PC 447 Books & Hope

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Sounds a little like the name for a firm of family solicitors, ‘Books & Hope’, doesn’t it, but Duncan thought it brought together those who wanted to simply have a coffee and a chat, and those for whom a good book is an essential accompaniment to a tasteful coffee or herbal tea, with a delicious pastry from Teresa’s Brazilian delicatessen counter of course!

There’s been a great deal in the news about schemes in the UK encouraging more individuals of every age to read. ‘Reading should be accessible to everyone, whether English is a second language, literacy is a challenge, or life has simply made it difficult to maintain the habit. The written word is the foundation of so much of our culture and ensuring more people can engage with it will have a far-reaching impact.” says creative director of the charity The Reading Agency Shanz Gulzar. Reading fiction fires the imagination; one’s person’s pictorial setting of a story is different from another’s. Just like watching the film of a book one’s thoroughly enjoyed, only to find the director’s take is theirs and not yours! Non-fiction, biographies, historical accounts, whatever, broadens one’s knowledge.

To be able to enjoy the written word you need to be able to read. Adult illiteracy is not uncommon; Bombardier Broad, one of my men in a Royal Artillery regiment in Germany in 1974, struggled to read. Getting help for him was essential for his developing career and personal confidence.

On Tuesday a news item caught my attention. ‘Some children are reaching Secondary School with a reading age of 5!’ It went on to suggest some of the reasons, one being the Covid-enforced lockdown and for some its traumatic effect. And we can all understand the huge impact game-playing on digital devices has; time that might have been used to get inside a good book. Interestingly nowhere in the discussion were parents mentioned. It’s as if we have collective amnesia as to the responsibilities that come with having children. Some see criticism of parents as a sensitive issue, maybe linked to labels like deprivation and poverty, single parents and lack of education. Personally I think a national drive to improve parenting skills and responsibilities would have a big impact, as too often it’s our schools that must cope with children who haven’t been taught the very basics, poor sods!

But then was a parting comment by one of the interviewees, that here in the United Kingdom, 1 in 5 children do not attend school regularly; twenty percent! So the poor sods don’t get what help there is by being absent! This might be a topic for another postcard, but in a First World country this is disgraceful.

Despite the proliferation of digital reading devices and the advantages of such when weight is a factor, travelling for instance, the popularity of physical books, either hardback or paperback, has not diminished. Last week for instance the Number One slot in the Sunday Times Bestsellers, fictional and factual, totalled 40,000 sold books.

I met Duncan in his new venture next door to The Hope Café, which quietly opened its doors last month. I sense ‘Books’ is going to take a while to get established; good places often do, but the book shop’s association and co-location with The Hope Café will ensure there’s lots of crossflow. Just sitting and having a coffee with a good friend will often prompt a ‘I must buy a card for great aunt Maud, she’ll appreciate it no end; back in a sec’, sort of action. (note 1) I knew Mo was going to be working there three afternoons a week and sure enough she was there on Tuesday. She was already busy and no chance to chat, mouthing ‘talk later’ as she served a customer, so I meander back into The Hope Café and find Sami, looking cross.

Regular readers will recall Sami’s history with the Post Office, falsely accused of stealing money from one of his two Post Offices and being made bankrupt. He’s moved on, accepted the £600,000 compensation that was, at one time, on offer, formed a great relationship with Lisa Wallace, a journalist and writer from Derbyshire, and put it behind him. It doesn’t of course prevent him from taking a keen interest in how the issue of compensation is being handled.

“Don’t you just love weasel words Richard?” asks Sami, pouring over an article from last Saturday’s Times.

Over his shoulder I can read the headline – ‘345 Horizon victims have died before getting a payout.’ Sami read the preamble: ‘Close to six years after the scandal was exposed by a High Court judge, more than 3700 postmasters have yet to receive compensation. Thousands of sub-postmasters were wrongly blamed for financial losses as a result of the Horizon computer system. More than 900 were prosecuted and 236 sent to prison.’ Then the drivel:

‘The Post Office says it is an absolute priority for us and the government that all victims of the Horizon scandal receive full redress as quickly as possible”.

On 8th July Sir Wyn Williams, chair of the public inquiry, published the first part of his report, focusing on compensation and the human impact of what is believed to be the one of the biggest miscarriages of justice in UK history. The second report, establishing what happened and who is to blame, may not be published until 2026, suggesting any criminal trials may not start until 2028. (Note 2)

As an outsider, I read this and think, couldn’t someone just say: “Pay them NOW, this week, don’t quibble about certain aspects of the claim, and close this sorry, sorry episode.” Both the Post Office and HMG could fix this this month.

Richard 11th July 2025

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 On reflection they may not, given that a First Class postage stamp now costs £1.70.

Note 2 The United Kingdom justice system is, frankly, in crisis. There are some 77,000 cases awaiting their time in court, stretching the search for and resolution of justice to incredulity. There’s an average wait of two to three years for a case to come to court. For both parties, accused and victims, that’s cruel.

PC 446 Mid-Summer

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PC 446 Mid-Summer

For those of my readers who live in the Southern Hemisphere, and especially those in South Island New Zealand whose north has been ravaged by torrential rains, you’re moving, albeit slowly, towards Spring and warmer weather. Here the summer equinox passed a fortnight ago and we will gradually slide towards Autumn. But now it really is mid-summer!

Many years ago I was curious about the lack of symmetry of our sunrise/sunset times and created a chart showing exactly how it is. I find it fascinating, but understand if you shrug your shoulders and say: ‘So what?’

You can see that here the sunset time reaches its latest some days before the sunrise time reaches its earliest.

Our apartment in Amber House is what an estate agent would call a duplex (note 1), as well as having a double aspect, our living room’s 3m tall windows facing both east and west. Although it doesn’t have a sea view, it catches the early morning and late afternoon sun at certain times of the year. Additionally at mid-summer we observe the wonders of the celestial movements of both sun and earth. Every year hundreds of people gather at Stonehenge in Wiltshire to watch the midsummer sunrise.

I must admit I’ve always liked the alternative view, that the henge was built to celebrate the winter solstice, marking the time when days started getting longer.

On the summer solstice in Hove, the sun rose at 0447 on a bearing of 048deg, almost Northeast. By 0640 (Note 2) it was high enough to be over the houses on the other side of Albany Villas and its rays were pouring into our living room.

Then, a day later, when the sun is sinking towards its 2115 set, on a bearing of 312deg, almost Northwest, we experience something rather false.

Red sunrise rays, yellow reflected rays

At around 1940 the sun’s rays bounced off a window on a house across the street and poured into our living room, illuminating the photograph of Celina’s parents, just like the rising sun had the day before.

I think by now we are all aware of our changing climate. The arguments about whether human activity is responsible for all of it, some of it, or whether the planet will grow warmer, whether we like it or not, will go on and on. However, its effects are already being felt. There was an interesting chart on the BBC News the other evening. It showed how the likelihood of June temperatures in the UK being above 30°C has increased over 70 years. In the 1960s there were one or possibly two days in the month, now it’s more like 8-10. And we can expect shorter, more intense weather, whether it be temperatures or floods.

I don’t think it’ll happen in my lifetime but ‘Families Like Ours’ was an interesting television drama broadcast recently. It featured Denmark, a country I know well from business forays and as a sailor. Climate Change was causing rising sea levels in the Baltic, so much so that the government decided the country could no longer exist ….. and everyone had to leave. Go where, you might ask? Watch it for a glimpse of what may happen.

In Britain the seasons are marked with traditional events. In mid-Summer The Wimbledon Tennis Tournament (23rd June – 13th July 2025) is preceded by the Lexus Eastbourne Open (21st – 29th June 2025) if tennis is your thing. My dental hygienist Jennyis a great fan and had tickets for both Eastbourne and for Wimbledon. Cricket Tests against India have started and the Henley Rowing Regatta (1st – 6th July 2025) is a wonderful example of Britishness. ‘Glastonbury’ (Note 3) 25th – 29th June was just one of many festivals around the country, that feature not only ‘pop’ music but classical, often in the grounds of some stately home. And midsummer would not be complete without strawberries and cream and maybe a glass of Pimms!

Over my lifetime I have learned how to navigate over the land, using a paper map and a compass and over the seas, using a mixture of charts, compass sightings of land features, ‘dead reckoning’, working with boat speed, leeway, tide and time, and on longer passages with a sexton for sun shots. The advent of Global Positioning Systems has changed forever the way we now move from A to B, but the basic knowledge is ingrained in my DNA, as is the need to understand where people are!

Recently Celina told me her mother was going off to a religious retreat in France. ‘Where abouts?’ I asked. “Near Poitier – Bonnevaux.” France is the size of the USA’s state Montana; demographically the former has a population of some 68 million people, whereas Montana only 1.1 million. So, despite travelling in France and finding parts of it are ‘empty’, it has a density of 123 people per square kilometre, compared with Montana’s 18, which is really empty! I dived onto Google Maps to search for Bonnevaux and found one north of Montpellier. A further question revealed that the retreat is in the Abbaye de Bonnevaux Centre ‘pour le paix’, near the village of Marçay ….. near Poitier. The WhatsApp message came with warning – ‘mobile phones are kind-of banned’!

The Abbaye de Bonnevaux

Peace in midsummer.

Richard 4th July 2025

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 An apartment on two floors. In our case our bedrooms are at the lower ground level, which has the advantage of being quieter.

Note 2 On the north coast of Scotland, in the northern hemisphere, on the longest day, the sun rises at 0403 and sets at 2225.

Note 3 The first music festival to be held at Worthy Down Farm was called the Pilton Pop, Folk and Blues Festival and took place in 1970. It was attended by 1500 people who paid an admission charge of £1 which included free camping and free milk. Twelve thousand people attended the first festival named ‘Glastonbury’ which took place the following year.

PC 445 Nowhere Street? Somewhere surely?

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As regular as clockwork, Monday to Friday, Celina and I take the bus from Hove to Churchill Square in Brighton. From there we walk across the square, down Cranbourne Street to West Street, across into Duke Street, right into Middle Street and down to the Yoga in the Lanes studio, behind the synagogue. The green line gives you an idea:

Cranbourne Street is a short street, no more than 70m long; I know as I measured it. Not with a tape measure or by some smart App on my iPhone, but with my calibrated pace! Joining the Royal Artillery involved undertaking the Young Officers’ Course run at the Royal School of Artillery at Larkhill, north of Salisbury, Wiltshire. We learned, inter alia, how to lay out a position for six field guns and measure the distance of each gun from the Command Post. We ‘calibrated’ our normal stride by counting how many steps one took to reach a measured 100m. One’s height matters; the shorter you are, it’s likely to be more than 100!

We are all guilty, I guess, of walking along streets from A to B without really taking in the streetscape so, prompted by seeing someone unique outside the Crowns pub, I thought I could scribble about Cranbourne Street.

At the bottom end, at its junction with West Street (note 1), Deliveroo drivers congregate with their scooters, to chat about their day, share a cigarette or vape, await their next call to deliver a pizza to Mr Smith, some pasta to Mrs Jones or a full meal from The Ivy to Mr & Mr Brown. Most seem to be Brazilian and it amuses Celina to half-hear some of the conversations.

This street is a microcosm of Brighton, its somewhat incongruous mix of retail outlets and the people who visit them, walk down or struggle up the steep slope. The retail mix is incongruous because, amongst the fast-food outlets and two pubs, there’s Timpsons and Scribbler.

Timpson Group is a British and Irish service retailer with 2100 stores, covering dry cleaners (Johnsons), photo printing (Snappy Snaps), watch repairs (The Watch Lab) and shoe repair and key cutting (Timpsons). It was founded in 1865 by William Timpson and is still owned by his descendants. The ethos of their founder lives on today; for instance, a belief in giving people a second chance is reflected in their workforce, 12% of whom have a past criminal conviction.

Scribbler sells stationery and wrapping paper but is best known locally for its vibrant and diverse selection of cards, praised for their humour and uniqueness. Apart from a traditional men’s barbers, a mobile/lap top repair shop and a currency exchange, the remainder of the shops feed the soul. ‘Real California Burritos & Tacos’ is opposite a taste from the Pacific, Island Poké, which sits next to Dak.Zip, a Korean Street Food offering. There’s a strange outlet called ‘Drink What?’ and I have no idea what it offers, but there’s no uncertainty in the Belgian Chips shop, with its large sacks of potatoes in the window!

Ala’s himself shuffles out to the tables of his café, which offers everything from freshly cut sandwiches with various bread options to burgers, fish ‘n’ chips and Nachos.

Sadly, Cranbourne Street is no different from other inner-city streets, with their regular homeless individual, usually a male, sitting on a blanket or box on the pavement, hoping you’ll feel a couple of quid means more to him than you. We have got so used to Daren that we wonder, when he isn’t there, whether he is OK, being looked after; we have no way of knowing. Daren is in his late 50s so doesn’t qualify for the support offered by The Clock Tower Sanctuary, just around the corner and open for 18–25-year-olds; he has a tent ‘somewhere’.

Most of those we see on the streets have complex issues, some of course are heavily influenced by drugs or alcohol, but Daren is always sober, just homeless and suffering from Raynaud’s disease. This disorder affects the small blood vessels in the body’s extremities, which causes tingling, numbness, throbbing and pain. Daren’s feet and hands are often freezing ….  and he has Gall stones. We have passed him twice, every day, for over three years; we have given him gloves and thick socks in the winter; somehow he never manages to have them when he needs them. One of us would pass him some cash, particularly when it was wet, and when we returned almost three hours later he was still there.

Living in the city of Brighton & Hove we have got used to the wonderful inclusivity of our fellow inhabitants and little raises our collective eyebrows anymore. Initially when Celina’s mother would visit, you could tell she was somewhat shocked but now is used to the so many variations. However, the other morning l did a double take, my mind processing what I witnessed! Outside The Crowns pub, with awnings sheltering the outside tables from sun or rain, customers can sit, drink, smoke and watch the pedestrian traffic flowing up and down the street. “What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?” (Note 2)

It was about 1150 and I noticed a chap with greying hair and small, nicely trimmed beard, sallow complexion, with a jean’s material bolero jacket. As he leaned forward to take a sip of his beer, I noticed his very white T shirt and two perfectly formed largeish breasts, their nipples showing through the material. A double take, more like a triple take; I quickly got Celina’s attention, she turned and saw what I saw …… we sort-of shrugged and thought ‘It’s Brighton’ and walked on to catch our bus home. Later I thought of Kenny Everett. (Note 3)

Cranbourne Street – now somewhere!

Richard 27th June 2025

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 West Street runs north-south but was named as it was on the west side of the little town of Brighton, before the town expanded.

Note 2 WH Davies’ poem ‘Leisure’.

Note 3 Kenny Everett (1944 – 1995) was a radio and TV entertainer, known for his zany comedic style. He loved dressing up as a female with large breasts!

PC 444 More Observations and thoughts

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My last scribble, PC 443, ‘ere in The ‘ope’, reached Ian, one of the school chums with whom I went to Greece in 1965. (See PC 346 Puds to Greece August 2023) Ian commented that his wife Julie suffers from BPPV but uses the Epley Manoeuvre to ‘pop the rocks back’; always good to know what works! Ian’s note reminded me of Ray, one of us six, who died in Toronto in March; otherwise we’re all still pumping blood!

Funny how often something you read or see brings back memories. The other weekend, in one of those colour magazines accompanying the newspaper – I buy a hard copy at the weekend but read the digital version during the week – there was a fascinating article about Caroline Scott who, with her husband James, had fostered many many children over ten years. Faced with some stark choices for the future of their last one, Scarlett, they decided to adopt her themselves.

Caroline’s own mother had spent a lot of her early life in a Liverpool orphanage, “enduring a regime so brutal that she couldn’t recall a moment of kindness.” It was the next memory that pulled me up short. “When she frequently wet her bed out of fear and misery, she was made to stand alone in the corner of an empty room with the soiled sheet over her head for hours until it dried.” Sadly ‘the casual violence of adults’ continues in the C21st, as does ‘the utter powerlessness of little children’. I read that a couple of times, the image forming in my mind of a poor little girl standing alone and unloved.

I don’t imagine Ian would have remembered, but as an early teenager I suffered the indignity of wetting my bed; if he does, it’s not the sort of thing to mention. In our boarding school, there was no privacy and those who ended up with wet sheets were the focus of ridicule and derision. It lasted for a few months, probably brought on by a sense of abandonment, left in a school over a hundred miles from my parents. (“Do you good Caruthers! Man up!” sort-of thinking).

This week The Times carried the obituary of Joy Schaverien, a Brighton resident, who coined the term Boarding School Syndrome and, in 2015, published Boarding School Syndrome: The Psychological Trauma of the “Privileged” Child. She noted the ABCD of trauma: abandonment, bereavement, captivity and dissociation. Growing up in an institution without much love or appropriate touch, she explained, can lead to depression, broken relationships and problems with intimacy. “Children need to grow among people who love them,” she said in 2011. “Things have improved but children are still exposed to regimented lifestyles, loneliness and separation. They often turn into very successful adults — look at the cabinet — but they can suffer from a poverty of emotion.”

Losing bladder control when frightened is known as ‘stress incontinence’, because the ‘fight or flight’ response triggers involuntary muscle contractions and a temporary weakening of the pelvic floor muscles. These muscles are responsible for holding urine in and preventing leaks. When scared the body releases adrenaline, causing muscles throughout the body to tense. This tension can disrupt the normal control of the bladder and lead to involuntary leakage, even if the bladder isn’t full. Of course, delightfully, the same can happen when something is hysterically funny, a little loss of control!! (Note 1)

My postcard titled ‘The Man in The Window’ (PC 384 April 2024) was the result of thinking about the chap who worked at his desk, in the front window of the house across Albany Villas. Delightfully Simon has become a friend and happy to chew the fate about this and that. The postcard itself ventured into voyeurism, initiated by that James Stewart film Rear Window. Voyeurism could have been levelled at whoever took the photograph of me having my cold shower after a hot yoga session!

I knew nothing of it until it appeared on a social media platform. Would I have minded? Of course not? But it got me thinking whether the person who took the photograph should have asked my permission before posting it online. Unprompted, maybe after thinking about it themselves, they did take it down after a few hours!

Not taken by a drone!

In Castle Combe in Wiltshire, one of the ‘prettiest villages in England’, voyeurism is taken to another level. The village is a magnet for drone operators who want to capture its beauty. Unfortunately for its residents they have become a real issue; “Somebody was sitting in their bath, looked out the window and there’s a drone filming them.”!! Voyeurism again?

We live with plastic, although there is a great deal of effort to negate its lasting effect on the planet. I assume this is the reason that my morning ‘Orange Juice with bits’, which comes in a plastic bottle, now has its top connected to the main body by two little thin strips of more plastic; I guess it’s to stop them separating and polluting the earth.

The trouble is if the top isn’t completely clear of the bottle, it’s easy for some juice to drip into the cap. When you put the cap back on, it runs down the outside of the bottle. God! These First World C21st problems!

My landlord, Southern Housing, is trying to enter the century by updating its IT systems. I now have an on-line account through which I can notify them of repairs etc. I have owned our apartment since 2012 so you would think they had my personal details correct. I was asked to check. Apparently, my date of birth is 1st January 1900! Gulp! I knew I was getting on but over 125 years of age. Unlikely!

Richard 20th June 2025

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 There was a joke about Eastbourne, a town popular with pensioners to the east of Brighton: “Near The Continent (ie north coast of France) and incontinent.” Of course, we start life wearing a nappy and some will end it doing the same!

PC 443 ‘ere in the ‘ope!

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PC 443 ‘ere in the ‘ope!

Almost a month has gone by since I was last in the Hope Café and it was good to be back in its familiar surroundings. As I was getting a double espresso I put a little card on the counter, with Josh’s permission of course! It read:

‘If you have a favourite quote about the ear, would you come across and tell me? Richard’

I have scribbled about teeth (see PCs 64 & 66 Molars and Wisdom March 2016) and eyes (see PC 94 Sight and Eyes April 2017) but not, surprisingly, about one’s ears. So why now, I sense you ask. After my food poisoning and virus infection, I managed to develop an inner ear problem which affected my balance big time.

The diagnosis is Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo (BPPV – see note 1), which causes short periods of intense dizziness or vertigo when the head is moved in certain directions. It’s thought to be caused by tiny solid fragments in the inner ear labyrinth. Who knew?

So a quick revision. The ear:

The inner ear includes the cochlea, responsible for one’s hearing, and those ‘semi-circular canals’. These are small shell-like structures containing narrow fluid-filled channels called the labyrinth. They sit in the three planes, two horizontal and one vertical. Just like in a gyroscope, small movements send signals to the brain, essentially telling it which way is up!

“In your shell-like ear – having a quiet word with someone – but a poetic simile comparing the shape of the outside of an ear to that of a shell” Sami’s contribution

BPPV can be treated by a series of simple exercises devised by Brandt and Daroff. I assume these two are doctors specialising in the ear, but nowhere could I find out more details!

This is the first time I’ve had an ear problem, apart from the frequent removal of wax and temporary deafness caused by being near a loud noise. I spend twenty years in the Royal Artillery; being near a field gun firing a shell with a large charge can be instantaneously deafening. In my early years no one had ear-deafeners and the joke was we all had Gunner-ear (just say that out loud!).

The King, who is Captain General of the Royal Artillery, having just fired a L118 Light Gun on a visit to RSA Larkhill. Wearing Ear Defenders of course! (Photo Times)

I know I shouldn’t, but I love using a cotton bud to keep my ears wax-free. There’s something very satisfying about carefully digging around and this reminds me of something else. In my military service it was vitally important to keep one’s weapon clean. Getting rid of explosive residue in its barrel required a ‘pull-through’; a cord with a weight at one end and a little slit at the other, into which you could thread a piece of ‘four by two’, a strip of cloth 4 inches by 2 inches. Drop the weighted end into the barrel, pull it through and hey presto the barrel was spotless. Sometimes I think it would be good to insert one into one’s ear and pull it through the mush inside; a sort-of brain cleaner! Or you could use this Chinese ear vacuum cleaner?

Kay our masseuse swears by the benefits of using an ear candle to get rid of wax. In for a penny, in for a pound; I tried it. She’s very good and some wax came out. But the general consensus amongst health professionals is that you don’t need to remove it at all, as it’s beneficial!

One of my yoga teachers, Carrie, said her father often massages his ears using the QiGong technique. The Chinese believe that the ear has Qi energy connections with the whole body. I have scant knowledge of Chinese medical traditions, although had a few sessions of acupuncture a decade ago. Apparently, the outside of the ear, its ridge, connects with the spine, the lobes the liver and heart, and the inner part with the kidneys and lungs. So go on, get massaging. I also read that a study in China found that those who wore dangly earrings lived longer than others. I must try and find a suitable pair.

Most of the sayings about ‘ears’ are to do with hearing. On cue, Lisa comes over and offers: “Friends, Romans and countrymen, lend me your ears. I come to bury Caeser not to praise him.” Everybody should recognise these first lines from Mark Antony’s speech in Shakespeare’s Julius Caeser.

The statistics tell me that one in three adults in the UK have some form of hearing loss, tinnitus or are deaf. In a recent TV drama, ‘Code of Silence’, one of the main characters was played by Rose Ayling-Ellis, deaf since birth and a user of British Sign Language. Good to see those with disabilities getting major roles.

Mo, who’s sitting at a table close by, leans over with a piece of paper: ‘The War of Jenkin’s Ear’. Ah! Yes, I know about this, fought by Great Britain and Spain between 1739 and 1748. Most of the fighting took place in the Caribbean. The name derives from Robert Jenkins, a British captain whose ear was allegedly severed in April 1731by Spanish coastguards searching his ship for contraband. It’s commemorated annually on the last Saturday in May at the Wormsloe Plantation in Savannah Georgia.  

Duncan gives me three: “I’m all ears”, “In one ear, out the other” and “playing it by ear”.

Anna, who’s been listening, comes across in her wheelchair; “How about – ‘Walls have ears’? That was World War 2, but it’s not new! In 1645 a poet wrote: ‘For the halls of our masters have ears and hear, and the walls of the palace have eyes and watch.’”

And the free coffee goes to Robert, who came up with “‘ere in the ‘ope”! (Note 2). I loved his play on ‘ear’ and here!

Richard 13th June 2025

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS No mention of ‘cauliflower’ ears!

Note 1 Benign – not serious; Paroxysmal – symptoms come and go without warning; Positional – certain positions of the head trigger symptoms; Vertigo – you feel unsteady on your feet, a little like being at sea on a ship.

Note 2 ‘aitch-dropping’ is the deletion of the ‘voiceless glottal fricative’ (H-sound). It’s common in most English regions, but often seen as a sign of uneducated speech, due to its strong association with the lower class.

PC 442 Wooden Spoons

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Don’t you just love a good wooden spoon?

(Note 1)

A wooden cooking spoon is versatile and can be used for stirring soups and sauces, stirring eggs when you want them scrambled. (Note 2) They are heat resistant and don’t melt or warp – although they can burn! They can be cracked – it doesn’t’ matter; they are great for your non-stick saucepan as they won’t scratch it. And we don’t seem to worry that a little bit might come off and be ingested!

My daughter has spent five months doing everything possible to make her late grandmother’s house habitable and moved in at the end of March. The renovations aren’t complete by any stretch of the imagination, but it is dry, with working kitchen, working bathroom and downstairs loo, rewired, replumbed, with a new roof and new windows. This is the third house she’s owned with her husband Sam, so I had to scratch my head as to what to give her for a Housewarming present. I imagined she would want something that will be useful, not a pointless knick-knack; she probably threw out lots of stuff when she was packing, ‘ours not to reason why’, so it could replace something old and tired that went. There’s a tradition of giving someone in her situation a wooden spoon ….. and you can’t have enough wooden spoons in your kitchen!

Spoons have been a symbol of love all over Europe for hundreds of years. In particular in Wales, ‘love spoons’, small and carved out of wood, a material which is considered to be capable of keeping away evil, were given by a man to his girl, hoping she would accept it as a token of their engagement.

And often, like everything else in life, there is another meaning seeming at odds with love! In C19th British slang, ‘spoon’ meant simpleton, a meaning that might have been influenced by the shallowness of spoons. To be given the wooden spoon doesn’t say much about your performance as it’s given to those who finish last. The custom began in 1811 at Cambridge University when there were three classes of honours degrees awarded; the First Class winners were called Wranglers, said to have been born with golden spoons in their mouths; Second Degree winners were called Senior Optimes, born with silver spoons and the third class went to Junior Optimes, referring to lead spoons. The unfortunate who was last was called the ‘wooden spoon’ and the university adopted the custom of presenting a wooden spoon to the individual placed lowest in the Mathematical Tripos. But it was still a pass!

I went online to find a large one ….. and ordered it. It arrived and had a crack in it. Without question I was given a refund with no need to return it.

Back to square one! I was still undecided when I saw two old scaffolding-type planks on the street, leaning up against the recycling bins. I can’t abide waste so thought I could use them somehow. That’s when the idea came to me. Perhaps I could fashion a large wooden spoon out of a plank, so large that it would have to be up on the kitchen wall. I have a modicum of DIY skill, supported by some very basic tools, but more importantly a strong belief that I can do anything. Whatever I do, I accept that the end result might not be the greatest example but ….. if someone showing the cheeks of their bum can do something, I am sure I can make a passable attempt. My regular readers may remember the little brick wall I built at the back of the patio of my basement flat off Clapham Common.

It probably took me about a week, evenings and the weekend, whereas a bricklayer would have taken a day. But there’s something very satisfying in achieving something way out of one’s comfort zone.

Back to the spoon. The first thing I had to do was to determine its size. The plank was 18cms wide by 1.8m long, so I cut 50cms off it. Mapping out the head of the spoon wasn’t an exact science but soon I had an outline that I could attack with tools that cut/sawed/planed/chiselled/sanded.

Eventually I had a sanded ‘spoon’ which then, after some staining and some polish, I liked so much we kept it!!

So the other plank was used to make Jade’s!!

The first spoon in front of the other plank

I have made four so far, one for Scarlet Anderson who founded a London-based production company called Spoon Studios. I had fashioned almost all of the spoon end of one when it cracked into one third/two thirds. I had a fit, swore a little, but then thought I could glue them back together using some dowels.

Wooden dowels

For those of you unfamiliar with woodworking – and here’s me suggesting I am (not) – these little wooden pegs are ideal for fixing pieces of wood together when you don’t want to use a metal screw. Just drill a hole in each side of the pieces of wood you want to join, apply some glue, place a dowel in one side and bring them together, clamping as necessary. Sounds so easy, except that the holes in each side need to be exactly lined up.

YouTube has some helpful videos. In short, you hammer a small nail into one side, cut off the top, and bring the two pieces together. The nail will make a mark on the other piece of wood. Drill!

I am not going to start a production line, but it’s been a fun experience!

Richard 6th June 2025

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk  

Note 1 You will notice amongst the spoons a wooden spaghetti quantity measurer and some other thing used for I know not! Looks nice!

Note 2 The trick to making good scrambled egg is to turn off the heat just before they’re ready. The eggs will go on cooking a little and then they’re perfect.

PC 441 Osborne and Obesity

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PC 441 Osborne and Obesity

I have been to Osborne House, the summer palace of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert on the Isle of Wight, once, a decade before I moved out of London with Celina and settled in Hove. Strangely here we are surrounded by echoes of its period, the architecture copied by two houses on Albany Villas   

and local streets named Osborne Villas and Medina Villas, the latter named after the river that flows north to the sea at Cowes. On that first visit I had admired the floor-to-ceiling mirrors in one of the state rooms and that idea came to fruition when we moved into our apartment in Amber House. Dean from The House of Shutters was startled to be asked to mirror the inside of six of the eight shutters we had ordered, but agreed they looked wonderful; and still do!

The Yellow Drawing Room at Osborne House

Osborne House (note 1) was built for Queen Victoria and Prince Albert between 1845 and 1851. In the twenty-four years between her accession to the throne in 1937 and the death of Prince Albert in 1861, The British Empire almost quintupled in size. A fascinating book that covers this period is Saul David’s ‘Victoria’s Wars – The Rise of Empire’. The importance of Osborne House to Queen Victoria following Albert’s untimely death is obvious.

On her own death on 22 January 1901 (Note 2) the royal apartments, including Queen Victoria’s bedroom, were turned into a private museum accessible only to the royal family. A wrought iron gate was fixed across the corridor, barring anyone else! On his coronation Edward VII gave the estate to the nation. Queen Elizabeth II never visited, preferring to use Sandringham as her summer retreat, but gave permission in 1954 for the first-floor private apartments in the royal pavilion to be open to the public.

The carved dining room ceiling with a minstrels’ gallery at the end

Always interesting to see inside these magnificent buildings, glimpsing how a very minute section of our nation lived. Most of the rooms are very ornate, the decoration befitting the Ruler of the British Empire. Wearing her Empress of India hat, Victoria created The Durbar Room and corridor, with its paintings from India. Victoria had a great sense of humour and she commissioned a huge painting of bare-breasted women to hang on the wall above Albert’s and her working desks.

Their desks side by side, facing the somewhat raunchy oil painting!

Walking around Osborne, I was wondering what happened to their nine children; Victoria (1840), Albert Edward (1841), Alice (1843), Alfred (1844), Helena (1846), Louise (1848), Arthur (1851), Leopold (1853) and Beatrice (1857).

Albert, Victoria and eight of their children

 I am reminded of my great great grandmother Sarah Fosbery who, having married at 17, gave birth to nine daughters between 1839 and 1861 – and then died aged 39; hardly surprising?

Regular readers will remember that, in the aftermath of food poisoning from a TAP meal on my flight back from Brazil, I rediscovered sweet jelly. In the extensive grounds of Osborne House is Swiss Cottage, a chalet-style house that Albert built, well I don’t imagine he built it himself (!), for his children, somewhere where they could be themselves, away from the suffocating atmosphere of the main house. Each child had their own vegetable patch

Princess Alice’s vegetable plot

and in the cottage, rooms were dedicated to cooking, playing games, sewing etc. I spied one of those lovely copper jelly, or blancmange (?) moulds and asked the volunteer overseeing the visitors whether I could borrow it. Fat chance huh! In Swiss Cottage there was an interactive explanation of what happened to their children; naturally most married into other European royal families.

Albert’s love of horticulture has ensured that the 300 acres of gardens, pastures and woods are well worth exploring, including his walled garden with cold frames and conservatories. From Osborne House, a long tree-lined avenue leads down to a beach on The Solent

and it was here that the queen would swim.

Memories of Osborne are numerous but sadly the abiding one from this visit will be my observations on the health of the other visitors. Granted we visited on a Wednesday, so not a day to go if you were still working, but I was reminded what Sami had said on my last visit to the Hope Café (See PC 438 May 2025), that ‘only 9.3% of older people, defined as ‘surviving to the age of 70 year without the presence of any of 11 major chronic diseases’, could be classed as properly health.’ (Note 3) In the United Kingdom 45% of those of pensionable age have some form of long-term illness, impairment or disability. It’s not something you can shout about, confront, but I despaired at the general apparent lack of health of the public who visited on Wednesday, with their walking sticks, Zimmer frames, hunched postures, spare tyres and ‘bingo wings’. Maybe they will all apply to take Ozempic, ignoring the possibility that with sensible eating and general exercise, none of these things is necessary. I read on Wednesday that KFC has announced plans to create 7000 jobs across the UK and Ireland. Great! More fried chicken will be consumed ….. that’ll increase the bottom line for both KFC and the Nation!

Everyone has a story about their health; for some a genetic condition or accident will have created a disability through no fault of their own. But as I said to someone the other day, everyone is responsible for what they put in their mouth.

Richard 30th May 2025

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 The worst time to visit the house is on a Wednesday morning. If that’s your only day, visit the gardens in the morning and the house in the afternoon.

Note 2 In PCs 44 and 45 (July 2015) I scribbled about our trip to Eagle in Alaska. Great grandfather George was there when Queen Victoria died and remembers the palpable grief.

Note 3 I am not in this 9%, having had a triple heart bypass in 2013!

PC 440 The Isle of Wight

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The visit of Celina’s mother and partner Toni has become an annual occurrence, and we have always tried to organise a few days away during their time in the UK. We have been to my home city of Bath (see PC 337 An American in Bath – June 2023), visited Arundel Castle, the home of the Duke of Norfolk, and spent two nights in Lymington in the New Forrest (see PCs 388 & 389 May 2024). This year, prompted by Toni mentioning his mother had much enjoyed Osborne House on the Isle of Wight, we organised a two-night stay there. Being an island itself, Great Britain has a long coastline stretching some 1800 kms with numerous offshore islands. Apart from the largest groups such as the Inner and Outer Hebrides, the Orkneys and Shetland Isles, the larger ones include Mull (875 sq kms), the Isle of Man in the Irish Sea (572 sq kms), Arran in the Firth of Clyde, and then the Isle of Wight on the south coast. This triangular shaped island covers some 381 sq kms – I read that for comparative purposes it’s about half the size of Singapore ……. if that’s useful? (Better than comparing it with Wales!)

Ferry in yellow, journeys in blue, places in red

On its western tip are the famous Needles, three huge, white chalk rocks marked by a C19th lighthouse.

And nestling into that western coast is Alum Bay, famous for its strata of coloured sands

The western entrance to The Solent narrows by Hurst Castle on the mainland.

Hurst Castle is at the right hand end of the line of pebbles in the distance

Actually, you can see the Isle of Wight when visibility is good from the high ground on the north side of Brighton & Hove, some 55 miles away.

Most of my experiences of the Isle of Wight come from my love of sailing. I have taken part in Mermaid dinghy regattas off Seaview; I have swum in Cowes harbour way past midnight and possible having had too much to drink (!); moored up in Yarmouth harbour numerous times, once having to go over the side of the yacht to unwrap a rope from the propeller; anchored outside as the harbour was full, and had to cope with a dragging anchor in strong winds and spring tides; on returning from the Channel Islands one year, we hit the sand off Ryde, between Cowes and Bembridge, and had to wait for the tide to change; and once, as the tide was favourable, we nosed our way into Newton Creek, a wild nature reserve between Cowes and Yarmouth. For a few years I took part in Cowes Week, the August international yachting regatta that attracts thousands of entrants. In 1969 I took part in a Sail Training Association race from Cowes to Skagen in the northern tip of Denmark, and then on to Malmö in Sweden. I feel at home in this part of the United Kingdom.

The island is served by two ferry companies, Red Funnel from Southampton and Wightlink from Lymington, Portsmouth Harbour and Portsmouth. During my career as an executive coach I worked for Sea Containers, who at the time owned Wightlink and Hoverspeed, the latter running ferries to Calais and Boulogne-Sur-Mer.

I guess the most famous town on the Isle of Wight is Cowes, although its capital is a town called Newport, right in the centre of the island and where the Medina River starts being deep enough to be navigable. Most of the east-west island traffic flows through its congested streets, as north at Cowes the only way to cross the river is on a ‘floating bridge’ which can only take 20 cars on each trip. On the south coast are the Victorian holiday resorts of Ventnor and Shanklin.

The Albion Hotel overlooking Freshwater Bay

You will see from the map that we stayed a couple of nights in the renovated Albion Hotel in Freshwater on the southwest corner. A C18th hostel overlooking Freshwater Bay was destroyed in a big storm in 1824 and the Royal Albion Hotel dates from 1860. The building of Osborne House drew tourists and courtiers alike to the island and the hotel prospered. Today its 40 rooms offer a tranquil setting to unwind after cycling or walking around the island or, as we did, visiting Osborne House. And if you’re lucky, you wake up at just the right time, in this case 26 minutes past midnight, to take a photograph of the full moon over a calm sea.

Nothing is very far on the Isle of Wight and on our second evening we drove north to Yarmouth – yes, the mouth of the river Yar! Our friends from Lymington, whom we had seen last year, came across on the Wightlink ferry for supper at The George Hotel. The tourist and yachting season hadn’t really got underway and it wasn’t at all crowded; in the summer months it becomes very busy and to guarantee a mooring in the harbour you need to be there by 1600, which is too early!   


On the last morning we took a quick trip out to the coast above The Needles; in stunning warm sunshine we looked down at the iconic lighthouse, which I have sailed passed many, many times.

From there we drove east along the south coast before heading north to the ferry terminal at Fishbourne. One’s unlikely to go to the IoW with a car for a day trip, as the ferries are expensive; if you live on the island you get a discount but it does tend to isolate the island community – maybe they like it that way? We caught the 1300 ferry back to Portsmouth and were home in Hove by 1510.


We were lucky with our weather; wall-to-wall sunshine with 20°C and little wind. Next week’s scribbles will cover our visit to Osborne House.

Richard 23rd May 2025

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS Flights to Portugal from Gatwick pass over the IoW. Often the view is amazing


Looking south over the Isle of Wight. Cowes is in the centre of the photograph.

PC 439 A Global Contentious Issue

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In January I posted a card entitled ‘Contentious Issues in the UK’ (PC 420) as a focus to the New Year. I should have added something about the definition of a woman, as events have defined this also as ‘contentious’. After years of acrimonious debate about the ins and out of changing sex, from man to woman, from woman to man, and for those who would prefer to stay somewhere in between, some LBGT pressure groups were, in my opinion, demanding unhealthy, skewed and biased changes to societal rules.

I left the world of paid work some time ago, so this issue is one I read about, care about, but have no real experience of. I read that everyone was being forced to declare themselves I/me/moi/my etc ….. or else! Thankfully the pendulum has swung back from its extreme position. Those who wish to identify in a certain way, by certain criteria, should be allowed to do so. But it’s rubbish to assume that if you don’t declare your pronouns for yourself, you’re somehow against the whole idea. Sadly the polarisation of any topic, any issue seems to be a feature of the current times and that shuts down reasonable debate and acceptance of opposing views.

Britain has a tolerant attitude, in the main, to diversity, but it seems that, anxious to be tolerant, accepting, we allowed pressure groups like Stonewall to bulldoze their way through and into government departments’ policies, dictating their slightly skewed agenda. The threat to individuals was that if they didn’t sign up to the propaganda they would be cancelled. We have enough bullies at the moment. It really was a clear example of the tail wagging the dog (see PC 421 Not The Way to Go January 2025)

It’s not the end of the debate for sure, but on 15th April 2025 the UK’s Supreme Court unanimously ruled that a woman is defined by biological sex under equalities law. Chris Mason, the BBC’s Political Editor, headlined it as one of the most contentious issues for 2025. It’s worth just quoting one of those who got the case heard: “For years, a lot of us have felt just completely gaslit. That the truth is no longer the truth, that women cannot speak up. That we should allow anyone who wants to be in our sporting categories, our bathrooms, our hospital wards, our lesbian dating sites, that we should just allow anyone that wants to, to just come in. We’ve been told that we’re cruel and unkind, transphobic, discriminatory, that we’re breaking the law. All these things are completely untrue.”

In late April, the European Court of Human Rights (EHRC) released an update on the practical implications of the Supreme Court’s clarification, saying that in places such as hospitals, shops and restaurants, “trans women (biological men) should not be permitted to use the women’s facilities”. It is now compulsory for workplaces to provide sufficient single-sex lavatories, as well as single-sex changing and washing facilities where needed. The EHRC added that “where possible, mixed-sex toilet, washing or changing facilities” should also be offered. (Note 1)

So now local councils will have to provide ‘safe’ places, changing rooms, loos etc for the transgender community. Let’s just put this in perspective. In England and Wales 0.5% of the population, some 262,000, have a gender identity that is different from the one they were assigned at birth. And we have allowed individuals, under pressure from Stonewall, to self-identify, the idea that they are the sole authority to determine their sex, regardless of biology.  Compare their needs with those who have some form of long-term illness, impairment or disability. Shockingly, almost a quarter of the UK’s working-age population meet this criteria. It’s also shocking that 45% of those of pensionable age fit this group. There are estimated to be 1.2 million wheelchair users, who are often unable to travel due to poor wheelchair access. So when councils are asked to allocate dwindling financial resources, surely those with the greater need, the majority, come first?  Of course, in an ideal world everyone would be accommodated but it’s unlikely there will ever be an ideal world!

Even among jubilant women’s rights campaigners, there is a feeling that this is just the beginning. They want to challenge the institutions where they believe gender ideology — and specifically self-ID, the idea that an individual has the sole authority to determine their sex, regardless of biology — has taken root.

Kate Barker, the chief executive of the LGB Alliance, which made a submission to the Supreme Court about the importance for lesbians of the primacy of biological sex, argues this anger is misplaced:

“Why are they so mad at women for protecting our spaces and at gay people for protecting our rights [to same-sex relationships] and not mad at the people who have fed them duff legal advice for the past ten years?” Barker asked. “Stonewall and all those groups have spent ten years pushing the idea of self-ID, saying that it might not have quite been the law but it was practically the law. And institutions — particularly places like the BBC — were captured by Stonewall.”

So common sense will need to be applied to this judgment. Organisations will have to try to accommodate the trans community in whatever way they can, in a climate of stretched financial resources. Already many sports governing bodies have said that trans women will not be able to compete in women’s only events; surely common sense?  

We don’t live in an ideal world and the silent majority need their voice heard; not drowned out by a vocal minority.

Richard 16th May 2025

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 On 2nd May Stonewall posted this: ‘It’s important to remember that the ruling is not law as of yet and organisations should wait to see how statutory guidance is changed before making policy changes.” Actually the Supreme Court’s judgement is exactly that, legal clarity as to how a woman is defined and Stonewall’s advice is encouraging organisations to act unlawfully!

PC 438 More Odds from The Hope Cafe

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Knowing my days would be busy with the visit of my mother-in-law around Celina’s birthday, I popped into The Hope to catch up with Sami on Monday afternoon. When I first met him some years ago, he was reading the latest John Grisham novel and sure enough, this afternoon his head is also into a book. He looks up and slips his bookmark between the pages:

“Hi! Richard. How are you? I read that you had food poisoning on your flight back from Rio. You OK now?”

“Yes! Thank God! Very nasty! Got into jelly! Haven’t had sweet jelly for decades and it was perfect. Even bought a block of blackberry flavour and poured boiling water over it ……. ! What are you reading?”

“Well, given the death of Pope Francis, it seems an appropriate time to read Robert Harris’ book Conclave; it was published almost ten years ago but it feels very current! Very good, but then I would expect nothing less from Harris; such a great and inventive author.”

“You’ve watched the film Conclave, right, the one with Ralph Fiennes and Stanley Tucci? I read the book a few years ago and found the film on our flight out to Rio de Janeiro towards the end of March. Sometimes the director of a film diverges from important elements of a book for whatever reason; for a film is only their take, their understanding, and may or may not compare with one’s own imaginative thoughts derived from its reading. Personally, I think the film’s great and whilst it may not be a completely accurate description of the real conclave, it’s going to be in the back of my mind when the 133 cardinal electors gather in the Sistine chapel on Wednesday to choose Pope Francis’ successor. (Note 1)

Hopefully there is a big dollop of truth in terms of the way the next pontiff is chosen; it sort-of lifted the lid on something regarded as very mysterious. Wasn’t his funeral wonderful? But a demonstration of a male-dominated organisation, hundreds of men in skirts and brocade and silk, centuries of tradition; I wonder whether it’s fit for the C21st? And now we’ll see the fight between traditionalist and liberals, the former tending to be a strong cohort in catholic churches of Africa.”  

“Ha! I heard that, in a twist worthy of Harris’ book and the subsequent film, Pope Francis, in a death-bed letter, forbade Cardinal Angelo Becciu, the most senior Catholic Church official ever to stand trial before a Vatican criminal court, found guilty but free pending an appeal, from voting in this month’s conclave.”

“For some reason a rerun of a Dave Allen skit (Note 2) was broadcast on Instagram the other day. You remember Dave Allen, Sami?”

“Oh! Come on! I was born in 1958 so too young for what I gather was compulsory Saturday Night television viewing! Of course I have seen some of the compilation programmes. What was the topic of the skit?”

“With the current focus on the Vatican and the choosing of the next Pope to lead the world’s 1.4 billion Catholics, it’s very apposite:

‘Jeremy died and made his way to heaven, where he was welcomed by St Peter, who offered to show him around. ‘Over there, that group are Hindus, and down there by the lake are Muslims; Anglicans and Jews tend to congregate around here.’ There was a very tall wall behind St Peter and curious, Jeremy asked him what was on the other side. ‘Ah! On the other side of the wall are the Catholics; they think they are the only inhabitants of heaven.’

Then we had Morten Morland’s wonderful cartoon that summed up the late Pope (Note 3):

“Don’t you love cartoons like that? Perfect! Different topic. Not sure you were here or in Brazil but there was an interesting news item about health a couple of weeks ago that caught my eye.”

“Health? In Brazil it’s a national fixation but here in the United Kingdom less so!”

“You’re right! Researchers studied more than 100,000 people living in the United States over 30 years and found that only 9.3% of the older people could be classed as properly health, defined as ‘surviving to the age of 70 years without the presence of any of 11 major chronic diseases and with no impairment in cognitive or physical functions or mental health.’ Those eleven, in case you’re interested, cover cancer, diabetes, myocardial infarction (a heart attack), coronary artery disease, congestive heart failure, stroke, kidney failure, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), Parkinson’s disease, multiple sclerosis and amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (a fatal type of motor neuron disease). Not surprisingly, it concluded that ‘greater long-term adherence to a healthy diet during mid-life was associated with greater odds of healthy ageing.’”

“Not rocket science huh but I guess everyone will be asking themselves – ‘Have I had any?’ More yoga I say! By the way, you remember I scribbled about Gen Z a while ago?” (PC 425 February 2025)

“Yes ……”

“Well, Robert Crampton, writing in The Times about Generation Z and their idea of work, laid it on the line:

‘Generation Z don’t seem to understand the basic social contract!’ and went on to say your family care for you, from being a baby to acquiring educational qualifications, then you go and earn your own living. You pay taxes to keep the country safe, educated, moving and healthy. He stressed that the ‘going to work’ business, reliably, regularly, cannot be construed as emotional abuse! ‘It’s normal to feel anxious; it’s also normal to have days when you don’t fancy it.’ Then you retire and get looked after again. ‘That’s the deal. It’s really not negotiable.’

“Actually, think that’s spot on! Not only Generation Z; too many people think The State should support them.”

“Sami! Must get on. Lovely to talk to you and I’ll let you get back into ‘Conclave’.”

Richard 9th May 2025

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS White smoke appeared yesterday as the cardinals elected Robert Prevost to be the next pontiff. He’s decided to call himself Pope Leo XIV

Note 1 135 were eligible but two are too infirm to travel.

Note 2 Dave Allen (July 1936 – March 2005) was a brilliant Irish comedian, satirist and actor.

Note 3 Morland is a Norwegian political cartoonist who regularly features in The Times.