SHERINGHAM DIARY No 142 - A Prickly Chaise Longue

Al created a beautiful but unusual word suggestion recently - I typed out the phrase ' not a God per se' which AI instantly changed to ' not a God jersey'. I love the idea of a 'God jersey.' Jasia Reichardt once said that 'one thing foreigners, computers and poets have in common is that they make unexpected linguistic associations'. So maybe embrace the creative possibilities AI random word changes suggest. Who knows where they might lead.

I've finally finished pruning back the pyracantha hedge. Our front window is now free of verdant obscuration. It now resembles a rather prickly Chaise Longue, or an elongated pram. The small section I cut back a week or so ago, has already begun sprouting tentative leaves. I've been dutifully watering and feeding it since, to encourage this revival. So, It looks as if it will survive my hacking away at it after all. Hurrah to the pyracantha! Hurrah to the pyracantha! Hurrah! Hurrah!!

Walking along a road in Wells next the Sea, there was a small bright yellow car with a sticker on the back in pink psychedelic letter font saying - Tailgate Me Harder. Daddy! Also a sign on a building for a company called Norfolk Sealants, with the byline -.You do your best, we'll masticate the rest!

In the process of chatting with one of our very lovely neighbours, we were collectively musing, as you do, on the bizarre behaviour of fascists. She confessed she had difficulty saying the words Neo Nazis, that it often came out sounding like Neo Nancy, and we riffed for a while on an activist group called The Neo Nancy's, open to both ladies and gentlemen, dedicated to ikibana and all things floral, the obligatory wearing of flamboyantly frilly pastel aprons in the street. Material Girl playing discreetly in the background. Like some pastiche wet dream from the 1950's. The Neo Nancy's, you heard it here first. 

I see the phrase Ambient Buddhism used a lot these days, and in wondering quite what that meant, realised - it's a spirituality that plays blandly in the background without overtly distracting your attention. If the Buddha knew what his realisation beneath the Bodhi Tree had been reduced to, maybe he'd have had more than second thoughts.

In our terrace there are six houses in the row, only two of them have house numbers on them. So sometimes you see delivery drivers anxiously walking up and down the terrace trying to work out the numbering. I mean, it is a miracle we don't have more things misdelivered or not delivered at all. We are one of the numberless houses. For the last year we have prevaricated, as only two gay men could do, over what style of colour of numbering, whether it should be in wood, metal or ceramic, but have failed to commit. But whilst recently in the Norwich Hobbycraft we saw some numbers in thin plywood for a £1 each. Which I have stuck to a stable wood backing, painted, varnished and now mounted. It turned out that what we really needed most,  was it to be cheap.

And the question on most mens minds according to one You Tube channel is - ' How to become glute dominant in a week'. Basically these are exercises for men who want to cultivate a really plump arse. The instructor guy wears only his dark stretchy briefs, has a blackboard, a pointy stick, and a moustache that wouldn't be out of place in the Village People. So he is a serious legit gym instructor.

Life is pootling along at a pace at present. Craft wise the gallery in Blakeney is doing very well for us, which puts a certain degree of pressure on to keep up with sales. Generally we are, but there is the desire for doing short intense dashes, rather than a long sprint. Which is OK. Ideally it might appear better to be on top and ahead of the curve. But that does not appear to be our way. A series of short periods of making, just about keeping up with sales, rather than aiming for far too much which may burn you dry, or overwhelm you. My role and strategy in all this is to make sure there is just enough fabric cut for Hubby to top up our biggest selling items. Fitting this around periods set aside for my own artwork. Getting the balance right is forever tricky, and I have to be prepared to drop whatever I'm doing in order to meet the urgency of a sudden sales surge.

Idly wandering out of QD I noticed a large sign hung from the ceiling that declared very proudly The Home of Quality Discounts. Discounts are just discounts surely.  I've never thought of discounts as having a quality before and pondered on what the opposite of 'quality discounts' might be. I came to no firm conclusion.

In the continuing heat, it's been a struggle to get a good night's sleep, as I presume many people have been finding. I've been aware for sometime of waking either with lower back pain or a cracking stiff neck/headache. And I know this is because my sleeping posture is incorrect. The mattress and pillow are not aligning my spine correctly. But whenever I've attempted to resolve this before, the solution generates another problem. Memory foam pillows, appears tobe ideal, but these make me incredibly over hot when all my body heat is thrown back at me. I tried a buckwheat pillow, and this seemed, like a lot of alternative solutions, to work momentarily, but not for very long. I've also consulted You Tube videos that suggest elaborate pillow solutions involving the creation of a veritable nest of them, propping up legs and arms in a supposedly correct alignment. I take one look and know this is not a practical solution. I'm a fidgety restless sleeper and have been since I was a child, where my Mother would often remark that I'd completely destroy a bed in one night. So some Jenga pillow rigmarole would last barely an hour with me.  It turns out one nicely stuffed, reasonably firm but yeilding, pillow is currently the best solution. I am wary to say more, as it wouldn't be the first time an apparent solution to this problem lasts a few days, then all the supposed improvements evaporate. But three nights in, I have woken up feeling rested and relatively discomfort free for the first time in an age. But then another heatwave arrives and I'm kept awake, sweating like a pig, even though every vestige of night ware has been divested.

Walking away from Tesco towards the car park. I overheard a mother who was bending down to talk to her child in the buggy, and saying in quite a matter of fact manner of delivery - 'and over there is the pub where your Dad and I blew £750 in a one night binge.' - I'll bet the kid will remember that and feel proud.

You Tube appears to use a somewhat crude, but essentially stereotypical 'gay' algorithm. And I have at times, as a gay man, undoubtedly triggered this. It emerged most strongly a while back when I was trying to find resistance band exercises for a troublesome shoulder, and has resurged again recently when I was again investigating beneficial exercises for strengthening hip muscles. My search found the helpful exercise advice videos, but mixed in amongst these were more than a scattering of what were basically soft porn. I've read recently, that even your average young straight man gets bombarded with imagery of the ideal male body, and videos about exercises you must do to obtain the perfect body form. I now get a lot of supposedly 'instructional' videos of outrageously pumped up men, young to middle aged, ready to abandon their T shirts and flash the pertness of their nipples at you. It happens in the drop of a hat, the shirt is whipped off, and they're jogging their pecs like horses. Displaying what is obviously the prime achievement of their life so far, a beautifully sculpted musculature. But what this most resembles is 'exercise porn'. Once you've seen one carefully posed armpit or crotch to camera, have you not seen them all? Take it from me, it may be tempting, but do not get drawn in.

 

Be aware of the seemingly innocent opener. There are those chaps making sincere heartfelt confessions about how much better they feel now they've come out as gay, or how beneficial taking a beautiful walk in the countryside is round here, whilst just casually displaying their handsome hairy bear bod, in a corn field, by a babbling brook, or relaxing across a rustic bench. Are they simply not getting enough real love and attention? Some of this undoubtedly is designed to be titillating, but not all of it. It becomes bewildering when even the straight guys appear to be having body buddies to show off there muscles too. It feels as though there's more than a gay thing going on here. An increasing insularity and narcissism in men, perhaps. A self preoccupation with their own idealised body beautiful. None of this is done to gain women's admiration. At best it is to bolster self esteem and catch the envious eye, a need for masculine attention and approval. Feeding the nascent aspirations of young men to also become painfully self preoccupied and obsessive about being visibly fit. It would be mistaken to couch this solely as sublimated homo eroticism, there is also a profound need for brotherly masculine camaraderie buried within this too.

A Norwegian guy makes these videos, which start out doing the innocent extolling of the virtues of being outdoors in nature shtick, but ends up with you voyeuristically watching him. He takes his camper van to a very remote place in the countryside. Mostly we view the proceedings through leaves on gently waving tree branches. He films himself from a suitably discrete distance, as the morning sun rises, undressing down to his undies, before going for an undoubtedly vigorous but chill wild swim in the lake. Then comes out Adonis like, backlit by the melting wet dream of dawn, to discreetly towel himself down. Then eat a very hearty meal cooked over an open fire, fully dressed in a parka, a wooly hat, with a cuppa coffee warming his cold numbed hands. His idyll has now become yours. The exact same thing happens every time, in every place he visits. Yes, I have checked this out! The border between male body positivity, outrageous showing off, vain preening, and simply being a titillating cock tease, is extraordinarily narrow these days. Though I guess these muted 'not quite porn, but close' videos, studiously avoid being censurable, but does earn this guy a living. How do you make them go away? - Ignore them for an extremely long time, and don't allow any of them ever to 'peak' your interest.  And puritan -  do not try to tell me your interest has never been peaked.

Within days of me writing these last paragraphs, and before I actually published the blog post, all the stuff I was talking about has now disappeared from my You Tube feed, except for the Norwegian guy. It's almost as though You Tube were aware of my draft post. It may of course be coincidental, and You Tube were already in the process of cleaning out this sub porn stuff. But interesting, is it not?

Greatly saddened to hear this week that Jason Arday took his life, and if I'm honest really angered by it ending in this way. Watching him being set up to be disgraced and his career sullied and trashed by the right wing media, has not been at all pleasant to watch. Any integrity or achievements he had,  being literally ripped to shreds in public. I doubt many of us could stand that level of lacerating scrutiny. And even when he resigned this didn't stop. The press never really cared about him, but simply wanted to make an example of him. Jason Arday was used to blow up a culture war bete noir, much beloved of the far right - DEI initiatives. His alledged plagarism could have been looked at within the broader framework of how academic standards might generally be being weakened, not just by DEI, but increased internet and AI usage. Plagarism is rife in academia.  I'll bet there are white Professors out there already shitting themselves, lest their CV or academic credentials now get a serious look at. But here it was specifically weaponised against one psychologically fragile black academic. Turning this one man's alleged untruthfulness into an all out attack upon DEI, by people who don't remotely believe in it's aims. They would prefer DIE - Deliberate Insular Elitism - which appears in this case to look more like white supremacy, given the protective gloss of upholding academic standards and rigor. Arday's suicide brings shame on them, and unfortunately also upon us all, because it happened during our watch. Jason Arday may indeed have been a needy fantasist, ( Who hasn't been at some point in their life? ) but did he need to be excoriated for public shaming in this way?

Cornucopia Blog Total Visits in July 141,750.

SHERINGHAM DIARY No 141 - Audible Battering

Bizarre Advert Tag Line - Imagine this feeling, but for your teeth.

I've been attempting to devote more time to my own art projects. But you'd think I lived the life of a busy social whirl, because time for such projects, appears to evaporate in my hands. I am getting better at blocking out time, but I do really have to guard that space. Everything otherwise seems to encroach and gobble it up. For years if I did decide to commit to doing artwork, it was to paint. But I realised recently I was not particularly interested in painting anymore. It's as though I've exhausted my current capacity for that medium. Working in relief, assembling pieces from found objects, is more where my aesthetic interest arises.

The revamped shrine backdrop

An old piece now painted

This all began with one piece I made for my shrine, that I recently revamped. It suddenly seemed to stand perfectly well on its own, and didn't require use in the shrine anymore. When I look back I have dabbled with working in this way on and off before, but never saw it as a thing outside of making a shrine or a decorative fence for our garden. So I have returned to some early experiments I did a few years ago, that were essentially made from framing offcuts, and started to apply colour on them. There are far too many ideas floating around in my mind at the moment. The actuality will prove which one's have got legs or staying power. But I can see them stepping out of being reliefs and off the walls, til they become more fully three dimensional.

A new piece of artworks 

I'm not thinking of this as anything more than art being a thing that I do. I have created  difficulties for myself in the past, with thinking art needed it's worth validating through the selling of it. But actually the making of art is validation enough. Seeing art as your personal legacy to the world is a bit of an ego conceit too. Exhibiting and selling your art is entirely another thing. I may indeed think about exhibiting later. But to do so now, would inhibit the tender shoots of what is a relatively new approach. I tend to take Quentin Crisp's view that it is in the process of making art where an artist's interest lives and thrives, the process of exhibiting it in a gallery, is ' where it hangs until it's dead' so far as an artist's engagement with it is concerned. It's not that I'm against selling my work, but I don't want that to become a primary aim. I don't want financial benefit to be all it is about.

Product Pitch - Mr Sheen Professional - with Dust Trap Technology 

( because it's wet I expect)

There are some garden tasks that are not to be relished, and trimming a pyracantha hedge is one of them. It is, to not put too fine a gloss on it, a vicious bitch of a bush. Every two to three years it requires a severe cut back, simply to stop it taking over. In the past, even though I've been quite modest in the amount I've cut it back, I can confidently say a pyracantha bush is the nearest thing to immortality, it cannot die. This year I've been planning a more drastic cut back than usual. 

The hedge grows in front of the house, it is one of two plants that survive from the garden we inherited eight years ago. But as the spring arrived this year the hedge was reaching the point where it half obliterated our front window. So I planned to take out one entire corner of the hedge, simply to give our living room more light. As I started executing this intent, I instantly fell into regretting it. A pyracantha is the most incredibly entangled interlocking mesh of branches I've ever encountered. And what makes it worse is that it bristles with barbed thorns along ever bleeding inch of them. In the past, I've emerged from trimming this hedge with lacerations up my arms as though a wildly rabid cat has mauled me. And in the midst of a high humidity heatwave adequately protecting oneself from being maimed, well that can be stifling.

As things currently stand I've only removed approximately half of what I intend. And it does look really bad, as if some ravenous hedge monster has taken a huge bite out of it. Hubby, a bit shocked when he saw it, gave me the sort of look that says, do you know what you are doing? Characteristically asking - did you research this properly before you started? And of course I hadn't, that's the sort of thing he would do, me? very rarely. And even though I am fairly confident, from previous experience, that the pyracantha will not let me down, I've had my moment of doubt. It will recover. I just couldn't say how long that will take. If I did by chance accidentally slaughter this hedge out of all existence, then we will have a new garden bed to play with. I have my back up contingencies, yes I do. 

There is also the tricky thing of what to do with the briary hedge off cuts. Yesterday I sat with a lopper and pruning sheers, patiently chopping them into tinier bits. All so I could put them into our shared compost bin, without instantly filling it to the brim and overflowing. This morning, after a restless night's sleep because hands, hips and shoulders were too tenderly throbbing to sleep soundly, I am realising maybe I'll need to spread this job out - by quite a bit. My completist nature, does not remotely like this dragging out of a task . It's already been delayed by wind, rain and now a heatwave. But, I'll keep plugging away - but slowly I guess

Bizarre Ad Tag Line -  Protects against main blonde aggressors 

Hubby and I went one Wednesday morning to one of our favourite cafes. And as we were standing at the counter waiting to be served, you could not help but notice their was a truly horrendous level of cacophony going on in this cafe. At one table, eight women, seated and standing, all in leotard leggings were engaging in lively and very loud conversation. All of them speaking over each other at the same time, and trying to make themselves heard over others in the group. The volume level was constantly rising to the level of them all bellowing. Hubby looked at me, as though to say, must we going into that room? 

Well, we did go into that room. We took out our hearing aids, and we still could barely think, let alone speak. Every other customer there, was either suffering in silence, focused rather too intently on reading their e.mails, or attempted to engage in making themselves heard above this racket. Now, I have to say this is not an isolated rare incident. We have encountered similar loud conversational competitiveness in other groups of women. A female friend of ours tells us this sort of loudly talking over each other, is now very common when women get together. It appears to be all about being heard in the group. It doesn't require much reciprocal listening, just the use of increasing volume to assert yourself as being at the fore. 

I feel old-fashioned in saying this. I was brought up by my Mother, to not talk over someone when they were speaking, that this was considered the height of rudeness and showed a lack of respect. And even though you undoubtedly may be gagging to say something, you were to hold those thoughts till an appropriate pause appeared. Though I must to say, in my Mother's case, appropriate pauses were exceedingly rare in her conversation. Just saying. And, if I'm honest, I've not become expert at inserting myself into conversations, or judging when a pause is appropriate or not. I generally ere towards being overly self conscious, probably to the point of inhibition. Of not positioning myself as the dominant male authority in the room. I have been subjected to this from various Alpha Males I've encountered, far far too many times. Likewise the boorishly loud banter of a group of blokes on a pub crawl.  These are  not a pleasant experience either.

The group of women in the cafe, seemed to me to be qualitatively different. Demonstrating how conversation can become a generalised competition for audible dominance within a gathering. All eight of them were raising their voices to be heard over the top of everyone else's, and every single one of them dismally failing to be really heard. Is this due to too many interactions taking place on social media? A general decline in the quality of conversations? A manifestation of rampant individualism over the collective group? Or the egalitarian female group equivalent of the lone Alpha Male.? I am still a bit baffled, if not to say audibly battered, by the experience.

Strange overheard remark - 'Is it easy, or can you run it over?'

JUNE BLOG VIEWING FIGURES UPDATE

In June views of this Cornucopia blog went really berserk on one of its final few days.  I had in one day 257,716 views, the highest daily viewing total so far. The total for the whole of June was hence another first, 388,955 views. There was also another milestone in that during June, total views since I began the blog in 2005, reached one million.

SHERINGHAM DIARY No 140 - On The Ethics of Bird Feeding

The usual barometer of when Spring arrives is activity on the bird feeder in our back garden. The number and frequency of birds feeding upon it reaches a new peak, as enthusiastic broods of fledglings come to learn the ropes - Here is a bird feeder. Here is the meal worms suspended in fat  Here, is a lot easier than scrounging about for worms and insects in earth, I can tell you. You babes don't know you are born these days. So, pull in your bum fluff and get the hang of it boys and girls. I'm going to take a bath in the water jacuzzi with your dad. What's going on there? Well never you mind, just tuck in and look away.

Robins appear particularly stupid. They try and they flail. They flap wings madly, whilst simultaneously attempting to peck at the feeder. They make real hard work of what ought to be a simple enough task - Land on bird feeder, grip the wire with your feet, extend the head towards the food object, tuck in. Repeat. It's not rocket science. I thought birds and animals were genetically pre- programmed with such abilities. Weeks later does it dawn on Robins finally how you get the hang of it. 

This year has been noticeable different. The birds didn't really stop breeding over the Winter, because everything was 'so unseasonably mild', as the weathermen like to put it. This Spring there's been an increased volume of bigger birds trying and failing to make bird feeders work for them. Because, if truth be told, they are too f.....g big. Bird feeders were designed for petite birds, like sparrows, blue and great tits, reed warblers, coal tits, pied wag tails and robins, these have all come to use of our increasingly deluxe boutique bird feeding facilities.

The problem for larger birds is that they are large. And by large I mean more than medium large - blackbirds, jackdaws, magpies, thrushes and woodpeckers. We get mega large wicked looking crows and fat wood pigeons rolling in on their wobbly chassis. Flapping about manically, they get at most a peck or two and then go. It's exhausting just watching them struggle to snip even a small morsel between their beaks  Unless you are our local spotted woodpecker, who turns up early every morning, and gets stuck into a hanging half coconut of mealworm fat. This bugger will happily gorge itself till he explodes. I have, I admit, cultivated a disdain for woodpeckers, they are bloody greedy fuckers and are extraordinarily messy eaters, to boot. Throwing as much food left and right and onto the floor as what they eat. No one wants to watch a glutton eat. He keeps the wood pigeons happy though. With a wild scattering of crumbs on the ground beneath.

It got so bad recently, when half coconuts of mealworm in fat were being consumed at a rate of two a day. I mean, I'm not made of money. I just stopped putting them out for half a week. I've tried going to war with them, giving them a preliminary warning -  look just don't abuse my generosity guys and gals or I'll get really mean. Larger birds are the bullies of the bird world, they scare off anything small. My getting annoyed,however, is a waste of energy. There is no point in discriminating between small and large birds, no matter how vexing I find the greediness of a spotted woodpecker. They have, I expect, ravenous broods to feed like everyone else. I am penalising all birds if I do that. So I have tried to learn my lesson. Put up and shut up. Through heavily gritted teeth.

As we are buying a lot of fat sticks and half coconuts stuffed with mealworm lately, I have good cause to raise a concerning question. The birds who come into my garden and feed on the bird feeder, am I just training them to be lazy and creating a new obese generation of tits? If I put seed or peanuts or hard fat balls out, they are not remotely interested, far too difficult a digestive problem. My goodness, do fledglings have rubber beaks that can't chew or masticate. Because ours simply want to gorge on the softer mealworm fat. Now I know these are hungry fledglings learning to eat for themselves, but shouldn't I be encouraging them to eat wholesome stuff like insects, things they will consume as adults,? Am I merely storing up trouble for wild birds by making them dependent on me serving up the bird equivalent of a McDonald's Cheese Burger?

AI reaches new nadir
Yesterday, I was trying to type 'Papal sanction' into a blog I was writing.  AI apparently knew better what I was really trying to say, and automatically changed it to Pay Pal. It's becoming increasingly the case that as I write my blogs, half the time I am recorrecting the AI auto correct of what I originally wrote. Only to find at a later date it has recorrected it back to what it produced the first time.  This is the future we are going to be f.....d over by.

Blog Stats For May - 170,357 views.

SHERINGHAM DIARY No 139 - When The Chips Are Down

To all of you for whom this is your first viewing of this blog, Welcome, and happy browsing. Thank you for your interest and visit.

April was the first month when this Cornucopia blog topped over 110,000 viewers. March got close with just short of 95,000. And it's been busier over the quieter months of Winter too. May last year was my busiest of that year, at 65,000. 2026 has exceeded that most months,  If it continues to follow that pattern then 150,000 may be feasible this May.  This upsurge in views over the last few years still feels slightly perplexing.  I keep posting the same sort of stuff I do normally, and though it's interesting to watch what happens each month, it does seem that this is nothing to do with me.

Advert Tag Line No 1 -Stop the leaks, Stop the yawns.

Having reached the statistically significant Benchmark of 100,000, Blogger has started to offer me Ad Sense, which is automated advertising on the site. There are days when the idea of earning money through the blog appeals, but mostly I feel reluctant -to very hostile against doing so. Ever increasing levels of advertising enshitify everywhere on the internet.  I am not alone in finding it irritating. My adding to this with my own blog would, hence, be hypocritical of me. Blogger says you can exercise some control over what and where. But I really do not trust that assertion. That this is a mindless automated algorithm, tells you all you really need to know. I like to approach my blog, however humble, as free of the constant pressure to consume or tolerate a sales pitch interrupting the moment you idly click on a site.

Advert Tag Line No 2 - Nature's Wrinkle Fighter 

Whilst we are on the subject of enshitification  The first thing You Tube does now when I click on it, is shove some random Short in my face, that it thinks I might appreciate. This can be when I've just got up in the morning. I am not in the frame of mind to tolerate any of this first thing. I become annoyed as I madly search for someway to make it bloody well stop. My tablet screen also appears to have become hyper sensitive to my fingers merely hovering over it. So adverts or other You Tube posts suddenly pop up whilst I'm perhaps deeply absorbed in a interesting video on prehistoric archeological anomalies in the Saudi Arabian desert. I kid you not. Take a look at these!

Advert Tag Line No 3 - A softer bit for every tot

Having recently spent a few days with friends in Southwold, we've realised a short break before the busy Summer season kicks in, is actually beneficial and an all round good idea. Whilst in Southwold we visited all the usual places we like, but spread these out in a more relaxed fashion across two days. On the third day we took a trip down to Aldbrough. My recollection of it was as a pretty seaside town with not a lot more to it. This was reconfirmed. It still has a fine beach sculpture designed by Maggie Hambling, but not much else. The shops are mostly middle brow art galleries that wouldn't scare any horses, it has three delicatessens, yes I did say three, plus the obligatory clothes, giftware and interiors shops. But, we looked at all the chip shops in the town, and not one cooked chips in vegetable fat. It was exactly the same in Southwold. 

Our friends had loaned us their year passes to The Red House, Benjamin Britten and Peter Pear's house, which boasted it had a cafe. We drove there in the hope of finding chips. It turns out the cafe has a coffee percolator and a small range of pre-packaged biscuits & cake. I'm only mildly interested in Britten, and Hubby hardly at all, so our desire to know more soon expired, or was perhaps near to none existent in the first place. So still sans the holy grail of chips we terminated our visit with extreme prejudice, and drove away.

Advert Tag Line No 4 - Relief could be as simple as a shower 

We then imposed our presence upon the small, but grubby, town of Leiston, whose sole remaining function is as a conduit that enables you to reach Aldbrough. Currently Sizewell C is in the process of being built. All the preparatory access roads to enable the largest project currently under construction in England, are presently being levered into the picturesque country idyll and the wealth stuffed backwoods of Suffolk. The fight against Sizewell C was lost, however much tooth and nail was expended. These same local campaigners have switched to fighting the horrendous heavy traffic load rumbling upon the quiet roads, greens and ponds of their villages. Evidently a battle royale is being fought over these 'Rat Runs'. As everywhere are placards and yellow cut out cartoon rats on sticks lining every verge and hedge alongside the roads. Whilst I sympathise with the undoubtedly hellish situation, I can't help but feel they are going to have to grin and bare with this, until the infrastructure is completed. In this context protest seems a bit of a self indulgent whim.

Leiston is the logistical nub of all this cacophony of heavy haulage. Did they have a non animal fat chippy, no they did not. We resorted to sating our hunger in the back of the local Co Op supermarket. Here a Subway franchise was crammed into one desultory unused corner. We had a baguette stuffed with various forms of highly processed protein vegetable matter with accompanying raw condiments. And once we tucked in, found it to be OK. But even though it had all these supposedly good healthy real ingredients in it, it still felt as though it was meant to be eaten by toothless babies. No one frequenting Subway is ever required to own a full set of teeth, just a firm gummy jawline. Having successfully parked our hunger, and to avoid hearing the details of the health and safety inspection of Subway that began as we left, we drove home without further distressing any locals.

In the local elections, Sheringham defiantly hung on to its very effective Lib Dem Local Councillor, Liz Worthington, whose stepped up to County level.  Quite an achievement when all around fell prey to the deceptive lure of Reform. Norwich City Council, which has in the past invariably been a loan red beacon of Labour in a sea of Tory blue, has now turned resolutely Green surrounded by the polluting sewage swill of anaemic azure.

Currently Zack Polanski, the leader of the Green Party, is having to endure the mother of all character assassinations. He made one critical misjudgment, a chink in his armour appeared, and the right wing press are now down on him like a ton of bricks. Having literally run rings around them for the last six months, they are now giving him the Jeremy Corbyn treatment. Followed in very quick succession by the Angela Raynor treatment. These they subject only to left wing politicians that looks too worryingly popular to them. Throw any old mud at them cos some of it will stick in the public's mind. It's not pretty, and it would be nice to think the sort of tittle tattle they are digging up was insignificant. But in the hands of the right wing media this is all about the sullying of publicly favourable perceptions consistently over time. Meanwhile the greasy ( gifted into being a crypto multi-millionaire apparently ) Nigel Farage, is left relatively blemish free, all unexamined squeaky and clean, nothing to see here.

Meanwhile I finished a decorative piece for the garden. We had a metal arched framework that once held a mirror until it inevitably broke. I've been intending to cut up an old metal lampshade and make it into panels to fill in random panes, plus casts in air dry clay and spray them white. Its not my finest executed piece, but it fills the space well. That's one less thing to think about and I can move on to the next job on my rolling to do list.

SHERINGHAM DIARY NO 138 - Faking Shelves & Core Strengths

We were in a queue for a till in Lidl. The customer before us was paying for what looked like the weekly shop. Her daughter still in her school uniform, was doing her best to help pack the stuff they'd bought from.the conveyor belt into the supermarket trolley. Her Mum, tetchily asked ' What do you think you are you doing?' To which her daughter replies 'I'm trying to arrange it all neatly' The Mum replies "There's no point, let it be a mess' and as if to demonstrate, executed a dramatic sweep of a whole load of stuff into the trolley with one arm. I guess you might say that was a life lesson.

Strange Advert Question - ' Throat ruining your moment?'

Finished getting all the cupboard doors back on last week, Hurrah!  Painting and varnishing all the cupboard crates Prairie Sage, Double Hurrah !!  I was waiting all week for the arrival of a device to scan one wall for electric wires. Once it did arrive it became clear that one quarter of that wall was a veritable warren of wires, right where some hanging shelf supports were supposed to go. Initially deflated and Grrr frustrated. Hubby came up with a way around that holds the shelf that side on small brackets screwed into the cupboard next door to it. Still looks like it's hung on metal suspension hangers, because we are faking it to look so. Job done.

We decided a while ago that the wall just to the left of our far from salubrious half working oven, which before our repainting was a fat bespattered Pollock, needed a splashback fitted. After further thought we settled on simply extending the existing tiling to cover that area. All we needed to do was find some more tiles similar to ours. You might have thought that easy to do, to find some 10cm square slighting bumpy finished white tiles. But say not so. After a fruitless trip to B&Q in Fakenham, we shlepped over to Cromer to Tile Depot, where we asked about whether they had any such tiles. The way he said '10cm' was as though we'd just asked him whether the world was truly flat, which quickly made it plain we'd be getting nowhere here. Even online they appear to have become semi- mythical. Not completely exhausted all local possibilities, but we are not getting close to finding any as yet. The kitchen final completion date is pushed further beyond conjecture.. 

In A Health Advert - And thirty days later my neighbours are asking me what I've done to my knees.

Meanwhile, I am in the process of sanding back an IKEA drop leaf table in the kitchen. We've had it eight years, and the strange plasticated varnish has badly worn away in places.  It's made of segments of wood laminated together, our kitchen shelves were made similarly. And I noticed that once you varnish them they're so parched they suck the varnish in like a hungry incubus. I'm guessing this is to do with the laminating process. It helped to lightly dampen the wood before applying my first coat of varnish, I've discovered. Given the amount of time it takes to get the old varnish off, and the five or six coats of varnish it requires to get a decent level of finish, I'm willing to be content with the way it is turning out. It's not perfect, but it will certainly pass as OK. Another thing drops of the to do list, which is finally reaching the last dregs of stuff dreamt up in a feverish brainstorm we had three months ago. What's left to do? The splashback obviously, and a major internal clean of our partially decrepit oven. Which may include replacing an oven fan, which is very easy to do, so my husband says. Why do I feel a rising skepticism that that will be the case?  Experience man, past experience with this project.

For whatever reason I've had stretches of poor sleep lately, followed by a few good nights, that are never quite consistent enough to fully compensate for the previous sleep deficit. Morning meditations after about twenty minutes of sitting, have of late quietly slipped into a half hour coda of slumber.  From which I awake still in meditation posture and resting hand mudra, just a little ashamed of my very satisfying slumber Interlude. One I totally failed to notice and hence prevent. Mindfulness where art thou now?

You Tube Podcast Title - The No 1 Anti-Aging Vegetable 

I've been experimenting as part of my morning tai chi and exercise routine by adding in a round or two that strengthen my core back muscles, which appear to be helping quieten down the perpetually inflamed nature of my hip joints, that has been bothering me all winter. Sometimes it seems, that it's a matter of discovering what works best at relieving one's panoply of aches and pains. Obviously the underlying decrepitude of my joints is never going fully. I can imagine myself in some future care home performing this elaborate range of accumulated exercises that has gradually taken over my whole day. And my life will then feel fulfilled with - something.

Advert Tag Line Taken Completely Out of Context - Goodbye Gush Worries

I have been buying music on download for many years. Beginning back in the day when they lured you off CD's by offering you a CD & MP3 in one combined bargain purchase.  I Tunes would also allow you to download your CD's onto their music platform. The only thing I found was that some of those CD file downloads would abruptly cease working, usually after Apple did some digital upgrade. As with all things internet, the initial freedom and flexibility offered, gradually gets narrowed down bit by bit, until it's fully enshittified. As my CD collection is 200+,  downloading all of it is quite a task, and I've done that a few times now. But no more. I've bought myself a CD player, that you can also stream music on. I've rediscovered the joys of playing music, which has a depth and range of sounds that is richer and more panoramic. 

I'm realising how impoverished my ears have been. The desire for portability and convenience, leading to the limited acoustics ear buds are capable of. I can understand why there is a revival of interesting vinyl, because for all its practical downsides, the reproduction of sound was always way better than even that on CD's. It's one of those technological trade offs we often find ourselves having made unthinkingly. Whilst Apple currently let you play the downloads you've purchased for free via its I Tunes platform, what's the betting they'll eventually make it a premium service you pay a month subscription for access to. It will be that fait accompli or you'll have to tolerate an increasing level of adverts, that will make listening quietly to your own music a thing of the past. 

Misplaced Adjective Advert - Find Your New Fast.

SHERINGHAM DIARY NO 138 - Everyday Horariums

On the Park n Ride bus travelling in to Norwich centre, a little boy, was perched on his Father's lap. He'd been told to look out for the Castle, and was excitedly trying to be the first to spot it. Without really knowing, apparently, exactly what the castle, or any castle for that matter, looked like. So every grand looking building we passed he'd yell ' there's the castle', to which his Dad said ' No, that's not the castle' and the boy asked what was it then, and his Dad somewhat befuddled blurted out ' Oh, I don't know, but that's not the castle.'  And this went around the exact same cycle of call and response several times, before the bus eventually pulled up right beneath the castle bailey.

Copyright - Paul Bommer

We were in Norwich on a few errands, including a far from necessary visit for me to Book Hive. I came away with two books, so I was restrained. But also we came to see bits of The Queer Fest events. A market of LGBT+ craft makers in The Forum, felt a bit like time travelling back to the 1970's with slogans, badges and lots of agit prop ephemera, rainbows on everything, ever so slightly naughty, horny and amateurishly homespun. Baggy mohair jumpers, dungarees, lurid hair colours, you get the picture. This tacky alternative culture, felt slightly disappointing, in that we are still doing this type of stuff.  The Queer Fest exhibition at the Anteros Gallery in Bridge Street was much better. The best thing was Paul Bommer's painted ceramic plates etc, executed in the style of delftware, but the subject matter was more explicit than traditional. My favourite was entitled A Gay Drop In Centaur, which portrayed exactly that. Such wit and irreverence, is really in short supply these days. He's well worth searching out you'll find his website here - Paul Bommer

A friend recently loaned me a book by Ronald Blythe. In it I came across a term that I think could prove useful, it's called 'ground truthing'. It originally comes from modern cartography, 'ground truthing' is the need to cross check remotely sensed technological data, ariel or satellite imagery, with the actual physical circumstances on the ground. It''s become a general term used for whenever you need to test an abstract theory against the practical reality. It struck me as being what the Buddha asked his followers to do with his teachings, to test the truth of them in the ground of their own experience.  'Ground truthing' feels even more important these days, with our AI bedraggled information servers, faked imagery, algorithmic beset world. Where everything is delivered to us via a suspect and manipulated technological intermediary. When your computer just serves you what it thinks you want to see, hear or already believe, identifying where the truth of a matter lies has become extraordinarily valuable, not that this is easy to establish.  So, ground truth the hell out of it, I say.

I was sat at table in Cornish Bakery, whilst Hubby placed and collected our order. For me, the usual Cornish Pudding with a side of Oat Latte. It was extremely busy, so bagsying your table before ordering proved essential. Two, thirty something women, one American, one English, did likewise and plonked themselves on a table just by ours.  Their animated discussion came around to what they should order. The English woman piped up, brightly bushy eyed, like a hyper active puppy ' Have you tried a Chai Latte. Mmmm, It's a must have.'

In Iran we have the unprincipled executing the unspeakable. I mean what the world needs now is two wannabee autocratic western dictators bombing the hell out of a middle eastern autocratic regime, and doing so in order to help democracy along.  No one is mentioning weapons of mass destruction this time, cos, it has unpleasant associations of the last time the US thought it could sort out the world, and made it worse instead. They will leave Iran in a huge mess, throw them a dust pan and brush, and say 'here make yourself a democracy out of streets of rubble- Bye!'

As many regular readers of this blog will know, I have an erratic sleep pattern. I know I am not alone in this. I could waste a paragraph or two here, listing all the numerous factors that may cause me to have a restless night. But take it for granted you have better things to do than listen to a catalogue of my moans and self justifications. For a number of years I've been attempting to cultivate a more equanimous relationship with insomnia. This is how it is, and being in a state of frustrated anxiety around it, though perfectly understandable, really doesn't appear to help. Staying relatively calm and not getting too fraught, is better. Hostility helps no one, so I've stopped doom scrolling the self help cures for insomnia tips. Turned a deaf ear to the unhelpful information about it shortening your life. Chilled out about whatever unspeakable time in the morning it was. This is not to imply I don't have my bad mornings, when I feel as though I'm dragging myself around like a half drowned rat. I do, dear reader, I do. But these pass, just so long as I can leave them alone, and don't stoke the embers of 'poor me' self pity too much.

A bit of medieval bedtime reading

Recently it dawned on me that my sleep routine has more than a passing resemblance to a monastic horarium. A sequence of stages in the night, where a monk would rise to pray or perform a devotional ritual. One of those, Lauds, happens between 2 and 3 am, a common time of awakening. This coincides with the actually rhythm of the sleep cycle we have, Apparently we naturally lift out of deep sleep around this time. The thing to note here, is that it's not freakish nor unhelpful necessarily to be awake at this time of night. After many years of filling my early risings with internet scrolling and binge watching detective series. I decided this was not a great set up for my general mental state, so I put a stop to all that. Now what I do is I have breakfast, write in a Study Journal, read the dharma, meditate and round it all off with a session of Tai Chi. 

I have been known to take a nap after this, and can, if the winds are favourable, attain an additional one or two hours sleep. So on a good night, I may have combined around seven to eight hours sleep, without making too big a fuss about it. A long unbroken period of sleep can indeed be really satisfying. But it's a mistake to turn that into an ideal. Aiming for unbroken sleep is, I've found, not necessarily the most helpful thing to expect of yourself, when insomnia is an issue. I am finding it personally more useful to lean in to what is actually happening, in as unforced and kindly way as possible. 

Whilst waiting in a queue in the Norwich branch of Sostrene Green, an elderly couple standing next to us were having a bit of an argy bargy. He was all gruff vocal noises grinding away incessantly wittering in her ear. The subject matter of this conversation remained incoherent to me. But when she struck up in reply, it rang out emphatically and crystal clear - ' I cannot fathom why you would say such a thing, I am so, NOT in denial'

The kitchen revamp, slash repaint, continues to make slow progress. The decorating part of it has dragged on far far longer than expected, similar to a conversation with someone who doesn't pick up on the visual signs that you want to leave. I've had nearly a dozen cupboard doors to repaint. Initially this meant heat gunning the vinyl shell off, priming and then four coats of heavy duty paint. But the cupboard paint proved to be not that durable to even the most minor of knocks. So I had to start spray varnishing them, which has added yet another time consuming level to the already lengthy process. This has, I'll admit, turned it into one long and somewhat tedious task. I have had days, when I've felt trapped in a relentless production line. Emotional struggles aside, the end is in sight, but curiously its always at this point where time appears to be most dragging it's heels. Maintaining engagement and managing my energy have become my two guiding practices. It's a slow steady process, be slow and steady alongside it, not wishing for it to be quicker, when it won't be.

As we left town travelling back to the Park n Ride, we passed a very familiar junction called The Boundary. A strange little island around which traffic circulates, even though it's not really a roundabout. Plonked in the middle is a huge Indian Curry Restaurant, that has been there for decades and decades. Though this has been through at least three different iterations and names in the eight years we've been here. The current owner has chosen to rename it - JOYS SPICE.  I am, however, still awaiting an apostrophe or something to indicate exactly how I am supposed to interpret what that means.

SHERINGHAM DIARY NO 137 - Them Philistines They Fight Pretty Dirty

Imagine, if you will, you want to build an extension onto your house. You draw up your planning application and all goes smoothly until you actually start digging the footings. Your neighbour suddenly objects to you removing a tree that is partially on their property. After some discussion you agree on a mutually agreeable way forward. What you would never expect would be that the way forward agreed upon would be to cut the tree vertically in half.

Well, we reluctantly return to the denouement of the democratically shabby tale of the Sheringham Bus Shelter. Norfolk County Council pulled out of the Transport Hub development in a fit of pique before Christmas. Since then there has been virtual radio silence. Only the shocking revelation that the public consultation had actually shown widespread public dislike of the whole project, not the wholehearted endorsement the NCC portrayed it as. Our Town Council has, in the meantime, been attempting to find a way forward with the NCC that does take into account the protesters concerns. Suddenly a planning proposal was likely. Though there was an air of sheepishness and a disconcerting lack of confidence in what they'd come up with. When the proposal was published, I was stunned and incensed. They wanted to incorporate the old 1950's Bus Shelter by cutting off the front half of it. The protesters understandably shouted 'Betrayal'.

Which incandescently insensitive and stupid individual came up with this idea, we shall probably never know. What was, however, very recognisable, was the same old NCC trait of attempting to draw a firm line under this proposals, as being the only viable option. Yet another fait accompli delivered. Well, viability depends upon how you chose to frame the criteria. There is a genuine, relatively minor inconvenience, with the old bus stop, that in the summer season the pavement becomes clogged with waiting people and people getting off buses, so casual pedestrians who just wants to pass by cannot easily get through. Widening the pavement would however entail the removal of the old bus shelter, that was the offending part of the previous proposal.

You might think, like many before me, that the ideal solution would be to move and relocate the old bus shelter further back. But like everyone in this country who offers an opinion about the financing of local infrastructure projects, none of us have a clue how much these ideas actually cost to carry out, and are universally appalled when we are told. You can hear the gammons now, declaiming - Couldn't this be better spent on the NHS?  The cost of moving the bus shelter, according to the NCC, is estimated at an additional £100,000, which they say they do not have. But what they mean by this, is that they are not willing to look for how that money might be found. Were the bus shelter already a listed building, they could apply for funding to help with it's preservation. But it's not, so you can literally do anything you want to it, demolish it, or cut it in half apparently.

If one were of a conspiratorial mindset, one might be left suspecting that cutting it in half is actually another manifestation of spitefulness. They literally went halfway to meet the protestors demands. This now festering conservative administration currently in the last month's of running Norfolk County Council, before they are resoundingly turfed out in May. To be replaced, no doubt, by the uniquely 'bull in a china shop' incompetence of a Reform party surge. So I hold out no hope for a more responsive administration. 

What happened here, in my opinion, was a planning authority attempting to use stipulations meant to judge new build applications, being insensitively applied to an older building. So we have pavement ease of access issues, wheelchair access issues. But all of these issues are already being addressed by the spanking new bus shelter that is still going to be built a few yards along from the old bus shelter. So why couldn't the old bus shelter just be left as it is, with all its accessibility inconsistencies. Because the planning department are inflexible and insist on compliance to strictures, that cannot be realistically fully achieved other than by the removal or a bastardised compromise, of the offending building. The Town Council met and discussed whether to approve this new plan. Which they duly did, so they did not hold their nerve and swallowed their integrity, which is pretty much in tatters anyway over their flip flopping. The NCC are pretty much hated and distrusted around here now all the more. So I wish them luck the next time they submit plans for public consultation.  

Bus Shelter already boxed up just in case

Is half an old bus shelter really better than none? Has this contentiousness over a undistinguished little bus shelter, really been worth of all this effort? What does it say about the ability of local government to take local concerns seriously? Was this upset a disproportionate and overly sentimental response in the first place? Is there a way through and beyond disagreements, that does not result in vilifying one side in opposition to the supposed virtuousness of another? Was something unhealthy formed out of the misappropriation of righteousness? I have to now let that go, to let it be whatever it will now be. The time for everyone involved to move on has arrived.

SHERINGHAM DIARY No 136 - The Nordic Cotton Dream Team

As a winter storm named after someone's close relation, ripped it's chilly whisk through North Norfolk, the elderly population nestled in their homes. Whilst I foolishly ventured out to my Tai Chi class. Expecting a low turn out, but was a defiantly full complement. Today the air appears deceptively calm, and the sun is getting to work clearing the backlog of mist. So the day begins, with the usual sleepy headed meditation and the gentle muscular yank of Yang Ten. Once completed I sit and read, or as now, I write. 

It's very easy for people in their sixties, such as myself, to write paragraphs bemoaning the physical privations their age imposes upon them. And leave the celebration of their continued existence a little underplayed. And yet, indulge me. For each winter I appear to have some new seasonal joint pain to report.  Last year it was the shoulders,  resistance band training to strengthen the enfeebled shoulder muscles, did the trick. This year, the winter aches have relocated to the hip joints. I spend time in the morning soothing the discomfort of hips. Some days, such as today, post the deeper isobars of a cold storm front passing over, those hips feel tender, almost raw. May be at sixty eight, I should take up  radical hoola hooping or something similarly gyratory.

The kitchen revamp progresses. I started with the kitchen pantry. Well, pantry sounds a bit like we live in this grand house. It's quite a confined space under the staircase which had been shelved in a rudimentary manner since we moved in. There was a fair bit of sorting, chucking, and mucking out being done. Repainting the interior a pristine white, was the easy bit. Cutting down old IKEA Billy shelf units from our shop to fit the space, that proved to be taxing. This was similar to dressing  yourself inside a paper bag.

I am the son of a very skilled joiner, and yet he passed little of his talent on to me. What joinery skills I possess were not genetically bequeathed to me, nor nurtured by any fatherly mentoring. Most of it simply rubbed off by hanging around people like my Dad and observing them. Though I can quickly get into a fraught state with even fairly minor woodworking tasks. Particularly if my cack handed abilities with cutting wood precisely are once more revealed to my ego.  Let it be said, being a joiner's son does not do wonders for your confidence with carpentry. Lingering in the back of most men's minds are those mythical 'real men' who are supposed to be grand masters of any practical skill. Well. like many ordinary man, I can get by without looking too foolish or a complete tub of lard, but I do generally bodge with the best. 

I was, therefore, heartily glad when I could return to decorating, which I heartily enjoy. To take colour, paint, paint brushes and rollers and slap it on ceilings and walls generously and everything be beautifully transformed, your room, your mood, your feelings about the precarious political economic situation. Plus, it has re-engaged both Hubby and I with a bit of interior design therapy. I've recently discovered what a joy a heat gun is when applied to vinyl covered kitchen cupboard doors, the facing comes off like an exfoliated rectangle of skin. Not that I'm an expert on the flaying of flesh. That would be a bit creepy. The first batch of doors are, however, now primed and waiting on skilful paintbrush work to transform them into an immaculate sage green. Before I get too ahead of myself here, the ceiling is now done, so it's onwards to the kitchen walls. I'm going to man the hell out of them.

And then, I removed one of the kitchen cupboards to prep the wall for the open shelving we want to replace it with. I expected the wall to be magnolia like the rest of the kitchen with a couple of holes to be filed. Who ever installed the cupboards slapped them in over the pre-existing wall and then painted around the cupboards. They also bodged installing an electricity duct and didn't plaster over. Leaving an open gash.To be honest, you'd have thought a much loved dog had just died, I spiraled from irritated anger into an exasperated despair. I became deeply deeply exhausted. It was as though this emotional time lag had just caught up with me, and wham!, was right in my face. I'm out of it today, but boy was I in a bit of a funk.

Today, another cold winter storm is blowing through. Rattling the outside hanging baskets, yes, we still have those. It's mild man. We travel to Blakeney, to Seagulls gallery to bring fresh stock for the new season. The gallery is reopening on Saturday. It was clear when we looked at the figures, that Seagulls performs really well, even when compared to our old shop. Which makes us think perhaps we should give it more consistent attentive focus. We have three new fabrics to compliment our range, that we are reasonably confident we will doing well with.

For many years the state of a few of my teeth has gone beyond being salvaged by fillings. At some point they collapse beyond repair. Two teeth in my upper jaw have gone through this process. I've kept putting off the day of final extraction, but this year the gums around them started being troublesome and I've been getting migraine like headaches. All of which seemed like signs things were not good. Today was the day they came out. It's a weird sensation now they are gone. I'm still in the days of salt mouthwashes, pain killers and soft food, but things appear to be settling down fine, so far.

Talking of the consequences of a lifetime of sugar consumption. My month of Cakee Free Januaree has concluded. I've noticeable lost weight. In the past I've tried to maintain my diet, by keeping to the numbers, whilst still eating cakes. This never helps in the losing of weight. For two reasons, the tendency to under report calories in cakes, and the cluster fuck of cake calories go straight onto the waistline anyway. Post January, I'm aiming to keep to one cake treat per week, and see how I get on maintaining that. Wish me luck.           

And Remember - Lash lift from every angle.