The Barnum Effect

Christmas has come and gone like a hurricane: weeks of worry and preparation, the pantry stocked to the brim with provisions, then the day itself passes in a whirlwind, leaving the house strewn with detritus in its wake. Now the storm has passed it is time to look back at 2010. In 2010 I learnt to crochet, use a soldering iron, hang doors, rewire light fittings, operate a sewing machine, and propagate succulents. And there’s more. I know there is. I’m sure there is. I managed to return to work, finally judged fit by the company doctor. Throughout the year I’ve seen various consultants with diverse maladies, though thankfully nothing has required major medical intervention. The general election inspired me to paint, an odd muse perhaps, but my target was the basement not a canvas. I listened to the journalists covering the election results as I covered the walls with paint. Whatever indignities this coalition of convenience may inflict, I suspect my three freshly painted basement

My dilapidated home has acquired a replacement fire surround for the living room. The current incumbent is neither original to the house nor overly imbued with charm. I’ve been trawling Ebay for a replacement for some months, and happily bagged a bargain just before Christmas. I brushed up on my “white van man” driving skills yesterday with a 230 mile round trip via Coventry to collect the fire surround. The most difficult thing to get used to in a van is having no rear view mirror. It feels like the whole rear of the van is one big blind spot. Suddenly the wing mirrors become all important, every lane change a leap of faith that these mirrors show the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Now I have this beautiful old edwardian oak fire surround my plans for renovating the front room are brewing.

Walking the dogs twice a day, rain or shine. Sunday mornings teaching dog obedience classes. Club secretary, then chairman. Aerobics at the gym. Evening classes learning Greek. From non-swimmer to qualified lifeguard via classes at the pool. Straight talking. Practical. Determined. Passionate. Missed.

The eclipsed moon hangs ghostly pink in the sky, strange and seemingly transported from the cover of an old science fiction book to hang above our heads. On the opposite horizon, glorious dawn colours announce the approaching sun. It is these orange and red sunbeams that light the setting moon, our atmosphere bending the longer red wavelengths round the earth. Orbital mechanics crank the orrery on to its next position, and we whiz along. Sun risen, moon set. Shortest day begun.

I’ve been out in my Fiesta sleigh today, delivering presents, just like Santa will in a few days. Afterwards I called in to see the folks, enjoyed a laugh, a bowl of homemade chicken soup and a slice of lemon drizzle cake.  Driving home after dark through freezing fog, I wondered whether all would be white come the morning. Will the fog crystalize in the night? Will I wake to an ice sculpted world? Arriving home the house felt warm until I shed my coat, and then the chill was apparent. The radiators cold, the boiler dark and silent. Despite desperate resuscitation attempts, I fear the boiler’s life has fled.  All doors and curtains are closed against the cold. It's 14.5 ° C in the house, I can see the mercury falling.  Jack Frost may get his claws inside my home before this night is out.

Our concept of reality is determined by our senses. Through our eyes we perceive that the universe consists of objects that we can interact with, confirmed by our sense of touch registering pressure when we make contact with another object. We have a construct of time because the input from our senses varies, and we can recollect the differences. As each combination of sensory input is never repeated precisely we determine that, as objects can move in relation to one another, so too does time “travel”, though only it would seem in one direction, and not in the same three dimensions we register physical objects moving in. We recognise that there other forces at work based on observing how objects move in relation to one another. We deduce gravity as a force that attracts objects to one another. An object forced up and away from the planet will gradually slow in its ascent, and then accelerate back to earth. We observe that some objects have a gravity like effect on a limited subse

I used the last of my vacation allowance to take this week off, but it hasn't been what you might call a successful holiday. There have been too many weekends where I've been required to work, which has left me tired and run down. I had a cold nine weeks ago, but the cough is still with me. At times my chest is so tight I can't speak, while at other times I feel I'm drowning. I've been told its time to get that checked out - find out if I'm becoming asthmatic, have allergies, a chest or sinus infection, or something altogether worse. A sore has developed between my buttocks, which makes standing up, sitting down and walking all ghastly painful. I'm on antibiotics for that, but to be truthful it seems it is the painkillers that are having the biggest effect. To cap it all, I'm due to see my consultant on Monday for the results of all the cancer follow-up tests I had last week. All of this has left me a bit fed up. Meanwhile the big bad world out

It has been a very trying afternoon, being prodded, poked, and scanned by the medical community. My appointments were scattered at various addresses around Harley Street. I lived in Marylebone for several years, so visits there are always tinged with a slew of memories - some good, some not so bright. I'm released from diagnostic purgatory at 5pm, and a little wound up I decide to walk and wend my way back to Cannon Street. I head down Marylebone Lane, taking a wander around Daunts the Bookshop. Here the books the store chooses to stock are picked entirely by their covers - and truthfully each is an artfully crafted design statement. Books for the fashion conscious, although who knows if they’re necessarily a good read? On to St. Christopher’s Place, a little alley full of boutiques. Overhead the Christmas lights create an illuminated ceiling. Every shop front is awash with garish Christmas decorations temptingly arranged around whatever goods the store is selling. Look, say th

A heavy frost makes every surface glitter under the sodium street lights. As the sun's warm tangerine glow invades the inky sky, silhouetted trees are revealed in winter nakedness. Their three dimensional fractal structure becomes apparent as we move and they seem to turn. An apple tree stripped of all its leaves still bears its fruit, dangling golden globes, a natural rendition of our Christmas trees artifice. The early birds take wing, flocks of crows rising from their rookeries. Below lights appear as households rise from slumber, shower, and break their night fast. The sky is now baby blue, tinged pink at the horizon. The sun's appearance immanent. Frost lays thickly white on roofs and fields. Every scene begs a photographer to brace the icy dawn and capture the image in sepia tones. The clouds at the horizon herald the rising of the sun, illuminated by its glow. Soon now it will bathe us in its rays, casting shadows where its light does not reach. The cloud colour

I was woken at 4am by the radiator, whistling like a kettle. Despite being on the frost setting the radiator was red hot. No amount of twiddling the dial would get it to shut up or shut off. The heat was stifling so I opened the blind and window to let in some cool air. Starlight flooded in along with the draft of cold air. The sky was incredibly clear, a myriad of stars were visible, uncommon in light polluted London. Staring down at me was the constellation of Orion. I learnt to read at a young age due to my mum’s efforts with flash cards. She was an avid reader, and when relaxing could often be found deep a book. She would take me to the library with her, but despite this I didn't read much. At home I'd read comics, and in the library I'd look at the Asterix books. Basically reading was an effort, and I was far too lazy. Perhaps it was the influence of Dr Who and Blake’s 7, but I was about 11 years old when I talked to mum about maybe reading some science fiction.

I stumbled upon the following text the other day whilst reading a BBC "Have Your Say" discussion on the topic "What is the best way to teach child literacy?" : Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe. The idea was interesting enough that I was curious to track down the alleged research. Trawling the internet, I realised this text has been doing the rounds for years. Eventually my Googling paid dividends (unlike Google shares) and I discovered the concept was derived from a PhD thesis by Graham Rawlinson. I found several examples of scrabbled text which I was able to read without trouble. Curiously it became easier to read the more I accelerated

During the summer months gazing out of train window often inspired me to write. With the winter darkness upon us there is nothing to be seen but passing street lights and the reflections of fellow passengers. Denied my muse, instead I turn my attention to the plethora of free newspapers to fill my travelling hours. It soon becomes apparent that, in the same way the paper is recycled for the following day's newsprint, so are the actual pieces of news. One morning's article in the Metro will appear practically word for word in the Evening Standard, and both articles will bear an uncanny resemblance to what is written in the online BBC News piece. In all likelihood the same piece of news will be served cold for breakfast the following morning. I guess this highlights the death of traditional investigative journalism which, with more background and exclusive detail, would once have differentiated articles from one another. Like many of my generation I'm used to getting free

Heads bowed, quiet we stand, Remembering the fallen. White swans fly over.

All good things seem to come flying at you at once. All Hallow's Eve is barely done and dusted and here comes Guy Fawkes Night. As it fortuitously fell on a Friday I was able to go to the Roundhay Park bonfire and firework display. I'd usually aim to get there after the bonfire is lit and in time to get a good spot for watching the fireworks, but as it was a clement evening I got there earlier and watched the whole caboodle. The bonfire was beautifully constructed in a beehive shape from shipping pallets. It took a while to get properly lit, but once it did - wow! A great column of roiling black cloud climbed into the air, lit from within by flame, twisting and curling into the sky. As the heat from the flames grew more intense the black cloud dissipated, and steam started rising from the ground all around. A steam twister developed off to one side, spinning and dancing. The flames rose in great fluid curtains, climbing far higher than the pallets, in an inverted parody o

Why commemorate Frank Zappa on a pumpkin? Well why not? For those of you who need definitive answers may I direct you to the 818-PUMPKIN hotline, and recommend you play "Invocation & Ritual Dance of the Young Pumpkin"

Two more pumpkins carved, that leaves just Frank Zappa outstanding. The Aslan pattern turned out to be quite a challenge to carve, with lots of narrow close cuts it took four hours to transfer to the pumpkin. The horror themed Janus was a much easier task.

I carved these two pumpkins yesterday for Aiden & Millisa, who have a great Halloween & Firework weekend ahead of them at Shell Island . The Owl and the Pussy-cat are off to Shell Island In a beautiful Purple VW Camper Van...

I have been alive 1.199 billion seconds (and counting.) I recently completed my 38th orbit of the sun, and experienced my 469th full moon. In the time since my birth our planet has racked up 35.7 billion kilometers on the odometer just circling the sun, while the sun has travelled 263.8 billion kilometers on an arc around galactic centre. I haven't been out there with a tape measure to confirm these figures you understand - it's cold out there, and there's no kind of atmosphere. I grew up a bit confused as to exactly how many noughts a billion had. The British billion used to be a thousand times bigger than the American billion. In 1974 the UK officially downsized and our billion shrunk to the US value of a mere 1,000,000,000. It's the story of my generation - decimalisation, metrification, globalisation and depreciation. Imperial parents versus metric kids. We learnt metric in school, and got confused at home. I never did get my head around the old pounds, shil

It's amazing what you can find to while away the hours on a dull Saturday afternoon. I've been taking inspiration from Google images to see if I could create some pumpkin patterns. I hadn't realised just how beautiful tattoo designs are until today. I can see now why people feel the urge to get some ink. Shame they have a tendency to fade to blue and stretch as we bulge and sag.

With nine days to go before All Hallow's Eve I've started the preparation for this year's pumpkin carving fest. Each year I buy a couple of patterns from Zombie Pumpkins who have an awesome selection. My dad is an avid fan of the late great Frank Zappa so I'll be creating an FZ pumpkin especially for him. First I search for a suitable photograph from which I can create a likeness that can be transferred to the pumpkin. I have no particular artistic talent, so transforming a photo into a two tone pattern takes me quite a bit of time. When I come to carve this pumpkin I'll remove the skin but leave the flesh behind, varying the depth of my cuts. When lit by candle it will create a portrait effect. Next week I'll scour the shops looking for perfect pumpkins. It is always a tough judgement call - leaving it late enough to get fresh pumpkins, but not so late they've all sold out. Then of course I'll go hunting high and low for my carving kit whic

I guess that intimations of mortality strike us all at various points in our lives. While growing up we see our future as a blank page rife with possibilities. Will we be singers, actors, artists, sportsmen, explorers? Perhaps more simple futures lie ahead of us? Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, candlestick maker? While at university I suddenly noticed that I was now older than the bright young things achieving fame for their sporting or artistic endeavours. The slamming of doors echoed through my head. Not that I’d had plans in any of those directions, but still it was the moment of recognition that my life would be that of a pond-skater rather than a wave-maker. Impinging on the public eye is one way to leave a lasting impression, but in our private lives we have a myriad of effects on those around us. My imagination is rife with scenarios of raising my kids, showing them the world, giving them insights into the science and mechanics behind it, teaching them to see the complexi

Early on in my family history research I came across a bible that belonged to my great great grandmother Mary Ann Smith (nee Storey.) According to the inscription the bible was a present to Mary, on the occasion of her 50th Birthday, sent from her nieces Violet & Maud Storey who were living in London, Ontario. The bible passed to my great grandmother Ada who recorded the dates of birth for her family at the back. There was a pouch in the back of the bible which held a number of photographs. From the comments on the back of the photos I gather that Mary’s brother George Storey (b1844) moved to Canada, was married to Louise, with daughters Violet & Maud. In one photo George & Louise are pictured with Violet’s two children. The inscription on the back of this photo reads: “Father, Mother & Violet’s two children, taken in Hamilton, Sept 1913, the only time we were all in Hamilton at once. Poor Mother looks very tired there, as she was aft