28 of 50

By the time you read this hopefully things will be getting cooler here in the UK. This summer has been hot and dry. Records have been set, weather warnings have been issued and comparisons made to previous hot summers. In particular 1976.

I remember that Summer, I remember it being dry, very dry, rather than the heat although one obviously is related to the other. Comparing 1976 and 2022, the heat was earlier in ‘76 coming in June and July rather that the July and August of ‘22 and the more recent heatwave where records were set and in some cases temperature topped 40°C1. At the moment the current spell of hot weather is more comparable to 1976.

The thing I remember the most is a lot of public places – forests, woodland and heathland – were closed due to the risk of fire. The biggest risk of wildfire was often perceived to be the sun shining and being magnified by discarded glass – bottles were all glass, no plastic back then – rather than now where it’s likely to be someone’s disposable bbq. There were public adverts about it, and most were accepting of the situation. I’m not sure that trying to do the same in 2022 would be received in the same manner it seems more likely that the outraged self-entitlement would prevail. If as predicted a drought order is introduced it will be interesting to see the public reaction. Generally things like hosepipe bans are accepted but what if there are more significant interventions. I guess we’ll have to see, but it does feel like it might prompt some considerable grumbling.

Water was at a premium in ‘76, not unlike it is now, but the population was that much smaller. I remember having a small paddling pool that I’d play in, partly I suspect to cool down and when the pool was emptied it was used to water the garden with. (I can remember my Mum filling it with buckets of water from our waterbutts – we didn’t have an outside tap, and remember hosepipe ban).

I also remember being outside a lot unlike this year. In 2022 when the weather has reached its zenith I have mostly been hiding indoors or in the shade. Fans are the order of the day, blowing hot air around, there was no paddling pool.

Is the comparison between the two years valid? For a one off weather event yes, but 2022 is likely to become closer to the norm for summers in the future. Recent years have seen hot summers and the trend is more towards being hot rather than not. Climate change is driving this, climate is of course not weather. Variability in one off events is weather. 1976 was an unusual weather event, 2022 is also an unusual event but marks a continuing trend in hotter and drier summers. Depending on what the autumn and winter are like we might well still be in drought conditions come the summer of next year. Again this wouldn’t be a first, but it would be significant in terms of how next summer may play out. 2022 is definitely worse than 1976.

In 2068, assuming that global collapse doesn’t happen in the meantime, I don’t think that we’ll be looking back at 2022 comparing the weather in the same way. 40°C might well be a mild summer by then, if we don’t get on top of climate change beforehand. Even if we do temperatures will still have risen to a new summer norm and that is certain to be hotter than now. I doubt I’ll be around to see it though.

It’s nice to enjoy the hot weather, but remember to be careful out there.

Thanks for reading.

27 of 50

When I was a kid there was nothing on television before lunchtime. I don’t mean there wasn’t anything worth watching but there was literally nothing on, no programmes, nothing. Maybe a testcard so you could check that your tv was properly tuned but that was about it. There were only three channels, and the only thing that you might find on in the mornings where programmes for schools or Open University lectures.

News was delivered via the Radio until lunchtime and obviously there was no internet so if you wanted to read any news you bought a paper.

As I got older we got more channels on the telly box, and then early satellite TV. News on the early satellite services was essentially the same news bulletin repeated endlessly until something new happened, normally around half-an-hours worth.

Skip forward to today and we have 24/7 news and in my opinion it’s the worse for it. Supplying a constant stream of news means that there isn’t time to properly prepare a story. If the government puts out a press release it is often repeated verbatim with very little checking of the facts until perhaps later in the day. This means that gaslighting, spreading false stories or just downright lying and getting this out to a wide audience is much easier.

When news was restricted to an evening bulletin and perhaps one later on at night, journalists had time to properly research and write their stories, they weren’t beholden to what they were told by one party, they could actually report on the facts. The same for newspaper stories. There wasn’t the rush to get the story up on the internet before the competition, there was time to write the article for the morning edition. Of course they would still want to get the scoop on their colleagues on other papers, but at least what you read was more likely to be true – at least in the serious papers, stories about well known entertainers eating pet rodents notwithstanding, and papers weren’t owned by proprietors who had ulterior motives in their editorial oversight.

After the internet of course came social media, Twitter and Facebook in particular and the option to go ‘viral’ with your news. It wasn’t always like that of course, when Twitter was new it was quite a nice healthy place to be. There were no smartphones, so tweeting on the go was done by SMS. Granted the functionality was simpler but there were less trolls or people happy to leap to the wrong conclusion and start calling you all sorts of things just because they disagreed.

So what’s next? Who knows, neural news interface perhaps, have the latest news beamed directly into your brain?

In the meantime, I spend less and less time reading the news these days, mostly because I’m not sure that I can trust it and because frankly it’s pretty depressing most of the time. The urge to report on the most shocking seems to override the option to tell a ‘good’ news story. The same with social media.

I admire journalists, it’s not an easy gig and can be one that can cost you your life for reporting on the ‘wrong’ story, or reporting from somewhere inhospitable. There are still plenty of good journalists out there and still some sources that are relatively unbiased, but it is a dwindling pool. We’ve had opportunities for reform in this country but it has never really been very successful, so for now at least choose your news with care.

Thanks for reading.

26 of 50

I had a different post planned for today, I’d even written it but something else came into my head and I just had to write about that instead.

As you may or may not know Bernard Cribbins died this week, he was 93, and one of my childhood heroes. I remember him best from Jackanory, and as the voice of The Wombles.

If you’ve read some of my earlier posts you might also recall that one of his songs is on my Middle Age, Middle of the Road playlist.

I had a few childhood heroes. The ones that stuck, Bernard Cribbins, Kenneth Williams, John Noakes, Tony Hart; are all in one way shape or form children’s TV personalities from the 1970’s / 1980’s. All have passed on, some more recently that others.

The thing is as you reach middle age and beyond in my case, you find those people that you used to look up to and admire, pass away. Some, sadly turn out not to be as wholesome as you thought they were. Ultimately though they all slip from your life. It’s inevitable, as you age so do they and of course they were older than you to start with.

When I look around now, I struggle to pick similar heroes in the same way. I guess maybe you don’t need them when you’re older or perhaps those ones from your childhood are so ingrained in your psyche that you just don’t allow the space for anyone new? Maybe you’re better with the nostalgia and the memories rather than looking for replacements? There are many entertainers I admire but none that perhaps I would go out of my way to watch in the same way as I did my heroes of old. When Bernard Cribbins returned to Doctor Who, it made me want to watch it again.

Anyway I think they’re all gone now.

Thanks for reading.

25 of 50

He was hardcore, army through and through. Guns, helicopters, scout cars.

She was beautiful, long blond hair and frilly dresses.

They were alike in other ways.

It was summer in the late 1970’s and under a kitchen table with a blanket over it, love was blooming.

She’d show him all her different outfits, he’d show her his collection of weapons.

In other rooms in that same house more serious things were happening.

But under the kitchen table, Action Man was about to take Sindy for a ride in his Scout Car.

He figured he could go out the back door, down the steps and up the back garden path. They could have a picnic when they got to the end of the path, on the lawn under the apple trees. Their humans could have orange squash and penguin biscuits.

Ultimately their love would lead to a marriage, but they would be separated when school started again.

In that late 1970’s summer, my Grandad was dying. He was being nursed by my Mum, Grandma and Aunt. My cousin and I were perhaps oblivious to what was going on, we were being indulged and allowed to play. Basically allowed to amuse ourselves, that summer it was all about Action Man for me and Sindy for her. Together their adventures were second to none and only limited by our imaginations. Ultimately Action Man and Sindy married that summer, but that was to be short lived.

To this day we still talk about that summer, we were allowed to ride up and down my Grandma’s front drive on a neighbours pedal go-kart, walk on the golf course, build forts in the woods, and of course play with Sindy and Action Man.

Looking back I think we were being encouraged not to engage with the serious nature of what was going on in my Grandad’s room. I do remember going in to see him one morning and he was surrounded by many different machines and bits of medical paraphernalia. At the time I had no idea what all of these things were, but now with a more adult set of knowledge I could name most of them, and none of them are particularly good news if you’re hooked up to them.

Of course the overriding memories of that time are of fun. I think being allowed to have those good memories of a time that was pretty miserable for the adults is a sign of good parenting. We weren’t (as far as I can remember) lied to about what was going on and ultimately when my Grandad passed away my Mum was quite honest about what had happened – I can still remember her telling me that to this day too. But I think because we were preoccupied with our play, we weren’t asking any awkward questions either.

The Action Man above is that Action Man too. I found him when I was clearing out my parents loft. I suspect my Mum kept him for me to pass on to my kids. That won’t happen and I honestly don’t know what to do with him, his vehicles and weapons. For the time being he’s staying in the trunk I found him in, with the rest of his platoon.

I wonder if Sindy is still around, I’ll have to ask my cousin.

Thanks for reading.

If you’ve been forwarded this post by a friend or clicked on a social media link this is Fifty from Fifty, which is where I am recounting 50 things – memories, stories, musings, missives from my half-century of life, and we are at the halfway point, so from this point forward there will be more stories behind us than in front of us, so please do check out the archive.

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24 of 50

Once again welcome to new subscribers, it’s great to have you here. Please do check out the archives, as this is Fifty from Fifty, which is where I am recounting 50 things – memories, stories, musings, missives from my half-century of life, and we are nearly at the halfway point, so soon there will be more stories behind us than in front of us.

If you’ve been forwarded this post by a friend or clicked on a social media link and like what you read but aren’t a subscriber, then it would be great to add you to the weekly list, simply click on the button below.

In 2015 I became self-employed, after twenty plus years of being someone’s employee. In some ways it’s better working for yourself; in other ways not so much. When I first took the step another self-employed consultant who’d done some work for me, told me that – “It’s all feast or famine” – basically meaning that you’re either working flat out or not at all. Fundamentally there are times that I’d say that adage is true, but also times where you have just enough work to get by, but are wondering whether you have enough to continue being a viable business, next week or next month.

The one thing I don’t have any more is a boss, and I am no longer anyone else’s boss. I miss neither of these things. I’d like to think that I was a good boss to my employees, and beyond just my direct reports, but I guess you’d have to ask them to get an honest assessment. I do however know that I have had bosses that have been both good and bad.

It’s funny, when I started writing this I tried to note down a list of all the bosses or line managers that I’ve had. The outliers were easy to remember, those that were either very good or very bad, those who occupied the centre ground were much harder to remember. There were also some who on the surface appeared to be good, but actually were probably looking more at their own careers than mine.

Some were enablers and promoters, others blockers and idea thieves, some were empowerers and others micromanagers.

I had one who was an outright bully, and ultimately I arrived at the decision to leave the organisation who I worked for because of him.

All of my bosses shaped my own managerial style though. I was determined to be as good or better than my good managers and never to exhibit or behave in the ways that the bad ones did. A pretty good ethos, which served me well.

After seven years being self-employed I’m occasionally asked if I miss being a manager. The short answer is I don’t miss the pay and rations bit – the approving leave requests, signing off on expenses claims and all the other admin tasks that are a necessary part of being a manager. I do however miss the coaching and training elements, empowering and support staff and watching them grow. There are former employees who I see in their careers now that are successful and great managers in their own right and I maybe had a small part in helping to get them where they are and that’s a good thing.

Would I go back? Maybe. Never say never. I’d like it to be for the right reasons though and not because self-employment became a total famine and I had no option. It would be nice for it to be a choice for the right reasons and not because I had to do it.

Thanks for reading.

Next week we hit 25 of 50, the halfway point. I have a post I’ve been saving for a special occasion, an unusual love story from many years ago. Until next week!

23 of 50

Welcome to my newsletter where I am recounting 50 things – memories, stories, musings, missives from my half-century of life. If you have been forwarded this from a friend or come to it via a social media link and would like to receive it directly each week then you can do so by clicking the link below. It’s completely free and will end when I’ve reached the 50th thing – what happens after that I haven’t decided yet, but I won’t be keeping the email list for any other purpose.

Welcome to new subscribers that have joined this week.

The headteacher at my primary school was a big influence on me. I can’t cite any specific examples of things that he did for me individually, it was more his general demeanour and attitude. He was firm but fair – always, and he treated everyone equally. He would also step out of his role as an authority figure to join in the fun. Whenever it snowed for example he would come out of the school and allow himself to be target for as many snowballs as we could throw at him while he ran a complete lap of the school playing fields. I think he used to count on the fact that he could probably run faster than we could, whilst at the same time trying to make and throw snowballs.

As I moved on from my time in his school we stayed in touch. He retired the year that I left, but of course he stayed active in many different things. When I went to college in the same town as he lived I visited him on a couple of occasions, and we chatted over tea and biscuits.

Sadly he passed away when I was in my late 20’s / early 30’s (I think), I can’t find or remember the exact date but I do have a very vivid memory and funny story of attending his funeral and I think it would have made him smile, so I’m going to tell it here.

His funeral service was held in a very small country church, on a very hot and sunny summers day. It’s one of those days when the last thing that you would have wanted to have been doing would have been wearing a suit and tie, but obviously that’s exactly what we were doing. I’d gone to the funeral with my Dad, as he had also known him too and wanted to pay his respects.

As you do for these things we’d allowed plenty of time to get there just to avoid getting stuck in traffic, of course this meant that we arrived early and rather than sit in a hot car we decided to go and stand under one of the large yew trees in the churchyard in the shade. We were trying to stand there respectfully, sort of “at ease” but no too casual. After a few minutes the vicar arrived, and seeing us standing under the tree came over to speak to us.

“I see you’re trying to keep cool.”

“Yes, bit too warm to sit in the car.”

He nodded. “When’s the body arriving?”

We were a little slack jawed at this, thinking surely that he would have better knowledge on that front than us. “Sorry?” I asked.

“The body. You are with the undertakers are you not?”

“No. I’m a former pupil of the deceased.”

I think that’s the only time I’ve seen a Vicar blush, and I can understand why he might have thought that two men standing in his churchyard wearing black suits and ties might have been undertakers, but I suspect that’s probably the only time he ever made that mistake.

The service was lovely and unsurprisingly very well attended by many friends and family and other former pupils. I’ve been looking to see if I could find anything on-line but there doesn’t seem to be anything published about him, despite knowing that he was in local papers many times.

I’ve also never taken my fledgling career as an undertaker any further. I’m not sure whether being able to look the part is a flattering compliment or not, but it’s not a vocation that I have any intention of following any time soon.

Thanks for reading.

22 of 50

Firstly a quick welcome to new subscribers, thanks for clicking that link that allows me to drop a missive into your inbox once a week. If you enjoy the writing here then I also post (less frequently) at my website, where you can also subscribe. If you want to check that out here’s a link. You can of course unsubscribe at any time by clicking on the link in each post, but obviously I hope you’ll stick around.

If like me you have parents who grew up during and immediately after the Second World War you’ll probably be familiar with the phrase: “Don’t throw that away it’ll come in handy one day.” Very much a way of life to a time when resources were scarce or expensive and secondhand or reuse / recycle was very much more en vogue than it is today in our supposedly enlightened but still disposable society. Clothes where handed down from generation to generation until they did literally fall apart, and then tins of buttons and zips were kept from the clothes as they were relegated to dusters. Bicycles were passed on or sold secondhand when your legs got too long for the frame or cannibalised for parts or go-karts.

Ultimately though this resulted in a store of things being accumulated, and this is when perhaps “it’ll come in handy one day”, drifts unintentionally towards hoarding. Having to clear my parents house really brought this home to me. The boxes of “stuff” that served no real purpose but they had obviously kept because it might at some point in the future. My Dad in particular had hobbies that varied widely and liked to keep current. Everything from amateur radio to photography and all points in between. I was able to pass on his amateur radio equipment and sell some of his cameras and other kit, but some of it was considered obsolete and no one wanted it. I kept a few items myself but ultimately some had to go and be recycled.

My Mum collected elephants. Fortunately she never opened the elephant sanctuary, but she has a lot of carved wooden elephants, some china and others of different material. I don’t know what to do with these, I can’t bring myself to throw them away or donate them to charity so at the moment they’re mine to look after. She has some of them with her in the care home where she now lives but there are too many for her to have all of them in her room (although the devil in me would like to see the look on the care staff faces if I took them all in to her one day when I visit).

Having to do all this sorting of their stuff has also made me conscious of how much of my own I have stored. Not all of it really having a purpose. I’ll never be one for a minimalist lifestyle, although I doubt that if I lost all my possessions tomorrow that I would replace them like for like. Of course I have accumulated more stuff sorting through my parents. I didn’t adopt a one in one out policy or anything like that, although what I have accumulated since has mostly been on the basis of sentimentality more than anything else. Ultimately I currently have no heirs, so although someone will have to sort through my stuff when I’m gone the burden won’t necessarily fall on a relative, but I do feel the need to do some serious decluttering as we head towards our house move. I’m sure there is stuff in our loft that was put there when we moved here and hasn’t been touched since, so I don’t intend to move it again, at least not any further than the recycling centre or ebay. I want to be much more intentional about what I keep going forward. There’s nothing wrong with keeping things that are of sentimental value or can be genuinely reused, but I don’t think I need 3 tins of buttons and 2 tins of zips.

Thanks for reading.