Author: Ffiftypluses

Human being.

Rapid Ascent

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I scuba diving, as in life, a rapid ascent can bring problems. At the weekend I had the job of taking a couple of divers in to test a rescue skill needed for their qualification. It’s that thing you need when you’re out of air! Not a recommended situation and not something that should happen in the course of a normal dive. Still we train so that if it does happen we are prepared.

Under normal conditions a diver should not exceed 15 metres per second when returning to the surface. If a diver is out of air for some reason they should signal to their buddy and take the spare regulator (breathing mouthpiece) so both can carefully get to the surface together. My trainees had completed one careful lift from 10 to 6 metres depth and dropped to change roles (hero becomes victim). All systems checked. Everybody neutrally buoyant (nicely floaty, like in space) and off we go. This should have been easy. For what ever reason my trainees shot up like a rocket and ended up breaking surface. One complained that the computer was beeping and would not stop so we made for the exit slipway and did not continue out dive.

Sitting on the café over a brew we discussed the issue. Checking my computer I could see that we came up at twice the recommended rate and then some. These were not novice divers and have done this manoeuvre many times in practice. For whatever reason when it is being watched by an instructor everything goes to pieces. When you dive you take on air (or other gases) at pressure so your lungs stay inflated. Which means you take in more of every gas that is in air (in this case). Still at 21% oxygen and 79% nitrogen but at higher concentrations. The issue is the nitrogen. Too high a concentration and you get a ‘bend’ or decompression Illness. If you come up slowly some of the nitrogen flushes from your system. Come up too quickly….

Contrary to logic you should dump air from your buoyancy system as you rise to the surface. The air inside will expand as the pressure (caused by the depth) lessens. Forget to take the air out….result rocket speed. If you are at any real depth this can cause you to pass out. De brief over we returned to our respective homes. Now the nice thing about a nitrogen overdose is that you have to rest, complete rest, when you get home. The nasty stuff can be a rash, nausea, dizziness aching joints (hence the bends) and all manner of things. So home to the pyjamas and the sofa.

All divers involved are fit and well two days later. No trip to the chamber for us. Lessons learned.

Sowing the seeds

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Spring is sprung. The raised beds are finished but we are yet in danger of frost. The radish and lettuce were sown today. The beans and peas put into the propagator inside on the windowsill. The cats are very interested. It’s a question of what they dig out first I suspect.

Sowing legumes

We decided on planting our own food crop before the pandemic but have only just managed to get the beds together. I suppose there is about five square metres. I’m not sure how well we will succeed but it will be a grand experiment. In this, of all years, with a war in the Ukraine and a rise in taxes and energy costs before that, this is a good time to focus on a bit of self care and those closest to home. As I write those in Kyiv are being shelled, surrounded and besieged. They had no warning, no time to plant less time to tend a garden. There is certainly still a good chance of a frost in Kyiv.

Sorry, a bit heavy for a short post about food. These are interesting times. Stay safe.

The Lady Vanishes

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I know, Harrogate. Scene of Agatha Christie’s disappearance. I know, spa town, source of sulphourus waters. Actually I didn’t know about the Egyption connection with its own diggers on Howard Carter’s team. Its a pretty great place for a day or two…if you don’t mind hills.

Hotel staircase

The hotel was antwacky. Mainly and elderly clientele but with a few families thrown in for good measure. Staff ever so polite. I bet the place was quite something when it had its own Turkish baths now sadly closed (although the ones in town are still open but heavily booked well in advance). There were a number of sepia photos in the lobby (formerly known as the Winter Gardens).

Day one dump bags saunter into town for lunch. Quirky bistro called the Quirky Farm. Not fast food but well worth the wait. Then on to a row of small, locally owned shops to buy fabric and best of all collect a couple of Angela Brazil novels which I didn’t yet possess. Any visit to any town with an antiquarian and second hand book store is a joy and a privilege. Diner served at 7.30 after a G’n’T in the bar. Well managed carvery style cutting down on staff as the hotel had suffered the double blow of COVID 19 and Brexit taking its staff.

Day two. Leisurely breakfast (all you can eat buffet style) and check out before wandering in to visit the Pump House museum although we did not take the waters. Found the local gallery with its exhibition of spa towns around the world in photos, paintings and historic documents. By now it was almost time … we walked slowly encountering a chap selling some sort of cd from a rack besides his beautifully restored Austin 7. Now I have a soft spot for these little gems as my dad owned one which he restored, and won prizes with, when I was much younger. I was small enough to comfortably climb through the gap for the back window then. Don’t think I could do that now. To anyone who has yet to visit a vintage car and/or steam rally with its colour, noise and smell or oil and coal I suggest that you vet to one soon before they become impossible with a ban on fossil fuel.

Mini cakes

The highlight of the midweekend (not actually a weekend but we pretended it was anyway) was afternoon tea at Betty’s. Harrogate officionados will be familiar with the queue of around 40 minutes just for tea and a cake. We took the civilised option and booked. The Imperial Room above the main shop and cafe is all that you’d imagine. White linen cloths, potted palms and impeccably dressed staff. A live pianist playing in one corner. Every care was taken to ensure allergens were removed and we ate. More sandwiches, no problem. Another pot of tea? Certainly. All in the price.

I recommend the concept of the midweekend. Some might call it a mini retirement or a holiday. All I know is that a couple of days looking at a different place is good for the soul. BTW we didn’t join in with the TaiChi in the park but may e we should have.

Owning slavery

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Odd title eh? I spent last evening listening to Laurence Westgraph black historian and founder of the Liverpool and Slavery group. He was speaking at the Atheneum Club in Liverpool. The club has been around for a couple of hundred years. The founders included those who profited from the slave economy and those who opposed it. Some switched sides, for the better. One, William Roscoe MP lost everything in voting to abolish slavery. The club under it’s current president is looking at ways to pay respects and acknowledge the historic significance of its involvement in the trade. The audience was largely white, largely middle class and very engaged.

Many of Liverpool’s streets have names reflecting this trade, the names of the owners. There is only one named memorial in the gardens of the Parish Church of Our Lady and St Nicolas, that belongs to the first black resident of Liverpool. Abell a freed slave. The current Rector is also the current president of the Athenaeum. The club holds records of slave ownership and is committed to publishing research based on these. There are currently two doctoral candidates working on the records. It is not comfortable work but it is necessary. Liverpool was built on the slave economy.

The slave economy? Simply being a slave owner was not all of the story. Trade in slave produced goods from sugar to cotton were imported and made many a fortune. We have a Tate Gallery. The statue of the Spirit of Liverpool sits atop the Walker art gallery seated on a bale of cotton you can’t walk away from the bloody history of the city. Even the glorious Palm House was the first (and for a long time the only) place in the UK that had a statue of Columbus. When asked Laurence said that he believes that street names need to be left in place not changed so we can educate people and remind them. He gave his opinion that plaques explaining the truth should be placed near to sites of note so that all of history can be heard. In Falkener Square Gardens, for example, a sign tells of Major Edward Falkener raising a force to defend Liverpool from the French. Falkener gave money, never fought and his rank reflected the amount of money he gave all of it earned from the slave economy. (I’ve not added a link as Wikipedia has the sanitised version of the tale. Please feel free to join a walking tour if you ever visit the city.) These same philanthropists who built hospitals and churches also felt that is was acceptable to own people.

Liverpool was on the side of the Confederacy in the US civil war. It’s not a thing the current inhabitants are proud of but the people own it and are doing what they can.

Please remember that although slavery is illegal the world over it still happens. Next time you consider an eco friendly electric car think about who is mining the raw materials. Spend time finding out about sex traffiking. Ask yourself who made those clothes and at what cost? I had no desire to get preachy and yet that’s how this came out. There is more here than meets the eye. We may not be able to change history but if we do not learn about the uncomfortable past we are destined to repeat it.

I’ve got worms

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They arrived today in a large bag along with some coconut coir. To be clear these are composting worms. Apparently ordinary garden worms aren’t so hungry and therefore take longer to make compost. As ‘project retirement’ moves on apace we are having raised beds and a general garden tidy up. Brexit Britain and all that  we took the decision to grow some veg and keep our cost down resulting in some heavy duty garden work being undertaken.

There is now a 10 foot long a metre wide (yes, I’m mixing my measurements) and tucked into the corner is a little composting pod from Subpod (no they’re not paying me). Its a buried, worm based, composting system which is supposed to be less smelly and more efficient than a normal compost heap. The brick sized lump of coconut soaked in water and crumbled into the box topped with a yummy layer of cardboard and a banana skin then in go the worms all tucked up under a biodegradable blanket. Lid closed and, I am told, it can now be ignored for a week.

There’s something comforting about the idea of having the ability to grow food. I know its already a wonderful thing to have an outdoor space as the past two years have proved. There’s also a memory wrapped up in there. Both my grandfathers worked on the land. One raised turf for bowling greens and sheep for the table, the other grew dahlias and chrysanthemums for market. I spent many summer afternoons helping to round up sheep, tote bales of hay or sitting on a Victorian garden bench with my grandma bashing the stems of the flowers so they could be put in water before shipping.

I knew it was spring as a child because the rotovator man would come. My grandparents lived next door and the coming of the rotovator man meant grandad was preparing the soil for the spring planting. why own a machine that would sit in the shed for all but one day a year. The vegetable garden sat in what had been the base of a commercial greenhouse and would provide enough veg for my grandparents, auntie and uncle and our family too. if they had lost me in the summer months I’d be stealing peas straight from the plant. There were other greenhouses (glasshouses for my American cousins) with tomatoes and flowers for commercial sale. it wasn’t a bad way to grow up. We even had a Jersey cow for fresh milk. I can see my grandad now, cap turned backwards milking her and my grandma hand churning butter on the kitchen table.

I moved to the city to study. My once tidy vegetable patch (I had my own little area to manage) became a fish pond for my parents. Gardening seemed fruitless task (pardon the pun). Funny how the wheel turns.

Market Day

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There’s been a market in Ormskirk the town where I live for over 400 years. I forget what a cool thing this is. This is not a tourist market selling souvenirs and this is a working everyday goods kind of market. You can buy food or shoes or toys. My favourite stall is run by a friend and former lecturing colleague who has many degrees and publications to his name but now runs the sweet stall. It’s always a pleasant thing to stop and put the world to rights with him and, of course, to buy sweets. Next to him there’s a stall which sells cakes and the speciality of the town a particular gingerbread so famous that Queen Victoria used to buy hers here and have it shipped to London. That was when the town was a major rail head. If you’ve read Warhorse (it was a book before the musical) this is the town they used to ship the horses from too. Anyway it was market day and I had to go into town to see a man about my dodgy back.

We have a couple of chiropractors here which strikes me as odd in such a tiny place. I go to get tuned up once a month. Keeps me in trim for scuba. I say it’s a small place but we have a big University here. I used to work there. There’s some ‘town and gown’ but to be honest I think a lot of the businesses and even the market might struggle without the influx of students. There are plenty of bars and places to eat a book shop, three health food shops and a whole pile of charity shops though the indoor market (once open all week) has gone about to be turned into student flats. There are a lot of formerly historic buildings which have become student flats. It is an odd mixture. For many who come here to study the small town feels safe for others it is too small and they choose to commute from the city so they have the best of both worlds.

Market day though is pensioner central. Many people come in from surrounding areas specifically to come to the market. Thursday is old folks day and Saturday is a bit more of the general population. Even our ‘Big Issue‘ guy likes market days as they are better for sales. It is hard to imagine the place as a major hub given its current small stature but back in the day that is exactly what it was. Sometimes, when people are swerving to get around a pensioner and trolley parked inconveniently mid footpath, I like to remind myself that I have no idea what past glories these people have. You never know. I also want to ask that you look up next time you’re in a small town. Anywhere without huge modern skyscrapers. Look up. Even in the centre of a city. Above the shop fronts you’ll get a view of what was there before. One of our shoe shops was a theatre and inn. Unless you look up you would miss the relief of a ship cast into the wall and may not see the archway that lead to the coaching yard.

Dental Emergency

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When you wake up for the 5th day with a sore gum and now your face is swollen you need to call the dentist. I live in the UK. We have socialised health care. It is pretty much impossible to get registered with an NHS dentist so, for over 10 years now, I pay dental insurance. I’m not happy about it but with a history of tooth problems and no way to get free dental care its all I can do. That’s the down side. The up side is that I can see a dentist whenever. Even evening and weekend in an emergency. Today was an emergency. I told the dentist the issue. Eg. I have an abscess, had a check and was offered the usual extraction or antibiotics. Well a tooth extraction means no scubauntil it’s healed so that’s a no brainer. Down side? I’m allergic to tons of antibiotics so the only one they would give me reacts badly with alcohol. Its not really a downside is it.

We have a gardener in landscaping as a result my wife is home too because I needed to go to have my teeth and gums prodded. I have the background noise of hammering (new raised beds going in) and phone conversation as the beloved works from home. That’s OK. Plans change sometimes. Mine was not the only medical emergency as the heating engineer had one too. That’s next week for radiator replacement then. I’ve taken the opportunity to get on with my online art course. I’ll share the output occasionally. I’m reading about putting my work out there at the moment too. Maybe I’ll start a ‘books I’ve read’ list. Watch this space.

Retired not bored

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I took early retirement because my dad didn’t. Its cost him a lot in terms of his health in the years since. He was the first to celebrate my decision. Other people however seem to have taken retirement to mean ‘has nothing to do all day so can be at my beck and call’. Prepare for a rant.

I love my wife. Last week we had a bit of a situation. I’d planned a day to zoom off to the art gallery and have lunch at my club, put in some work on my PhD, various household tasks, as you do. Then the text message landed ‘Can you just go and get me some vape liquid?’ This was Monday. We had been at home all weekend (there’s a story about a broken boiler and useless trades for another day) and the vape shop had been open the whole time. So I messaged to say I would go but now this had thrown off my plans. Follows a gushing apology and retraction. Now the difficult conversation that if you want people to treat you a certain way e.g. not disturb you when busy or undertaking difficult tasks (referring to a work incident for my wife the previous week) maybe model it.

I accept that you may now be judging me. Bear with. The wife in question has ADHD. (This is my only wife please don’t get excited). It has taken years to get into the system to get a sniff or a diagnosis and we are not there yet, though hopefully in the final stages. The incident was a piece of work with a deadline and a manager who kept sending through irritating little tasks that could wait. If you know ADHD at all you will understand that any distraction is the total destruction of concentration and takes some time to recover from. There are strategies in place. Noise cancelling headphones. Closed door to signal ‘Do Not Disturb’ and at home these work well but in a connected world every ping is a disturbance. Apparently shutting the notifications off for an hour or two is not an option. My phone has all notifications switched off and if you need me urgently you’d better ring me. Point being that a difficult conversation about boundaries and use of time ensued at work.

At home we have a calendar and a daily conversation about planned activities. It’s polite and helps things to run smoothly. I’m currently refusing to use any online schedules. Had enough of them at work and a paper diary is just so much cooler. (I use one from Paper Republic with refills. They are not paying me to mention them.) I’d said what my plans were, in particular I had a PhD deadline and needed to concentrate. Sadly my way of ensuring things get done is to do them while I’m thinking about them. I do have a ‘to do’ list in my carefully constructed (cough) Bullet Journal and I’m usually pretty good at remembering things but not that day. So I reorganised my day to do household in the morning, postpone the gallery as the exhibition is on for another week, and write in the afternoon. It was Ok I achieved the main tasks. Good stuff.

Fade to Friday afternoon. I’m sitting in my club. Waiting. I have a private tutoring arrangement with a young member there and he was late. Again. I waited 30 minutes and left. I have no idea what’s going on in his head. Last week his reason was he had the books to do for his business and cancelled last minute.. The week before no idea what happened but he was distracted throughout cutting the session short to go meet a paying client. I have a strategy I’m going to try for that one. It costs me time, energy and money to be there and he seems to have no respect for that. We have another appointment tomorrow. We shall see.

My point in all this? I’m retired from full time work. I chose to do that so I could better control my time and put my focus on the things I want to do. Things that give me joy. Even housework is not taxing when you can plan to do it at your own pace not rush through it on your day off. I’ve managed to get up, make the bed, make breakfast and write this even before starting my planned activities. Its not yet lunchtime… and so what if it was, I’m retired, not bored, not un busy. I’m off out now.

NOTE: The tradesperson fixed the boiler on day 6 without heating in approx. 15 minutes. He was from a different company.

New year, Who dis?

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That is the question eh? Aren’t we supposed to be setting resolutions and reviewing the past year with a view to cutting all that is toxic from our lives and striding hopefully forward? Call me an old curmudgeon but I went to bed at the usual time on the 31st December only to be woken (briefly) by fireworks around the midnight hour. Did the usual things on the (ate, drank tea, watched telly, read) and on the 2nd went scuba diving as you do.

What is known as the ‘tank’ at the Delph Water Sports Centre, Eccleston, Lancashire. Photo is mine own

The best thing about diving I often say, is that all you can do is breathe. Stop doing that, or even hold your breath for a second too long, and things get interesting very quickly. I’m an instructor and put one of my students through his paces with some rescue skills. He did fine for a man who had been ambushed! We tootled around the shallow end (a mere 6-9m an average UK home is about 8m to the point of the house) for half an hour or so and came out a tad chill and ready for a coffee.

It’s a very meditative sport when you’re under water. If you get it right there’s a wonderful sense of weightlessness when you’re underwater (matched only by an incredible sense of ‘how heavy is this kit’ when on land). It’s a very peaceful place. Watching the fish glide by and rediscovering old friends like the tank in the image above. You have to learn patience in your preparation and in dealings with some less than considerate water users. You learn to go slow. No point in the fish shooting past in a blur as you zoom by finning like crazy. Even if you come up from the bottom too fast you stand a chance of getting a DCI (Decompression illness sometimes known as a bend). Everything about diving can be summed up as slow, patient wonder.

Today for a change I’m baking. You need patience for that too. I’m typing as the dough proves for the first time. No worries. No hurry.

Going deco

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Not a SCUBA reference which is strange for me. I’ll come back to that at some point. No, today is the day of the festive festooning of the old homestead. The cats are excited, boxes that must be investigated and, of course, ‘sat in’ added to the smell of cooking. Clearly they believe this is a good day.

The annual trip into the attic (technically bi annual as the Halloween decorations are up there too) has been undertaken. It’s been a week of ladders since I cleared out the gutters too. My hands are covered in welts as my dust allergy kicks in. What larks. After 30 not so grumpy minutes the tree is up and resplendent now the real fun begins. Is it me or is the best bit wrapping parcels? Mind you I can obsess. I did once wrap a teddy-bear so that it was teddy-bear shaped and the recipient (my uncle) said he had no clue what it could be. How we laughed. Those were simpler times. Nothing too challenging in the first tranche mostly fully square, boxed and books….although there was that one package. Can’t say too much.