Category: Longform
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The Old Hag
The old house was long and thin, with dark corridors that ran from one end to the other, beside narrow rooms and cold passages, a front room, a dining room, a living room and a kitchen. Upstairs were four bedrooms with a bathroom in the middle, the wooden floorboards boomed and creaked with every step. I lay in the back room above the garden that grew wild, so cold and lonely, but sleep took me away as she did every night.
The screaming woke me.
The voice was sobbing, weeping, crying out for help, filling me with its fear, its sobs and cries, as footsteps urgently pounded the way to my sanctuary, beating on the door, “Help me! Help me! Please!”
I tried to move, I wanted to help, to say something, anything, but my hands were tied, I was strapped to the bed and gagged, I couldn’t move or speak.
Christ I could barely breathe as the door opened, the screaming stopped and the small dark figure entered and came over to me. It’s breath was loud, shallow and hoarse.
Now I started to make a sound. A pathetic, frightened, cowardly whimper, as the figure climbed on top of me and sat on my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I looked at its face…
I woke with my heart beating its way out of my chest as the footsteps pounded away down the hallway, taking the sobbing voice with them, as I dried the tears from my cheeks, my mouth dry, and tried to unsee the face that woke me, that saved me.
How I listen to music
I love music. Who doesn’t? I guess there must be some people. I was one of them.
I stopped loving music when I was too busy feeling miserable to love music or anything else. I stopped loving music when I converted from the warmth and intimacy of vinyl and mix-tapes to the colder and harder to get close to CDs, and later mp3s. The difference between analogue and digital. I do miss my old records.
I started loving music again when I started feeling better. I started loving music again when I started investing in better listening gear and lossless digital recordings. I’m no audiophile, but it makes a big difference, even (or perhaps especially) to my untrained and unbalanced partially deaf ears. And I honestly don’t miss my old CDs.
How do I listen to music now?
I’ve got a massive pair of old Jamo Gale Force 25 (or 35?) speakers, which I must have bought nearly thirty years ago. Back then they were used as mini-PA speakers in my old band’s rehearsal room.
Since then they’ve provided a heavy bass and mid-range sound for music and TV connected through my Sony amplifier (much, much better sound than my previous Marantz and Cambridge Audio amps). I added a pair of smaller QAcoustics top speakers to these a few years ago, which noticeably (and unsurprisingly) improved the top end and overall sound.
Although I could stream from my phone via the Bluetooth link on the amp, this year I acquired a Tempotec Serenade X music streaming device, which does the same, but with a built-in DAC (digital to analogue converter). It makes a massive sound difference, even at a relatively low cost (these things can cost hundreds if not thousands).
Plus it can connect via ethernet cable to hi-res streaming services Tidal or Qobuz, and play my entire lossless digital music collection via a connected micro-SD card.
All of that said, it’s not often I get to listen to my music without using headphones. My little kid used to love watching the psychedelic videos of The Beatles and The Stones on YouTube, as well as some Tiny Desk concerts, but that all stopped when he quit daytime naps when he turned four and discovered YouTube Kids and how to operate the TV remote control.
For years I had a pair of cheap Sennheiser headphones, which were decent enough for listening to mp3s via my laptop. In 2018 I got a Dragonfly Black DAC that plugs into my laptop via USB. The difference in sound quality was astonishing.
Later that year I bought a Fiio M7 DAC music player, and again the transformation of sound was literally music to my ears.
This year I got a Tempotec V3 (cheapish, but still an upgrade), and been through wireless Iris Flow ListenWell and wired Bayerdynamic DT 770 Pro Studio headphones, before this year treating myself to a pair of massively discounted wired Focal Elegia ‘phones. Each one offers a different sound. The key being that they make listening to music an aural pleasure again.
I’ve also got some cheapish EarFun in-ear buds (a big upgrade on Pixel buds) for a quick wireless listen and an EarFun dongle DAC to plugin to my headphones and phone or laptop as an upgrade on my Dragonfly.
Big kid now has my Fiio M7 and Iris Flow headphones and loves listening to The Beatles, as well as my old band Hovercraft.
The art of a good sandwich
Let’s get something out of the way before we get into the meat, or the filling, of this post. A sandwich is two slices of bread. Buttered.
I don’t want to hear anything about OPEN sandwiches. Open sandwiches are like open marriages. Great if you want someone else to have your other half.
The art of a good sandwich:
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Use multiple fillings. Four is a good number.
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Less is more. Don’t over egg it.
For example, tonight I cleared out some leftovers and turned them into a great sandwich: two slices of ham, half an avocado (sliced), three cherry tomatoes (quartered), a squirt of mayonnaise, chopped dried chives and three or four spoons of sweet and hot jalapenos out of a jar.
Many times I’ve got halfway through a “classic” cheese and tomato sandwich and thought “it’s too cheesy.” A squirt of mayo and a sprinkling of chives world have saved it. Some of that jalapeno magic would have made it.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not against sandwiches with fewer than four fillings. When I was recovering from Covid, all I could eat was cheese and pickle sandwiches. I like a jam sandwich occasionally. And if it’s a crust, I’ll even eat it in an “open” jam sandwich (or bread and jam as we call it).
Which brings me on to toast. Toast and marmalade is not a sandwich. Cheese on toast is not a sandwich. Avocado toast is not a sandwich. But two rounds of toast with a filling inside IS a toasted sandwich. (See how simple this is?)
Now, with toasted sandwiches I would advocate sticking to one or two fillings. (Melted) cheese is always a winner with the kids. Grown-ups might like to add some chopped ham, onions or mushrooms. My little kid’s current favourite is “honey toast”.
Developers: if you really want to help the community
This was survey feedback given to developers proposing to build a massive data centre on the site of the industrial estate down the road from me, but it applies more broadly to all big developers, especially those with annual profits of half a billion pounds.
I’m concerned about noise from the site causing a nuisance and health problems in an area that is already susceptible to multiple environmental health stressors, and exacerbated by deep-rooted poverty, deprivation, low pay and systemic racism and power imbalances embedded in the local authority planning system.
I’m also concerned about the local power grid. Only a couple of years ago it was reported that Ealing doesn’t have enough capacity to power more new homes that are so badly needed, particularly in Southall which suffers from chronic overcrowding. A data centre requires a lot of power. How will this work?
If you really want to do something for the local community how about you plant thousands of trees to compensate for the fact that Southall has the lowest tree canopy cover in the whole of Ealing?
How about building homes for the street homeless and providing ongoing support they will need to live in them sustainably?
How about building a drug and alcohol rehab unit to treat the ever growing numbers of addicts roaming our streets and parks?
How about using all that information processing power to work out how to provide more frequent, more reliable, free public transport in Southall and to reduce the congestion caused by all the traffic?
How about building a secular community centre, a library, a youth club, a health centre, a school? Southall is so overdeveloped now, and Ealing Labour Council sold off all our community assets to developers.
Wolves match report
We watched Wallace and Gromit this afternoon, which everyone enjoyed, little kid was particularly excited.
After that, despite protests from the kids, I watched United at lowly Wolves. I’d been convinced beforehand that this was a game the new Portuguese manager must surely win. At half-time it was 0-0 and I thought it was hard to see either team scoring (or not conceding).
Within a couple of minutes of the restart Bruno stupidly got himself sent off for fouling the Wolves right back in the Wolves’ half. Needless, and it left the ten men looking bereft without their leader, talisman, only creative outlet and most likely goal threat.
Wolves soon capitalised and deservedly went ahead. I thought United looked a little better when Casemiro and Eriksen replaced the ineffectual Mainoo and Ugarte in central midfield late on, but even then United looked like they did under Ten Hag - lost.
Yes, we can see what the new manager is trying to do. 3-4-2-1. But it doesn’t work, for whatever reasons. And like Ten Hag, he has no Plan B. Can he have lost the dressing room already? He seems to have alienated Rashford and Casemiro, and while both have their faults, both could be important players, too. Their replacements are worse.
Wolves scored a second with virtually the last kick of the game, and their new Portuguese manager recorded his second win in two games playing 3-4-2-1.
In my opinion, United should be playing a counter-attacking 4-3-3 and playing to our strengths (fast wingers), which would secure our perennial weakness (central midfield), and protect our defence. Instead we’re playing a new system, which no one seems to understand and that seems to play to no one’s strengths.
Of course, maybe we just need more patience and in another ten games it will all look different. Or we could be looking over our shoulders at the bottom three.
My year on micro.blog
I had a lot fun writing and publishing on micro.blog this year, and also looking back and picking out these (for me) highlights.
I started the year with the final (so far) part of my curriculum vitae series. The one where I found my dream job:
There was no welcome… it stank of piss. The only redeeming factor was that none of the inmates seemed able to move.
The beauty of the whole endeavour was that people needing care were no longer seen as tasks to be performed and checked off on a list, but as people who had lives, stories, senses of humour, wants and needs like everyone else.
Such a great thing could obviously have no future.
On the power of writing:
Having an hour or so in relatively undisturbed peace and quiet just to write whatever comes into my head has felt very therapeutic. I feel like something significant has changed within me, for the better.
On journaling:
Journaling is like legacy microblogging minus the passive aggressive bullshit and wit.
On the power of memory:
Nothing was where Jim remembered it. Like his hat, they were very much alive in Jim’s memory, but in the world we walked in the goalposts had literally moved, the final whistle had blown, and everyone had gone home except Jim.
On travelling abroad for the first time:
It all felt utterly surreal to me then, like being stranded on another planet, adrift in my bunk bed, alone in the halls of a spacecraft listening to the crickets and the ghostly sounds of train hours.
On local democracy:
The event itself was a repeat of several resident surveys and failed plans over the past twenty years or so. The problems are always the same. The responses from the council are always the same.
On my four year old’s analysis of the state of British politics after the results of the May General Election:
You can clearly see the Labour supermajority in red, and the Tory wipeout in blue. That they are two cheeks of the same backside is encapsulated in the red triangle atop the blue square in the centre.
On the state of our national game:
Nowadays managers - or coaches - are often restricted to, well, coaching players in training and on match days, and speaking to the media before and after games. They are seen as specialists rather than all-rounders, and more specialists from the world of finance are brought in to fire the tea ladies…
A clear and obvious error, if ever there was one, and yet we are forced to watch repeat after repeat, week after week of him getting it wrong. A bald man somehow getting balder…
Working from home has given me the time and space to transform how I work for the better. I’m better organised, more thoughtful, less rushed and distracted. I can honestly say that I’m now the most productive I’ve ever been thanks to a more comfortable, relaxed and focussed personal workspace.
On cheese:
Double Gloucester. Trump-like appearance, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a vote-winner. Biden-like quality: good all-rounder, mild, creamy, child-friendly, goes with most things, melts easily. Oily.
On the death-grip of neoliberalism:
Neoliberalism doesn’t change, and the more that the people are subjected to its bad decisions, its lust for war, for death, for oil, for money, for making the rich richer and the poor poorer, the harder it gets for people to change, and the fewer good decisions are made.
If you like guns, shooting people, torture, (mock) executions, (child) kidnapping, (attempted) murder, blackmail, gambling, Russian Roulette, cyber-stalking, identity theft, mob rule and police corruption, you’ll probably like Person of Interest.
On Lincolnshire sausages:
A special treat then was boiled sausages for breakfast. The skins would fall off, and we ate them with white bread soaked in the soup or broth they created in the pan along with a dash of English mustard.
On living and breathing music:
It’s hard not to love such amazing musicianship, singing and songs, all performed with unconfined joy in the moment.
And:
I do wonder if sometimes songs speak to me even when I’m not actively listening? When I do pay attention to the words they do carry meaning for me. They just needed to be heard.
On journaling (again):
Doing this work has made sense of a lot of daily, weekly and monthly events, habits, routines, scenarios, relationships, that otherwise would have remained loosely connected, strung together like the Christmas tree lights every year when you take them out of the box you left them in in January. In a mess, tangled up, half-working.
On the bales:
My fingertips took several days to regrow. I had fifty pence deducted from my wages for the cost of replenishing the first aid kit, and received a straight knockout for bleeding on the ropes.
On writing (again):
I write for me. It helps me breathe and to feel alive.
On local democracy (again):
If you’re lucky, you might see something done after a year or two of complaining.
On driving (and living):
Always look ahead as far as possible.
On Al:
We think Al is dumb. But we elect dumber, and Al will only get less dumb.
Toast in the Machine
Some people seem to find the idea of machine intelligence frightening. And with good reason. Because from where I’m sitting at the breakfast table, the machines around me are mostly dumber than a rock (although that’s a bit unfair to rocks, who are actually very smart).
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My music player has forgotten my wifi name and password and refuses to reconnect.
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My wife’s work laptop is making all kinds of noises trying to attract her attention, oblivious to the fact that she’s not here, and hasn’t been for a good ten minutes.
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There’s our microwave. So many buttons, settings and options. We use it several times a day and only ever tell it to heat food or drink for x number of seconds or minutes. But it’s brainless, and if you don’t keep an eye on it like a small child it will spill your drink or chuck food everywhere.
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My kettle sits quietly now, but I know that when I go to boil water for my tea later it will keep on boiling the water until I manually switch it off, despite all its various settings for different bail temperatures and offers to the keep the water warm.
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And then there’s the expensive toaster. Another one like the kettle that promises to toast (or defrost) every possible variety of bread-based product on its own individual setting, and with six settings for how brown you want it. Wonderful! The grim reality is that there are just two settings. “Untoasted “and “Set the smoke alarm off”.
I’m showing my space-obsessed four year old pictures of Pluto taken by a telescope on a spaceship launched from Earth twenty years ago and I still can’t get a toaster that can do somewhere in between soft, cold bread and cremation.
We shouldn’t laugh. We think Al is dumb, but we elect dumber, and Al will only get less dumb (and more dangerous).
How long before The Mossad detonates my toaster?
In fact, eighteen years ago (I mean, really?) I bought the cheapest toaster I could find in Argos for £10. I plugged it in, put in my rounds of bread and pressed play. Two minutes later, the plastic surround had literally melted.
I would go back to holding a toasting fork over an open fire, but/as my kids point out every Xmas) we don’t have a chimney.
The Last Supper
Work xmas lunch today was delicious, especially the spiced pear cake for dessert (albeit with the tiniest slice of pear I’ve ever seen).
Company was good, and highlighted how socially inept I am without a couple of pints inside me.
Service was excellent apart from the ridiculous length of time it took to pay the bill. They seemed to need to input each individual course into the till, but couldn’t work out why the total didn’t equal 13 x £16.95 - one of us didn’t order dessert.
Another one of our gathering is likely soon to be deported, which I felt uncomfortably aware of throughout.
Road Rage
My driving instructor told me that I would have to learn to drive twice. Once to pass my driving test (which I did first time, rather fortuitously), and once to learn to drive like everyone else does (i.e., with little regard to the laws of the land, the rules of the road, or the Highway Code).
He also gave me some more sound advice to be a good driver: in addition to getting from A to B, my aim should be to avoid causing other road users to brake, stop or get out of my way. I’m not perfect, so I don’t always get this right, but it’s something I always remember and try to do.
One of the best pieces of advice I ever received was from a friend who was totally into cars and bikes, driving them, riding them, taking them apart and putting them back together again.
His advice was to always look ahead as far as possible. It sounds obvious, but most drivers used to look no further than the end of their bonnet (and nowadays, of course, most are looking down at their phones).
Looking head as far as possible means you can see what’s going on and get a literal heads-up on any possible hazards approaching - children, people approaching a crossing point, slow moving vehicles, vehicles approaching a turning, emergency vehicles, etc.
(If only I’d applied this advice to the rest of my life! So many wrong turns, dead ends, car crash moments, write-offs, months getting roadworthy again….)
I also like to give way to other road users (small acts of solidarity) so that they can turn or perform whatever manoeuvre they need to do, or walk and cross safely. Although this sometimes results in drivers behind me (who obviously have no idea what I’m playing at) honking their horns at me or even overtaking me (this actually happens surprisingly often at the zebra crossing next to my sons’ school).
As a bonus, this strategy means that every weekday on the school run I get my road rage going by holding every other driver to my own standards:
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The speeding cars as I turn out of our cul-de-sac on to the notionally 20 mph limit “main” road.
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At the junction by our local pub where cars crossing are supposed to give way. Every day I pass there I slow down in anticipation of someone speeding through regardless, and I often have to brake sharply or stop to allow someone to turn into my lane.
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Directly ahead, the pinch point that stops lorries from getting stuck further down gives priority to drivers going in my direction, and while it’s badly designed, I usually have to give way to oncoming drivers.
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The road it leads on to is effectively a one way street as the exit is marked with a no entry sign for vehicles who would otherwise turn into it. But it’s routinely ignored and drivers coming the other way always seem to be in a great hurry in between the cars parked on either side.
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Then there’s the turn into the big main road from another one way street. The number of times I’m stuck behind someone turning right, who could have moved over to the right to allow me to turn left, but no, they need to take up the middle of the road. It’s easier now the council repainted the “Keep Clear” road markings, and that also has encouraged more drivers on the main road to give way and allow us to turn left and right.
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Speaking of the middle of the road, that appears to be the preferred place for drivers of ever larger vehicles to drive. Maybe they’re frightened of hitting a parked car or they can’t envisage exactly how wide their vehicle is?
Of course, I have to get out of their way as they’re probably not even looking.
Southall Odours
I step out of my house and immediately notice the artificial “cotton fresh” scent of odour suppressants wafting south from the old Gasworks site. How can this be? They finished remediating the contaminated earth in 2019, and people have been living there in the new homes they built since 2021.
Still, it’s better than the smell of petrol, which is what we had to put up with day and night for months on end in 2018. Bad enough to wake us up in the night during the long hot summer.
And it’s better than the smell of tar, which we still get when the wind is blowing from the west. Before the asphalt plant was built, we didn’t get any odours even though there is also a Tarmac plant nearby. The Asphalt plant owners say that is because the Nestle coffee plant closed. The (burnt?) coffee smell masked the tar.
I get around the corner of my block, on my morning walk, and see the small industrial estate that was the bane of our life for months in 2022. The main culprits were the paper recylcling company, which had its own incinerator for burning (believe it or not) plastics and coated wooden pallets.
Their neighbour opposite was a custom kitchen furniture maker, which also had its own incinerator for burning laminated particle fibreboard. The garage at the front regularly burns stuff in an old oil barrel.
All of which contributed to some of the most disgusting odours imaginable blowing into our kitchen, bathroom and hallway whe the wind blew from the north-east.
I walked down the street to the corner where the local council installed a tiny corner “wildflower garden”, which my wife and kids loved because it smelled so good. Two years later, it’s reduced to a dumping ground (no one could have foreseen this).
Further on my walk, past the homes reeking of marijuana, and weaving in and out of the obstacle course of bed bases mattresses and pallets stren across the pavements, I reach the town and smell the food aromas.
I’m reminded of the old Honey Monster factory, which used to regale us with the smell of roasted (burnt?) onions (I know, right?).
And my first visit to Southall (in daylight hours), twenty odd years ago, turning left out of the old station and naively going into the underpass. The stench of piss that hit me! “Welcome to Southall!” indeed.
I finished my walk through the town and back up round and through the park. If I’d gone further up the canal by my sons’ school I would have got the smell of the narrowboats’ wood-burning stoves, which sometimes fills the school playground and causes kids to have to use their inhalers.
And if I’d walked along the main road home or by the junction with the big industrial estate I would have choked on the heavy air filled with the exhaust fumes from cars and lorries.
Southall stinks so bad that the council set up its own Southall Odours web page, email and hotline where you can report bad smells. Because if you don’t report it, the council can’t do anything.
If you’re lucky, you might see something done after a year or two of complaining, as long as you can withstand the constant gaslighting.
If you’re unlucky, and you’re not already dead or too ill to complain, you’ll be branded a troublemaker and excluded from local democracy.
Or you’ll be told to move by the council’s community safety director.