Determined concerning having found a solution (8)

I have in the past been reluctant to make - or at least, to publicly announce - new year's resolutions. However, this year I find that some ideas have come to me at around the right time to embark hopefully upon certain causes of self improvement. Resolutions fall into two categories - positive action, and self-denial. I have one in the first category, one and a bit in the sceond, and a bit of each.

1. I will not buy any clothes in 2014. This will probably be the hardest to keep. It began as a pledge to stop browsing and impulsively buying in charity shops, but really, there can't be anything I'll need in the next twelve months that can't wait. I half expect this one to falter, but let's see how long it will last.

2. I will go vegan (diet wise, that is; I'm not chucking out perfectly good clothes and shoes, although of course I won't be buying any either) for January at least. To commit to a whole year might seem too big a step (although I have done it before, for eighteen months, and it was surprisingly easy). The hard part will come when we are boating and have to (!) eat in pubs.

3. In conjunction with 2, I will not drink beer in January (yes, I know most beer isn't vegan anyway, but that along with wine was the one exception I used to allow myself). The idea is that 2 and 3 combined will lead me to becoming svelte, although I don't know why as I managed previously to be the world's only fat vegan. I hesitate to admit to giving up beer, and this one is definitely only temporary, but I have had rather a lot lately. There's no teaching in January, and little socialising forecast, so that shouldn't be too hard.

4. I will read fewer trashy detective novels (mainly because I've run out of authors) and more grown up books with matt finish covers.

5. And - the big positive one - I am resolved that 2014 will be the year I get to grips with the cryptic crossword, and enjoy all its entertaining and brain-rejuvenating benefits. This has been directly inspired by Diamond Geezer's centenary crossword, but is an ambition I can trace back to sixth form, when one of the teachers started a crossword club, and promised to initiate us into the mysteries of the cryptic clue. I don't know why I stopped going after one week - perhaps it all just seemed too hard - but ever since then I've had an awareness that solving these clues is a skill that can be learnt, and that it's something I ought to be good at. So I had a go at the Guardian one yesterday. I got off to a heartening start by identifying and then solving all the anagrams, and surprised myself by completing more than half of it over the next twenty four hours. When I got the answers this morning, I could understand how most of them worked. I have also ordered a couple of books which I hope will be helpful. Today's Guardian one (set by Shed) seems a lot harder and I've not made any progress yet, so thanks to Rufus for getting me off to a good start.

I will provide progress reports of the success or failure of all these ventures.

Meanwhile, it only remains to wish you your heart's desire in 2014.

Return to Newhaven

Little has changed since I was last here. Tellingly, the nail bar has become a food bank. I suspect that this is an even worse sign, economically, than a charity shop becoming a church outreach centre. It has rained non stop (apart from the hail) since I arrived on Friday.

I have, as of the present moment, spent slightly more than half my life in Newhaven. I intend to remedy this as soon as possible by spending the best part of the rest of it somewhere else. It seems quite likely, however, that I will never again spend twenty five years living in one place.

It has taken me far too long to realise how much more there is to this country than the expensive, crowded, ironically dirty, smug south east.

Oh dear, that's not a very cheery note for Christmas is it... Of course it is lovely to be back in the company of Sons 1 & 2 and their partners and in the case of No. 1 Son, offspring, and at least all the time it's raining it's not cold, and my goodness, that counts for a great deal.

So a very happy yuletide to everyone.

Christmas tradition number 1: cheese and biscuits

Back in Newhaven for Christmas and chaotic as ever, although thankfully warmer than the last two years, as we settle beck into the garden shed and negotiate the return of cutlery (and flatware!) from Number 2 Son. Shopping as usual is unplanned and ad hoc, until the final making of a list today (milk, cheese, biscuits, pickled onions, food). I was going to have a sandwich for my tea but Jim couldn't get a breadcake, so I broke out the cheese and biscuits instead.



These may be considered a quotidien postprandial treat for many, but for me they are very much a Yuletide indulgence. Especially TUC crackers, for which I have long had an inordinate fondness. As a child, I wondered why Len Murray and his ilk warranted a particularly tasty and crumbly biscuit being produced in their honour (yes, I was that kind of child) and to this day I am a trifle mystified by their name. But never mind. They are still crumbly and indulgent and delicious and somehow greasy.

Cheese and biscuits entails firstly selecting the biscuits. You can butter them, but they have a frustrating tendency to shatter, especially in the winter, so I trust to gravity and balance to keep the topping in place. Next, cut up some cheese into nibble sized pieces, and finally cut some pickled onions - the spiciest you can get - into eighths. The purpose of all this advance preparation is that you can now retire to the sofa and assemble a tasty snack with your right hand whilst holding a book in your left. Each mouthful must consist of a piece of cheese, a portion of onion, and a bite of biscuit. It is this last component which can be unpredictable and thus introduces a slight ait of adventure. The trick is to finish the biscuits, cheese and onions all together with no remainders - and of course, without having counted them out beforehand. If there is cheese left, you need more biscuits, and possibly more onions. After the cheese is gone, you may find yourself left with an excess of onion pieces, requiring the adfition of ,ore cheese. In this way, a light teatime snack can go on for a very long time. Being an old hand, ended with a neat two bits each of cheese and onion, requiring just one further TUC biscuit to finish them off in two neat bites. Merry Christmas!

Wardrobe mistress

After... Goodness, it looks just like in the books.

It's no secret that I have a bit of a charity shop habit, and this manifests itself mainly in buying clothes. Wherever I am, I take at least a weekly stroll through the local philanthropic emporia, usually coming away with at least one impulse purchase, and frequently more. Despite rising prices and increasing charitable rapaciousness, most items cost only four or five pounds. For years I've convinced myself that I'm a thrifty shopper, spending less on my high class wardrobe than others do on their supermarket sweatshop one.

I'm starting to wonder, however, in the light of the sheer volume of my purchases, whether I'm deluding myself. It all adds up after all... not only in pennies but in the space it consumes. My flat came with two wardrobes, a modest pine one, and a massive classic G-Plan teak one. Of course they were both soon packed so tight that there was hardly any point in ironing anything, and deciding what to wear each day had me frozen like Buridan's ass to the power of seven.

Every six months or so I announce, to assembled groans, that I am going to 'sort out my wardrobe'. This generally entailed getting everything out, looking at it, and putting it back. So many things I'd not yet got round to wearing, but still, they deserved a chance, so back they went. Things I felt duty bound to keep, for sentimental reasons, or because they'd been expensive, even if I didn't really (whisper it) like them very much. A few bits would get recycled back to the charity shop, and more often or not, I'd miss them. I have on at least one occasion bought something back after wondering how I could have been so stupid as to get rid of it.

The internet is full of helpful women, mostly American, telling you how to master your wardrobe. They usually start with sorting everything out by season, and packing away your unseasonal clothes somewhere inaccessible. Well, I don't have anywhere inaccessible, and most of my clothes aren't seasonal. Thick jumpers and thermal vests maybe don't get much of an outing in June, but almost anything else, in the right combination with other things, can be worn all year round. Then they say, sort out all your co-ordinated work outfits. My what? They talk about sorting out things that need washing, or mending, or dry cleaning... Nothing would ever go back in my wardrobe if it needed washing or mending (it would sit in the mending basket for a year instead) and as for dry cleaning... Whatever the label says, if it won't wash, I don't want it, so I stick it in the machine on a woollen cycle and let it take its chances. I've not lost anything yet.

Clearly the conventional approach was not going to work for me - but neither was my old method. So I applied myself to devising a new, effective, system for becoming mistress of one's wardrobe, and I proudly introduce it to you.

I decided that each item would be given a rating from 1 - 5, and allocated a place to stack up the stuff for each category. They were:

1. I hate it. Throw it out (no matter how much it cost or who gave it to me)

2. Seemed like a good idea at the time, but admit it, it doesn't work. Doesn't suit me or is the wrong size, or something I never have the occasion to wear.

3. Boring but useful.

4. It's very useful or I like it - something I wear a lot.

5. I love it and will never part with it.

I took each item out of the wardrobe, had a good look at it, a good think, maybe tried it on, then allocated it to one of these piles. Once the wardrobe was empty I turned my attention to them. Everything rated 4 or 5 went straight back in. Everything rated 1 and very nearly everything rated 2 (one exception, a sparkly blouse that's a bit tight but looks good undone over a vest) got thrown out. I went through the 3's checking for things that duplicated each other. There weren't any, but I could have thrown them out if there had been. This was the hardest category; I had to be strict about things that 'might be useful one day' but hadn't actually been so far. They went. Mostly.


I ended up, after doing both wardrobes, with four bags full for recycling, and then went on to apply the same system to my shoes, which now fit into the available space again. That's a bag shoes at the front.

So, next time you need to have a good sort out, there's yet another new system to try. And my new year's resolution is to stop buying stuff except when I have identified in advance something that I actually need. It will be hard, thinking of the treasures I might be missing, but at least the clothes I've got will have room to breathe.

Bakewell and Birmingham

Ally, the owner of Birmingham, has sent me this photo of Bakewell and Birmingham paired together for Union Canal Carriers in 1979. It was taken by Lin Rose, in Gas Street Basin. Apparently Birmingham was usually paired with Balham, which was at this time assisting with repairs to Braunston tunnel.

I like the way it looks like one of the artful digital creations that Nick posts in his reflections series - but actually its the result of photographing an old Instamatic print with a phone camera.

Thank you very much Ally and Lin.

Market failure

Another bit of the brave new world has slipped away. Perhaps it is because I am a child of the sixties (literally; born slap bang in the middle) that I have a soft spot for the hopes and ambitions, the wild dreams even, that drove the decade - epitomised by its architecture - no matter how shoddy their (frequently literally) concrete realisation or how misguided they were later (made) to appear.

In 2003/4, as I drove each day to my first proper academic job at Portsmouth, I witnessed the dismantling of the Tricorn Centre (yes, I could find some photos, copy them, check out the copyright, write an appropriate caption, and upload them, but it would be so much easier if you just did a Google image search. But please do.), an Owen Luder brute with a giant marble run attached to it. It haunted my dreams; even though I had never been inside it in reality, my unconscious self desperately sought something in its decaying concrete labrynths.

Through my next job, in Huddersfield, I discovered Queensgate Market, which tapped into my strange attraction to the tatty and tawdry, and allowed me to travel in the amazing time machine of neglect that is the sixties market hall. I was immediately hooked on this northern delicacy; literally cheap and cheerful, a place where you could still buy broken biscuits, along with duck eggs, tripe, sink plungers and other glimpses of the fast-ebbing past.. Queensgate, which opened in 1970, has in fact fared better than most. Listed (against much local opposition) in 2004, it is genuinely unique architecturally, although this didn't stop the council proposing to partially demolish and significantly alter it in 2008.  It was the 20th Century Society's Building of the Month in February 2009, and won the Concrete Society's Certificate of Excellence for a mature structure in 2007 (I am SO glad that the Concrete Society exists, and that it has a Certificate of Excellence). It appears to be thriving with a glitzy website and even (heavens) click-and -collect - and was recently named Market Hall of the Year by the National Association of British Market Authorities (apparently there are 700 to choose from). It's probably been all done up inside since I was last there as well.

As we boated around the Midlands, I  made a point of trying to visit indoor markets where possible - often it wasn't, when they weren't open every day. But Wolverhampton got a look in, and of course Cannock. Particularly poignant was the half empty but oh-so-ambitiously named Agora in Wolverton, although as it was built in 1979 it falls outside the sixties dream, and indeed lacked the requisite pastel tiling.

But there was one market hall above all others that I wanted to see, ever since I read about it on the now sadly abandoned Nothing to See Here blog: the already long-doomed, and thus beautifully preserved through neglect, Castle Market in Sheffield. We never made it to Sheffield by boat, in the end, so my ambition was thwarted for a long time. By the time I did get to Sheffield, Castle Market was enjoying a (very) mini-renaissance, with the city council promoting its use; even though it was in its death throes, they were trying to keep it cheerful and on its feet until its successor was ready to take over. As a result, some of the old signage had already gone. It had the sense of somewhere that was waiting to die, but then they all do; that is part of their attraction. They are anachronisms, far more so than their lovingly restored Victorian predecessors (those that survived, of course, from the days when they themselves were the embarrassing old relics, quietly crumbling, smelling and dribbling in the corner). Huddersfield's Queensgate is unusual in having real architectural merit and interest; for the others the interest is historical, human, and not amenable to preservation orders. There was a wild, anonymous, request to have Castle Market listed in 2010, but it was, unsurprisingly, turned down.

And now Castle Market has gone; closed for the last time on Saturday. I didn't go along to photograph its last day, but others did. Its replacement - a curvy glass box as blandly typical of its time as Castle Market was of its own - is part of an attempt to regenerate the area which was itself in the sixties the retail centre of the city, while plans for the site of Castle Market include excavating and opening up more of the ancient Sheffield Castle remains over which it was built. If you had to get rid of an old building from the sixties, you probably couldn't have picked a better one. But it is, in so many ways, a loss all the same.

Enlightened view

Well, I looked at the view out of my window this morning and something interesting had happened:



New street lamps.

I knew that the council were installing new streetlamps. They flagged it up months ago, when they were resurfacing the road. Then last week there was a letter, telling us they were going to do it now. Then holes appeared in the pavement, and then the posts for the new streetlamps. Instead of being on the kerbside like the old ones, they're on the inside of the pavement, right up against the wall, which is good as it makes parking easier and frees up extra space.

But what a surprise to look out this morning and see the new lamp, in all its retro-Victoriana glory. The sort of thing you might expect in a twee new development, or a tourist hot spot, or a museum... But not in a little cul-de-sac side street off the A57. I wonder how well it will stand up to the weather compared to the previous ones.

For anyone who would like to look at more pictures of street lamps, there are plenty here.

Street lights are interesting to economists because they represent a non-excludable public good. It's impossible to limit the enjoyment of them to the people who paid for them. Once someone has paid, everyone benefits whether they've contributed or not. This means that in a classic free market, they are unlikely to be provided. Everyone will want everyone else to pay, and no one will want to fork out for something that others will enjoy for free, at their expense. So non-excludable public goods provide a good argument for taxation to provide services. You can make it a social contract argument - everyone would be happy to pay their share, as long as they could be sure that everyone else was also paying their share, so they would willingly agree to taxation in order to ensure that everyone pays, and everyone benefits.

Folky fun and furry friend

A couple of weeks ago, Sebastian and Izzi finally came to visit me in Sheffield, and become the latest guests to test out my £40-from-Oxfam and extremely heavy and therefore obviously good sofa bed. They pronounced it very comfortable and I can vouch for the fact that it is very convenient.

The pretext for them coming at this particular juncture was to attend the Full English concert at Firth Hall (part of the University). The Full English project involves creating a searchable digital archive of a vast number of previously scattered English (and beyond) folk music manuscript collections, freely available on the web for anyone to access. Part funded by a heritage lottery grant, it was coordinated by University of Sheffield academic Fay Hield, who is also a singer (whose records I like a lot).

The Full English band comprised (let me see if I can remember) Fay Hield, Martin Simpson, Nancy Kerr, Seth Lakeman, Sam Sweeney,  Rob Halbron and Ben Nicholls. That's a lot of folk fame in one small hall. The music was great, and enhanced by brief descriptions of some of the collectors (Apparently Percy Grainger loved his mum so much that he took a bunch of birch twigs with him on his honeymoon so that he could beat himself for having diverted his affections elsewhere.) and video screens showing archive photos and facsimiles of the manuscripts. At one point some cine footage of Maud and Helen Karpeles wearing oversized gymslips along with a male collector whose name eludes me but who was universally acknowledged not to be a natural, demonstrating some traditional dances. With handkerchiefs. There must have been 200 people in Firth Hall, and not a single one of them dared laugh.

The following day I took Sebastian for a special treat. As a child he was a great collector of polar bears - cuddly ones, model ones, books, pictures, ornaments, sculptures - you name it, if it was a polar bear, he collected it. But I don't believe he'd ever seen a real one. So I took him to Weston Park Museum to see the famous Snowy. Well, a real live one might have been asking a bit much, but a real dead stuffed one's the next best thing, and a lot more amenable to posing for photos.

Today I...

Inspired by James Ward who likes boring things, and DG's uneventful day yesterday... Today I went to Wilkinsons and bought some wrapping paper, also some slightly trendy looking raffia ribbon (although obviously no longer trendy if you can get it in Wilkos).



I then came home and wrapped the presents that I already have or have already bought. Here is a very poor photo of the presents I have wrapped so far. It is a poor photo because this is an iPad 2, I left it too lated to do in daylight, and Blogpress makes it look even worse than it is. I must get Bloggsy, Herbie looks far better than this.

My gift tags are made of old Christmas cards cut up with pinking shears. Obviously, I could afford to buy the Wilkinsons' gift tags that match the paper, but this is a family tradition. Many years ago, possibly before I was even born, my mother noticed some similar tags on sale at a local fete (I must have been born and at school, otherwise why would she have been at such an event). She thought 'I'm not paying for them, I could do that' and so a tradition was born. I am in fact now the posessor of the family pinking shears and take great pleasure each year in seeing how many tags I can produce from each card. Usually the cards I cut up are from at least one, and up to many, years previously, as when we were a family we received far more cards than we ever needed tags (at least when you apply the tag: card ratio which I reckon averages around 3:1).

I haven't actually been out and deliberately bought any Christmas presents yet this year (no, I tell a lie, there is one very deliberately purchased one here, but other than that) these are all things I've picked up over the course of the year. I won't say who they're for as they might start trying to guess already.

I was thinking of buying a tree. Having been for years one of those austere 'tree doesn't go up any earlier than the day before Christmas eve if I can help it' types I thought a bit of extended festive spirit wouldn't go amiss this year. However, the artificial trees in Wilko's and in B&M bargains were all exceedingly cheap and nasty looking, so I didn't get one. I might get a real one, they smell nice, but they do make a mess. Maybe just some holly from the garden if no one will notice me taking it. Holly doesn't last very well though, even if you put it in water. I tried that in 2011.

One week later

View from my window

My idea for a Sunday feature... The view from my window wherever I am. Mostly of course it will be this one, tracking the changing seasons and maybe, if it goes on for long enough, the human environment too. Perhaps the Hallam Tower Hotel barely visible dirty white against the grey sky on the right, will disappear, or (perhaps less likely) become luxury flats. Or maybe the hotel across the road will fetch something like its asking price of £1.2 million and turn into falts, instead of sitting ghostlike as it does now, with the owners occupying just a few rooms on the ground floor.



And here is the Hallam Tower in its days of hope and glory, completed in time for the 1966 World Cup qualifiers that were held in Sheffield... Closed in 2004 and all set to become luxury flats, until (my local correspondent informs me) the discovery of asbestos (a surprise in a building of the mid sixties?) rendered insufficiently profitable. The building languished ever since, widely considered an eyesore (and with some justice; as stunning as the building could be, it will always stand in stark conflict to its environment) and few tears, it seems, would be shed were it to be demolished. Maybe next week it won't be raining and you'll be able to see it better.

Location:S10

What we missed

Having gone to Gravesend on HS1 from St Pancras, we returned on the normal train to Charing Cross, and then caught the Clipper down to Tower Pier, arriving at half past ten, about two minutes after Waverley, so we able to have a good look at what we missed out on.

Adventure aborted

... owing to high winds at Gravesend. :-)
Will explain all tomorrow... Unless you can guess in the meantime. Should have gone to Southend....

Point of departure

Gravesend....

First boat trip

First port of call...

On my way...

Adventure

I'm off on a bit of an adventure today, weather permitting. I'm going to try and post updates as I go.

The really exciting bit isn't due to happen until this evening and involves a historic boat - but not a narrow one.

In the meantime I might get to go on another historic boat, which is narrow, and which I've never been on before although thousands have, and maybe even on a fast boat too, or perhaps a fast train instead....

Is UHT milk getting nicer?

Or are my tastebuds deteriorating?

I used to detest the stuff; the smell made me heave; it absolutely ruined a cup of tea with its cooked milk taste. I refused to countenance it. But now I find I don't mind it at all; indeed, I can scarcely tell the difference. We use long life milk all the time now on Chertsey; it's so much easier to stock up on 500ml cartons before we leave  than to constantly wonder where we are going to get the next pint from, and if it will still be useable in the morning. The half litre packs are a handy size which we can get through in a day, so rarely have to throw any away even without a fridge.

It seems to me unlikely that the fundamental processing of UHT milk has altered - it must still depend on heating it to a high temperature and therefore cooking it. But maybe there is a difference in the make up of the milk that is treated? Perhaps it contains less of the proteins or sugars that are affected by the heat? I've always thought that the effect was less noticeable with skimmed than whole milk, but I am comparing like with like (in the form of semi-skimmed) here.

If it's not the milk itself, then that only leaves my tastebuds. I would be prepared to believe that they were getting old and losing their sophisticated discrimination, if not for the fact that Sebastian, who similarly used to find long life milk revolting, has noticed the same phenomenon.