When you get to our age: ailments, lathes and the river

Hi Mike, Good to hear from you! Just recently, for the first time, I find myself wanting to prefix what I'm going to say with "when you get to our age..." (wygtoa). It feels strange, and is really a bit unwelcome. I hope I didn't sound like I was nagging but (wygtoa) several of my friends and acquaintances have been suffering from ailments both serious and minor and sometimes I become just a little anxious that someone is in a poor state and I don't know about it. With that said, the last thing any of us needs is someone else going "are we there yet?", or similar, particularly if you are feeling out of sorts.

Sorry to hear you've been poorly. The flu/Covid you describe sounds nasty. I understand what you say about "unable to concentrate". I've experienced that myself, though fortunately not recently. Another symptom I have experienced is a feeling of "not really being there/present". I think that fancy name for that is "dissociation". That wasn't actually unpleasant, but it isn't something I want to repeat either. On the other hand, on a couple of occasions I think I've experienced minor hallucinations - that was just weird, "dissociation PLUS strange sensations". People pay a lot of money for experiences like that! As far as I'm concerned they're welcome to them.

I particularly understand the "not being able to read" bit. There was a brief time in his later years when my Dad had a spell like that. At the time, I felt really sorry for him because it took away a genuine simple pleasure. Fortunately the effect was due to diabetes and got fixed, so it was all ok in the end. I think he was re-reading one of the Brother Caedfael (spolling?) stories the week before he died.

I'm still waiting to pick up Rivers of London again. I simply haven't been in a bookshop recently and my library haven't come up with the goods yet. I've been wondering (in general) about graphic novels. I may give one a go (maybe even a RoL one). I think they are a legitimate art-form (like comics, plays, TV etc) but maybe suited to a particular audience, so I note your comments and accept that graphic novels may not be for me. One of the things I like about RoL is the discriptive work and the backgrounds and, of course, that will likely be lost in a graphic novel. I think I'm someone who falls into the category of "I prefer listening to plays on the radio to watching movies - the pictures are better!" Talking of plays on the radio, I was speaking to Chris Freemantle over the internet yesterday and he said that he had been "...listening to a Radio Four play...". I don't think I was fully paying attention to him, or perhaps it was my dodgy hearing, because just for a fraction of a second, I thought I had heard him say "...listening to radio foreplay...". I'll leave your imagination to fill in the gaps, because that momentary misunderstanding certainly had my mind boggling.

Well done for venturing out "on foot"! It's something I don't do enough of. If I was over there, I would be tempted to offer to join you. My exercise is mostly my cycle down to town most days to pick up a newspaper and minor groceries. That, and the same trip to the Men's Shed and then the pub two nights a week. Purchasing the bicycle was one of the better things I have done since coming full time to Ireland, and it was a complete whim. 

Tomorrow, at the Shed, my task of the evening is to connect two pins inside a push-button on/off switch on a lathe. It isn't "latching" as it needs to and I think the problem was that I had misunderstood the details of the wiring (part of the problem is retrofitting cheap Chinese components to ancient British equipment, with little or no documentation for either. The lathe is a small Myford). Internet diagram to the rescue. At tea one evening I was pleased to announce: "Three bits of good news: the lathe motor runs in both directions, there hasn't been a big bang, and I'm still alive!" If the "latch" works, then all I have to do is re-route some of the wiring and thoroughly clean the lathe (it's in a terrible state). I'm sure there will be other things to do as well.    

My other exercise is walking down to the river behind my house. You couldn't really call that a proper walk, but I enjoy it, and it's so convenient. I remember telling you about it. Making the gateway was another whim. The original reasoning was simple enough, the gate gives me access to cut the back of the hedge, but the effect has been much greater. I now go down to the river several times a week (weather and inclination permitting). Regarding ground conditions: one of the effects of making the same walk regularly is that one becomes aware of changes. Topsoil where I am is clay and the underlying ground is some sort of limestone or maybe shale (my geology is a bit dodgy). It has been a wet winter, even my local standards. The ground was very squidgy, even waterlogged but is now beginning to dry out. The river itself is changing. It was surging and opaque, like milky coffee, but yesterday the surface was flat enough, and the water clear enough, for me to see the rocky bottom in places. And I saw one or two bees (good) and today I saw a pair of swallows outside my house (that's even better). I have still to go down to the river today.

I'm going to break off there. I have to pick up the newspaper and I have a couple of small purchases to make in town. Keep in touch, even if it's only to say "I feel a bit crap, but I'm still here". It saves me worrying and prevents me from being a nag. Tell me about  any future walks.

Regards,

Tom

(17th April 2023)

Redcar Coke Ovens - January 1980

I don't remember a saharan wind but I do remember the wind from another time.

In 1980 I was "doing the rounds" as a trainee engineer (Grade MM0, Middle Management Zero). It was three months here, and three months there and so on. "Here" moved about quite a bit, but in January 1980 it was the coke oven plant at Redcar. You can still find the remains of the Redcar blast furnace and coke ovens by selecting the birds' eye view on Google maps, just a little to the North West of Redcar town.

It should have been a good time (I'm perverse enough to have a soft spot for coke ovens), except that between January and April 1980 was the Steel Strike. It was not a good time. Each day started with 15 miles across the North Yorkshire Moors (which could be pleasant), then negotiating my way through a picket line and then a further mile through the sleeping works to the site. The works had been built on reclaimed salt marsh and there is nothing between it and the the North Sea but the dunes at Coatham. Fortunately it didn't really snow while I was there, but there was constantly snow on the wind. It was bitterly cold.

I can bore for 3 countries on coke ovens and blast furnaces, and I'll spare you the details. Both are strange things, like caged dragons or demons. One difference is that a blast furnace can be put to sleep and woken again. It is not a desireable thing to do, but in this case it was done for 3 whole months. Imagine waking a coke fire from the embers. Coke ovens are not like that - they cannot sleep. They can be "turned down" but if production stops then the ovens are quickly destroyed and have to be rebuilt. So, production continued on the ovens. Several times a shift an oven would discharge tens of tonnes of incandescent coke into the air. The inside of the ovens is extremely hot (up to 1400 deg C), and the outside is still hot enough to damage the soles of your boots if you stand still too long in one place. The atmosphere between workers and management was one of tension and resentment. To top it all, the ovens (which were almost new) were suffering from serious technical problems. The air stank and all the time the wind was blowing in from the sea, carrying snowflakes.

It was about then that I decided that, right or wrong, the politicians had decided that they didn't want a steel industry and that the best thing I could do was leave before everything came to a sad end.

On a brighter note, I enjoy my place down by the river. I wish I had found it years ago, but it wasn't the time. I don't expect to see kingfishers. I think the soil is wrong for them: clay rather than sand. On the other hand, I have found myself studying the water. I find the patterns formed by the eddys fascinating. They are both chaotic and predictable and they change from day to day with the state of the river. There is one place where a branch sheds little vortices and another where there is sometimes an area of turbulence like plaited hair. I'm pretty sure Da Vinci drew something like that in one of his notebooks.

On an even brighter note, Noreen and I are off for a couple of days in Bantry. Two nights in a fancy hotel. I'm looking forward to roasting myself in the sauna.

I've got another letter to write before I shut things down, so I'll end there.

Incident in O'Brien Street

Today is a day for interesting occurrences which I feel are worth noting down.

I was driving my car, waiting on O'Brien Street to turn into Earl Street (which afterwards becomes Freemount Road). A large earth mover (Volvo, 4 wheels, hinged in the middle) turned left out of Earl Street. A car on O'Brien Street moved forward and blocked my turn into Earl Street. At first I was a little annoyed, but then the driver started gesticulating wildly a the driver of the pickup truck which was just about to follow the earth mover. There was a large piece of metal, invisible to the driver, which I suppose had fallen from the earth mover. The driver and passenger of the pick-up got out, retrieved the piece of metal and moved it to the side of the road. I exchanged friendly waves with the driver of the car which had blocked my path. He had done the right thing for all of us. He only had a moment to make the decision too. 

(17th September 2022)

 The Grounded Star

I was standing outside on the drive, near the front outside tap, when something caught my eye. It was a bright light shining from the asphalt pavement. I could keep the light sparkling by walking towards it, keeping the sun over my shoulder. When I reached it, I stooped down and picked it up. It was a tiny fragment of glass, an irregular cuboid or spheroid. I am holding it between the forefinger, second finger and thumb of my left hand even as I write. It is pale green, transparent tinted glass, a remnant of the incident with the rear window of my car. When I looked on the ground nearby I could see other similar fragments, each one a little facetted shape. I had not noticed them before now except that I saw this one - barely 2 mm across. Each one is a tiny gem, a facetted jewel, a grounded star.

I thought about how this incident could be incorporated into a detective story: someone noticing a fragment of broken glass on a tarmac drive, noticing more fragments and deducing that a broken car window had been nearby. I'm going to throw the glass away and get on with my day.

(17th September 2022)