The Barnum Effect

Ten years ago I lived just a little way up the road from the youth hostel where I am now. It's strange how strange the town seems to me. It isn't that the town has changed particularly. I guess it's more the realisation that my memories are pretty patchy. The journey here on the train from Liverpool Street was depressingly familiar if only for the generically grubby experience of being on a London commuter service. First there is the depressingly repetitive and meaningless pattern woven into the seat fabric. I couldn't decide if the blobby pattern was of a turkey drumstick, or a pig nose to nose with a mouse. Then there is the splotchy pavement pizza pattern of the floor covering, artfully concealing any actual pavement pizza. Finally there's the view from the window. I'm glad I no longer participate in the London rat race. A little reminder goes a long way.

And some there be who no memorial have; Who perished are as though they’d never been. For our tomorrows their today they gave, And simply asked that in our hearts they'd live. We heed their call and pledge ourselves again, At dusk and dawn - we will remember them!

With Hallow's Eve fast approaching, I'm flaying once more. First the crown is sliced open, then the guts are ripped out. Taking a scalpel I trace my devilish pattern across the skin, finally with tender care I incise the wounds, rending skin from flesh to reveal the pumpkin's inner demon. This ram-horned devil will be going to the Myrtle Tavern, who're holding a pumpkin carving competition. 1st prize = £50 in beer tokens. How could a pumpkin serial carver resist?

For years I commuted to-and-fro via the London Underground, squeezing into jam packed carriages, holding a book betwixt myself and the horrid hoards. Too short to steady myself by holding onto the hanging straps, and too mild-mannered to muscle my way to a seat, I generally hogged a position in the doorway, where I could lean against the door and sway with the movement of the tube. At each station stop, I would step backwards off the train and side-step out of the way of those needing to disembark, allowing everyone else to board before once again taking my doorway spot. There's an art to deciding where on the platform to wait: away from the entrances to the platform, yet close to one of the destination platform's exits, whilst being mindful of which parts of the train would already be crowded on arrival. There's a joy to deciphering the London Underground map, being able to plot the most efficient route with a single glance. With the map you can work out the various po

This is the latest blog entry to be converted into an animation, based on Fettered . I wrote this during a train journey, returning from London to Leeds. A number of railway metaphors seeped in, as the feeling of being cooped up in the carriage reminded me of similar emotions during cancer treatment.

I have begun a new project, taking some of my blog entries and turning them into animations. This is the first, based on Retreat . When I'd finished it and watched it through, I had an uncanny moment where I almost expected Eamonn Andrews to come in with a red book and say "Harry Caper, this is your life!" It is strange to think that I wrote Retreat over two years ago, about events that had happened two years earlier than that. It highlights to me just how far I've come since then, and yet serves to remind me how immediate and powerful those emotions still are.

In April I had a response from an advert I'd put on Gumtree outlining my services as a family history researcher. The gentleman had been placed in a children's home at a very young age. He had no memories of his birth parents, and while he'd been successful in tracing his mother's family he was keen to know more about his father. He had a copy of his parent's marriage certificate which was our starting point. We knew from the certificate that his dad had been in the parachute regiment, but to get army records you need a death certificate and a date of birth, so that's where the hunt began. The dates were all the wrong side of the 1911 census for that to be of any use, so the GRO Births/Marriages/Deaths Index was the way forward. By a process of elimination I whittled it down to a shortlist of eight possible birth records. With the sixth we struck lucky - the details matched the little we already knew. Armed with the date of birth I was quickly able to identi

A thunderstorm was just chasing away the last vestiges of sunshine as I set off home this evening. Driving down the hill the car was bathed in sunshine and drenched in rain as the two weather systems collided. I caught sight of a shallow arced rainbow, across a field to my left, I could see where the rainbow hit the grass, the end drifting across the field as my perspective changed. Turning a corner I saw the rainbow race ahead of me, the descending arc seeming to hang low over the road. With the windscreen wipers working overtime to clear the storm hurled rain, I peered out, trying to keep the moving end of the rainbow in sight, trying to see where it made earth fall. Then just for a second I saw the rainbow stripes glowing up from the wet road directly in front of me. A brief wave of light washed through the car, and the rainbow vanished from sight. What an amazing day. Portents and Omens. They don't get any better than this. I wonder whether I'll be visited by a leprec

A tang of ozone lingers in the air, even as the thunder cloud drifts west to plague others. Shaking our heads we reflect on the elemental fury we've weathered - who could have predicted it? We all survived intact, though bruised and baffled by the irrational force that upset our simple domesticity. At least the stifling humidity has been blown away. Birdsong fills the air lifting our spirits. The tension that lined our brows and hunched our shoulders begins to evaporate, even as we work to repair the storm damage. As the histrionics fade to history, our thoughts turn to face the future. May we modestly hope for peace, harmony and calm?

Hard to believe we're only a few days on from the spring equinox. The clouds and breeze are absent, leaving us drenched in glorious sunshine. Soaking up the heat, taking in the rays. Ahhh... It's been a great opportunity to spend more time outdoors with Poppy who, depending on circumstances, is also known as Pops, Pop-tart, Popsie, Popsie-doodle, Popsie-diddler, Pop-master, Pop-tastic, Pop-noodle, Poppy-pops, Popsicle, and Monster-Dog: Bemused by the barmy neighbours Strike a pose, let's get to it Favourite hiding spot Captivated by the cavorting neighbours

It's been an age since I last blogged. Plenty of water has flowed under the bridge, but the scenery looks much the same. I became a dog owner for the first time ever, when Poppy came to live with me last September: At about the same time I became a share holder for the first time in years, a topic on which I've recently become quite animated: So how did you get into GKP? So tell me about GKP and the muppet business? So tell me about GKP vs Excalibur? So tell me about the GKP forum trolls?