Good news

Well, fairly good news. When I got out of bed this morning it was raining. Now, given this country's reputation for being wet that might not sound exactly like good news but here in Brighton we have had no rain at all for ten days. And then it was just a bit in the morning, soon over, and a very light shower in the evening. This morning's rain didn't last very long either. We do really need rain. Already crops are failing for lack of it and the soil in the garden is like rock where it isn't just dust. It means I am having to put the hose on the vegetables just to keep them alive and growing - and that doesn't do my water bill any favours. It also means the vegetables I do grow are getting more and more expensive.

I have been toying with the idea of giving up growing vegetables. These days I find my back dislikes the digging and weeding involved - another of the disadvantages of getting older. What I would like to do, I think, is plant a small orchard. Actually, what I would really like to do is own a large-ish orchard. I like the idea of fruit trees spaced properly apart so that they can grow to their natural size, unlike so many commercial orchards, with the grass beneath being cropped by sheep.

A psychoanalyst would probably decide that this "wish" of mine is really a subconscious desire to return to the womb or some such. You see, I was born and brought up in Kent when that county was still known as the Garden of England on account of its orchards and hop fields. Although we lived in the town of Gillingham, orchards weren't far away. Indeed, there was one hill only a few miles distant which afforded a 360 degree view, all over cherry orchards. In the spring, anyone standing on that hill could imagine himself standing on top of clouds as there were billows and mounds of white blossom all around. One of my oldest memories is of going to the nearby village (as it was then) of Rainham and taking the footpath running along the side of the churchyard. Immediately behind the churchyard was an orchard (I don't remember what fruit) with sheep grazing. Whether it was right to do so or not, we would sometimes take bread (yes, bread) to feed the lambs. I'm not sure they appreciated the food on offer, but they were tame enough to come and investigate.

Well, even though the rain has stopped now I shan't have to use the hose today as I expected to. That will give me more time to print out Lions Charter Night menus.

Quote of the day

"Read, every day, something no one else is reading. Think, every day, something no one else is thinking. It is bad for the mind to be always part of unanimity." (Christopher Morley)

That showed up this morning in my sidebar and, as it will be gone tomorrow, I thought it worth copying. You see, it resonates with me. And if "resonate" seems to be the wrong word, then tough. I know what I mean.

I like especially the third commandment: "Do, every day, something no one else would be silly enough to do". I only wiish I could live up to that. There certainly have been times when I have struck out on my own but those times have been fewer and farther between than I would really like. I wish I had both the courage and the imagination to be a true eccentric, to do things that are not so much really daft as just a little odd, things that perhaps many people would like to do but that would make them too self-conscious. And don't ask what sort of things. I don't have the imagination to think of any.

Oh well, I shall just have to settle for a life of drab conformity, I suppose. How boring that sounds.

Contemplating

I have for some time been giving thoughts to perhaps maybe investigating the possibility of installing solar panels on the roof to produce electricity. It's not something that has been in my mind continually but I have contemplated the idea sporadically for two or three years. In both England and France one sees small solar panels beside road signs and I know of a swimming pool in France that is heated by solar energy. This latest bout of meditation was brought about by an article in a supplement to yesterday's paper - one I rarely glance at but which caught my eye on this occasion.

We do have an ideal roof - south facing, uncluttered and unshaded by trees or, indeed, anything else. But there would be a considerable outlay involved. So what benefits would I receive for my expenditure?

Obviously I would reduce the cost of my electricity. If the solar panels were to produce sufficient, I might even get my electricity for nothing. Indeed, if there were to be a surplus to my requirements, that surplus would be "sold" to the national grid. On top of that, the Government would pay me for all electricity produced - even the electricity used by me - and the rate of payment is index-linked for a period of 25 years. Provided a future Government doesn't move the goalposts. On average, I understand, the cost of installation is £12,000 and this could generate savings and income of nearly 10% per annum, much better than any savings account is offering.

But what about the cons? The biggest seems to be the as yet unknown question of whether the installation would make a house more difficult to sell. I have seen arguments both ways, but I live in Brighton and here we have elected the country's first (and so far, only) member of the Green Party as our Member of Parliament. The Greens are also the biggest party on our local council. That would seem to indicate that the installation of solar panels would be a plus when it comes to selling a house in this town. In any case, I doubt we will be looking to sell for many years so the "problem" might look completely different by the time we do come to sell.

One thing that does rather concern me is that there could be considerable improvements to the technology over the fairly short term - after, of course, I have installed a system. But that always applies to just about every aspect of life.

I shall continue to mull this over - but I may well call on the people ropund the corner who have solar panels on their roof just to find out what their experience has been.

Catching up

So the world-wide blogging community was well and truly bloggered on Friday - coincidentally, Friday the 13th. What, I wonder, would I have posted had I been able to access this blog?

I might have mentioned bacon. On both Wednesday and Thursday I enjoyed bacon at dinner time. On Wednesday the Old Bat and I went with a fellow-Lion friend to our local Italian restaurant where I had pasta (tagliatella) with bacon and onions and the chef's home-made tomato sauce. Brilliant! I know I had bacon on Thursday as well and if I stop thinking about it I shall probably remember just how I had it. Oh yes, John Noakes Special - which will need explanation. Years ago there was a children's TV programme called Blue Peter. In fact, I think there still is a children's TV programme called Blue Peter but I'm talking about the time when one of the presenters was a man called John Noakes. That was in the days when my children were children. Just why JN was talking about cooking is something I didn't know then (I never saw the programme as it was aired before I got home from work) and I don't know now. But he was. He described a dish he had invented and which he had not named so it was called John Noakes Special. Not being much of a dab hand in the kitchen department, I don't know what the recipe is - or even all the ingredients. All I know is that one puts chopped potatoes, lardon-sized bits of bacn and chopped tomatoes in a dish which is then put in the oven. Serve with a green veg.

So that's bacon done with - except to say that we will be eating roast gammon this evening. Now, what else?

I went to the doctor on Thursday afternoon, not something I do lightly. I developed a particularly nasty cough before Easter. It cleared a bit but then came back with a vengeance and by Tuesday I had had enough. I thought it was/is a bout of bronchitis and it had reached the stage where I really wanted something - an antibiotic - to knock it on the head. So on Tuesday afternoon I phoned the surgery and was given an appointment for Thursday with a doctor I had never heard of. I think he is one of the juniors at the practice. After I had described the symptons (I won't bore you with them) he asked me, 'Do you think it could be a virus of some sort?' I assured him that I thought he was on the right lines. 'Should I prescribe an antibiotic?' was his next question.

I've heard of DIY in many areas, but that was ridiculous. Anyway, I am now in the middle of a course of antibiotics, hoping it will do the trick.

Doesn't that make you glad Blogger was down all Friday?

Scenic Saturday - North Yorkshire

Number 41 in the series.



There are no doubt many people - and not just Yorkshire tykes - who would claim that the north riding of Yorkshire, or North Yorkshire as the county is known, is the most scenic part of England. Certainly there is no shortage of beauty, both natural and man-made. There are the dales and the North York Moors as well as the sometimes dramatic coast, then there is the city of York with its monster, city walls and medieval buildings. There are the seaside towns of Scarborough and Whitby (Captain Cook's home port) and the inland towns of Knaresborough and Harrogate. All would provide pictures suitable for this series. In the end I have decided to borrow Bob Tuck's dramatic picture of the entrance to Whitby harbour with the ruins of the abbey on the headland.

Great excitement!

I went down into town yesterday afternoon. Yes, really! That was the first time I had been into the centre of Brighton since the Lions held their fun day in the Royal Pavilion Gardens at the end of June last year and the first time I had been into the Churchill Square shopping centre for, oh, possibly two years or more. The objective yesterday was to buy a globe. My granddaughter will soon be celebrating her fourth birthday and she has asked for a globe. For some unknown reason she has become fixated on Africa and she wants a globe so that she can see where it is. I could have ordered one online but was dubious about it arriving before we leave for our next trip to France. The big day is while we are away so we need to have the present wrapped and ready before we go. Another thing the little madam is fixated on is the colour pink. If asked what flavour ice cream she wants, her answer is, 'Pink'. So imagine my delight when I discovered a pink globe! I have never before seen the seas and oceans depicted in pink, but they are on this globe. The Old Bat expressed mild doubts when she saw what I had bought, hoping the different colour wouldn't confuse the GD. I'm confident she is bright enough for it not to matter.

And I killed two birds with one stone. While I was in town I took the opportunity to buy some new clothes.

I may have mentioned it elsewhere on this blog but I will repeat it now for those who have just come in (there are always a few late-comers) and for those who might have read it before but have forgotten. I don't blame them for having forgotten, after all, it's hardly earth-shattering news. Indeed, if "news" concerns up-to-date happenings, this isn't news at all: it's ancient history.

(I've forgotten what I was... Oh, yes.)

I spent twenty-five years working for a High Street bank. I include the words "High Street" to make clear that I was not one of those City types dealing in derivatives and other things I don't understand and being paid millions. I was at the sharp end where we dealt with real people and real money. Not being one of those real whizz-kids, I never made it to full managerial status. The peak of my career was when I was appointed a Support Branch Manager. This meant that I was in charge of a small branch which was under the full managerial control of the manager of the bigger branch in town. I had previously been the number two at the branch when it was totally independent and with its own full Manager. On his retirement the branch was downgraded whereas I was upgraded - slightly.

It was about this time that the bank started on a programme of rationalisation. What this meant, of course, was that smaller branches were being closed. I, and several others, were convinced that "my" branch was on the list for closure and I was expected to oversee the running down of the business and the transfer of the bigger accounts to our parent branch. However, things happened that were outside the control of the powers that were. One of my staff took a phone call from a man who told her he was in charge of a new business in the area, a subsidiary of an international company, and he was looking to open a bank account for this new company. He asked if we could handle this. My young lady promptly replied in the affirmative and the result was that we opened what would become one of the biggest accounts the bank had in Sussex. My branch earned so much from this one account that we became the second most profitable branch per head of staff in the county and, indeed, one of the top ten in the country. The local bigwigs, I believe, decided not to close the branch in case that account was lost to another bank who still maintained nearby branches, a decision which, I also believe, they disliked having to make.

This was also a time when my own authority to lend money was being eroded. All managerial staff had authority to lend up to certain limits allocated individually. These limits were reviewed from time to time to ensure that the effects of inflation etc did not cause problems. My limit was increased but each time it seemed to be increased by less than I needed. Whereas at one time my limit was high enough lend one customer enough to cover a month's sales invoices, over time inflation outstripped the increase in my limit and I had to refer upwards at more inconvenience both to the customer and to me and my staff. At the lower end of lending, computerised credit scoring was gradually taking over and the result was that the area over which I had authority was narrowing year by year. I felt I was becoming just an intermediary with less and less responsibility. This did little for my ambition and, in any case, the branch closure programme meant that I had less and less chance of going further up the ladder. My frustration grew.

The bank I had joined after leaving school had changed. We were now being encouraged to sell a variety of insurance policies and had to accept targets for the volume of insurance business we wrote. I had not joined a bank to become an insurance salesman and I was concerned that, in order to meet targets, we were selling policies to people who either didn't really want them or didn't need them.

It all boiled away inside me and eventually something had to give. I knew that it wouldn't be the directors of the bank, so it had to be me. I resigned. Had I stuck it out another year or two, I am convinced the bank would have paid me to go as they did with so many others, but I jumped ship just a bit too soon.

And what has brought all this to mind? It's the news this week that Britain's banks have had to set aside millions (if not billions) of pounds to repay customers who were mis-sold insurance policies. I feel vindicated.