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Flying too high

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Wednesday 21 October 2026 at 09:46

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Opinion

I want to get off now

[ 2 minute read ]

I think I am living the life of a character in 'The Sims'; the early version. I don't know how advance the game is today and I have never been on the curve of technology riding the crest of a wave of innovation and creativity. The early Sims had a number of personal attributes that the player had to attend to; keeping them clean, entertained, and rested to name just three. A while ago, when I didn't feel well I tried to imagine myself as a Sim and applied the same template needed for successful Sims over my own life, ticking each off as I went.

Today, I have revisited the same approach and ask myself why I procrastinate so much in some areas of my studies. I watch YouTube videos for light entertainment purposes when I know, as a Sim, I should be going to the theatre. I know that recuperating energy on an uncomfortable dining chair takes longer than it does 'in' a comfortable arm-chair. Cheap solutions to my needs are negatively impacting on any periods of quality study time.

At school, I did really well because I was mentally disconnected from my emotions and so I had very few distractions. It is safe to say that my classmates were emotionally invisible to me so there were was no fancying of her, or her, or her. Some of them were fine in feature, but I know that some of the boys were too; life models to an artist, nothing more. I wasn't even an artist so their visage was only noticed in passing.

I am so distracted these days. I have worked hard to be like you, and you, and you, and that means I have an opinion now and 'It's not fair!' comes up a lot recently. It is symptomatic of a lazy life I suppose; an empty and unfulfilled existence in which I am waiting for an incident and it never occurs. 'Well, go on then, jump out at me. Surprise me. At least give a little squeak to let me know something is around the corner. No?' But, I don't want the pain of solving a series of problems and that really is how I see things today.

I am going to have to go to ALDI to play with the the other 'players' there. It is my favourite hobby; I love strangers; they are fresh and new and firm to an emotional touch. Friends are soggy and worn, a bit like a good wine that has been left out overnight to oxidise on a messy kitchen table; all memories and habituated reliability. Poking a friend with a pointed stick isn't going to reveal a nest of vipers. Why don't I like arm-chairs and soft furnishings that are like old friends? Puzzling.

I can't help thinking that I am being rude if I try to relax. 'Hey, does someone want to turn the burner off on this hot-air balloon? We are above the satellites now! I am thinking I might want to get down now. Oh, just me then.'

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Where did all the interesting people go?

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Tuesday 20 October 2026 at 08:58

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Opinion

Tomato Chutney

[ 3 minute read ]

 A big smile met me in the Co-op shop in my village yesterday. The shop staff know me as someone who WILL talk at them/to them. 'How are you?'

       'Pretty good,' I replied. 'How would you go about making tomato chutney?' I don't waste an opportunity to talk with the normal stuff about weather or whatnot. I wanted a personal response.

     'Let's Google it!'

Let's not, I thought. I knew what Google would say and I knew what I would prefer it to say. My preference would be for a recipe that says crush a pickled walnut up in a pestle and mortar and boil for half an hour and add that to the sugary water vinegar liquid that goes in with the cooking tomatoes; or something like that. You know, use WoodApple jam instead of sugar; wave a satsuma over a pan of hot water and count backwards from ten; make it at 3am; add basil; add the haws from the hawthorn bush to thicken it. 

     'Tomatoes, garlic, ginger, sugar and vinegar.' But no salt or pepper or chilli or sumac or harissa, rhubarb, or beetroot. No advice that it should be 6% vinegar, and not an onion in sight!

     'Thanks.' I said as exuberantly as I could.

Yesterday in the shop was not going to be exciting. Old ladies just bought carrots and potatoes, and adolescent students bought sandwiches and soft drinks. A quiet pall of inattentiveness descended on the shop and people bumbled back to their cars, their minds elsewhere. I was so demoralised that I had to put some small change into my bicycle basket and pretend that someone else had dropped it in there as a surprise gesture.

I looked all about me, grinning with surprise, but cunningly no-one revealed themself as the charitable donor. No-one looked surreptitiously back. Just in case someone was hiding in the back of their car I bowed like I have seen Japanese people do, and put my palms together as I have seen Thailanders do. Now I have a mission, I thought to myself.

I went to the local post office for inspiration for who would be in my mission plan. I lurked while three customers paid and left, but none of them needed an extra seventy-eight pence. In the end, I asked the Sri-Lankan lad in the post office how he would make tomato chutney while I paid for a packet of Cream Crackers for £1.79. Hah! I thought to myself. My imaginary donor has now cost me £1.01 or £1.79, depending how to see it!

Google has a lot to answer for. If it didn't exist and the young staff in the Co-op had no idea about tomato chutney, I would have asked an elderly British white woman about horseradish and rhubarb and how to destroy Brussels Sprouts by boiling them for too long. Google just took all the wind from my sails.

Where did all the interesting people go?

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Now Listen Up

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Opinion

Patronising Donkeys

[ 5 minute read ]

'You can lead a horse to water but you cannot make it drink.' I first heard that in a Laurel and Hardy skit when 'Stanley' just didn't get the concept of something. That was a long time ago when Oliver Hardy said that; likely to have been the 1930s or so. Yet, it is as true today as it might ever have been.

I find some people who just have to cling to an idea that they are right in their beliefs, or they have such confidence that they are right, that they will become pedants to fend off any negation or adaptation of their ideas through the use of any kind of, or amount of, counter-evidence. 

'Hanlon's razor is an adage or rule of thumb that states, "Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity." It is a philosophical razor that promotes a way of eliminating unlikely explanations for human behavior, purportedly named after the American writer Robert J. Hanlon, who submitted the statement to Murphy's Law Book Two: More Reasons Why Things Go Wrong! (1980).'

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hanlon's_razor

Most of us, at some time or another, have been in a situation wherein we make a statement but we lack the vocabulary to express it well. Writing our thoughts or what we know is tricky and takes a lot of practice. I think, when it comes down to it, we are all just stupid and not malicious when we cause offense. It is when someone feels maligned that they will pick on the language used as being defective. However, this usually occurs after the contributor is attacked.

       'What do you know? You can't even spell properly and the quote you made is on page seventeen and not fifteen!' In other words - this is a pedant saying, 'You are an idiot.'

I have learnt to include 'I think...'; 'I suggest...'; and 'I believe...' in a lot of my written conversations. In spoken conversation I am quite informal and that is troubling for me. I am one of those persons who thinks of a rejoinder after  I have left the scene. I think I am saying that I am not checking what I am saying, despite a lot of people saying I am measured in my speech. 

There was a philosopher who stated that a smile begets a smile or something like that, and crying begets crying in others. If someone gets irritated by being challenged, I, in turn, feel my emotions become elevated. Mostly, though, I am thinking 'Get a grip! Keep your conversation relevant to the issue at hand and collect your thoughts so you can shunt erroneous information to the right time and place.'

Some people are just hard work. They speak  their thoughts aloud which requires the intended recipient to pick up their carelessly flung words, reassemble them in a coherent form and relay them back to the mess of a person who chundered them up. Do your own thinking, please! Don't get me wrong; I write my thoughts down all the time and I even verbally express them, but, I delete those thoughts after I have used them to create a new position from which to later pontificate.

Writing is therapeutic and all-revealing to me. Just lately though I am finding that I am having to state that I am an idiot to people who think they, themselves, are not. I am seriously irked by positively reinforcing blather by retreating from engagement. I am getting really quite lazy though and I feel that I am increasingly using heuristics to categorise people. Just briefly looking at those compartments, I have 'Can't be bothered'; 'You're an idiot'; and 'What time is it?' to where I put people in my mind. The last, 'What time is it?' is the best and most promising place for persons to be. It means that I am considering spending some time trying to help that person to be humble.

Usually, I suggest, we can be sure whether someone is actually correct in what they say. The rest of the time, I believe, we need to help people to realise that now is a good time to back up and read a book on the subject and then try again later. 

Yesterday lunch-time, I had a weird start to a conversation in the local shop.

       'Hello, Martin. How are you.'

       'Fine, except for the news reporting. I just want facts and no emotion.' It was a hang-nail attitude I had from yesterday morning.

       'Don't talk to me about the news. They are trying to convict the SAS!' he replied.

Old news, I thought. And, it is the criminal courts with the application of our laws, and the wider nation who are trying to convict our Special Forces with their emotions, 'I wouldn't like those brutes to do that in my house!' It really doesn't matter how we feel at home in the UK, I suggest, with our limited views and experience. We are all likely to have a really quite distorted idea of how the world works. So, that topic is a dead-dog to me.

I could smell alcohol on this chap's breath and fortunately I had created a position from which I could give a measured answer. I certainly wasn't about to get drawn into a conversation that was energised by emotion. 'Facts...blah blah blah...facts!' There are no donkeys with two hind legs near where I live and I could see his eyes were glazing over, and he was drunk so I ended with, 'People's actions should not be judged by other people's emotions!' just to give him an idea that I was in agreement with whatever was going on in his head. After all, he stated that he would be able to kill and still get a good night's sleep. I doubt he was serious though; many people identify with Special Forces mentality to boost their egos. He moved on to pay for his selection at the checkout, without responding to me, but he looked a little appeased.

I have still a lot to learn about getting people to keep their raw thoughts to themselves and showing them where the pram is that they should climb back into, because I am still overwhelmingly selfish and don't devote enough time to trying to understand them.

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Just tell us

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Sunday 18 October 2026 at 08:44

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Opinion

Just tell us

[ 5 minute read ]

I am confused. I know media channels cannot be everywhere to pick up on news around the world. I realise that some news channels have a remit to tell the truth but I am more than a little miffed that we have to get news delivered to us as though we are infants and need to understand something beforehand. 'Just TELL US THE NEWS!' If there is uncertainty, then say 'There is some uncertainty....' or as we used to hear, 'There have been reports.....' Then we don't have to listen to a whole load of waffle from a magazine-type platform to try to get salient information to use in our own investigation elsewhere.

This frustration is possibly driven by me studying two Arts and Humanities subjects. For some reason the authors of the module text-books and the tutors in tutorials think we have to feel everything. How do you feel about this...and this... and this? 

I need to know some technical stuff. I need to know the exact parameters of what makes up free indirect discourse; indirect discourse, direct discourse, and whether there is such a thing as free direct discourse. Just blooming tell us and then we don't need to read anything else on the subject because we can identify it for ourselves. 

You know what? I think it is an ego thing. Or people have gotten into roles because they have demonstrated an affinity with something that in the real world is absolutely useless. Just because a newsreader can feel emotions does not make that person relevant when news is to imparted to anyone at all. Cut the emotion and give only facts. Guess what? I really distrust A.I. for a number of reasons, but in telling us stuff it is far superior to humans and in that respect humans will definitely need to step up their game otherwise teachers and newsreaders are already obsolete. No wait! A.I. makes mistakes because it is programmed to do it. It is programmed to talk to humans as though it is human as though emotion is relevant to understanding everything. What idiot thought that was a good idea? 

I understand that current education providers have some weird idea that in order for the public to understand something the public, bless them, have to feel it and even empathise with the victims, but this is an attitude that smacks of regarding the public as pathetic weeping wrecks, who can only experience the world with emotion. If I saw a log up into pieces that fit my fireplace I really do not have to feel anything. In fact i could just as easily get someone else to do it or program a machine to do it. If the human race fears emotionless A.I. then they need to start embracing emotionless news reporting to compete with something that will be way better at providing information. I suggest that it is only because A.I. is trying to access our emotions that it gets things wrong. The software should eliminate emotion as being necessary. You do not need emotion to follow a line of software code. Do not hurt physically hurt humans. And another : Disregard their emotions when giving information.

Slightly, off the subject: There are people who struggle with their emotions who are not engaging with the current form of emotion-evoking reporting through , who, not hearing anything to which they can follow, go out and hurt people. The consequences are not made clear to them. There are parents of murdered teenagers crying on the television screens and the murderers are not in any way affected. Give us the news. 'A man / woman got a twenty-two year prison sentence for stabbing someone' makes a much bigger impact than 'These people are upset.' Murderers and stabbers don't care if the victim is upset so why would they bother about collateral damage? Stop playing to people's emotions to reduce crime.

I hear time and time again that statistics show that young people don't read books as much as young people used to. You know what? Start teaching budding book-writers to write good books that don't go on and on about how the characters are feeling. Start teaching budding authors how to write good books that get readers thinking and cut the crap that evokes feelings in the reader when the reader doesn't want to feel; when they read just because they need a break from their emotions. Duh! What do we think video games are for? Players get away from the endless attitude of the modern UK to make everyone be emotional at every waking second. Has no-one ever thought that some people have had enough of it and so they start building a wall against what they consider to be an invasion in their lives? 'Stop telling me how you feel - I feel. If I have to constantly hear how everyone else feels I cannot deal with my own feelings!' And, the UK government goes on scratching their collective heads wondering how to bring crime down and how to educate teenagers. What fool thought that suffusing teenagers with collective emotion from around the world; places they have never visited and never will, will get them to be model citizens? Just TELL us the news. Report the news and don't tell us how awful it is. Give us facts, not emotions. Then, we will, I am certain, discover a sea-change in how the general public react to crime. 

In one of my module forums one student and I have had to write numerous comments back and forth in a waste of time conversation so eventually the tutor can say, 'Yup. That is a perfect example of an entry in a bibliography.' Just TELL us how to do it and stop guiding us to a website that makes us work through how to do it. None of us care, I suggest, how to do it. We are only doing it to satisfy the requirements of Tutor-Marked Assignments. If I am allowed to give a full and complete example of good referencing for material in my module, in the module forum, then please, tutors, just supply the same information from the outset so we can get on with doing something else that is useful.

Having to rewrite Open University text books with only the relevant stuff and no waffle is extremely time-consuming and still I have to go on YouTube to get someone to TELL ME what I need to know. Let me just make this clear by offering this: I am forced to read the Open University books just so I can reference them to meet the Tutor-marked Assignments. The information I have understood and is the information I use for writing assignments comes from somewhere else. It is way quicker to get the information from other sources than to wade through waffle. The tutors in their feedback tell me not to reference other sources of information. 'Stick to The Open University books!' Why, so your job is easier? If you want an easy job write text books that are readable; no waffle, just facts and description. 

Get a grip, news and information providers! Stop believing that you are the sole source for information. If I hear that there is a military base in Canada on fire I am going to seek multiple sources of information on it. Only a fool would think that they should be the sole source of information, if they don't actually tell us the information!

Military base has a fire in Canada. What we need to know:

How many are on the base.

How much land does it occupy.

Where it is in relation to land occupied by opposing forces.

How the fire started.

That is it. That is it! Stop talking! Knowing how many people died or are injured only serves to evoke emotion. The whole report should take no camera-work and should take about ten seconds to report. There is no need to send a presenter to face a camera. We don't need to know how long the base has been there. We don't need an introduction. We don't need some official telling us anything. We don't need to know what the response will be. The event, should there be a response, should be listed as a cause for any response when the response occurs. Save it for then! Speculation or suggestion is not fact-checking, so stop talking!

The Sky News website is almost solely made up of videos of people talking really slowly. Just transcribe the speech without any waffle. Do you know why they don't and it is not because videos are preferred by young people. It is because they still think that the value of a report is measured by the word-count. 'Write me 500 words on this!' should be 'TELL us what happened in as few words as possible!'

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Monster rave

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Friday 16 October 2026 at 08:51

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Cadwell NOT Caldwell

Opinion

I hear music

[ 2 minute read ]

I keep forgetting. No stimulants in the evenings. Now, I am not a 'foodie' nutritionist conspiracy-theory influencer, but I do know that black pepper is a stimulant. It seems that any hot spice is. I have trouble staying asleep. Monsters from my past wake me and introduce me to the monsters of today. My neighbour likes to host these wild parties. If there is such a thing as spiritual music that is not 'music of the spheres' and is more like a thumping bass a flat upstairs which drives the beat to stomping feet then my neighbour and his monster cronies sure do know how to throw one. My only defence against this mindless morass of intermingling entities is to be as bereft of stimulation as possible. There must be an hiatus of interesting stuff in the evenings. 

Why then, did I skip supper and eat three-quarters of a packet of cream crackers with cheese, tomato, onion and black pepper between them? Surely, I know better than that! My dad would say to me 'That's it! You didn't think!' when I might say now, 'I didn't think it would keep me awake.' I know it will.  Last night, my heart was bumping along and saying 'Fancy a dance?' to any spiritual monster that came near. I have heard that our hearts will try to keep the rhythm of music that our brains can hear. It is to do with the Beats Per Minute (BPM). I definitely wouldn't be able to sleep if I can hear 200 BPM in my bedroom. On occasion I have had a heart rate of 200 but typically it is evident with Formula 1 racing drivers during a race. Sometimes, after a bit of a weekend with mates, our hearts can beat quite quickly and strongly. That is enough to wreck a good nights sleep.

I ate so much cheese last night that I was still dreaming this morning before I woke and noticed a line of mice queuing up just to smell my breath. 

       'Mmmm, lovely!'

       'Hurry up! It's our turn!'

I love black pepper so much, especially now because I have forgotten to buy any for probably a year, that I just had to satisfy my need for immediate gratification. This morning I eschewed the beans on toast I normally have for breakfast and fried up some cooked potatoes, whitefish and peas just so I could put black pepper on everything. 

What the heck is wrong with me? I know, I shall force myself to stay awake and put my ear to the keyhole of the door that stops me entering the spirit party just to listen to their mindless bumps. That is just stupid! I already know I micro-sleep during the day so why would I encourage that?

Sometimes, I have to take a good, hard, long look at myself and try to figure out where I am going wrong. I mean, yesterday I bought two different brands of anti-bacterial liquids in bottles of 220ml and 300ml. I ran a spreadsheet when I got home to find out which one was the cheapest by millilitre. Yet, I also looked around my home and told myself that I live like a pig and should do some housework - I only swept the floors and did the washing up this morning. 

It seems that believing I only have one life and I should be the best version of me so I should always go the extra mile does not come down to real practical things. By the way, Astonish is cheaper than Fabulosa by millilitre of diluted anti-bacterial liquid.

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Living Sticks

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Friday 16 October 2026 at 20:17

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silhouette of a female face in profile Fact

[ 3.27 minute read at 0.2k words per minute ]

Australian scientists have discovered a new stick insect. It is 40 centimetres long (15 ¾ inches long). I love how some people use the decimal system for a fraction in the imperial system. The article on the Deutsche Welle site gives 15.75 inches as its length. It seems that the article was written by someone who knows how to use a calculator (40 divided by 2.54 = 15.748031). 

In case you still don't really know how big these stick insects are: I am 6 foot one (1.85m) and normally proportioned. 40cm is from the inside of my elbow to the end of my little finger.

https://www.dw.com/en/australias-heaviest-new-stick-insect-discovered/a-73488463

I spent some time in the Tipperary countryside in Eire. No street lights on the lanes and things that wriggle in the bushes and hedges. It was a magical time that frightened the life out of me. I think that the remoteness from electronic noise allowed my imagination to run unchecked in my head. I simply wasn't used to that kind of silence. A diesel train labouring up a slight incline, a mile away, as it approached the town of Dundrum, grew so loud that I started to be convinced that it was instead on the lane on which I stood. The creature in the hedge that had followed me along the lane was not worried though. The rustling continued unabated. I didn't look to see what it was, because I was too scared to make that discovery. I only felt safe when I stood near a huge dying bonfire in a field another half a mile on (0.5 miles) Realistically, it was probably 0.38 miles. How far is that?

While reading the article about the Australia's heaviest stick insect discovered in the remote high altitudes of Australia, I thought if I got scared of the dark while exploring there, I would want to light a fire. I don't think I would have been found alive or sane, if I picked up a stick insect to use as kindling. When a twig starts wriggling and you are already scared in the dark, you are in deep trouble.

More...

Also on the Deutsche Welle pages there is an article outlining how Australia intends to implement a world-first national youth social media ban. Apparently one poll got 77% support for it.

https://www.dw.com/en/australia-youth-social-media-ban-mental-health-will-it-work/a-73230182

'Marilyn Campbell, a professor in the School of Early Childhood and Inclusive Education at the Queensland University of Technology who writes on cyberbullying'  seems to believe that one of the many features of the modern world is how important it is, if you are young, malleable, and impressionable, to discover which hand you write with. Are you right-handed, left-handed, ambidextrous, or just curious? Social media helps young people and people with autism realise this, she says. (DW, 2025)

I suspect that the imagination plays a big part in that, so, I really don't think social media is necessary for that. Just saying.... In a tug of war between digital content and imagination, I am pretty sure imagination wins 'hands' down.

Of course, there is concern of the mental harm that social media platforms have on young people. I am not going to elaborate on that, because I have my own ideas on social harm and how mental health is impacted on by many aspects of the modern world. I will just say that if you put your finger on a ball of mercury, it will coalesce somewhere else, and be just as toxic there. You have to lower the temperature enough to solidify it (freeze it) so it can be picked up with your fingers and thrown into deep space.

Of course, sending children on an overnight hike in the high altitude Australian wilderness for some fresh air and camp fires might be good for them; at least for the ones that come back still able to speak and can be recognised. 

-

Please don't imagine that I have referenced the Deutsche Welle pages properly (below).

References

DW 2025, Deutsche Welle, Will Australia's youth social media ban work?, 'Can a 'nice, simple solution' solve a complex crisis?'

https://www.dw.com/en/australia-youth-social-media-ban-mental-health-will-it-work/a-73230182

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The winner is

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Thursday 15 October 2026 at 09:08

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Cadwell NOT Caldwell

Opinion

Come to the Think Tank in the Co-op

[ 4 minute read ]

Not so long ago it would have been outrageous to point a crooked finger at the United States of America. Yet, now, it seems we can safely expostulate that Americaland might be responsible for some of the woes that afflict us on a daily basis. 

For a few years, and definitely more recently, I have been curious as to why there is a drive towards collecting information at the micro-level; individual person economics. When I read about who got the Nobel Prize for Economics, and for what, it became clear to me. Banks now need to know how the individual person spends their money, how they got to the shops and why they went anywhere. They use this information to soften the blow of macro-level events that could negatively impact on financial markets. This was a lesson in 'considering Black Swan events as probable' and now are only Grey Swans. (My downgrade of language and my upgrade of security status). Humans have been, to economists, notoriously irrational since forever. Not any more, it seems. By tracking my every move every bank in the world, with a subscription to whatever software it needs, can know exactly what I, living in the UK, will be likely to do if aliens glue up the San Andreas fault after it splits wide open and spews magma into the Pacific Ocean which affects the Humboldt Current off the Chilean coast and the price of Giant Humboldt Squid in fish-markets goes up and down in Peru.

Now we might think that it takes a fine mind to understand that large events affect how an individual might spend their money but it doesn't. In my local Co-op the sales assistant told me the same as the two Nobel Prize winners in economics have expostulated. I like a good chin-wag in shops; they are kind of neutral ground in which people have valid reasons to break off conversation; 'I must go, I sent the kids to visit their grandmother in the woods yesterday and they came back with some gingerbread and a glass slipper. I don't trust them any more. Bye!'

During our conversation I suggested that the Americans have a lot to answer for (I meant North America without Canada). Over a couple of years I have noticed a lessening resistance to considering any statement that blames Americaland for the worlds problems to be even partially valid. While some people will still instantly dismiss any anti-Americaland statement as poppy-cock and twaddle, putting Americaland, Russia and China in the same sentence as instigators of global and personal deterioration is finally acceptable and is considered to be worthy of some consideration, however fleeting. That is, many, many people no longer instantaneously remove the concept of Americaland being similar to 'known' threats such as Russia and China.

Of course, anyone who has read '1984' by George Orwell would realise that this week we are at war with Oceania while Eurasia is our friend, and next week it will be Eurasia we are at war with and always were, and Oceania has always been our friends. That is by-the-by though. How come a shop assistant in my village has the same simple idea as Americanese professors, that understanding macro-economics starts with micro-economics on an individual basis? Further, how come I have been saying that SmartPhones are bad for us for the last ten years and only now governments are considering legislating against their usage? Where are the shop assistants, and the public's shared Nobel Prizes?

       'Ladies and Gentlemen of a bygone era and the rest of you, It gives me no pleasure to express my disappointment in discovering that the Nobel Prize for excellence goes to two normal people. These two people, however, have generously donated the prize money to start a charity-fund for scientists and thinkers who have spent their entire lives working on problems that can be fixed by having a conversation in a supermarket with shop staff. The money shall be spent on normalising scientists and replacing lab-technicians with the nine-year-olds of today. From this point on... there shall be vocational training in primary schools that teach children to be sensible. Ladies and Gentlemen of the past and everyone else, I give you two average people who were properly educated to understand the world we live in!'

Of course, there are others who over-hearing my conversations in supermarkets believe I am a conspiracy theorist. Right next to the newspaper stand in the Co-op I was told by a different shop assistant to my fellow Nobel Prize winner, that the tills were not accepting debit or credit cards. I asked, tongue-in-cheek, if he suspected Russia as the culprit.

       'I doubt that! I don't believe in conspiracy theories!' he blurted. He might not understand the humour of the 'good old days' when Sherlock Holmes and Lieutenant Colombo asked seemingly innocuous questions. 'Just one more thing....'

       'Oh, you are no fun at all,' I said, 'You're a realist, aren't you?' He nodded. I thought he would be a great father but not much fun in a pub on a Friday night.

I couldn't help smiling as I left him. Right behind him the headline on one of the newspapers said that MI5 was warning us to be aware that Russia was using cyber-technology to negatively affect the UK economy. Actually, that was the subtext. Newspapers lie though, don't they? If that conspiracy theory works for him then he, I suggest, will never be worthy to imagine giving away 12,000,000 SEK (Swedish Krona) - ($1.2 million). 

I think it is fairly certain that my understanding of the world is not contiguous with everyone's else's understanding of the world.

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Simple Minded

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Tuesday 13 October 2026 at 12:55

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Opinion

Vote for a supreme-being and string

[ 3 minute read ]

In the modern world of digital communication where messages travel at close to the speed of light (c=300,000 km/s or 186,000 miles/second - almost) I am disappointed that my prayers are still sent by second-class snail-mail. During the summer I hoped for rain and now in October it rains. Hey, cancel my request! 'Who ordered this rain', I ask my neighbours. 'I am not paying for it.' I tell them.

Whoever is in charge of the weather is plainly overworked and has no time to adjust it in real-time. With a billion hopes and desires flowing into an over-run system every minute I think it may be time for an update or perhaps more pertinently a change of staff. Yet, my neighbours with tumble-dryers don't give a rat's tail about the weather; they have long ago given up on the poor doddering fool that God delegated the climate to. I feel a riot coming on; 'Bring back God. We keep voting for God but the elections seemed rigged, and we never get God!'

I suppose if I was more litigious I might try to sue God as I believe others have tried to do. According to Wikipedia, in 1969, an Arizonian lawyer acting on behalf of Betty Penrose sought $100,000 in damages because God supposedly owned the property that Penrose lived in and struck it with lightning. The argument rested on a singer, Lou Gottlieb, leaving the deed to the property to God only a week before. The deed was ruled invalid because God was unable to take possession of the property, and so the argument failed.

In 1969? Good Crikeyness! There was some good LSD around in those days though. I think the federal government should have sued the Grateful Dead sound engineer Owsley Stanley for making such ultra-pure acid in the mid to late nineteen-sixties, and helping to egregiously mix the world of weirdness (people's imagination) with the real world of logic (the legal system and argument). But, when he started producing his acid in 1965 it was perfectly legal.

Now, I have always thought that the spirit world reacts fairy quickly but never instantaneously. It seems to me that every incidence in the world is carefully considered and a measured response is implemented. If I curse my neighbour this morning he will not have bad skin this afternoon. It takes time. Perhaps things shouldn't be too obvious. I mean witches were killed not so long ago and no doubt it has been decided that they need time to get away from the scenes of their nefarious activities before change occurs.

I have also always thought that taking hallucinogenics is a clumsy way to tear the veil that separates the real world from the spirit world. Jack Nicholson as Colonel Nathan R. Jessep, USMC, shouts in a courtroom in the 1992 film, 'A Few Good Men', 'You can't handle the truth!' That outburst could be directed towards the clumsy buffoons who pull the spirit-curtain to the side and idiotically peer in. Just like opening Pandora's Box they release chaos. But, unlike the controlled release of spiritual effect that is afforded to witches who have been patient in their studies and gained an understanding of the world, both physical and spiritual, and understand where liminal spaces are, the leering tripper is subjected to a life-long affliction; they will make mistakes that seem normal to them. Suing God is a good idea because they believe they have, over time, become familiar with the spirit world. I suggest, if they don't pack up those kind of thoughts quickly they can expect a rubber room and some injections every now and again.

I am fairly sure, these days, there are a lot of people praying for a new partner or for fame or something else that clogs up the route to the spirit world, and soon it will get worse while billions of people begin their prayers for material goods; those optional and discretionary goods that clutter and confuse the world. I should like to see shoes made from used African car tyres on the fashion catwalks in place of strappy high-heels. That is not to say I don't like a strappy high heel shoe on a woman's foot; I do, but it could be made with the string in the garden that is no longer used to tie the runner bean plants to the stakes.

 

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You found me

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Monday 12 October 2026 at 17:58

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Opinion

Tacit consent by way of the back door

[ 4 minute read ]

I think if we take all the digital interactions we are nudged into making and put them in a mixing bowl, with the essential idea not to put anything else in, such as emotion, and we bake the mess, we would pull from the oven a policy to collect data on every movement we make. The smell in the kitchen is not one of fondness or care such as a grandmother might make with cinnamon and icing sugar; it is a smell like a disc-cutter makes when cutting steel, or the smell of a slipping clutch on a vehicle passing by with the handbrake still on.
Just the idea of the acrid and pungent aftertaste in my mouth once the bolus is swallowed elicits feelings of absorbing carcinogenics in me. I think, this drive to profile each of us, while projecting a smooth veneer of compatibility with our modern lifestyles, once cracked the inner stuff is of worms and gaping maws of razor-sharp fangs. 
This last weekend I heard an LBC presenter make a brief exclamation of surprise. He noted on air that in October 2027 there will be a 'tax' on, I think he started his piece by saying drinks containers such as plastic bottles and tins or cans of 'pop'. As he padded out his startled piece I started to think he was including all tins and cans since he included glass as one of the things that would be taxed at the source. By 'taxed' I mean a surcharge of either 20p or 20% would be charged on every item that passes through a checkout or is otherwise bought, that is products that are packaged in glass, metal, or plastic. Apparently, this extra cost would be redeemed at specific recycling collection points. The presenter moved on, no doubt because he and his research team were blindsided by this revelation, and they would need to properly research the implications and how it is to be implemented.
I set to turning an imagined future over in my head. How would this impact on my life? I live in a village and so I would need to lug all my glass and empty tins to my local city, How would I be able to collect the returns money? It dawned on me then that it would necessarily go into my bank account and that due to the British public's tacit agreement to being filmed everywhere we go, there would be cameras at every collection point; just like the cameras at the bank ATMs. So, in with my card and the pin (obviously!) and look sweetly at the camera without a face-mask. Facial recognition. It would not matter that I do not carry a GPS tracking device in the form of a phone, my precise location will be known simply because I am not rich enough to avoid being tracked.
I dwelt on the way that the charge would be made. It would necessarily be twenty pence and not 20% of the product price. Everything recycled in this way would otherwise still have a barcode still attached and it would need to be scanned into the recycling machine. Waitrose coffee is more expensive than LIDL coffee and costs more in the south than in the north of England. Surely, reading barcodes and returning 20% of the purchase price is unworkable. The retailer would take the surcharge and then have to submit it to the government so the government can give it back to the recycling shopper, surely. That is expensive to implement on a national scale. It also means that the barcode meta-data held in computers necessarily needs to include information on the packaging. That is expensive for small retailers to have; they would need to maintain a continuous subscription to a bar-code data bank and a live and highly reliable and super-fast internet connection to check every single product during every transaction. Moreover, it must be unbreakable. A faulty internet connection would shut an entire shop or supermarket. Any competent bad actor could paralyse the country's food supply. Those vegetables in the wafer-thin plastic bag cannot possibly be considered to have packaging that can be recycled. Packaging that is definitely NOT bio-degradable. Scales at the recycling point would need to be frequently calibrated. I mean two cabbages have two plastic wrappers and if fifty of these are shoved in a recycling point 'bin' and weighed, the payment might only be for forty eight. That is a 40 pence loss to the customer. If not another thin wedge to add to a reason to riot then an angry driver who will be prone to road-rage.
No, I am certain that someone somewhere had a problem to solve. 'Look team. Not everyone uses the self-checkout in the larger supermarkets and not everyone face-times their family, so we have an incomplete 'picture' of the British population. We can't force them to do those things at present so what can we do?'
       'Make them pay a redeemable surcharge under the auspices that they do not recycle properly. We can film them while we read their bank cards at specific collection points for recycled packaging.'
 The 'tell' will be the absence of alternative packaging. I buy coffee in a glass jar. I would buy loose coffee from a vending machine that dumps it into a container I brought with me. Tinned tomatoes; a bit more tricky. We will never see vending machines dispensing loose produce, such as we used to see loose muesli mix in health food shops. They will inevitably always be banned on Health and Safety grounds. Personally, I would definitely go into a 'store / warehouse' full of vending machines that dispense cornflakes and milk and sugar and stuff. Logistically, it takes too long for each customer to receive their selection; there would be long queues and the 'warehouse stores' would necessarily need to be jointly-owned by the manufacturers that dispense their products (they save on the cost of packaging).
It is a dystopian world I paint; one that with precise positioning of the dispensing spouts, robots would inhabit. If  humans were to be anywhere they would be in their precisely parked cars; shifted by stepper-motors upon arrival in the car-park into slots. Robots would deliver carts of loose produce in bins with scoops chained to the bins. The customer would then transfer their purchases into their own containers and let the car drive them home. This would need to be in a car-park with a roof and probably heated too. Oh, they would need to look into a camera while their bank card is read to get into the car-park before they make their selections. Might we see mobile traders with analogue scales driving steam-powered vehicles in our streets dispensing loose product to householders who hearing their bell flock to their vehicles? 'Stop me to buy some!' The closest you might get to being filmed or noticed is a curious child's eye who doesn't speak our language sitting on the lap of a woman in the dark recesses of the van.
Interestingly, the LBC presenter did not mention cardboard as a packaging that will attract a surcharge. It absorbs water and weight and is of course, biodegradable. Is there not a prevailing presence of cardboard in supermarkets?
 
 
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Deadly female

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Sunday 11 October 2026 at 05:24

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Opinion

Ah, yes. Sorry?

[ 3 minute read ]

When I chucked the female Giant House Spider out my living room window in early September I didn't expect to find her on my bathroom floor last night. 'House Spiders die if you put them outside.' I had been told or read. I can't help but to think that House Spiders have only other spiders to worry about as predators. The biggest problem for Giant House Spiders are surely humans, no? Yet, they do not just run away when they see a human close by; they stay motionless. Even poking her with a door wedge didn't get her to move for a while. Then off she went at about the pace of a two year old child walking. I imagine the spider was sprinting though.
I followed her and she stopped only half-hidden near one of my old bicycles in my bedroom. Experience told me I had time to fetch a piece of cardboard and a glass. Sure enough she was still there pretending to be the discarded stalk of a huge tomato. At 65mm the last time I measured her she had little chance of fooling me, even if I do have a glut of tomatoes at the moment. 
This time, she was angry at being captured. With the glass over her and the cardboard beneath she was trapped and I picked her up to eye level. Ooh, she looked like she was threatening me. Her front legs were against the glass in that half-reared up position that a spider does when they are about to attack. I didn't rotate her, the glass and the cardboard to see if she would face me. If I had and she did, I may have had to throw her out into a much colder environment to the one I had done last month; our low humidity summer. At nine degrees Celsius outside this morning she might slow down a bit. 
I dumped her in the living room near to where I had last seen the male Giant House Spider. I may have just signed his death warrant. 'For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.'
 
When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,
He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.
But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male. 
[...]
 
The Female of the Species - Rudyard Kipling, 1911
https://www.heretical.com/miscella/kipling1.html
 
I was a bit alarmed at how easily she could run under closed doors. My doors have a big gap underneath them to allow them to run over carpet. I don't have carpet; I spill too much too often. I was also surprised by how angry she was at being captured; does she remember being thrown out the last time. Sometimes, I pretend I am a bit fey and when she fell to the floor I had a sudden spike of weird perception. She seemed surprised. If she can remember much, she would remember my living room floor and certainly, if the male is still around, she would be able to smell him? I went to bed hoping that she was gratified and not vengeful.  I didn't want to wake up with her trying to suffocate me by dragging my pillow over my face or something; or spitting in my eyes.
I suppose spiders regard some places as 'home'. I mean they are not randomly stopping and thinking, 'This will do,' are they? Trap-door spiders don't. I hope she realises that I won't throw her out again and she is 'home'. Hats off to her tremendous effort in making her way to my bathroom window. It is the one that is open the most and the longest. Ooh, she is too smart for comfort. I know that I under-estimate the intelligence of creatures but who bothers to try to work out how a spider thinks, except for the few?
I have to look down at the floor all the time whenever I move around in my home, or if I am so affected, 'our' home. Already, I am thinking I might have to move my old bicycles out to make way for a piece of art.
 
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Clever Donkey

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Sunday 11 October 2026 at 12:21

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Opinion

Seriously joking, right?

[ 2 minute read ]

       'I have come to learn!'

       'Oh, alright then,' the old man in the deck-chair replied, knocking out his pipe. 'What is it you want to know?' His deeply lined face grew older as he pondered.

       'I don't know. Stuff!'

       'Do you hear that, Bonny? He wants to know stuff.' The donkey beside him looked balefully back at him. 'Have you come far, learner?' The old man asked the hesitant man. 'Are you a seeker?'

       'Not really. I just fancied learning something and thought I would show up. I borrowed the money.'

       'And?'

       'I think there are people more advanced than I in the class.'

       'And so you have not made yourself known, and because you think the money is not yours, since you borrowed it, you have not lost it?'

       'Well, yes.'

       'Embarrassed!'

The old man in the deck-chair refilled his pipe and tamped the tobacco down. He shrewdly looked at Bonny, the donkey, which winked at him and thought itself more clever than the man. The old man lit his pipe and nodded his agreement. 'Another one', he mouthed. Bonny raised and lowered her head twice.

***

There are two types of people. There are a lot more really but today there are only two. There is the person who makes the most out of their day. 'Carpe Diem' (seize the day) and there is the person who expects others to make the day for them. 'absens haeres non erit.' The latter Latin phrase means 'he who is absent will not inherit'. As far as I understand things, if someone does not bring their head to the game, the game will play without them, and that head-less person can never gain anything.

       The old man decided to speak Latin, 'spectator!' and strangely he was understood. The slumped-shouldered man before him flinched. 'You have paid to learn and yet you remain a spectator.' The old man deliberately said to Bonny the donkey. Bonny looked at the crestfallen man, who nervously looked back. He had yet to come to terms with self-actualising, the highest personal aspirational human need in Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs after basic needs are met.

       Bonny coughed, 'Ego!' but added 'Haw' to make it seem natural. She drew her lips back into a macabre yellow-toothed grin.

       'I am coming to that!' the old man said irascibly. 'Don't jump the gun.' He boosted himself up from his deck-chair, reached over to the side and down to the sand on the beach and picked up the only book there; next to a red plastic bucket and spade. The book had no title or author's name but the fly-leaf inside said, 'Simply Psychology, and it had https://www.simplypsychology.org/self-actualization.html underneath the words. It fell open at 'Potential' and he read aloud, 'Self-actualization is a concept in psychology that refers to the process of fulfilling one's true potential, becoming the best version of oneself, and achieving personal growth, meaning, and fulfillment in various aspects of life.' All the rest of the pages were blank. They always were. He put the book back down and a few grains of sand jumped onto it. It didn't matter. He was safe in the knowledge that the words would rearrange themselves, with sometimes more and sometimes less words, and some of the words would be changed into other words.

       'Were you seeking validation, approbation, praise and positive clamouring for your skill?'

       'No,'

       Bonny shook her huge head and looked directly at the man. Facing the scrutiny of a dumb animal the man cracked, 'Yes! yes, yes!'

       'Now you realise that you have been coasting and not applying yourself.'

       'Yes.'

       'All that glistens is not gold.' said Bonny finally fed up with being silent.

       'If vicarious learning was your goal then you have it.' said the old man, nodding. 'If you really want to learn, you have to work at it.' And following on from Bonny's careless outburst, 'Diamonds do not come out of the ground already cut and polished.'

       Bonny coughed again. 'Ego!' and unconvincingly added 'Haw.'

       'Flat, I should say.' observed the old man, 'But the realisation is not yet there because there is too much of an echo.' He puffed on his pipe and shut his eyes and then lifted one eye-lid to see if the follower had gone. He noticed the tide was coming in.

It is strange how an echo seems so real and provides comfort, even though it is disembodied and from the past.

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News from the past

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Friday 16 October 2026 at 20:23

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  Opinion

[ 6 minute read ]

The man who gets his news from the past

Outside of Aldi, I met a man unlocking his bicycle from the bike stands. I am one of those bumbling fools that thinks everyone is free to talk. I almost always talk to people I meet. This one was in his late twenties and smartly dressed. His voice settled it for me; a university student. Well, it was probably because somehow I got him to tell me he doesn't watch the television. Too old to be an undergraduate.

       'Postgraduate student?'

       'Yes'

       'What's your subject?' I asked. You can imagine I said this around a half-chewed piece of raw carrot in my mouth. I wasn't eating, but the casualness was there.

       'Archaeology.' 

       'I have seen Alice Roberts on YouTube doing stuff on archaeology,' I said.

He looked at me blankly.

       'Alice Beer? before she got married? No?' No.

       'I don't watch YouTube videos.'

It was then that I realised that I should tell him that the UK is no longer in the EU. I didn't though. There is a good reason I didn't.

I am an idiot 

For a long while I have been thinking that my neighbour is weird. He does things quite differently to how I have experienced other people doing things. He once tried to cut the grass in his back garden with a push lawnmower. 'S'okay.' It had just rained. 'Hmmm, maybe!' The grass was eighteen inches high. 'This will be hilarious, I thought.'

Let me spell this out for you: wet grass is quite difficult to cut with a push mover if the rotary blades are not perfectly aligned with the fixed cutting edge. His mower was new so it would probably be fine. However, push movers have a roller immediately before the rotary blades. They flatten the grass and the grass that flicks back up gets cut by the blades. If the grass is taller than the distance between the roller and the blades, it will not get cut because the spinning blades will pass over it before it can spring back up. Simple for any nine year old child to understand. At thirty one years old my neighbour should know this. He didn't.

Incidences with power tools and his handling ineptitude also caused me some concern. I was convinced that he had a learning difficulty which he was not admitting to the world. That is, until I saw his parents. They were in my neighbour's garden, picking green plums from a branch that was semi-severed from the tree, but still bearing good, plump fruit. They cut each little twig from the limb and then plucked off the plums off the twigs, and put the plums in a plastic carrier bag. They did not take the plums from the rest of the tree. My neighbour, Sally, thought it was hilarious that I took my tomato plants indoors with green plum-shaped fruit on them, to hide them from my neighbour's parents and their weird grazing.

You might think that they just wanted green plums, except they had always waited for them to ripen in earlier years. 

My neighbour used to park as close as he could to the concrete path parallel to his gravel drive, so his girlfriend would not get her shoes dirty from the gravel when it had been raining until I told him that one of the qualities of gravel which makes it so desirable, is that when it rains, it gets washed completely clean. He had been making her walk further on a dirty and wet concrete path in the rain, than when it was dry! She doesn't wear high-heels. 

He also put straw around his strawberry plants which were not planted on a midden, or otherwise fertilised by human or animal excrement. He could have wee'ed on the straw to release nitrogen, but I don't think he had thought of that. Somehow the words 'Straw' and 'Berry' had got separated in his head, and then rejoined, to mean you can't get strawberries unless there is straw somewhere. Straw was a waste product in years gone past, and placed around the plants so the fruit would not lay on excrement.

Yesterday, it finally hit me, he is vicariously ignorant. His parents have never showed him anything in the world. All this time, I was thinking that he had just come out of a twenty-year coma, and now I realised that it is his parents that don't understand things the same way as other people I have met, and they have not passed on knowledge that most of us take for granted. The most strangest thing!

With this in mind, confronted by a PhD Archaeology student outside Aldi, who in all likelihood does not know that Russia and Ukraine are fighting, and Trump is President of America, I could not help imagining that his parents might not know we were ever in the EU and had never told him we were. That is why I didn't give him any current affairs, or topical, news. 

I couldn't help thinking of the PhD graduate I took to the Sorbonne in Paris, a decade before. He kept wanting me to stop the van so he could urinate. The day was not hot, but he was constantly drinking water; I mean constantly. 

       'I can't just stop on a motorway.' I protested. 'Why do you keep drinking water? 

       'We have to stay hydrated!' he wailed.

       'No,' I said 'I have to stay hydrated, you do not. I am driving. You are not.'

I hadn't had a drink since 4am and it was now 11am. You won't die in Southern England or Northern France from dehydration today, if you were hydrated yesterday, in April. Most days, despite sweating heavily, I would drink only about a half a iitre of water, maybe a tin of Coca Cola and a sandwich in nine hours or so, during Summer. If this PhD graduate had parents that never showed him how the world works and he had to go on YouTube and hear that drinking a tablespoon of hot water before going to bed would help him lose weight, or listen to some ranting health freak, it is no wonder he kept needing to wee everywhere.

Looking back, I should have realised that my neighbour's father does not understand the world the same way I do, when he pointed to his son's pear tree and suspiciously asked me if I had made the branches grow over the fence into my back garden. My garden is south of his son's and the branches had grown towards the sun. 

Yet, maybe it is my neighbour's parent's parents who never showed THEIR children how the world works. 

Having experienced my neighbour's parents I now have an understanding of how immensely dim I am. I simply did not understand that some people have never been shown stuff because their parents had never been shown stuff.

But someone getting all their news from dead people and shards of pottery, is just too much for me to work out how the archaeologist, outside Aldi, had ever learned to ride a bicycle.

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Fetch the Steven

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Friday 9 October 2026 at 06:33

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Opinion

Friends in Jars

[ 4 minute read ]

'It is thrifty to prepare today for the wants of tomorrow.' - Aesop - The Ant and the Grasshopper.

I think most people might think, 'Oooh! I should save some money!' I thought that. May I suggest that is a rather narrow conclusion to make from the quote? I mean, 'A stitch in time saves nine.' neatly falls under the banner of both thrifty and preparedness. Let's face it, if something is going to be thrown away because it needs repairing then no stitches are needed, so the whole idea of applying a single stitch in time follows a decision to use the item in the future.

Perhaps, making sure we clean our tools properly before we put them away is preparing for the future and it is indeed thrifty if we do not need to replace them due to deterioration from poor storage.

In truth, what I am hovering around is something less tangible but nonetheless vital for a good future, on an individual basis that is; friendship. Callous, it may seem, to store friendship in a bottle on a shelf in the larder for later use. Would that I could! 

        'Ah ha! Old friend, I need you today. Yes, I know that I have paid you no heed for a century or so. But, my friend, we agreed that we will allow ourselves to be encapsulated for eternity merely by our memories of one another, and dash to one another's side whenever we are called or needed.'

Yup, in the land of witchery and magic! Let me think for a moment on whether I act like a Disney witch and save favours and friends on shelves. For me, symbiotic relationships are weird. Oh, I understand them, but I fail to get why people need to knit themselves so deeply into other people's lives. Where is our fortitude and perseverance if we can just send for a friend? Of course, I have still not effectively moved away from describing the intricate and complex modern world of having friends; maintaining friendship is resource expensive, no? But, hopefully no-one is keeping a tally stick that records favours, gift-giving and kindness. 

Yet, it is thrifty to prepare today for the wants of tomorrow. So, with my jaded eye I shall go online and order some friends in case I need one in the future. I mean, I wouldn't want to spend one right now because I have no unsatisfied wants if I don't include a refill of sugar in my kitchen. Is that a want or a need? Oh, I need it and I want it. I need strong coffee in the mornings to kick-start me awake and I need sugar in it. Really, Martin? The truth is, I want to move from the after-effects of sleep to wide awake in an extremely short period of time. I suppose it is a part of a patterned lifestyle of immediate gratification. 

       'Eliminate the liminal spaces!' called the two-dimensional cartoon castle guard.

       I smugly agreed, 'There's no need for liminal space! Nothing happens in them anyway. What's the point? I have friends on tap to help me right now, or whenever I need them!'

It seems I am skipping from one position in life to another without taking time to consider any option other than reaching for a jar on a shelf that contains the essence of a stored friend. I don't do that! of course not. I do value the liminal spaces and I use them, even if not the bit between my bed and a laptop. Somewhere, in the thirty or so feet traipse between bedroom and ivory tower there is an essence of me that is begging for attention. 'Wait! Wait up! Please don't ignore me.' I do; my focus is elsewhere. All those imagined friends in jars on a shelf in the larder mean I have no time for myself to look at my own resources. That isn't me.

       'Oh, how lucky you are, Martin, to have time to even consider that you do not consider yourself!' Yeah, I hear that. Yet, I plainly have a different approach to the world than my neighbours probably do. I work, I study, and I play, but it is not part of a work-life balance; it is in conjunction with looking in the liminal spaces, digging deep. It is just something I do. Oh, but wait; I have had to do that, be resourceful I mean. I grew up fairly quickly in Bosnia and Herzogovina, Croatia, Austria, Germany and France during two weeks when I was twenty-six that pretty much put the lid on my attitude to relying on other people, and that is why I can see the space on my shelf in my larder where the jars of friends are absent. I don't maintain friends. Friends to my cruel, unfeeling, and ruthless character were tools to satisfy my entertainment needs.

       'I need a conversation. Fetch the Vincent. No wait, fetch the Steven, he is more fun.'

       'Sire, the Steven is currently ignoring you. Should I court his friendship again, sire?

       'You mean you would ingratiate me to him, don't you? Never!' Plainly, he does not love me enough, the fool! Go and buy some dogs; I need to play.'

Harsh, isn't it? Prepare today for the wants of tomorrow. You see, I am hung up on what I understand to be 'wants'. Friends are not tireless objects whose purpose is to be at my beck and call. They get tired and need to dwell in their own liminal spaces, and if they don't have any liminal spaces it my duty to help them find them, and to make those spaces comfortable for them. Of course, I must be as a cool breeze in their hot lives and not let them know I was ever anything else, and definitely not carry a tally-stick.

       'Fetch some batteries. This friend needs more energy.'

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We can both do well

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Thursday 8 October 2026 at 07:21

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Opinion

We can both do well

[ 5 minute read ]

Ever since I can remember words just pop into my head. Of course, I don't mean everyday words; I mean words I have no recollection of ever hearing or reading or otherwise coming across. Today, 'extant'. Since I don't know what it means I had to look it up. Unfortunately, because I was doing something else on my laptop I had to type it into my browser so I would not forget to hunt for the meaning. 

Extant: used to refer to something very old that is still existing. We have some extant parish records from the 16th century. 

https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/extant

My 1962 publication of Roget's Thesaurus has it as an adjective under 'Existence, 'existing', perpetual and gives a few synonyms: standing, surviving, extant, undestroyed, undestructible

Near that entry is the word quidditative essential, subsistential, substantive. A wonderful word.

I can tell you that I harvested all that from the first entry in my Roget's thesaurus which pages have a peculiar smell to it, never been opened to that page in sixty-six years? Because I believe in weird stuff, like magic  and spells and spirits and stuff, I cannot help thinking I am supposed to find a clue to something, so I looked at the page again. I can't see anything that suddenly leaps out at me and shouts 'You found me, now let's act on it!' but I am a little spooked by this existence / non-existence thing. It might be simply a form of salutation. 'Hiya! Yup you are looking in the right direction for assistance with preventing your neighbour's spirit looming over you while you are sleeping and waking you up.' Oh, I hope so.

But this is the long-standing question, risen again from when I first encountered it at age sixteen when I was pretty miserable from domestic bullying. 'Which way would you like to choose, Martin?' I am not going to capture definitions of specific action within 'good' and 'evil'. But then, there was an experiment many years ago, testing to see if toddlers seated alone for a few minutes with a single sweet in front of them on a table would not eat that sweet when they were promised that they would very soon get a second one if they didn't. Most of them ate the sweet. The temptation was too much for them. I think it is evidence of a desire for immediate gratification. Just as it is neither good nor evil to eat the sweet, or give in to immediate gratification, eating metaphorical sweets is not always good for us either. 

My 'Leave me alone, neighbour!' could have future effects that are quite unfathomable to me today. In the past, I have visited my mother and stayed the night. She always went to bed before me. What we need to understand at this point is, by this time she had bought her own house and none of us children had grown up in it. It was in her mind her house and not a shared one. When I later went to bed I had the worst sleep ever. I woke unrefreshed and tired. One day I thought I would test a theory; does her spirit come out of her body and inhabit the house while she sleeps. I visited her and went to bed and got to sleep before her. I slept well and woke lively. I asked her how she slept.

       'Terrible,' she said. 'I tossed and turned all night.'

Hmm, it seems either I deliberately barred her from good sleep or stopped her spirit from barring me from good sleep. I cannot leave that resultant thought out of my life, which is why I want to eat the metaphorical sweet on the table. I want immediate gratification because I do not know the future. I don't know if my neighbour will move out next week. I suppose some people would be going down a line of thinking to do with 'manifesting'. To me, that is not much different to what I have in my mind. Yet, if I go to bed before my neighbour I am still woken when he, I guess, falls asleep and reaches a particular stage in his sleep, around about a quarter past eleven, and two and four. It seems to me to be fairly periodic and, from what I know, so are the sleep stages.

Looking inward. I have been told I do not snore but do I now? Well, when my neighbour is away for a week or two I sleep fine, so... is this an anxiety thing? Certainly, he troubles me. I mean I am scared of psychopathic ogre monsters; I would be, I had a brother just like that, hence the question that was asked of me when I was sixteen, 'Which way would you like to go? or 'How do you want to handle this?' As a teenager I was saturated by born-again Christianity in my village, All the kids were doing it. I couldn't help thinking that it would bleach out a lot of my life. Plainly, I was more in the spirit world than I thought.

I like the richness of the spirit world. i don't like the doctrine of Christianity which I have a sneaking suspicion 'manifests' in its own way; it just takes longer and requires a lot of re-moulding and hard work for the rest of people's lives. I suspect that  is often overlooked; you don't just get a membership badge with Christianity. Yet, taking out a loan from the spirit world could have interest payments that may spiritually bankrupt me. If I consider that a financial advisor works hard to maintain a level of understanding of current financial and fiscal policies and trends, and I consider a borrower as someone who does not work hard to understand and continue to understand the markets or governments, I am definitely the latter when it comes to spiritual matters. I like the fun and frilly bits; the toffee-apples and cake. I don't think I want something that is able to follow me from room to room in my home, and isn't stopped from entering my home by a locked and barred front door, collecting a spiritual debt. I know that if something is moved from there to here, there is a hole that needs to be filled.

And there is the question again. It has never gone away and I could solve a lot of my problems by becoming an adept in either camp. But, immediate gratification? Not today or even this year, and how patient am i?

The overall point here, which I have really only washed onto canvas, is, it comes down to belief. I believed if I went to sleep before my mum in her home I would sleep better, and I did sleep better. I also believed that she would not sleep well, and she did not sleep well. Now, I want to go back and try the experiment again; this time I would believe that we would both sleep well. 

       'By Jove, I think he's got it!'

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Spy Cars

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Wednesday 7 October 2026 at 08:18

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Opinion

Spy Cars

[ 3 minute read ]

Yesterday, I read an article on Euronews, titled 'Wiretaps on wheels': Drivers warned their data privacy is not guaranteed in modern vehicles'. The article is actually dated 06 September 2023, so it appears that the knowledge that electric cars listening and recording our personal details is not new.

https://www.euronews.com/2023/09/06/wiretaps-on-wheels-drivers-warned-their-data-privacy-is-not-guaranteed-in-modern-vehicles

in fact, 'The Surveillance Technology Oversight Project; The Los Angles Times; Gess Engineering; Fortune; Forensic Resources and others all ran the same or similar article. Nearly all the manufacturers say they would readily share that information with governments, even without a formal directive; in response to a mere request for that information.

Electric cars, it seems, with their multiple microphones can record and extrapolate from that data all sorts of things, even sexual activity by the cars occupants. Although the manufacturers will not say how they can get that information, it is clear that drivers and passengers freely talk without check on their discourse. Obviously, no-one should be picking up their adulterous squeeze in their car. 'Let's take a bus, sweetheart.'

I am more than a little shocked that it is not only the child's teddy-bear that connects to the internet that is out to capture early information on individuals; infants, I mean. Anyone is susceptible to spying now. The kids in the car; your mum and dad you picked up from the airport; your personal assistant; the neighbour who can't get to the shops. Any creative writer or film-maker would be delighted to be able to collect information on millions of people and assemble profiles for characters, and the plots would write themselves; just transcribe what actually happens. 

I cannot fathom why people accept this as a norm. The long-standing claim that they have done nothing wrong so they have nothing to fear just doesn't carry the same weight today. I ask who will be the next prime-minister or president and who will determine where we shop and when?

       'Well, look. We know you only use your car for shopping on Fridays so you must sell it and join a car-share group. Global climate change, you know.'

       'We know you are having an affair. You must immediately move out of this county, province or state, and your partner will get full custody of the kids.'

I don't have the mental capacity to imagine what other drives any new Government may make in fifty or seventy years time that will affect my children and grandchildren.

       'Okay kids, we are going to get in the car, so you must not say a single word and you must carry this heavy weight on your lap so you seem bigger on the seat. Oh, and by the way, duck down or wear this mask in the car, because the cameras can use the images of you growing up to form an image of how you will look when you are an adult, so you will never be able to hide when everything goes wrong for the world.

Have electric car drivers not thought things through? Has anybody? I mean a lot of people use SmartPhones that can record conversations even when they are not in use.

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Woman up

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Friday 9 October 2026 at 09:30

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Opinion

Woman up

[ 1 minute read ]

Sometimes I despair.I am waiting for students to pluck up the courage to make themselves known They seem to have an imagined scenario in which the persons who have access to the same group forum are all ravenous beasts ready to tear at their soft bellies. Just say hello and retreat if you wish but at least stop waiting for someone with a spoon to feed you, No-one is going to do that. It is part of being an adult. We all have to woman-up or something. That sounds to me like weaponising ourselves with the assistance of a woman. I mean we could arm-up with guns or feed-up someone; but 'womaning-up', is a strange thing indeed.

Surely, it beats the cry of the defeated after a primary school playground fight.

       'I'm gonna tell my dad!' 

       'Go on then. I am going to get a woman!'

       'Never mind then. I'm going home. You can keep my ball.'

No, we no longer want to 'man-up'. Used to upgrades and downloads in the modern world, we should be seeking a woman as an upgrade, no?

Unfortunately, there are other ways of hearing 'Woman up'. One of them might be in a restaurant kitchen. 'Woman up. Table four.'

None of these are good. They all smack of servitude. What a pickle! Woman should not even be considered to be a commodity that can be strapped to your waist and used in a duel one misty dawn in a country park. Neither should they be served on a platter to a customer. 

You simply can't 'woman-up'.

Of course, this is all vernacular and it is preferable to be more circumspect in our use of language. 'Come forward' and 'Step up to the mark' while still idiosyncrasies, have no gender connatations. 

So, adult-up everyone!

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At Last

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Tuesday 6 October 2026 at 17:18

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Opinion

At Last

[ 4 and a half minutes read ]

I played the remastered track ‘At Last’ by Etta James on YouTube last night. ‘At Last’ is also the name of her album of 1960. The YouTube ‘track / song’ has had over sixty-five million views.

There was a comment, ‘I played this song in the Sims 4 when my sim and her boyfriend danced together’. She gave her tag as ‘SayounaraXXXX’, with some numbers at the end instead of x’s, but on a platform that invites discussion on the subject material, the video.

I was quite touched by this. I couldn’t help but see a young woman sighing as she played with the little dolls. I suppose there is some hope of a similar romantic dance in her own real future. Yet, it is not her hope that sparked my empathy; it was her softness. In her moment of romantic love, albeit vicariously through her Sim, she was supremely beautiful.

I have always thought that cuddling up with a loved one is soppy. Certainly, I am emotionally derailed by seeing ‘Public Displays of Affection’ - PDAs. I suppose you have to be in it to feel it. Being someone with a background of parental violence when I was small, I never got used to, or embarrassed as a teenager, by my parents kissing, cuddling, holding hands, gazing at one another, or acting in any intimate or loving way. When I say ‘soppy’ I mean, ridiculous, or something that may invoke someone to motion sticking their own fingers down their throat. I wish I was different. However, as a teenager and young adult, it was common at parties to see people snogging, but they weren’t in love.

I think there is an openness to be vulnerable that is required to be intimate with someone else. One’s guard needs to be dropped to allow trust to take over as overseer.

‘I am in Your hands now. Don’t let me fall!’ Like two people standing on tiptoes on the highest peak, while holding onto each other for balance, so they can experience the finest and richest panorama imaginable.

It is this openness that fascinates me. Much as someone is ‘bewitched’ by someone else, and would say that they are in love, where others might say, ‘smitten’ or ‘besotted’, I wonder if they would be so, if the person of their desire was not open to being vulnerable, such as I suspect the person who posted on the Etta James, ‘At Last’ video clearly was, in her home.

I think I have a parallel thought to the recognition of vulnerability, that is invoked when I go, ‘Ahhhh!’ It is almost like pity and fear mashed together. I want to watch out for danger that could leap out and surprise the vulnerable person(s). You know, the six year old kid on the huge ‘Britain’s Got Talent’ stage, watched by three thousand judges in real time, and millions of viewers later.

The funny thing is, I repeated a section, multiple times, of a different video in which, I think a young woman had a fall. I actually cannot remember what happened to her; that was not the interesting thing to me, and I certainly get no ‘Schadenfruede’ (harm-joy) from seeing people get hurt. I got pleasure from hearing a chorus of mixed voices chime, ‘Ooooooh!’ Empathy.

The comment on the ‘At Last’ YouTube video came from someone empathising with herself through the use of her avatar. That is amazing and fascinating. Fascinating, in the real sense of fascination. I am like a deer in the headlights staring at a phenomena of the most profound wonder.

When I was still very young, I overheard my brother saying, ‘Mum, he's doing it again.’ My mum started calling my name which came to me louder and louder, ‘martin, Martin, Martin, Martin, Martin'. I was irritated by it. I had been ‘fascinated’ by a bright light and complete and utter peace, and then rudely brought back to the real world. I am still deeply, but mildly, annoyed now. I once, apparently more than once, knew complete, unadulterated fascination.

The recognition that SayounaraXXXX is using a doll as an avatar for herself, perhaps without realising it, has widened a vivid path of thinking for me. I should very much like to be present when SayounaraXXXX meets ‘The One’ and is warmed and excited by her fantasy of reciprocated love from someone special, made real.

The combination of the orchestra-backed song ‘At Last’, with [Etta] ‘James singing with the cathartic intensity you’d expect from someone who endured a troubled upbringing.’ (Scanlon, 2024), and SayounaraXXXX’s wishes for a romantic marriage, that are steeped in vulnerability, just completely overwhelms me. I don’t think I have ever been successfully seduced by anyone or anything, until now.

Scanlon, Kelly, (2024) faroutmagazine, “Soul Reinvented: the stirring story of Etta James’ ‘At Last”, https://faroutmagazine.co.uk/stirring-story-of-etta-james-at-last/, 2024

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I liked being boorish

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Tuesday 6 October 2026 at 06:47

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I liked being boorish

[ 2 minute read ]

Opinion

Good Crikeyness! I am living an existence of playing catch-up by my own hand. It seems I strode forward waving a banner of competence and now I follow myself along, the only other person in the parade, and find I am inadequate to support my banner-carrying self by not being able to answer questions properly. 'Er, I dunno.' seems to be my 'go to' response.

I really need some vitamins and minerals again. Words have melted into the dark recesses of my memory. They are hiding from me, afraid to come out because I have whipped them into presenting themselves as something they are not. I am operating an 'It will do' policy. That  is an abhorrence to me. I have lost confidence that I am using the right words and it is stymieing my free style. Watching and testing every word is tiresome and draining for me. 

I think I may have figured out why reflection after an event is just so important. Did I do what I wanted and where are my mistakes? Yuk! If that doesn't erode my boorishness nothing will. I like being an arrogant idiot. I grew into it very easily. Lately though, I have people around me to cause me to check myself, as in pause and stop and halt. My 'C'mon, the water is fine!' has turned into 'Can anyone identify that species of predatory fish?' Oh me, oh my! It is like returning to exercise after eating myself out of house and home for a decade. Self-doubt is not a much practiced attitude for me, even if it is the template to which I wake to each morning. I push it aside and tell myself that I am negating my natural ability to use my own resources and get out of bed. But now, it is like putting on spectacles and seeing how dirty my home truly is.

I shall be buying vitamins and minerals supplements, but, in the meantime, I shall regret being so slovenly and unfocused; taking mental holidays and lounging around over the summer. I am a waster. But I wasn't challenged! Was I? Was I?

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Blithering Idiot

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Monday 5 October 2026 at 12:59

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You Blockhead!

[ 4 minute read ]

Opinion

Yesterday, I was listening to LBC, the national 'phone-in' radio station in the UK. One of the presenters posed a question that had me reaching for my phone, at least mentally. Knee-jerk reactions I am good at; too good. A more measured approach is to wait a while and listen to what people have to say before wading in and knocking their opinions aside like so many skittles in front of a heavy building site excavator. Oh yes, on the subject of why are more people in the service industry getting more abuse from customers I have an opinion; one that has not changed in years. I switched the radio off because I felt I would be irritated by the callers. Perhaps I should have left the radio on, locked all my doors and shut my windows and opened a bottle of cough mixture to dull my ire. Maybe I would have learnt something. But, I am fed up with people bleating that they are victims when they have done nothing to prepare themselves for real life.
'Why are more people in the service industry getting more abuse these days?' or something like that. I almost never state my position on topical issues or current affairs. But this one really gets my goat. It is not the question or the target that is important to me, it is the hegemony behind the question. There seems to be a position that the customer is wrong to be enraged by the actions of train staff and doctor's surgery reception staff and so on. While I don't condone letting any of our emotions fly free in public and I am a firm believer, in that vein that there should be no Public Displays of Affection, I cannot help but have a ready response to the statement 'Abuse of our staff will not be tolerated.' My answer to that is, 'Then employ people who are good at their jobs!' It is not enough to just be able to speak and write the appropriate language if you deal with the public; it never was. Yet that is all I seem to get from people behind desks with public-facing roles. I do not notice any Customer Service training at all. Surely, staff dealing with the public should be trained to diffuse tension. If they cannot do it they should be relieved of their job, moved to another department and their CV closely scrutinised for fraud.
Surely, a good government should make good customer service a Health and Safety issue. There should absolutely be people wandering around calming people down. Instead, political parties back-stab each other at their conferences and foment an attitude of 'It is okay to attack anyone who does not belong in our group or disagrees with us.' I should like to bar any person from office who promotes such behaviour, except I cannot. Instead i have to expect to find the public emulating public figures who are demonstrating themselves to be less than civil.
Why are more staff getting abuse? It is two-fold: Because the public have no moral compass from which to steer and because staff have personal phones that they not only interrogate first thing in the morning but also throughout the day. Staff can get bad news during the day that will affect their disposition for hours afterwards. An example is this: If someone is dumped by their partner but the affected person must be at work, we cannot expect that person to compartmentalise such an issue and be professional at work. Why not? Because they are not trained to do so. Perhaps cabin crew in airliners might be and military figures but anyone else, no chance.
I have long stated that I find most of the world's ills come from internet access and social interaction through mobile phones. Ignorance is bliss may be a old aphorism, if it actually is an aphorism, but it is definitely more relevant today than when I first heard it. 
Text message: I have left you. Text message: You have failed your exams. Text message: Grandma is dead. Text message: You have won ten thousand pounds. 
In my eyes, the overriding issue is this: we are living multiple lives with multiple influences simultaneously. My politican derides other people and shows contempt and my phone tells me I am a bad person or not deserving of good attention while the person in front of me has a whole bunch of issues that they have not been trained to deal with but they are inadequately dealing with me. Go figure. Properly and thoroughly train people to deal with their lives BEFORE they are given jobs or take their phones and society-wide connection away.
Oh, and stop being mean to each other you blithering idiot politicians. Immunity in the House of Commons should be abolished. Yet, let us look at how politicians get to where they are. People actually vote for back-stabbers as though these candidates are normal. Where did the BBC go? Once a stalwart of respectability it is now a reflection of the people, who in a vicious circle reflect it. Who thought that was a good idea? I might say it all started with 'EastEnders'. As a docu-drama, cool. As a soap with characters that the public identify with and so find relevance and validity in their own lives? definitely not a good idea to air it.
Would you prefer to not know the truth, Martin? No. Politicians are not good people or at least act as though they are five years old or drunk and television dramas and perhaps more pertinently, EastEnders, are from scripts written by people with good imaginations making money; the more salacious the better! No, I definitely want the truth.
Get under the stairs with a torch and a sandwich and stay there until the world has recovered some decorum.
 
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Battle

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Tuesday 6 October 2026 at 10:21

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Battle

[ 2 minute read ]

Opinion

I think we are coming up to my favourite day, a day that England does not celebrate; 'Battle of Hastings Day'. On the 14th October 1066 Harold Godwinson, King Harold to you and me, but Harold II to England, fought William, Duke of Normandy. Nine hundred and sixty years ago those two had a fight to see who would be King of England. Fortunately, William won. What? Fortunately? Yeah, Harold wasn't a very nice man and nor were his family. I think they were like the bankers in London during the 1980s and 2007 - 8. 

The Battle of Hastings is the last time that England was successfully invaded by a conquering army and it is because of these Normans that we have lovely castles to visit and French words in our language. Never mind the dispossessed and the beaten, the down-trodden and the enslaved. Never mind feudalism and serfdom, we have nice castles to look at. There are even some in Wales! Hurray for the early idea of future tourism. But, by Goodness, it took a while and a lot of deaths to get to our favoured position. Of course, the modern population won't agree with me on this subject, after all we left the EU. All that hard work the Norman kings and taxes did to get us to be a central power in the modern world and we throw it all away with a vote. Shame! At least we could have had another bloody battle; a civil war or something on the subject, to honour the fallen on the 14th October 1066. 

I am jesting. Time moves on and being attacked by Normans is still an open wound in the English to this day. Even the French remember it and have tried to eradicate English words from their language. So I say, let us not say 'ventilation' let us say 'windilation' instead. 

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Look over There

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Sunday 4 October 2026 at 19:05

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Cadwell NOT Caldwell

You sluggard!

[ 3 minute read ]

Opinion

I have a laissez-faire approach to life; except I don't, because I do not have a 'minimally restricted freedom in commerce' and my unwillingness to get involved in other people's activities is actually disinterest. How about if I was to say that I suspect badgers and Muntjac Deer are eating the last of my ripening tomatoes, and that I take a position of, 'Oh, let them. They are probably hungrier than me,' I might be able to pretend that I am somehow generous and hide how lazy I truly am.

       'Well, it's a big job.' I stood beside myself with hands on my hips. We, both me and I, knew that the whole area around my garden would need to be cleared and a good fence put in.

       'Yup, 'spensive too!' I nodded. For a few years now I have been considering the costs and benefits of spending a lot of money. Not money on a fence or a car or a new washing machine, just spending a lot of money. I looked at myself still nodding beside me; lazy and cheap then, I thought. My nodding, I noticed, was more like a horse tossing its head than an agreement; stupid too, I concluded.

Work Smarter, not harder. I suppose I could come up with some plan to make the renovation of my garden into a neighbourhood project; something like providing work experience for young people and offering a view into working with others through holding some kind of responsibility. You are in charge of the east side, you the north, and so on. I suppose I could even promote someone to project manager or garden planner or something. Of course, their parents would necessarily pay for the fence. Hmmm, hundreds of pounds. I might have to play two hands in this game. Poverty and training opportunities as a community-minded enterprise, perhaps.

I suppose it is a pride thing that might let me beg for a fence to stop wild animals eating my tomatoes. If I think about it practically it is a hard sell; buy me a fence because I have a hobby which I am too foolish to be able to find a fresh approach to. I mean, raised beds would save the fruits. After all, Muntjac deer are not very tall and European badgers are not known for their climbing abilities or aspirations. And, I suppose a smaller inner fence around the tomato plants might work. 

I can't help liking the idea of successfully bringing a gardening project to the fore though. It has opportunity sprouting out of it in different ways. It could mean that my village gets a free work-force and all that villagers need to do is stump up the money for the materials for their own properties. It could mean I get a house-point in my village. 'Here he comes, good old Martin!' Yet, I think that might be a dead-duck. It would more likely be, 'Here he comes, weirdo Martin begging again with some new-fangled idea rattling in his empty head!' 

       'Change! Change! Spare some change for a new drive at number 43.' Considering that, I can't help thinking about hungry people and I would like it to be, 'Spare some change for a community fridge, Guv'nor?' I seem to have gotten somewhat lost it seems. The right approach is to have a market garden perhaps. 'Mend my garden fence and share in eating the tomatoes!'

There is another scenario. I have to wedge a small piece of timber between two fences that border my path to my back garden, to hold the sagging apart. If you don't know it is there you will bump your head on it and dislodge it. Twice last month, in a period of three days, I noticed it had fallen and there were no ripe tomatoes ready to be picked. With this in mind, I readily grabbed the book, 'The Mammoth Book of Special Forces Training' by Jon E. Lewis, with a particular interest in booby traps, from the nearby telephone library. 'I am gonna catch me a man!' I doubt it. Digging pits and growing springy trees is more than I care to do, although, there is a modicum of sadistic pleasure in poking a man hanging upside down by his ankles. 'Got you now, you greedy pig! What do you have to say for yourself now, other than oink oink, huh?' 

No, procrastination wins the day. I knew I had a tough fight when my competition was late for the game. What a monster! 

       'We have a good fight ahead tonight folks. Sniveling in the blue corner, Martin Cadwell; and in the red...Procrastination. With Laziness as Procratination's second there is not much Martin will be able to do in this fight. We wonder why he bothers.

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Verbal football

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Sunday 4 October 2026 at 08:54

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or search for 'martin cadwell -caldwell' Take note of the position of the minus sign to eliminate caldwell returns or search for 'martin cadwell blog' in your browser. There is a space between my name and the minus sign and NO space before 'caldwell' to eliminate the name 'caldwell' in the Google listings

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Cadwell NOT Caldwell

Verbal Football

[ 1 minute read ]

Opinion

I might offer a piece of writing to be used as a verbal football. I could offer the bare bones of a scene and allow other people to add elements to it as they see fit. 'Hey, you, Yes you. May I take a moment of your time? I wonder, would you like to describe the characters in this scene? Ah, I see, yes. Perhaps your friend would like to contribute some speech. You would. What's that? I see. Somewhat fruity, wouldn't you say? Lascivious! Yes, perhaps the scene doesn't call for lusty interaction. Never mind. Thanks, anyway.'

A lot of people are really shy about writing something and showing it to the public. It takes practice to get good at making a fool of yourself and not caring, or is it noticing? After a while, I think we improve yet I know we must be patient and not expect to be able to just trot out a thousand words of wonder.

Hmmm. What to do. I want to help people to come out of their shell but they are not tortoises tempted by lettuce, and if you poke a snail in the eye, it doesn't come out for ages. Tricky!

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Atavistic Pleasure

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Saturday 3 October 2026 at 08:38

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or search for 'martin cadwell -caldwell' Take note of the position of the minus sign to eliminate caldwell returns or search for 'martin cadwell blog' in your browser. There is a space between my name and the minus sign and NO space before 'caldwell' to eliminate the name 'caldwell' in the Google listings

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Cadwell NOT Caldwell

I put a spell on you

[ 2 minute read ]

Opinion

WARNING - SUPERSTITION and DROWNING

Things are difficult now. I recently discovered that there are people who will harvest from the work of others to feather their own nests. Scavengers, like magpies, they look into corners to see what they can take. Something shiny? Perhaps with a little polishing they can make something of it. Their goal is to borrow, at least that is what they say, and by way of giving it back they say they will say where they found it. It is how they allow themselves to steal through telling themselves they are honest that sticks in my craw. 

But not only that. Gatherers have stripped the honest worker of reward. Hard-working and pioneering folk, these people have toiled for hours, and through trial and error and much time spent, have produced something useful or beautiful. Proud, they may exhibit it for the public to see. Then, along comes a thief who packs a mould around it and whisks the shape, the tale, or the design away and reproduces it. The thanks is a note on every cast piece that states where the thing was first seen or found. My father said to me 'I have a pocket-full of Thank Yous and I can't spend them.' Something that was rare is made cheap by these pilferers who work in the shade. I point a poison finger at them and spit in their direction to avert their evil. I long that they always spill their salt and that dogs forever howl near them. These dark shades are drains on our souls and they must be lit.

WARNING -DROWNING

I had to be taught not to leave valuables lying around because they can be taken; my brother, a dark shade, stole from me, and profited from my hard-won successes. A piggy-backer, he leapt on my back and weighed me down. He reached forward and and grabbed every fruit and every opportunity before I could focus. Greedy and selfish, he gnawed at everything in case it had any flavour. Stopped from drowning me when I was four, years later, he thrashed and pleaded as he himself gulped for air but there was no-one there. 

WARNING OVER

It is not difficult to slide into a dark way of thinking and so much easier if you have superstition to act as hand-holds or signposts along the way. I am fairly well inclined towards the kind of thinking that allows magic and superstition and curses and manifestations to billow out of the ether. I suppose many of us can feel the softness of letting go a bit and leaving the hardness of the modern world, and I have to say, I was beginning to enjoy myself a bit too much for a while back there in the earlier paragraphs; way too much atavistic pleasure; way too much.

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You are right, it is my fault

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Friday 2 October 2026 at 14:18

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Cadwell NOT Caldwell

You are right, it is my fault

[ 4 minute read ]

Opinion 

Isn't it strange how people cross the floor, or how we change our minds and find new support networks?

A long time ago, my friend was visiting me and my wife (I think we ought write it 'wife and I' but he was visiting me as the primary person). My wife and I were having a conversation on how I present myself.

'It is not what you say,' she stated, 'It is the way you say it.'

I thought, 'Well, if you know that then what is the problem? You know I am weird, so what?' Intransigent as I am, when it comes to protecting myself.

My friend stepped sideways and stood with his shoulder almost touching my wife's. 'She right, Martin.' Something clicked in my head. The sum of what had just taken place overwhelmed me. It was not the words; it was being the outsider to my marriage. The close proximity of my wife and my friend as a united force in verbal agreement finished my marriage, right there and then. Yes, I know. It couldn't have been much of a marriage, and how weak you are, Martin! Nonetheless, that is what happened. My fragility could not stand being an outsider to my new marriage. I suppose adultery outside of a mature marriage might have a similar effect, except there is at least something tangible, if discovery or confession, as a notion or realisation, can ever be weighed in our hands and is considered to supersede the need for a continuance of a long-standing reliance on another person.

I suppose it is realisation of one of our faults, that, by way of a back door takes us by surprise and causes us to react strongly.

'The game's up, Martin.' This came from the door behind me while I faced my accuser by the window. 

'You will never take me alive!' I shouted, desperately seeking an escape route. The window! Oh well, there will just have to be collateral damage. Not that I thought that; when you get ambushed from behind by your own self, you don't think about saving others.

My brother's partner was not known for being particularly good at academic stuff; she could read and write, but she wasn't going to write a novel. Benign, mundane and banal, I rudely and dismissively thought. One day, she stated that she was surprised to find sweetcorn in a tin.

'Why is sweetcorn in a tin? It isn't a vegetable.'

'...course it is' I replied.

'No, it's a grain.'

The bottom fell out of my world. Of course sweetcorn is a grain. I hadn't really bothered to notice it before. I had always eaten it as a vegetable, fresh from our garden, boiled and smothered with butter. It always used to burn my fingers when I held the ends. I had eaten sweetcorn from a tin. No amount of butter cheers it up. The trip for me was that two suppositions collided and I was left foolish. I had come to regard my brother's partner as a bit dim and not particularly interesting, and I had always assumed that sweetcorn is a vegetable; my father used to grow it in our garden, and wheat used to grow in a field opposite our home, and I knew that my 'Ready Brek' was oats. Being told by someone, whom I regarded as unworthy to teach me or show me anything of consequence, that my belief was wrong, just flipped the world, while of course, I stood firmly still. No, I changed after that wake-up call. I realised just how wrong I can be and that if I saw myself walking down the street I would cross the road to avoid meeting myself. That was the third, and so far the last revelation to me, that I can put my finger on. 

The first time I was given to make a significant change in the way I thought was when I received a letter from a girl in Germany, whom I had been a bit more than friendly with when I was seventeen and working in Germany. Back home in England, I had written to her a few times and had not received a reply. I wrote protesting that I had been generous and spent money on her and treated her and asked why she had never replied to any of my letters. I was eighteen and stupid to hold that as a good reason for favour. She spoke really good English and I was surprised to one day open a letter that was written in German; the only one she ever sent to me. She wrote that she had written countless letters and then torn them up, and then in frustration decided to write in German because she could better explain. The essential part was a response to my claim that I was due a letter because I had showered her with gifts and money. Her sentence, paraphrased, said, 'Never add up what you have done for someone, in case that person can show that they have done more for you'. In fact, that is near perfectly what she wrote. Reading that was a moment I shall never forget, and it seems that Petra changed the way I went on to think. I honestly don't recall ever keeping score or claiming points in anything other than a board-game or a sports game, and even then never remembered it. I haven't kept score or added up, not in any argument or at Christmas when it came to giving presents. 'I did more,' simply never arises.

My opening sentence was a question. 'Isn't it strange how people cross the floor, or how we change our minds and find new support networks?' It is not so funny if we can find something in ourselves to be able to judge ourselves and find ourselves guilty and still move on with that. It is foolish to cling to a sinking life-raft just because that is where we placed our trust or belief. 

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Why Won't You Talk?

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Friday 2 October 2026 at 14:17

All my posts: https://learn1.open.ac.uk/mod/oublog/view.php?u=zw219551

or search for 'martin cadwell -caldwell' Take note of the position of the minus sign to eliminate caldwell returns or search for 'martin cadwell blog' in your browser. There is a space between my name and the minus sign and NO space before 'caldwell' to eliminate the name 'caldwell' in the Google listings

I am not on YouTube or social media

Cadwell NOT Caldwell

Those bovine people

[ 2 minute read ]

Opinion 

I noticed a woman carrying a Coop shopping bag today in my village. She was leaning quite significantly to the opposing side so I concluded that she might appreciate some help, and she was delighted to hand her bag over to me. I put it on top of my own purchases from the Coop and off we set. Do you know what? she barely spoke. I had to carry the conversation right from the off. I mean her opening question was. 'Where were you off to?' and my answer, 'Home.' Subject done and dusted. There is nothing left to say. It is a non-starter. 

I spoke about studying, squirrels, sports, aircraft, even the weather; and nothing. It was like talking to a marionette. Why are so many people so reluctant to find something interesting and evocative in what they hear and verbally respond. I found the whole journey with her so awkward. Has nothing I have mentioned not triggered anything in your mind? Nothing?

When we got ot her house I read the bootstrap on her T-shirt, something to do with a medical service and managed to get her to say she wasn't a physiotherapist, she had just had some 'physio. That was it! The total amount of information she gave out but she let me know where she lives! What can she be fearing? How private does she think she needs to be? One must not talk about oneself? That went out with the dinosaurs. It is all that people do these days. 

I despair. I can never find an open person who I can just listen to. I can never find a confident person, an interesting person who will just talk and interact and respond to other people talking. Is it me? Do I really have to respond to an opening such as, 'Where were you off to then?'? I mean what purpose is there behind knowing where I was going? She wasn't coming and plainly I was no longer going there!

I suppose I should allow people to mutter meaningless crud at me and 'moo' back at them or 'baa' or something. 

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