Ice

I used to hate it when soft white snow turned to grey slush. Now I long for the slush to arrive.

There's been no snow since Boxing Day night. A little snow has melted and the main roads are clear but the pavements are icy. People have walked the snow into hard, white ice. Even more dangerous are the patches where snow has melted a little and then re-frozen, giving paving stones a transparent glaze.

I did not fall when I went out yesterday but the care I took was exhausting.

Once I would have found this excursion exciting - when I was small and nearer to ground level. Now I know that a fall can cause bad damage. I'm glad to know, after a scan a few years ago, that my bones are not particularly brittle. I see others out of doors and think this icy word may be more dangerous for them.

There's lots of advice for older people on how to keep warm at home. "Wear more clothes," we are advised, as though we were idiots who couldn't think of this for ourselves. That's not the advice we need. We don't want to be trapped in our homes in bad weather.

 A quick google shows that there's some advice on how to walk on icy surfaces in other countries. The University of Illinois seems to assume that everyone will drive and that most  problems arise when walking in car parks - but their advice on posture may be helpful. We should, apparently, walk flat-footedly with the centre of gravity above the feet. Backpacks can  throw us off balance and it's a good idea to extend the arms if possible. It sounds a bit like tightrope-walking. I'm less certain about their advice to use hands to break a fall as  I've come across a few people who have broken their wrists in this way.

I know that I could buy devices for walking on ice and fix them to my walking boots - or even to ordinary shoes - but I've have to venture across the ice to get them, and ordering by mail would mean waiting a few days, by which time the ice may have cleared. I may try to get some in case of further bad weather, if they haven't all sold out. They would be useful when I need to get to work.

Meanwhile I'm grumpily at home, wearing a rather large quantity of knitwear, and wishing I could go for a walk - or fly, like the delightful wagtail I saw fluttering around the shops yesterday. With its feathers fluffed out until it appeared almost spherical, it seemed to be enjoying the weather. But of course, it favoured the pedestrian shopping area which frequent footfall had cleared of snow and ice.

I will go for a walk when I have a sensible reason to do so, or when the ice melts.

 

A cheap day at the sales

It's supposed to be so festive, such fun. But, with few exceptions, I hate shopping, especially when shops are crowded. Despite this, I feel obliged to visit the sales at least once. I think of it as an attempt to placate the god of the sales. Perhaps if I venture out once in the sales madness, I will be permitted to avoid busy shops for the whole of the coming year.

I didn't go to the sales on Boxing Day. That would have been excessive, especially since the trains  weren't running. I waited till the day after - the Saturday - and timidly made my way into town. Some of the timidity was caused by last night's snow. While it had turned to slush on some of the roads, elsewhere it had compacted into ice, and I didn't want to fall. The local council grits some of the roads but pedestrians are left to fend for themselves on icy pavements. After injuring my back in a fall a few years ago, I know just how dangerous they can be.

Perhaps the snow and ice had kept the shoppers away but the city centre was less crowded than on a normal Saturday. Even my favourite indie bookshop was quiet enough for conversation. (I said there were exceptions to my hatred of shopping. Browsing and buying books at a good indie bookshop is always a pleasure.) 

I tore myself away from the contemplation of poetry magazines and attempted some serious shopping. I could buy socks, I thought. Good, cheap socks are always useful. But I didn't want socks featuring robins or reindeer and there were no sensible warm socks on sale - at least, not in the three shops I entered.

Perhaps there was really nothing I needed, apart from a few groceries. The tomatoes were not in the sale but humus was on special offer. There was another opportunity for conversation too.

So I've done the sales. It wouldn't have been particularly special, apart from one thing. Waiting for the train I saw a white mist rising above the fence that separates the platform from people's gardens. At first I couldn't work out what it was. I went closer to see if it was a fire. It wasn't. The white mist was melting snow. I could see it dissolve into air and rise like smoke, all along the length of the fence.

 

The joys of Christmas solitude

This Christmas I'm doing just what I like. I chose when to get up and I'll go to bed when I feel like it too. I'm deciding what to eat and when, and what activities to enjoy: mostly reading, listening to music, watching TV and going for a walk. It's relaxing and fantastic. It's exactly what  I needed.

Of course, I'm lucky. I've spoken to family members, including my children, and I know they're fine. I also have good health and no money worries for myself. Things aren't so easy for people who are ill, worried about family and friends, or poor. And I like being alone - not because I dislike people but because a period of solitude is a good way to restore energy and optimism. This means that my recipe for a happy and solitary Christmas won't suit everyone. But this is what works for me.

1. Prepare in advance. Think about what you would like to eat and drink - and what would count as a special treat. As there is no-one telling you what you have to eat and drink on Christmas Day, you can choose exactly what you like. It could be curry, pizza or beans on toast. The important thing is that you choose it because you enjoy it.

2. Buy yourself a small present. This should be something you would like that you wouldn't otherwise buy. I bought books - and I also borrowed a huge pile of books from the public library. That's my idea of pleasure. It may not be yours. The treat doesn't have to cost a lot of money - if it's a library book it's free - but it does have to be special and a bit indulgent. It could be a bubble bath or a bar of chocolate, or something much fancier. The important thing is that you enjoy it.

3. Don't force yourself to do anything you don't want to do, just because it's Christmas. Do the things you enjoy. You may want Christmas decorations, fairy lights and carols from King's on the radio. You may want to watch the gloomiest Russian film you can find - even the Downton Abbey Christmas special. Do what you like. There are no rules.

4. You may miss people at this time of year. This is fine. There are people I miss because they have died. I can't bring them back to life but I try to think of them with happiness and remember the good times we shared. Yes, I mourn them and wish they were still around but I'm also very glad that I knew them. As for friends and family elsewhere, I can make arrangements to see them or get in touch later, when things will be less hectic. It's good to have something to look forward to.

5. If you feel like it, and if the weather's good, go out for a walk. If you like, you can go to church but I just went for a short afternoon walk by the canal and river. I listened to the birds and looked at the sky. There weren't many people out and I enjoyed the silence. There were a few glum couples and families but it was such a calm and lovely day that I was unusually happy. I took photos, mostly of the sky but there were also flowers in bloom.

6. Don't worry about what other people think. If they feel sorry for you, it's because they don't know what a good time you're having. Celebrate your freedom.

Reading in French

Apparently I should study languages to keep my elderly brain alive.  I'm not good at languages. Teachers at my school sometimes commented that I wasn't a natural linguist. This didn't stop me. I wanted to immerse myself in languages so that there would be more books to read.

As a treat to myself, I ordered two more books by Maurice Gouiran. I haven't come across anyone in the U.K. who has read Maurice Gouiran and when I order his books I have to go through the website of Jigal, his Marseille publisher. He's never been translated into English.

I came across his books a few years ago, when on holiday in Marseille. Franco Est Mort Jeudi had just been published in paperback and I bought a copy to read on the train home. I didn't understand every word - there's a lot of contemporary slang and my French vocabulary isn't as large as I'd like (I want to know every single word in the dictionary). But my O-level French from many years ago, topped up by six months of evening classes, was enough to take me through the book. 

When I got home I looked up some of the words in the big dictionary but they weren't all there. Despite some difficulties, I found the book gripping. It's in the Chandleresque tradition but with a French twist - and while Philip Marlowe has little concern with his country or city's past, Gouiran, often through his  series detective Clovis Narigou, is deeply concerned with uncomfortable episodes from the past which are too often forgotten. That's particularly interesting because Marseille has always been a place where people of different nations and races live together.

The novels I  have read are fuelled by an anger which is probably most apparent in Putains de  Pauvres! which is concerned with the contempt so many people feel for the poor. But the novels have humour too, as well as mystery, suspense and a cast of excellently-drawn characters, many of whom haunt the Beau-Bar in Estaque. Currently I'm enjoying Sur Nos Cadavres Ils Dansent Le Tango, a novel which includes an investigation into the French in Algeria in the early 1960s and fascism in Argentina, as well as contemporary extreme right politics and attitudes.

I wish my French were better - and I wish someone would translate these novels into English. (They'd make pretty good films or TV serials too, although no actor would quite live up to the image I have of Clovis Narigou or the more recent character, police lieutenant Emma Govgaline.) But for the meantime, I'm exercising my 60-year-old brain, not because I ought to do so, but for the pleasure it gives.

Old Lady does industry

I appreciate that the picture above doesn't look like most people's ideal of a birthday destination, but it's the one I chose. This wonderful piece of machinery is a Bessemer Steel Converter and it's outside the Kelham Island Museum in Sheffield. 

It wasn't my first visit to Sheffield. I even worked there, part-time, for a few months back at the beginning of the 1990s. But it's not a place I know well, so of course I got lost and had to ask for directions numerous times. Few people in the city centre seemed to know where Kelham Island is, which  is a shame as the museum is fine and informative. It also has an excellent pub next door.

I'm not an expert on technology or industrial history. My first impression, on faced with a static steam engine or a complex piece of equipment, is very often an unspoken "Wow! That's beautiful." And I have to admit that in some cases the rust adds to the beauty I see. But there's more to it than that.

I admire the intelligence, the intricacy and the high level of skill shown both by the inventor and all the people who used this equipment. My parents and many of their ancestors worked with their hands and brains, making things and maintaining them. My dad worked in Sheffield for a few months after the Second World War. I'm not sure what he did there but my son thinks it may have been something to do with building or maintaining trams.

So I looked with admiration at the jobs people had done, back when England was a place where things were made. A lot of the machinery on display was connected with steel, from tool-making to the powerful River Don steam engine. But there were also examples of trades I'd never considered, such as snuff-grinding or operating a device to flatten Ordnance Survey maps. Snuff was ground in Sheffield but the flattening machine, made in Sheffield, was used in the Tower of London.

Looking at the machinery makes me want to know more about the people who worked machinery. While Victorian ladies were expected to stay at home, working-class Victorian women expected to work for a living. The memories recorded in the gallery suggested that they had been a lively lot with strong trades unions defending their rights and interests. There were anecdotes about the women dancing between the machines when production was paused as well as stories of their fight for equal pay for equal work.

I didn't really learn about my family's past, and nor did I expect to. Working-class lives were hugely varied and all a visit to a museum provides is glimpses. But they are glimpses to treasure.

So, on my 60th birthday, equipped with my brand-new Old Lady's railcard, I travelled to Sheffield and looked back on an  industrial past. I also drank real ale and, later, some rather fine whisky. And that was a very happy birthday.

I like being 60.

Old Lady Card

I have the card. I ordered it on-line I'm not yet an old lady but I'm prepared. It's quite exciting.

There's more than a week till I can use the card. I have to wait until my birthday. But I've been visiting websites and plotting far more journeys than I'll have time to make. I haven't got so far as booking yet, but it's good to dream.

It's a shame about the "senior" tag. I don't like that word. It's thinly metallic and conveys nothing in particular. I much prefer "old lady," which is odd. I've always denied being a lady, but the word so much sounds better with "old" in front of it. Not so respectable and a lot more fun. On fencing nights I shall picture myself as Miss Marple with a sword.

I'll use my old lady railcard for journeys to work but I look forward to travelling for pleasure too.