open yourself up to confusion and chaos. Why? Because they want you to change the contract and/or because they have an expectation that you, the customer, wants to change the contract; you know, weirdly, the customer has decided to upgrade or downgrade their prior decision, or decisions. 

So, this is an example of a relationship based on distrust or more accurately, based on a probability that you (the customer) will be unreliable and capricious in the relationship. 

     'Can I pay for the whole two year contract upfront, please?'

     'No.'

Well, their 'no' means because they don't have a system that can deal with an honest person who knows what their needs are, and will be for the duration of the contract, and we, meaning them and also most of us, are certain that no such person exists, so we will never implement such a system.

Money-minded people might think, 'Why would you pay £720 (£30 x 24 months) and not want to get the interest on some of it instead? Quite simply, because you don't get interest on money you don't have. Many of us run our bank accounts dry and so there is no £720 minus £30 every month for interest to ever be applied. If you think about it: saving up the £720 at £30 per month over two years would actually allow interest to accrue (not much though).

Incidentally, I pay a total of £28.80 for two SIMS with different phone numbers on separate contracts; one of which is 'Unlimited Everything', and the other 'Unlimited Texts and Calls and 20GB data'. I don't phone Premium numbers. If my needs change, the balance in my bank account should not. It may be surprising to some people, that my SIM with Unlimited Data never gets used for calls or texts, and my SIM with only 20GB data but with Unlimited Calls and Texts, never gets used for data up and down loads; unless something goes wrong. I never need to change any plan though, because I have a contingency plan. Shock! Horror! Scream! 

I hate telecommunication businesses because they insist on Direct Debit payments. If something goes wrong and there is no money in the account that month (financial scam or digital glitch or even illness), the phone bill does not get paid. What could go wrong? Nothing, if you fall within the group of customers wanting to upgrade or suddenly go roaming because you are the target customer the telecommunication businesses are constantly talking to. They don't want people like me, who just pay to be left alone. No modern business wants customers with no needs to fulfill between one contract and the next.

They hate me. I am an irritation to them. 

Modern 'business' means implementing marketing strategies that are progressively suited to individuals. It is no surprise to me that the UK Government wants everyone to use A.I. or that they will implement Facial Recognition technology in the High Street. It's a bifurcated approach; catch criminals through both their physical and digital presence; and allow British businesses to profile UK citizens and apply targeted marketing strategies, the use of A.I. assistive technology.

The British Government hates me, because my voice on one SIM contract is not available on my other SIM contract. Likewise, my online digital footprint is not matched with my voice or texts or any of my two phone numbers. Worse, I don't even use the same device to send and receive emails as the one I use to look at YouTube or any other web site. I am not hiding from any Governments; I am merely not mindless. You would be right to assume that I also do not use a SmartPhone to access the internet or for emails. And you would be right to guess that I have a spare device for accessing the internet AND an emergency phone.

Why? You might ask, do I go to such lengths to obfuscate any profiling of me? Because almost everyone allows themselves to be profiled; that is why modern marketing relies on profiling - because it can! 

Of course, businesses need to follow a strategy of averages. The average person changes their phone quite often, I think. The average person consumes more and more data, I think. Newer phones do things for you. My phone, which is fairly old, tells me how long it will remain charged, according to my past usage. Thanks - I already know. 

I 'hate' most people even though I haven't met them. I have to set up security protocols that get destroyed by the new safety protocols that businesses set up to protect their customers because their customers have no security protocols of their own. An example: I don't store passwords on any digital device so I need to type them in whenever I go to some websites. The two step security check of sending an email with a security number in it, means I have to type my password for my email account. (This is why I have a different digital device for emails than the one I access websites with - 'cookies!') There are cookies on websites that can read your password as you type it on another website because they tracked you there.

My laptops have microphones on them that can detect not only the speed at which I press the keys but also my typos and that means which keys are pressed. Realistically, this means that I can demonstrate that I know a complicated password because I am not reading it as I type, proving it to be me typing. I digress. The password can be read by the sound of the keys being pressed because they each have different sounds according to where they are on the keyboard AND the speed they are tapped. The quickness between two key strokes and the similar sound of the double 'e' in 'speed' will indicate a repeated letter AND the frequency of the sound in this post reveals it to be the most commonly used letter in the English language 'e'. So, the two-step security protocol reduces my level of security if I use only a single device. Hence, my password for my email account is entered on a device that has not yet downloaded any cookies (fresh start).

It is tremendously worse than that: The Information Commissioner's Office (ICO) has recently personally informed me that despite the GDPR stating that only personal information pertinent to actually carrying out a task should be requested or passed on to a third party, a business is not in breach of the GDPR if they request an email address and pass it on to a third party delivery business for the delivery of a tangible item. No-one needs an email address to send, carry, or deliver a parcel. However, it has become the norm for businesses to email and text recipients of 'parcel and tangible packages' to tell them where their parcel is. Many people accepted this breach of the GDPR as normal business practice; in fact it is an 'Added Service' (economic value added service).

Your personal details should never be given to a third party without your consent under ANY circumstances. If you order an item to be delivered, your phone number and email address does not need to be known.

Why do businesses want to tell you that they will deliver your package? So they look like they are being friendly and helpful (added value), but importantly, so they don't have to return the next day if you were away. 'We told you we would deliver at this time and date - tough on you if we didn't come back, or it got stolen!' In terms of policing, there is no case to answer.

     'I am sorry Madam / Sir, but by agreeing to receive a text message or email you agreed to accept responsibility of the package once it was delivered.'

Thanks a bunch everyone! I never agreed!

Why did the ICO find that this routine breach of the GDPR is not a breach? Practically every business in the UK would be in court and be fined. If it was a criminal case - 'It is not in the public interest.'

Is it possible to hate someone just because they hate you? Maybe not, but our personal defences utilise any available hormone and enzyme in the body to elicit a similar response to hatred; perhaps 'begrudgement'.

Is it possible to hate people you have never met? I might hate the motorway workmen who build a motorway that just goes over a cliff and have never provided any signs that say so, absolutely! If I tail-gate the driver in front of me, I might not see the cliff edge. If the driver in front of me brakes hard, I will hate that driver for spoiling my journey. Hate the driver who suddenly stops? No, I can't hate a cautious person who responds to a threat by stopping their actions that drive them towards danger.

I hate 'them' because I am reminded of my faults.

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Come away now

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Monday 2 February 2026 at 13:27

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[ 5 minute read ]

The me I should be

Samadhi

Have you ever woken in a wondrous state, clinging to the tail of a wisp of a dream that elusively fades and dissipates even as you open your eyes further to try to keep it in view? 

There was, what I thought, a hand from behind me, gently washing my right shoulder. I was naked, in the bath, and I wanted to say, Quickly! We are late!' But the hand did not move faster. There was no friction as a dry hand on dry skin would have. Instead it was slick against me. 

It was a dream. But that wasn't 'the' dream. That was another dream that intersected me and 'the' dream. 'The' dream had a group of silky-white and partially translucent figures in it. I had been speaking to one of them while others milled around. There was no fear or anxiety; no jealousy or hatred; no love or kindness; just an existence that was peace.

The hand that gently rubbed my back wasn't washing me; it was waking me.

     'Come away now.'

Yet, there was something else. The feeling of being late for something but needing to do something before I left our house. It was as though I was a teenage boy and my sister and I were about to get a lift to school from our mum. At least, the female voice shouting 'Hurry Up!' seemed to belong to someone older than the female who was saying, 'Come on!' There was a scene of organised chaos within a safe and easily recognised setting; one we have all experienced. 

     'I need to wash first.' I was saying. When I actually woke up I really did; need to wash that is; I stank. I had to check the weather forecast to see how much bedding I could dry outside today.

I woke with the 'silky white people'; the echo of discordant chaos in a rushed life, and the hand 'washing' me awake, all a-jumble; pricking my memory. 

Like sitting alone on an empty beach on a chilly Summer morning, and watching the sun rise, I rose from my bed with a sense of peace that was interspersed with the stink of myself and the automated actions to make coffee. And just like being on the empty beach, alone, watching the sun rise on a chilly Summer morning, I knew that this was ephemeral; it was all in a state of flux. As fast as I tried to contain the scene and moment and make an attempt to freeze it, it had already changed. A sense of loss was mixed with a new wonder or less favourable discovery. 

There was a word that kept floating on the periphery of my mind; 'samhedi'. Well, that was what I thought it was. I am familiar with French but was still surprised when an internet search gave me 'Saturday'. No, that isn't it, I thought.

Samadhi, in Indian religions, is regarded to be meditative absorption. Well, that pretty much covers watching the sun rise on an empty beach on a chilly Summer morning, I suppose.

The chaos of getting ready for school while a sibling is urging one on and a more strident voice of authority can be replayed endlessly to match every day of most of our lives in the Global North. It doesn't have to be school-kids or a sibling; it could be work and a partner before leaving the house; or a work colleague and a supervisor at work, a police officer guiding traffic, or a tutor. It is just daily life with others around and rules and conventions and someone urging us on for some reason that we really cannot understand beyond its superficiality; productivity, racing to catch a train, stirring a cup of tea too fast for all the liquid to stay in the cup just so we can catch the start of something in a different room. Just the pace of ordinary life.

I never get woken by a soft insistent stroke. I have no memory of a hand that did that. What has stayed with me is the idea that there was also a sentiment conveyed to me, as I woke that said, 'Come away. It is time to wake.' It is the same voice that woke me from my semi-conscious dream states on some days when I was less than eleven; before everything fell apart and I was left to try to assemble them by myself.

Just as the sun rises and everything changes, I cannot remember where the shades of colour were and all the other pieces belong; and just as people start walking their dogs on the beach and the air warms a little, there are more important and relevant things for me to attend to. I have to be able to ride today's roller-coaster to get to the end of it; only to find my jigsaw pieces on the beach scattered by the people and events of the day, even if I don't meet any of them, because many of them live on the beach, just as I do.

Somehow, I have to make the old and the new jigsaws into one, and that will be the living me. The me I should be.

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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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Parent - Child

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Saturday 17 January 2026 at 18:41

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Transactional Analysis

[ 4 minute read ]

       'Don't threaten me! I know Transactional analysis! At least some of it. 

There are weird roadworks in my neighbouring village. There are oval-shaped loops that reach across both sides of the road, where the workers have dug it up and then refilled and resurfaced it. They have also put in some pedestrian crossings. I asked the shopkeepers wife what she thought the loops are. (Speed Humps have covered these looped road works completely).

       'I don't know' she said, 'They are putting in two crossings'. Well, you never know, I thought.

   

       'Yeah, I have seen where there are raised beds where the crossings will be.'

       'Raised levels,' she said. 'Raised beds are in gardens,' she said, patronising me.

Here is the transactional analysis: The shopkeeper's wife has three daughters, and up until very recently, she knew better than all of them. That is until one has now gone to University. She is catching up with mum.

       'Hmmm,' I hummed, 'The Highways Agency told me that they are raised beds when they did the crossroads in my village. Different road people with different language, I suppose.' I offered. She did not look pleased.

       'Well they are putting in a parallel crossing too; for cyclists and pedestrians.'

I so wanted to say, 'Dutch Crossing.' She rattles me. I have never seen or heard of either a parallel crossing in England, or a Dutch Crossing, but I have been on Dutch Roundabouts, which have the 'parallel crossing' the shopkeeper's wife alluded to.

More transactional analysis: I am the teacher and she is the student - not the other way around. Now I know why we don't get on. She, being a parent to three girls thinks she is the educator. Relationships only work when parties agree to stay within the parameters of their prescribed roles. I am not her student; my bad. She is not my teacher; her bad. How is it that it is wrong for me to think I am never her student? I can't learn if I am not open. However, there is no way that I can outwardly give her credence for her knowledge because the shopkeeper (her husband), it seems, has taken the role of student and satisfied her that she is indeed the teacher. Any support to the same effect from the outside world, and she would never learn from me.

       'Everything was working fine before,' I mused aloud.

       'Well, it is up to the Council. Whatever they decide, we will get.' She just couldn't resist patronising me again. But I hear a clue in this kind of statement. The secret words are: I don't know anything on the subject so let's move on. It is a good idea to move on. Move on. Recognise my superiority on the subject, move on!

       'The District Council might get absorbed by the County Council soon, I think.' Neither could I.

Never judge a book by its cover, they say. This book was titled Skeptic. I have read all the chapters even though it is not necessary. She gives spoilers on every page. 

I have read on a couple of news sites online - the BBC or Sky being one of them, that many local district councils want to delay their local elections because there is going to be a reshuffle of local governments across England. I mentioned that our district council might be absorbed by the county council. She didn't believe me. Neither did the man who came to use the Post Office. He had not heard of this happening either. 

He wasn't dressed like me. I was wearing a shirt and tie; he didn't need to; he is aware of everything that affects the value of his village house.

Their conclusion: I am an idiot. The new Councils will go live, supposedly, on Thursday 1st April 2027 and Saturday? 1st April 2028.

The shopkeeper's wife will not remember that she heard it from me first. She quite simply can't, because I am an idiot.

The moral of the story: Don't play the fool and expect people to take you seriously at a later date. If you choose a role to play, you will press people to choose an opposite role if they are not a future friend, and the same role if they will become your friend.

I think people abide by an unwritten rule that they will permanently play a role, even if they know nothing about Transactions and the ebb and flow of relationships. The shopkeeper's wife will struggle with letting her daughters become teachers, I suspect.

I was born and bred in the same village for the first sixteen years of my life. The whole village knew me, my siblings, and my parents. They knew where we lived and how we lived. The villagers spoke to me and considered me in a particular way.

When I was seventeen, I worked in the south of Germany and had a completely blank script to work from. There were no stage-hands; no seasoned actors; and most importantly, no director. I lived and interacted with the locals as myself without having to conform to people's attitudes to me. I grew and became myself.

When I came back to my home village, the villagers discovered that I did not respond to them as a known entity. I defied their mindless attitudes. They realised that I was different. I was no longer the person they thought I once was. They no longer patronised me; they treated me with respect. The roles of 'adult and child' were replaced with 'adult and adult'. 

References

Institute for Government

Matthew Fright, Reorganising district councils and local public services,

https://www.instituteforgovernment.org.uk/sites/default/files/2025-09/reorganising-district-councils-local-public-services.pdf

.

Sky News - 'Number of councils that have requested delay to local elections revealed - is yours one of them?',

https://news.sky.com/story/local-elections-2026-over-a-third-of-councils-offered-a-delay-have-requested-one-is-yours-on-the-list-13494762

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Press Start

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Friday 16 January 2026 at 19:16

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Is this the real life?

[ 3 minute read ]

Following on from the post earlier today at 06:03 am, o'clock, Three minutes past six in the morning, 'Languidly Slumping' (tag: Dog Day). Opens as a new page.

Player 1

It was my turn on stage in ALDI during the 'Grab a mike session'.

       'ALDI has a sign near the entrance that says 'PRODUCT RECALL CHRISTMAS ITEM 'Mozzarella Sticks in Blankets' What's that? You're way ahead of me!'

Such bad grammar these days. 'to' not 'in'. The elderly couple just said 'Probably.' as they came in. They didn't want me to open their day up for them, so they hunched their shoulders a little more, stared at me, looked at each other and grabbed a basket. I think the bloke had been given the Bumper Joke Book for Christmas or had pulled too many crackers for that one to work on him. But, from starting with a woolly head it was to be expected that I was going to be snatching at straws for a time.

A while ago, I met a marvelous woman in the ALDI car park who told me that she was told off for going to the till with a checkout server, when she had only a few items, instead of going to the self-service tills. 

        'Shocking!' I said.

       'I don't want them to take my photo,' she moaned.

       'Quite right too.' I agreed.

I told her then that I consider the people like the couple who rightfully ignored my poor joke, to be Non-Playable Characters (NPC) in a video game. They only have a series of set responses. What I should have said to them was: 'Give me the key!' 

        'First, you must answer three questions correctly.'

They were never going to say that. They were thinking about Colin next door and how his car won't start in the mornings.

Things don't come alive for them like they do for me. If they write about a tiger, it won't scratch at the words and walk off the paper. There is something to be jealous of what they have and I do not. The beans in the tins of Baked Beans don't grow anywhere; they just get in the tins by themselves. They don't realise that Persian people are actually Iranians who live in tents in sand-pits outside of Iran and eat Fry's Turkish Delight when they are not riding their camels. Theu do not realise  that Chinese spies had to work in Chinese restaurants and takeaways in the UK until they managed to get a job elsewhere in the UK. It would never occur to them to use the self-service tills only when they are wearing fancy dress costumes and make-up, and then ask for a copy of the photograph from the manager for their Instagram page.

Katy, at the checkout till, nudged the needle resting on my record, out of the scratch it had got stuck in. She had an opinion on citing, referencing, Shakespeare and literary classics.

       'When are you ever going to use iambic pentameter? ' She sceptically asked. 

       'When I am a politician or spokesperson,' I haughtily replied. 'The stressed and non-stressed syllables make sentences more sing-song.'

She raised an eyebrow at me and looked at the woman behind me who had earlier been eavesdropping on a conversation I had had with a woman from the Caribbean, on how I was going to try using Worcestershire Sauce as an alternative to Soy Sauce to reduce my addiction to it. 

She just laughed.

My days aren't always like this. I rehash them when I get home. The conversations are all real. I really do talk to shoppers and supermarket workers. When I write or tell people about my days, I highlight a few dots and make a point of joining them up differently to how they actually played out in the real world. I did say, today, I shall add Worcestershire Sauce to my vegetable bakes instead of Soy Sauce, to reduce my addiction; and a woman did laugh when she overheard our conversation. Katy, the checkout woman did ask me about iambic pentameter and I did make a joke of the recalling a Christmas product called 'Mozarrella Sticks' to an elderly couple.

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