Old, tired, ill ... and the return of optimism

Tiredness has almost overcome me.

Is this because I'm old? 

I was wondering about the effects of age on my energy levels. Somehow I found working 50-60 hour weeks exhausting - although fencing continued to have an invigorating effect. I'm not very good at fencing but it's remarkable how cheering I find a couple of hours of consensual stabbing. There's something about swordplay - especially with an epée.

But for the last couple of weeks I've missed fencing. The first was for an entirely enjoyable event at work. It  involved poetry, which has its own considerable pleasures. That was fine, though I wish more poetry events were combined with swordplay. The second was not pleasurable at all. I was unwell - extremely unwell with what seems to be this year's  flu virus.

But flu brought a realisation about age, illness and tiredness. My colleagues also succumbed to flu. They seemed to suffer worse than I did. And I remembered that they had also been tired.

I've reached the stage in my career when my colleagues are all younger than me. And now I think about it, I realise that they have been tired too. So perhaps it's not the effect of old age that I'm feeling - just illness and a job which asks a great deal.

A modest degree of optimism returns. I'll try to blog a little more often. 

Protecting my inheritance

I went on a "preparing for retirement" course. It gave me some useful information though not  as much as I'd have liked. There was too much on legal ways to avoid paying tax, and how to protect yourself from any demands other people might make on you while having a great time. I'd rather have heard tips on how the older fencer might avoid muscle-strain and injury, coupled with advice on good novels with really interesting elderly protagonists. I'd also have liked  advice on how to protect my inheritance and pass it on to the next generation. This matters a lot to me, as I've lost quite a few of my assets already.

When I was young, I was part-owner of energy suppliers, railways - even reservoirs and water-pipes. It was great. It meant I had a voice in how they were managed and how much it cost to use them. Of course, I shared ownership with the rest of the population of the U.K. but I was quite happy with that. Then the government took them away and sold them to better-off people and big companies. I suppose there was some kind of pay-off, which meant we didn't pay quite so much tax, but I still miss my ownership of gas, electricity and water supplies, and the trains which charge so much for every journey. Other people profit from them now and my voice is less likely to be heard; I'm a complaining consumer now when I used to be a part-owner.

There are many things I still own. Hospitals, for instance. Of course, the folly of Private Finance Initiatives gives me less power over my property - the property I probably share with you and millions of others. But it's still mine and I reckon that gives me a better chance of being heard when I have something to say about the way it's run.

I own schools too - and art galleries, museums, leisure centres, parks and playgroups. I own libraries too, and what a treasure they are. These are things that can show us that life is worthwhile - that it's more than mere existence. They teach us to think and question, and provide us with joy. Many of these are free - and I wish that everyone should also be able to go to the theatres, concert halls and opera houses in which I have part-ownership. It seems wrong that some of the owners should be unable to benefit from their own property.

So much of my inheritance is under threat, and I want to pass it on to my children, to other people's children, and to all who might benefit from it. This is the kind of wealth I want. I don't want to avoid paying tax if it means that I'm stripped of the assets I really care about - assets that might make a difficult future bearable for me and for others.

When I was growing up, I felt rich because I could go to free museums, borrow books from free libraries - even go to free performances of Shakespeare plays in London parks. That was wealth indeed. And from the window of our council flat I looked out over a great park and felt as though I owned that as well. I didn't. It's a royal park and belongs to the Queen but everyone who wishes can walk in it so that's much the same thing. We called it  "our back garden." And although we sometimes sought solitude there, we were always happy to share it with everyone else.

A Modern Money Box

London used to feel like home. I still feel comfortable in tube tunnels and crossing bridges over the Thames. I love to glimpse St Paul's Cathedral in the distance, even if it's now too expensive to enter. Admission was free when I was young and I visited often. 

I was born in London and grew up there so I'm sad at recent changes. The poor and homeless are at once visible and invisible as Londoners make an effort to avert their eyes and hurry past. This doesn't seem to surprise the people who huddle in sleeping bags and watch the passers by. I didn't see homelessness like this in London until the 1980s. Now the city seems closer to the London that enraged Dickens and his fellow reformers. Homeless people probably received more sympathy in the nineteenth century than they do in the 21st. Few now believe in Christian love and charity.

I was reminded of this when I visited the National Portrait Gallery and saw Grayson Perry's Jesus Army Money Box. It's part of his "Who are you?" exhibition and I stumbled on it when looking for something to do before catching my train home. The exhibition is free, which is a great inducement to see it - and it's set out as  a trail to follow through the gallery. The works are varied: tapestry, printing, sculpture and, of course, pottery. The works on display received a great deal of attention. The Huhne Vase brought mocking laughter but most of the exhibits, especially the Ashford Hijab and I Am A Man, received delighted appreciation. But I think the Jesus Army Money Box puzzled people.

We're not used to pictures which celebrate a group that's usually seen as a cult. But the focus of the money box, based on mediaeval reliquaries, treats the beliefs of the Jesus Army seriously while also depicting their good works: the care and hospitality they provide for homeless people. Perhaps that thought is rather shaming for visitors to the National Portrait Gallery. The conversations I overheard often showed a generous concern to accept people who are members of "outsider" groups, particularly if they crave acceptance. But I didn't hear any expressions of sympathy for the Jesus Army, or for the homeless people they help.

There's probably a  lot that the Jesus Army believe that  I don't agree with - and I certainly won't be rushing out to join them. But I wonder what the people bedded down in doorways on frosty nights would think of the Jesus Army Money Box, or if security staff  would let them into the Portrait Gallery to see it.

Books and Resolutions

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I've broken more New Year's resolutions than I can remember. I have failed at daily exercise, keeping a  diary and becoming a tidy person. But in 2014, to my great pleasure, I made a New Year's resolution and kept it.

For years I've felt the lack of my sort of bookshop in Nottingham. Waterstone's was exciting when it opened but then it gobbled up Dillon's and eventually closed it. The shop began to lack personality, probably because the books on display in the windows and on offer were there because big publishers paid to promote them. There were, at least, second-hand bookshops - and the wonderful Page 45 which educated me in the joys of graphic novels (comics, if you prefer). I've done some on-line shopping, though recently I've boycotted Amazon which avoids paying U.K. taxes (although it's happy to take local subsidies from public funds) and which treats its low-paid employees in a way which fails to acknowledge their humanity. But even the most ethical on-line retailers don't offer the pleasures of browsing and the kind of chance encounters which good, independent bookshops provide.

In November 2013, the centre of Nottingham was improved when a new bookshop opened.  Five Leaves is right in the centre of  Nottingham, opposite the Tourist Information office, although you have to walk a couple of yard down  an alley-way to find the entrance. Its range of books is being developed in response to customers' interests. Poetry is well-represented, with pamphlets and magazines as well as books, and there are also sections on fiction in translation, anarchism, green politics, weird stuff and even a shelf labelled "Iain Sinclair and Beyond." The sports section is sadly small but intriguing. Best of all, there are always many books which interest me and of which I was previously unaware. And the staff are paid above the living wage and have a real interest in the books they sell.

I've seen small businesses fail before, even if they are well-organised and popular. Big companies can demands discounts from suppliers as well as subsidies from local councils. They don't always act ethically. Years ago I worked for a big company which decided to set up a new chain of shops. The first thing the new chain did was to undercut the local, independent shops which had been open for years. The new shops didn't need to attract many customers from the old shops because independent shops work on small margins; if you take 10% of their customers away, they may well go out of business. That's what the big company wanted. The new shops were heavily subsidised by the big company and could afford to run at a loss for years. In fact, they never made a profit and were closed down a few years later, after running established independent shops out of business. This kind of rigged competition was good for nobody.

The only way to keep independent businesses going is to use them. So my resolution was to shop at Five Leaves Bookshop at least once a month and to buy a book there for myself - one that I wouldn't have bought in other circumstances. (I also resolved to use Five Leaves as much as possible when buying gifts.) This has been a great success and it has given me pleasure throughout the year. Recently I've been enjoying poetry by Kei Miller (The Cartographer Tries to Map a Way to Zion) and Gregory Woods (The District Commissioner's Dreams) and I don't think I'd have chosen either without the browsing opportunities at Five Leaves. And I have three recent purchases at the top of my "to read" pile: short stories from Ursula K. Le Guin and Hilary Mantel, and the latest Sara Paretsky. The shop is great at ordering books too; when they announced the arrival of Patrick Modiano's The Search Warrant, shortly after Modiano won the Nobel Prize for Literature, I emailed asking if they could order a  copy in French. They did, it arrived promptly, I read it and it's excellent. I've even bought CDs there, most recently one by Grace Petrie.

But Five Leaves doesn''t just sell books. It has a busy events programme and runs bookstalls beyond the confines of the shop. It's the sort of bookshop every town and city should have: involved in and responsive to local groups and communities. It's still going and it's still popular. So I commend my New Year's resolution to you; supporting an independent shop or business or arts organisation is a great source of pleasure.

I know not everyone can afford such pleasure. If that's out of your  reach, why not find a free or low-cost public facility that you want to keep open and that gives you pleasure. It might be a public library, or a local art gallery or museum. Your attendance and use of such facilities may help protect it from cuts or closure. And if even that is not possible for you, why not resolve to find a free web-zine or blog that gives you pleasure? You can read  it regularly and add your comments.  You might want to follow a blog about ballet, like Terpsichore from barrister Jane Lambert,  or you might choose to receive a poem every day until the election from The Stare's Nest, And then there are more occasional blogs, such as this by novelist and philosopher Will Buckingham, or Litter Magazine, the on-line poetry magazine of Leafe Press. Each will lead you to other blogs and offer the potential for on-line conversations.

But if you find yourself in Nottingham, do drop into Five Leaves Bookshop, even if it's just for the pleasure of browsing. If not yet the best bookshop in the world, it's definitely my favourite shop in Nottingham. And I'm renewing the resolution I made last year. Few resolutions can be such a source of happiness.

 

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.