ARTICLE - Closeted In A Euphemism

Jnanasalin and I, whilst recently visiting Felbrigg Hall, renewed our membership of The National Trust. After letting it lapse during the pandemic, when no one was going nowhere. This time we chose to cancel our Disney + subscription to contribute towards paying the monthly direct debit. It simply felt culturally better value to support to the Trust in it's conservation and informative educational work. We've also appreciated the efforts it has made to reflect a broader range of perspectives, from which to view the history of its properties. For which it has been getting a lot of stick from the startled horses of the right wing media.

A few years ago, some of the Trust's volunteers who worked at Felbrigg Hall, were in high dudgeon. Their wrath was being aimed at the National Trust itself, for openly revealing that the last owner of the Hall, Robert Wyndham Ketton-Cremer, who gave the house to the Trust, was a homosexual. All sorts of accusations were thrown at the Trust; of disrespecting his right not to be publicly outed after death; of virtue signaling; of re-writing history; of being high handed and insensitive to their volunteers feelings about it; that this wasn't part of the Trusts remit to do this. Some of this may indeed be true, but ,oh, that list went on and on. 

Maybe forcing their volunteers to wear gay flag striped lanyards was always going to push buttons, big time. There were such aspects in the way this historical emphasis was rolled out by the National Trust, that was indeed very clunky and came across as unsympathetic to some of the volunteers evident unease. This incident proved to be one of the early shots in what has since become lazily referred to as the 'culture war'. A disagreement often generational in nature

Whenever a person, a whole subsection of society or simply a fact, is left out of history, there is usually an uncomfortable truth wilfully being buried.  It's presence, if mentioned at all, being suggested through euphemism, or a knowingly shorthand expression empty of substantive detail. In the case of slavery, a previous owner might be referred to as - making his fortune in the colonies, in the sugar trade, or working for The Royal Africa Company, and nothing more would be asked for or revealed. You have to be further informed in order to be able to read between those lines. 

Those beautifully appointed rooms, that we are all now privileged to walk through, effectively white wash any hidden dirty laundry from your mind. They've performed this role from the time they were made, and continue to do so today. We don't want to know really, what inhumane atrocity paid for it, because it makes it harder to walk around with one's admiration unblemished. In the often rampantly camp fantasy of stately home's regal interiors, one hears the curtain swags screaming 'gay' from every gilded baroque tieback and pelmet flourish, but please do not even whisper the word out loud.

When it comes to a gay noble gentleman or woman, even at the time they were casually referred to by an extensive range of euphemisms. They were 'musical' ,'light on their feet', 'a confirmed bachelor/spinster', 'a flamboyant aesthete', 'an outrageous bonvivant and party goer', 'colourful', 'lively vivacious company', 'a sensitive type'. The sort of thing that Peter Cook perfectly lampooned with the phrase describing Norman Scott in the Thorpe trial as ' a self confessed player of the pink oboe'. The English love innuendo, a nudge and a wink, rather than a clear up front no nonsense statement. That would be all a bit too European. 

Robert Wyndham Ketton-Cremer

In truth, non of us know, given today's comparatively open attitude to being gay in the UK, whether Ketton-Cremer would have continued being so private and guarded about his sexuality? If given the choice of not living under the threatening context of illegality, the possibility of prison, of your sexual orientation being publicly revealed, your reputation ruined, of being threatened with chemical castration. Who knows how he might have chosen to live, should that surrounding climate of fear be removed. 

As most volunteers who work for the National Trust are recently retired, they are often of a generation for whom being gay would simply not to be openly talked about. Some of them at Felbrigg had known or worked for Ketton-Cremer. His homosexuality was of course known of, but he certainly never felt compelled to flaunt it.  Perhaps it was more pleasant for all concerned if such things remained under the carpet. It maybe, that even he saw being a homosexual as fundamentally not a nice thing to call anyone. He would not be the first homosexual to either wish he were otherwise, or experience personal shame. The Trust's volunteers probably were prepared to live and let live, but just drew a line at making such an obviously public fuss about it. These types of views are all vestigial remnants of an older biblical one, that homosexuality is inherrently befouling of humanity, and hence distasteful and unmentionable. They gently turn a half conscious personal dislike into some one else's self censorship.

And that I guess is it. Unless you are the person or persons being left out, being asked to self censor, or reduced to a euphemism, it probably seems not a problem, its just fine left as it is - what is all this hoohaa about representation, visibility and diversity? As a gay man, I like knowing Ketton-Cremer was queer, because I feel that ought not to be concealed, but given its place in his and the hall's history. No one ever chooses to become an example. That is usually bestowed upon a person or group by the perspective of history. 

Ketton-Cremer appears to have been a modest bookish man, living a quiet life, not rocking any visible boat. Though he probably didn't see it as such, he was not just hiding behind the elegant frontage of Felbrigg Hall, his home, but also inside the closet of euphemism. None the less, over fifty years after his death, being outed seems hardly an affront. He was a real person with his own individual interests, loves and enthusiasms. Any struggles he had in living a secretive emotional life, I can empathise with. I've been there too, its a very common experience. How he survived and thrived, in this mode of lifestyle, I could call quietly heroic.

He represents a particular type of gay man's experience. Not an exuberant or flamboyant icon, not flying the flag in your face, but shyly withdrawn, as self contained as Tupperware. Which points us toward others who also just wanted to live and love a quietly tempered life, but may not have avoided being more cruelly outed and named, in a more hostile era. Because their lack of wealth or status could not sufficiently shield them from violence or the law. This also, we need to know.

Following any history trail, we have to look more closely to spot what signs and traces there may be left, of the left out. History is not being rewritten, but broadened in its investigative scope. This is an act of salvage, recovering facts, memories, experiences and dreams. And we all will be the better for these not being read through a partially obscuring veil of language. Let us talk about the individual situation, the person, with empathy and understanding, be specific and alive to their personal history, its value, its own distinct qualities and wealth of experience. To speak clearly of what their lives were like in vivid detail. Paint a fuller picture. See people for what they were, not what we'd prefer them to be.

A HIGHLIGHT OF MY WEEK - Rose Gunpowder GreenTea

Hubby recently came back from a visit to Nottingham with a couple of packs of beverages. A rather (sharp intake of breath) potent coffee and a pack of loose Rose Gunpowder Green Tea. The later has quickly become my very favourite early morning cuppa. One that I take the time to savour slowly, to slurp and enjoy. 

Sometimes flower infused teas come near to being an insulting tragedy,  far too watery in both flavour and aroma. Or they taste synthetic, with an intensity of pong, indicating some sort of chemically induced essence has been added. As though a rose green tea was meant to be a close relation of pot pourri. I usually like a classic form of tea, and I'm not fond of the willfully exotic Elephant's Toe Nail Tea or food flavoured Bakewell Tart Tea.

This, however, is just a beautiful gently rose infused green tea. I find this is a superb way to gradually awaken to greet the morning dew and myself. Its a subtle highlight of each day, in each week, in this or any other year.

TAO TIT BITS - What is more Important

"It is more important
To see the simplicity,
To realise one's true nature,
To cast off selfishness
And temper desire"

Taken from the Tao Te Ching by Lao Tsu
Translated by Gia-Fu Feng, Publisher Wildwood House, 1974

SHERINGHAM DIARY 71 - Shrug My Shoulders & Chuckle.

Ta Da!

November 16th
So far this week the shop takings have shown a small improvement, with the emphasis on small. Yesterday's trade all happened in the space of an hour or two midday, with a whole lot of nothing either side. I got a definite impression that this was Thursford influenced, because the coaches stop over here for lunch break before heading on to Thursford for the matinee performance at 2pm.

November 17th
Its in the nature of our business, that it's obvious from the outside what sort of shop we are. With nice fabrics and hand crafted goods, soaps, candles and jewellery, etc, if that's not your bag you walk on by.  Also, if you were the sort of male who finds seeing a man knitting or using a sewing machine too challenging, you'd avoid us like the plague. Seeking refuge in the stereotypically male concern of bottled beers in the off license next door. We don't normally get abusive customers. Mid 20th century fabrics, you'd never think of them as an effective deterrent, but they are.

However, the off licence and cafe do get abuse on a regular basis from some of their customers  Yesterday the young chap who runs the cafe had to endure angry words and finger pointing by a customer whose card was declined three times. Nothing was wrong with the card machine, as it worked for customer's both before and after this guy. But regardless of this the guy blamed the cafe owner for 'not wanting his business'.

It was one of the Zeitgeists of the pandemic that people bought dogs for company. Not everyone knows how to control their dog, or take responsibility for its behaviour. Dogs peeing up walls and outside shop displays in the shop courtyard have become quite frequent occurrences. Last week, a customer in the cafe had two largish dogs who went absolutely berserk as someone else passed by with a smaller dog. The table they were sat at was upturned,and a calamitous amount of noise accompanied all the crockery, food and liquids on it crashing to the floor and shattering. The dog owners, rather than apologising or offering to pay for the damage their dogs had caused, they simply walked off.

November 18th

'Economic forecasting is there to make astrology look good' 

So J K Galbraith once said. And so yesterday the Chancellor Jeremy Hunt, plans tax rises and an austerity agenda in order to plug a so called 'fiscal black hole' in the countries finances. Any economic policy is framed around parameters imposed upon the government by itself. They are the means within which it wishes to live, a choice it has chosen to make. This time in the hope that it pleases the markets.  For a government ideologically committed to creating a smaller state and welfare sector, this also performs an auxiliary function of reducing the public sectors ability to provide a range of services by stealth, under the guise of a supposed economic necessity.

November 19th
What we don't need at the moment is atrociously wet cold weather. However, that is what we are getting, torrential rain for hours, day and night. So yesterday's shop take was, shall we say, very thin.

November 20th
Next year, should we're decide to carry on, we intend to start doing more makers markets. The difficulty with that as an endeavour is that its virtually impossible, without going to one, to ascertain from their publicity quite what sort of level of craft making any fair is pitched towards. To some extent we can ask some of our suppliers for advice. What is really needed is a coding system. Similar to a health and safety scoring for cafes. One being pathetic and five too top notch for us. So here is a provisional outline :-

1 Star - Flea Markets
I mean for f...s sake what are they? All sorts of tat masquerading as vintage, mixed up with someone's boot sale leftover's, handmade cards assembled out of cut out bits of old cards, that utilise the word decoupage more as a euphemism, and then there's someone's Aunt Sally who makes doilies coarsely crocheted in lurid acrylic yarn.

2 Star - Church, Charity or Community Hall Craft Markets
Usually minus tat, vintage and boot sale. Its amateur hour for the 'home spun' craft maker. The sort of stuff congregation members make for the Christmas fundraising bazzar. Synthetic yarns rule, so the overall level of static is high. Aestheticly hovering between sugary pastels and the eye wateringly bright. An eclectic range of stock, whatever the craft maker fancied making that day. Mostly following a cliche with little creative imagination applied. Rainbows until you're ears bleed. You get the picture.

3 Star - 'Creative' Craft Markets
One step up. The craft makers behave more professionally. Items are coherently ranged and generally are more focused version of the things you see in a 2 Star craft market. You do start to see wood turners, amateur potters, felt sculpture, soap makers, stained glass and the ubiquitous fabric bunting! The overall skill level edges beyond competent. Aesthetically the majority are more shambolic folksy than artisan. You might get a glimpse of your first sculpture of gambolling hares, which will be.. .exciting

4 Star - Artisan Makers Markets
Covers a wide range of artizan making, from bread and confectionery to ceramicists who make whole dinner sets, not just mugs. Beautifully crafted candles, print and card makers, bookbinders, wicker furniture, individually styled pottery and glass making etc. Aesthetically it has a pronounced style to it, artfully rusticated, refined or form lead. Most of the craft makers will have had some form of art or craft training, and it shows. This is more where we'd most likely place ourselves.

5 Star - Stately Home Country Fair
At some point Artisan hits the Country Fair.  You pay hundreds of pounds for your stall and have to have enough back up stock to survive three whole days trading in a field. Items are more prone to be ridiculously over priced. What was a small craft based business, out of necessity, turns into production line manufacture. Its also the juncture where craft starts to morph into arty designer craft, where everything is edged in gold leaf , made from antlers or deconstructed cutlery.

November 22nd
A good friend of ours Vidyasiddhi died over the weekend. He'd had a terminal cancer diagnosis not more than a month ago. During the last week he was taken into a hospice and died on Sunday evening. Both of us worked with Vidyasiddhi during our time at Windhorse:evolution. An extraordinarily capable man who could put his mind, ingenuity and energy  into many things, but could usually dress it up with a lot of garralous fun. 

I worked with him in the kitchen at Windhorse. He was having quite a difficult time, a lot of questioning of himself, institutions and Buddhism was in process. Arriving at work you might be met by very probing interrogations of the fundamentals of Buddhism, or a light hearted mischievous imp, theatrically sending himself or a situation up. Flipping from really furious, to mock furious, to flippant in a trice. 

This was very much Vidyassidhi, this mix of the light hearted and serious enquiry, each facet of him embraced to the full whenever it arose. Always a stimulating and delightful person to spend time with. Jnanasalin besides working in the Retail Team with him, was also ordained with Vidyasiddhi, so the bond between them was strong. We are both going to miss him and are feeling his loss strongly at present.

November 24th
This month has really been the absolute pits in the shop. The bloody rain has not helped the general feeling of a depressed nation. We've taken over the last three days what we would normaly take in one day, at this time of year. Comparable to February when we were closed for two weeks.  Gone beyond being disheartened. Gone beyond despair, I just have to shrug my shoulders and chuckle over the sheer ludicrous situation we and our country are now in.

FEATURE - George Rowlett at 80

I came across this video on You Tube, having not been aware of George Rowlett's paintings before. Where have I been? Slabs of colour, applied with a broad pallet knife or smeared with finger tip. Crude though this means of application may look, their is a deep expressiveness carved in its impasto layers. Watching him be out of breath, lugging his paints and easel up and down staircases and across sand dunes I found it so moving. I kept thinking, why isn't the film maker not helping this old man? This eighty year old man who cycles precariously along the road to new painting locations or back home. There ought to be a preservation order issued on him.

Rowletts work is where landscape painting and abstract expressionism collide and fight it out on a canvas board. 

MY OWN WALKING - November Journal 2022

'Without desire and still, the world will settle itself' - Lao Tsu

The existential force of our breathing comes and goes without any conscious effort on our part. Only when we are ill, when our breathing is obstructed, or when we are drowning or meditating, are we suddenly forced to give it more conscious attention. The gift that is our lives is fundamentally dependent upon the consistency of lungs forcing air in and out of our body. Yet we do nothing consciously to make this happen. Its what our body does unhindered by us. Until one day our breathing will shudder to a halt, despite our no doubt deepest desire and longing for it to continue.

In the midst of meditation we are practicing the skill to observe dispassionately, to be aware of breathing whilst resisting the temptation to interfere with it. Because attention can slip into controlling the cycle of our breathing.  As if breathing were a technique to be mastered. Awareness also tends to take ownership of the things it sees, feels, touches, hears or thinks about. Turning an object into a subject. Unable to resist direct control of the senses and imagines being the master wielding them.

Times like the present day, are bedeviled with great economic uncertainty, political and climate instability. It is understandable that we should want it all to settle down, to be more predictable, stable and not on our minds all of the time. Imagine if our anxious, worrying, fretting minds became the thing that powered our economy. Well, we'd all be extremely rich. Our breathing and the state of our country are similar in that they are interdependent and interwoven into the events of a much wider world. The idea that we could fully take back control of our destiny is somewhat laughable. The world breathes and operates beyond any control or artificial border.

When circumstances make all this very plain to us, such as with the eruption of war in the Ukraine, there can be an overwhelming feeling of powerlessness. Our inability to control or contain people or events, is laid bare for us to feel. To this we may respond with despair or become angry. If only there was a button to press that reset all circumstances to their default original state. That original default state is described in the quote at the top if this article as 'without desire and still'. And in a crisis we human beings are usually very far from being 'without desire'. 

We are far from 'still' too. As we rush around taking action to sort out the problems of our own making. Because we cannot stop ourselves from wanting to interfere. To set about making the world a better place for all humanity to live in. Noble sentiments, quite frequently crushed by the reality of a world that is indifferent to them. Things should not be like this, we state defiantly. Looking for someone to blame for it, a person, an institution, a flaw in human society or our civilisation. Something that could stand corrected.

Indeed, a lot of what we see as wrong with the world is the consequence of human actions or failure to act. Our fidgety fiddling desires are somewhat responsible here. Sometimes the solutions we present to solve the problems we've created, are not that much better. And so they form a perpetual cycle of problems followed by solutions that create yet more problems. If we cannot permanently settle even our own problems, how could we settle the world? Imagine a crisis, then ask yourself.

Could I bear to leave myself out of the equation?

Could I bear to do nothing?

Could I bear to leave the world to settle itself?

PS. How compassionate activity or Bodhisattva Ideal could survive this, I'll have to further reflect on/

TAO TIT BITS - Without

'Without desire and still,
the world will settle itself'

Taken from the Tao Te Ching Chapter 37
Translated by Philip J. Ivanhoe

SCREEN SHOT - Nope

Is this a film by Jordan Peele? - Yup
Is it a good one? - Nope
Is it like Get Out or Us? - Nope
Does it skilfuly combine tense horror tropes and comment on racism - Nope
Is it well acted? - Nope
( quite a bit of it is overacted, or so gabbled as to be unintelligible to the unaided ear )
Does it have a witty and thoughtful script - Nope
Is it engaging in any way? - Nope
Would it benefit from a second viewing? - Nope
Is it way too long? - Yup
Is it flabby and takes far too long to say not very much? - Yup
Would you recommend this to anyone? - Nope
Not even a Jordan Peele fan? - Nope
Someone with time on their hands to kill? - Nope
The mildly curious? - Nope
Someone bored? - Nope
The dead? - Nope

CARROT REVIEW 2/8

FINISHED READING - The Rings of Saturn by W.G Sebald

W. G. Sebald was for many decades a literature professor. A lecturer at the UEA in Norwich from 1970. Publishing his first written work After Nature in 1988, and first novel Vertigo in 1999. A series of increasingly lauded novels followed. Throughout the turn of the millennium, his reputation rose. By the publication of Austerlitz in 2001, he was being acclaimed as one of the greatest living novelists, and a potential Nobel prize winner. Unfortunately that was also the year he died of a heart attack whilst driving in December 2001, he was 57. Though there have been a number of posthumous publications since then. That reputational rise appears to now have parked itself.

The Rings of Saturn was published in 1998. The premise of the book is of a narrator, which we read to be Sebald, ostensibly taking a ramble, a walking journey around the county of Suffolk. But also a much bigger ramble. Because the book is so much more than a linear walk, its partly a historical account of places and people, but also brings in biography,  personal memoire and meditations on the human condition and fallibility. His writing style has this heightened associative drift to it, often prompted by the things he encounters. He takes up erudite diversions, veering off on fascinating tangents, where, just occasionally, he arrives right back where he started looking out over a familiar bit of East Anglia landscape.

Sebald is a readable and quietly fascinating writer. If you come expecting a perfectly formed narrative line to ride your reading upon, then he will disappoint you. He travels through the mind, its landscapes, interesting nooks and crannies.  Sebald's writing persona is as a weaver of memories, creating a tapestry of references that cross all the boundaries of time, place and cultures. You could say he is the quintessentially most post modern of writers. At times his tales remind me of the performance work of Laurie Anderson, whose pieces are similarly fascinated with storylines, the anecdotal, accidental collisions and the unexpected contrast of juxtapositions. 

The Rings of Saturn, along the way, takes in the ground breaking work of Thomas Browne, the social and economic background to why Somerleyton Hall was built, and its subsequent rather ungenteel decline. Finishing off with a brilliant flourish on the history of the silk weaving trade in Europe, and how Norwich, with the arrival of the Huguenot in the 17th -18th century became the centre of it in England. 

I first read this book in the early noughties. I'd tried Austerlitz first, which as a densely woven more darkly personal work, I found trickier to relate to.  Because he takes this ruminating wander around East Anglia, an area I love, I find myself more easily drawn into the Sebald multiverse, able to relax and enjoy the ride he takes you on. I would say The Rings of Saturn is the best entry point, from which to introduce yourself to this great novelist. If this doesn"t grab you, then nothing else of Sebald's work is likely to either. Rereading it in 2022 it has been a bit of a surprise, just how much I loved and enjoyed it all over again.

CARROT REVIEW - 7/8

FRIDAY SERIAL - Duncan's Not Doing Too Well ( Epi 12)

A lot had happened in the space of that week. From the perspective of six months later, Duncan and Gavin felt as though this had taken place in a strange alternative universe, unexpectedly gone supernova. During this period of hyper intense activity, the blancmange like face and physique of the Controller of Rectitude - McAlister, had become quite unpleasant and far too familiar. He pushed so hard, and unrelentingly  Driving everyone right to the edge, then over of what they felt they were capable of. Working them overtime, day and night to make Retinal Hemorrhage invisible to future investigation. Unlike paper trails, digital footprints are never completely erased. So expert techheads arrived, who expended a seemingly disproportionate amounts of time and ingenuity simply making them, at least, significantly fainter traces. Covered over by so many contrived trips, glitches and fences, to be very difficult to get at, let alone to unpick or decipher. 

All this effort was successful. For when the police finally arrived at the Seven Dials premises, there was only the barren shell left. Plus some casually, but carefully placed bits of misdirecting information scrunched up on the floor. McAlister hoped any detectives, police or forensic, would eventually draw a line under their pursuit at some point. When further digging would become just not worth doing. Fortunately, they also had insurance in the form of a female police officer,a former devotee, on the inside. Giving them the heads up on how things were. No major alarm bells had yet been rung. The trail the police were pursuing appeared to be running cold. Because it was the false one, laid to effectively divert their focus away whilst 'believers' went to ground, and institutions of the Material Arts Community made themselves 'no longer there.'

Duncan and Gavin's understanding of what had provoked the need for this sort of action, slowly pieced together fragments of information. Retinal Hemorrhage had launched a bold new wallpaper and fabric range in the early autumn. One of their 'employees', so they were told, had sabotaged the print run of a fabric design called Malevolent Punch.  They'd introduced a strange fungal based poisonous compound into the surface finish. A substance activated by human sweat and prolonged handling. A few months later lengths of this fabric were sold to a Haberdashers in the Home Counties. These were made into curtains for one of their customers. That customer and their own delivery driver were now both dead. There was one unexpectedly tricky phone call, that they'd bluffed their way out of, by affecting to be clueless and camp. How McAlister had known about all of this over a complete week before it became common knowledge, was what baffled them. Gavin suspected they were not being told the whole truth.

By the time the national newspapers got hold of the story, Gavin and Duncan had already gone to ground. Retreating to the familiar 1980's municipal housing of the Mulberry Estate. The choice of Duncan's flat was 'hiding in plain sight', so they joked. Since the rapid diaspora of Gavin's community it was the obvious place to go, at least in the short term. Duncan had had to relax his attachment to minimalist interiors.  Asceticism through poverty, Gavin called it. Because Gavin, by contrast, was a man big on having lots of stuff, not just books,music and paintings, but furniture. Big bulky bits of furniture too. The bookshelves alone filled all the available wall space of the small lounge, which now felt intimately cosy rather than its previous anorexic starkness. Duncan teasing him about' never being knowingly renunciate'

The increased amount of furniture was only the first confronting issue. The other was living cheek by jowl 24/7. Much as they enjoyed each others company, they'd grown accustomed to plenty of time apart. The flat afforded neither of them sufficient personal space. So there were days when a testiness previously unknown in their relationship surfaced. It maybe that this was somewhat deflective in origin. Neither of them having fully grasped why the movement they'd belonged to needed to guard its anonymity so fiercely. Enough to erase itself completely from view in the UK. What was it they had to hide? Gavin, as the more experienced practitioner, had an inkling the explanation would be somewhere in the past, way before his involvement. But knew nothing more than some scurrilous hearsay, which he'd so far been unable to verify.

Duncan had easily found another job, one he instantly took a dislike to, in a local hardware store. Gavin called upon old work colleagues for a favour, who recommended him for a well paid managerial position in a design company in Barnet. This was a long daily journey by tube. Travelling diagonally across London was always the pits. Every day heading towards or away from the interminably long rattle track, that is the Northern Line. On the plus side it did give him chill out time. Away from Duncan's freaking out every time he heard a distant police siren. Neither of them were able to be completely at ease. Abandoned to sink or swim by the movement, the final contact they'd had was shaking McAllister's sweaty palm at the end of the last days work in Seven Dials.

Living a self isolating life together, did gradually bring them closer. Once they'd talked through the areas of irritation, and formed intentions on how thing could be improved. Each became more reliant upon the other. Expert at reading the signs for when one of them was 'not doing too well'. Because 'not doing too well' outside of maintaining the necessary practicalities of life, was now a constant personal battle. Forming a sort of background noise to their current lifestyle. At one remove from both the movement and the society they lived in. In constant fear of the authorities tracing them. Apart from going to work they rarely went out together in the evening. 

So several months on after the event, they had begun talking, in a tentative exploratory way, about what they were going to do next. Yes, they would stick together. What was it they both wanted to do with that togetherness? If they had a choice, what would they prefer to do? It clearly would not do either of them any good, longer term, staying in Duncan's pokey council flat. Besides he was not supposed to have lodgers, boyfriend or not. So at some point they'd have to get out of it, and preferably leave London altogether. To do this they'd need to assiduously save money.

One autumn evening, Gavin sat quietly reading in his beloved high back armchair. Duncan, cooking an overly elaborate Ottolengi recipe for dinner,was surrounded by ingredients, steam, sauce pans and perilously balanced plates. Then there was a polite and gentle sounding knock on the front door. Duncan's ears pricked up instantly in recognition. He knew exactly who he'd find on the other side of that door should he chose to open it.

End of Part One of Donkey's Almanac.

LISTENING TO - Master KG -Jerusalema Remix

This remix by Master KG of the global hit Jerusalema featuring Burna Boy & Nocembo Zikode ( where was I when this was first released in 2020 ?) It will not be off my playlist for a while yet. So simple uplifting and addictive. I just love this to bits. 

Sometimes its 4.29 minutes of freely blossoming joy meets and refills emotional resources, its just what I need. On another day I cry buckets, because its sense of life affirmation has become so distant and remote, hard to connect with in the grim grip of day to day worries. It shows me what I often feel I do not have, but so so want. It is soul food.

SHERINGHAM DIARY No 70 - The Prognosis Going Forward

November 6th
This week the shop takings have been truly dire, as bad as it can be post Christmas. It maybe that this is just a lull, an odd bad week after the brilliant last week of October Half Term. We will just have to see. I can't help but feel that we maybe teetering near the edge of Cottonwood Home becoming unsustainable.

I've reached the point where trying to remain optimistic in the face of declining takings, is itself part of the problem. Facing fully the possibility that we may not be able to scrape through the winter or the recession, has to be taken seriously. Its starting to feel unrealistic to focus only on a positive outcome. An unhelpful level of strain is involved in trying to maintain such a focus,  The conditions are not looking favourable and that has to be a part of what we hold, alongside our continuing efforts to survive.

November 7th
Though yesterday's entry remains true, there is also another factor to take into consideration. How much more of this economic uncertainty and dwindling custom we can personally handle? What would be the point in surviving all that is forecast, only to be a complete nervous wreck by the end of it? At some point you do have to decide not to throw more good money after bad. Jnanasalin and I will need to sit down and talk through what our options are, and what we are up for. We are imagining that time of review will be post Christmas. But who knows really?

November 8th
Mondays out of summer season have turned into probably the worst day of the week. With five of the retailers in The Courtyard already closed on Mondays, this has left just the off licence next door and ourselves open. We have decided it just isn't worth persisting in being open either. We will be closed Sunday and Monday for the time being. Keeping an eye on how things are in case we need to reverse this decision. Time away from the tensions currently inherent to the shop is essential too.

The Thursford Christmas show has its first performances today. In past years we've had coach parties stopping off in Sheringham for lunch and a browse of the shops, before moving on for the matinee. So we'll see if that makes any difference.

November 9th
It's been obvious from the very beginning of Cottonwood Home, that we'd need to develop a second income stream to see us over the quiet months. Our winter footfall has always been pathetic, we'd never survive on Sheringham locals alone. We struggle emotionally increasingly with this every succeeding year. Our web site doesn't seem to ever take off. We haven't the capacity to keep both shop and website spinning simultaneously. For instance, ensuring the website is up to date once the summer season arrives. We're thinking of adopting a different approach. The majority of our online sales have been lampshades, so perhaps we need to focus our website on promoting those.

November 10th
The anticipated Thursford bounce has as yet failed to materialise. So this second week in November continues with the same mix of days, from reluctantly acceptable to a waste of time being open. As things currently stand by mid November the shops takings look like being massively down on 2021. There is always the chance of a late rally, which was the case in September and October. I suspect there is a lot of hesitancy around with regard to next weeks budget statement on the 17th. Come on Hunt pile on the agony!

November 11th
The last of my Father's eightfold band of brothers and sisters died yesterday. Uncle Trevor was a bit of an anomaly in the Lumb dynasty, a bona fide gentle extrovert in a largely quiet and introverted family. He was outgoing, a bit of a charmer and a ladies man, who got away with a lot more than he should have simply by force of an amiable personality. A salesman in every sense of the word. The only person in Dad's family to be divorced. He'd met his then mistress who worked in a casino, Auntie Megan, and post the divorce married her.

Often treated in the family with an attitude of mild exasperation, bemused amusement or the butt of sarcasm. Mainly because he didn't behave or respond like the rest of them. He could, admittedly, be a bit of a scamp. He had a few quirks. If you were hosted at his house he wouldn't offer a repeat visit until you had hosted him in return. As a consequence few in the family saw him very regularly. Which was a bit of a shame really, because he was lively engaging company, who had no qualms about taking over the conversation and delightfully holding the room hostage. He'd get everyone dancing to his tune, whether they wanted to or not. This did ruffle a few feathers. Probably right up to the very end I expect.

November 12th
Yesterday we took £20 all day. Hubby returned emotionally worse for wear and feeling quite angry. With which I can quite empathise. Its not that we don't have a viable business. Last year proved it was, but this year is just a whole kettle of rather rancid smelling fish. 

I know from the decline of my own art shop in the late 90's recession, that survival is never solely about how much effort and initiative you put in. Your financial and emotional resources are vital too. But more importantly its correctly understanding the nature of the current external economic conditions you are trading within, and recognising that these are largely out of your control. In the late 1990's I had no financial capital of my own to tide me over, so one year I had to take out a small loan, and then the following year arranged an overdraft. In the end these did not enable my art shop to survive that late 1990's recession.

My art shop's lease had a five year break clause in 1997,so I was able to get out of the business cleanly, but that was a year away. That final year was emotionally the most stressful of my life. It was difficult keeping engaged with a shop you know is going to fold. Running it on my own was never easy. Knowing the right moment to start running stock down, was hard to judge. Yet, once I had taken the decision to close my art business twelve months previous, it did provide a form of relief that I was going to let go of a painful situation. Also, I already knew what I wanted to do afterwards, to join a Buddhist community and work for Windhorse - evolution.

However, the sense of myself after that time was that the closure of my art business represented a sort of failure, that it was a flaw in me personally that I could not make it work and survive. And it took many years of Buddhist practice to work my way out of the hang ups that period left behind. Given an emotionally difficult day in Cottonwood Home these feelings can bubble up and ripple the surface still.

This time, with Cottonwood Home, I'm not on my own with it. The shop is on a very open rolling lease, so we can get out of it any time we choose Should we make it to June next year, I can draw my pension This could contribute to bridging any financial gap. But that is still seven months away, and there is a whole vein of huge unpredictability running through the time between now and then. For us, the question is not simply whether we have the resources both financially and personally to survive the sort of straightened circumstances predicted for 2023. But do we want to use what money we do have, as a life raft in this way? We have limited financial reserves to draw on, if this will be enough depends how bad it gets. 

Even if we did decide to close the business, the productive window for doing so in 2022 has passed. Post Christmas is our traditional quarter of dead months. To have any chance of selling off stock effectively we'd have to wait for the Easter holidays at the beginning of April next year anyway. The prognosis going forward is undoubtedly challenging, whichever way we eventually choose to look at it.  As we are still reluctant to consider what a post Cottonwood Home landscape might look like, it seems we are not prepared to abandon all hope in its future just yet.

I just want to be able to relax easily into my daily working life and enjoy it. Instead it can feel like it has actually been one stress point after another for three and a half years. With, more often than not, a Tory government generated economic chaos and uncertainty forming the background to it. 

November 13th
I've got three days out of the shop now. Yesterday was our best days takings this month - so far. Ten times what we took the day before, which is the way and the inconsistency of retail in 2022. Every time we do well, its lampshade sales that are making the difference. A good days sales always perks up our flagging resolve. We have to hold onto our confidence that what we are doing can still be viable, and at the same time be clear that having the odd good day is not in itself going to be enough.

TAO TIT BITS - No Greater

" There is no greater sin
    than desire
   no greater curse
   than discontent
   no greater misfortune
   than wanting something for oneself.
   therefore those who know
   that enough is enough
   will always have enough"

Taken from the Tao Te Ching by Lao Tsu
Translated by Gia-Fu Feng, Publisher Wildwood House, 1974

QUOTATION MARKS - Zhuang Tzu

'We give, we receive, we act, we construct;
all day long we apply our minds 
to struggle against one thing or another
struggles unadorned or struggles concealed,
but in either case tightly packed 
one after another without gap.

The small fears 
leave us nervous and depleted;
the large fears
leave us stunned and blank.

Shooting forth 
like an arrow from a bowstring
such is our presumption
when we arbitrate right and wrong.

Worn away
by autumn and winter;
such is our daily dwindling,
drowning us in our own activities,
unable to turn back'

Written by Zhuang Tzu
Translated by Brook Ziporyn. 

A HIGHLIGHT OF MY WEEK - Hamza Yassin

From the moment I first heard the music Hamza & Jowita were going to dance on Strictly this week, I was so emotionally moved I was on the edge of tears. Hamza represents every average man and woman's dream that, despite their age or seemingly inappropriate size, they too might one day get up and dance like a dream. Just watch in awe the way he thrillingly tosses Jowita up in the air with such confident assured grace.

Jerusalema is one bright upbeat piece of pure joy carved out of seemingly gossamer thin African rhythm. It feels to me as though its the musical companion to the personality of Hamza himself. Who comes across as the nicest, most gentle man you could ever have the supreme good fortune to meet. Watching his small chunky body perform with such feeling for the music, his flexibility and expressive movement, makes me smile every week. I don't think I'm alone in falling a little in love with this quietly dignified and unassuming guy. 

We all want a bit of whatever it is that he has, particularly right now.

FRIDAY SERIAL - Duncan's Tiny Moment of Zeal (Epi 11)

Whenever anyone starts a new sport, a hobby, a job, or in this case becomes involved with a religion, there's a period of unbridled enthusiasm. The possibilities seemingly endless. Its all you ever want to do. High spirited idealism triumphing over the grittier, trickier, clunkier aspects of oneself and the actual situations you live and work in. Positive emotions, imaginatively fired up with passionate devotional fervour divert awareness away from such pesky negatives. Talents and potential that have lain dormant and unexplored for so long, well, lets just say they are eagerly overestimated. 

Suddenly its possible, in ones mind at least, for you to become whoever you want to be, you just have to want it enough. Commit yourself to an ardent disciplined pursuit of your ideal, purer, more perfect self. Who wouldn't want to free themselves of impediments given the opportunity and means? The power of most political and religious ideologies is leveraged by such a vision, of potency unchained. Its amazing what these can make anyone do, of their own free will.

And so it was with Duncan. Similar to reformed smokers, the most damning and vitrolic critic of religon, once they become one of the faithful and intimately caught up in it, turn into the equivalent of a hard line Jesuit enforcer. Duncan, so reserved, weak of will and lacking in confidence, had moved rapidly from being a man with a wary, sceptical, if not defensive viewpoint, into being a wildly open minded embracing enthusiast. Now he wanted, to not just read everything, but to try out everything, disciplining himself with a fervent inflexibility to every conceivable spiritual practice. Because everything beamed so brightly from this new dawn, any discernible Jungian shadow side was whitened out in the glare from it. He learned to meditate, completed beginners then intermediate courses, did weekend study and training retreats in central London. Hoovering up whatever Material Arts Movements teachings and practice's that Gavin thought it appropriate to offer him.

His approach to work and fellow practitioner's shifted too.  He'd been hyper critical of most of the 'believers' before joining their ranks himself. Largely because of their perceived laziness and incompetence in the practical sphere. Who would have guessed it, that these self same failings extended into their spiritual practice too? Now he was one of them he felt it his duty towards his fellow brothers, to pick them up on the minutest behavioural infringement. This wasn't helped by a pamphlet written by (Runga Bunga La Di Da ) called The Crucible of Friendship.  Where it was suggested using the 'hot poker of feedback' so that it 'stoked the embers of self-awareness'. Duncan glossed over the qualification that this type of feedback was only beneficial in 'long standing and mutually respectful friendships'. He just vented his righteous sword of a mouth at anyone

It wasn't long before he was considered by most at Retinal Hemorrhage, to be an almighty self righteous prick. Gavin, initially turned a blind eye to this previously uncharacteristic behaviour. He recognised what was going on, he'd had similar moments of zeal, where he'd pulled people up for the smallest deviation or infraction of good practice. This he knew would pass. He just had to give the naive idealism sufficient time to become tarnished a little. For reality to hit the fanatic in his lover. 

It wasn't until he too was in receipt of being 'stoked' by Duncan, that he very patiently sat him down, and tokd him in even unemotional tones to never to do that to him ever again. That how he was acting at work was not just unhelpful, but cruel and counter productive, not to mention exhibiting a complete lack of compassionate understanding. Duncan sucked in his face, then left in a resentful huff at being so kindly, but thoroughly pulled up. Gavin smirked, Duncan would get over it, the pout said it all.

As it turned out this wasn't to be the end of it. The very next day Gavin was presented with a delegation of stroppy 'believers', who had a more radical idea for how Gavin should deal with his boyfriend. Accusing Gavin of protecting his lover from the consequences of his actions. Duncan must leave or they would. This put him in an impossible position, any action he took either compromised his relationship or his effectiveness in running the business. Duncan's approach and execution of his work, taken on its own, was exemplary and beyond criticism. The problem was his intolerant zeal, which could always be tempered down, not his competence in doing his job well. He would not 'move on' his lover, let alone sack him. The situation they were putting him he felt was invidious. 

Gavin was experiencing first hand, one of the many reasons outlined by ( Runga Bunga La Di Da)  in his writings, why internal relationships within the movement were to be so actively discouraged. Primarily, sexual relationships sabotaged clear thinking and action. That this principle was broken at some point by nearly everyone, did not alter that fact. However, this took little or no account of a universal truth about personal relationships - that it was in the nature of human loins, not the undoubted correctness of religious ideals, that they would always forcefully thrust themselves into the motivational driving seat. Gavin was going to have to call someone else in to sort the situation out, and mediate with his staff. Too emotionally invested himself, he no longer could do this. So who would that person be ?

Passing the buck upwards, he sent an e.mail to the UK Headquarters for the movement. Few people knew exactly who ran it, where it was, or what its purpose was, or how ir was funded. Gavin certainly didn't know. There were names, but mostly without faces, but with reputations. His eye brows raised when he learnt who they were sending, - the current Controller of Rectitude, Peter McAlister, popularly nicknamed The Persuader. Judging by his reputation in the movement, he seemed an entirely heavy handed and disproportionate response.

He arrived at Retinal Hemorrhage on the dot of 9am, the very next day. 

Anyone who might have been expecting The Controller of Rectitude to be a tall serenely imposing man with seet kindly eyes, would have been surprised by his size. He was diminutive and sweaty, with sleepless bruised looking swags under his eyes, punched into a wide face that matched his rotund pudgy body. He resembled the sort of disheveled looking bouncer you saw in seedy nightclubs. Dressed in an ill fitting suit,tobacco stained shirt collar, obligatory garish tie at half mast, and seriously scuffed black brogues. Piercingly intelligent, one look from his black eyes drove deep into any soul, whose psychological armour would crumple, unable to withstand them.

In the execution of his job, he felt there was no desire or virtue in him in being the kindly spiritual practitioner of the Material Arts Movement. His religious duties, did not require him to be likable or pleasant, but critical and coercive. He was definitely more of a dark arts man, the bloated bruiser, a gangster with no redeemable, mother loving softer side. The first words spoken tpo him weren't the furious castigation Gavin was expecting. Out of his heavy lipped mouth came a voice, whose timbre and tendency to reverberate its vowel sounds, indicated that a long long time ago he may have been from Glasgow. It was gruff, squeaky and yet matter of fact.

'You might reasonably be expecting me here today to sort out this moderate little crisis you and your boyfriend have summoned into being. However, there is a far greater, far more grave, far more urgent matter I'm here to deal with. I'll not explain this in precise detail right now. You'll just have to take my word for it. Because there are things we need to action, and action straight away. You are going to help me organise and carry this out, my boys.

What we have to do is close Retinal Hemorrhage down. Clear out machinery, computers, furniture, initially to the garage warehouse in Finsbury Park. To sell these off at a later date, once the coming storm of interest has passed. Destroy any paper documentation, transfer money, pay off  creditors, all employed staff, close all bank accounts. We must leave no active trace here that might lead the authorities too swiftly to individuals, communities or institutions of the movement either here, in Europe or worldwide.

Close that gaping mouth Gavin. Get cracking man! All this needs to happen pronto - ideally fuckin yesterday.'

NEXT EPISODE 
Duncan's Not Doing Too Well ( Episode 12 /12)
The final episode of Part One of Donkey's Almanac 
will be posted on Friday 25th November

THE BEST BEFORE DATE - 2007 - Kitten is High by Miss Kitten

 

Fifteen years ago this track was rarely off my playlist. A dance floor filler if ever there was one. The vocals by Miss Kitten are dry and aloof, as though she's some sort of Madame or Dominatrix vampire up in some high tower waiting for someone to eat turning up. The Goth satire infused Kitten Is High proved a bit of a one off for Miss Kitten, drawn from the much lauded album Bat Box. 

Miss Kitten is the stage name of Caroline Herve, a French DJ and music producer. She began her career as a performer with an album collaborating with The Hacker. And such collaborations have continued throughout her subsequent recordings with Golden Boy, Felic Da Housecat, and Chicks on Speed. 

TAO TIT BITS - Better for Everyone

"Give up sainthood, renounce wisdom,
  And it will be a hundred times better for everyone."

Taken from the Tao Te Ching, by Lao Tsu
Translated by Gia-Fu Feng, Publisher Wildwood House. 1974

SCREEN SHOT - Nomadland

Sometimes circumstances throw you onto living on the road. With the death of her husband, and death of the company owned town she lived in, Fern has only her van and only the most inessential of belongings left in a lock up. Every inch of space inside her van is altered to provide extra storage or a surface to work on. Setting out on her travels she bumps into more experienced fellow travellers and learns how to get the most out of this lifestyle. She meets a former neighbour, her sister, and Dave a fellow nomad traveler. All encourage her to settle down with them. But Fern has come to prefer this lifestyle, its the freedom it brings. It suits her just fine being a nomad tied to no one or nowhere.

This is such a beautiful yet poignant film, that at times in its slow gentle and elegiac journey provides moments that are deeply touching. Life has often dealt all these people a bad hand, leaving them little option other than to be itinerant. Yet they have made this lifestyle all there own, taken full possession of it and make it work for them. Many of the actors are untrained and are from this nomadic American tradition. Into this the inestimably grounded acting style of Frances McDormand deftly slips herself. Its so unshowy yet packs quite an emotional punch. 

Chloe Zhao helms this film with assuredness and emotional dexterity. Conveying its tough rawness, but also the beauty of the landscapes they traverse and live in. You can feel what the appeal of it might be. Though its not an easy lifestyle, nor one where you can afford to be too picky about what work you do. Its a rare style of film to win so many Oscars, but this is a real gem.

CARROT REVIEW 8/8