It seems as though Autumn has finally arrived!

Here we are, halfway through November, and the weather finally decides to conform to the stereotype of Autumn.

Ashbourne 2009

Ashbourne 2009 a video by Majotu on Flickr.

So, November comes...

Today is the first day of November-and the trees still have most of their leaves and the grass is still growing as furiously as ever. If you used the degradation of the vegetation that signifies the onset of Autumn, you could be mistaken for thinking that you were at the end of September.

Ashbourne Shrovetide Football Game

Miles and Dacombe

Yesterday was interesting. It was interesting for a few reasons.
Firstly, it was my first trip out of the area for many months.
Secondly, some of the events that occurred whilst out on my little jaunt were...different.
The train journey to Mansfield, which is, as a rule, fairly non-descript, was made peculiarly stimulating by the appearance of a duo by the name Miles and Dacombe http://undiscoverednetworks.blogspot.com/ who were very interesting. How to describe them-go and look at the information contained at the link.
Got to Mansfield to find that the Co-op store on Queen Street is now a Beales store on Queen Street.
I don't know what to make of the situation.
In a state of bemusement I wandered back up to the railway station and caught the next train to Nottingham and wandered around in a discontented manner for a couple of hours.
No Co-op on Queen Street?
What is the world coming to?
There has always been a Co-op on Queen Street in my lifetime-Beales isn't the same-even though the same people staff the store...it just doesn't seem the same-maybe I'm getting old.

Food!

I guess I'm quite lucky really. Living, as I do, in the English countryside.

Less 1 mile away from where I am presently sitting there is a shallow gorge

in a low ridge. This gorge has a number of caves running down either side and

in them have been found many interesting bones and more especially interesting, items 

that provide evidence of occupation by Neanderthals.

This is something that has caused great excitement, not just locally, but throughout the world.

 Learned persons from around the world have flocked to the site studying what is to be found there.

 Some have even written scholarly books about what has been found there. I have read a couple of these

 and they make for interesting reading, even if your enthusiasm for the subject of archaeology is mild.

 The place is well worth a visit. The visitors centre is actually interesting in itself...and the cafe is half-decent. (which helps)

However, as with all such things there is a "blot on the landscape" in the shape of an ugly great quarry not a half a mile from the site.

Apparently the stone they extract is special ( especially valuable ) in that is dolomitic limestone.

A bit of a Rant

Today, for the sake of something to do I've decided to have a bit of a rant-a whinge about life in general and life in particular.

Today, for the sake of something to do I've decided to have a bit of a rant-a whine about life in general and life in particular.

It has always interested me as to why people possessed of a certain personality type always seem to gravitate to a particular profession. One 'particular profession' that interests me is social work, especially psychiatric social work. Now, as a rule, I have a lot of respect for this particular profession; not necessarily the individuals employed in it, just the ethos.

Perhaps a bit of background information would be useful. As the result of a head injury that was gained from my being knocked over by a car being driven at an excessive speed, I received a very serious injury to my head. I was left with a depression along the right side of my skull. This blow also rendered me comatose.

After rushing me to two different hospitals for emergency operations to remove the bone from my brain and some time in intensive care, I regained consciousness. It turns out that the injury to the brain was severe, for I was paralyzed down the wrong side of my body.


Apparently, when a brain injury occurs any paralysis that might result usually manifests itself upon the side opposite to where the injury occurred. Injury to the right side, paralysis on the left side.

I was paralyzed down my right-hand side. Oh dear! This was seen as an indication that BOTH side of the brain had been traumatized. BUGGER!


Further tests suggested that there had also been a degree of torsion ( twisting ) applied to the organ. Of course this was something that I was unaware of by my being comatose.

For a period of time that is too long to adequately quantify I was 'classified' as being someone who had 'conditions' such as an " Epileptic Personality " (!??!!) and "mental illness".

The former was really nothing more an attempt to describe a definition of how to nail jelly to the ceiling. Which, when couched in the pseudo-scientific mumbo-jumbo that is spouted by the practitioners and adherents of psychiatry was given the air of being somehow tangible, definite. However, there is just one little problem...the condition doesn't exist.

But what the heck, psychiatrists know what they were talking about don't they?

Pretty much the same can be said about the second condition, mental illness. The only party capable of providing a legally binding definition that someone is suffering from such a condition is a psychiatrist.

It is interesting that, as far as I am aware, there is a clause somewhere in the UK Government's " Mental Health Act " ( The law governing the administration of treatment of persons deemed to have a "psychiatric condition" of some description ) that, in so many words, states that the diagnosis of any condition that can be described as signifying the existence of a 'mental illness' cannot be defined in any manner that satisfies the criteria for it to be a legally binding definition. It was therefore decided that it was necessary for the individual psychiatrist to provide such a definition. That's handy. Anyone whose behaviour is deemed to deviate from the norm is thus rendered liable to be classified as 'mentally ill'

Nice.

All of which really amounts to a hill of nothing. Except that people don't like the existence of nothing-to them nothing doesn't exist. To the persons who have been "treated" for whatever disorder the shrink has managed to concoct. All this meandering leads me back to the subject of psychiatric social work. Or rather psychiatric social workers.

From my experience, I have been forced to the conclusion that most of the ones that I have had dealings with haven't got a ******** clue what they are dealing with. Especially when it comes to meeting the needs of their 'clients'. ( or service user, depending on the level of bullshit that they feel the need to use)

Broadly speaking these workers fall into one of two camps.

The first of these camps have a need that seems almost pathological to refer the client to the psychiatrist so that investigations can be made into the need to adjust whatever medication the client is taking.

This can get to be quite interesting when the client isn't taking any medication.

Any sensible person might have taken this piddling little detail into account when making a decision about the proper course of action to pursue. But hey we're dealing with a special kind of person when it comes to psychiatric social workers.

Whilst my experience with having to deal with them is limited, it is extensive enough for me to want to exercise extreme caution when in their company.

I suppose that I should have noticed something was amiss with these creatures when I first came across them making use of terms such as " non-judgmental " and " objective " in a manner that can only be described as " subjective".

The second type of Social Worker belongs to the school of thought that is best described as the "Shit Happens". This type doesn't worry or bellyache about about what might have been. They have an attitude that involves helping clients to devise strategies that work around whatever limitations that are present.

Twelfth Night

Twelfth Night, a photo by Majotu on Flickr.

A play performed in Creswell Crags

Some photo's

Some photo's, a set on Flickr.

Yet another walk

The weather, being fairly decent for a change, helped me to decide that it was time that I went out for another walk.

This time, just for a change, instead of walking around and over the hills of Derbyshire, I would go and have a look at the River Trent at Gunthorpe in Nottinghamshire.

 It would be a more pleasing to do this, mainly because the Trent Valley is a lot flatter than are the hills that I had flogged up, down and around whilst exploring Derbyshire's bumpy bits.

I took my camera along, intending to capture lots of  views of this picturesque area.

So off I went to the railway station and travelled to Nottingham, here I changed trains and arrived at Lowdham after a second train journey of about ten to fifteen minutes.
 As the train left on its journey to Lincoln I looked around and was cheered by what I saw.

 Apart from one or two modifications made to the railway halt, not a lot had changed.
This, I liked.
It was with a happier heart that I set off on my walk.

Deciding to travel first to Caythorpe, which is about a mile distant... maybe less, from Lowdham, I became aware of the level of background noise-there was very little of it emanating from human sources-no motor vehicles.
The local bird population made the most raucous contribution.

As you walk from into this village, you pass an old red telephone box that has found a new role.

 It is no longer used for the task it was originally designed for. It now had found a new role as a book repository.

 The inhabitants of Caythorpe can, if they want, leave any books that they have read in there and perhaps find something new to read.

There were quite a few books there.

To me this is a novel idea!

After walking through the village I came across a bridle path that led to the river.

Striking out along the edge of the field I became aware of the enjoyable solitude that is to be found there and for a while I just stood, absorbing the sights, sounds and smells of the location.

 The cloud formation caught my attention and I decided to get a snapshot of it.

I realize that this looks quite ordinary, banal even, but for me, that is what makes it special.

I like the banal, the overlooked and the generally ignored because they are so interesting.

I don't know what it is but as soon as you start fiddling about with your camera, attaching it to your monopod, setting your shot up, people appear, as if by magic.

Since I was in a rural location these people seemed to fit a kind of stereotype in that they were generally of sturdy build with an attitude to life that may be summarized as belonging to the " Hail fellow well met! "...and the males were pretty much of the same ilk.

These people were kind that you might expect to see lurking around with  their dogs in the background of television dramas such as " Midsomer Murders " as the grisly scene where the discovery of the corpse is made.

 Walking on a little way on I came to a gate and beyond that lay the river bank.

It was here that I found what I was seeking, solitude and I revelled in it.

Cheered, I decided to take some photographs.

Once more, as soon as I started fiddling about with my camera, people started appearing.

After a while it seemed that all these folk had gone on their merry way and I started to take some shots.

As I sat there choosing what next to photograph I became almost entranced by the sounds of the water rippling as the breeze wended its way across the surface.

I then heard the sound made by the water as it lapped against the rivers bank.

 The gentle  breeze  moaned as it passed around the leaves of nearby trees and both birds and insects added an appropriate acoustic accompaniment to my new-found idyll.

I sat there almost immobile, almost drunk with glory in my situation.

I revelled in my solitude.

A new noise broke in-a chugging noise
I looked up and down the length of the river and there was yet another pleasure cruiser making its way upstream.

I thought about grabbing a shot of it as it passed by-but I couldn't be bothered.

Looking up along the river I spied yet another boat coming downstream.
It was another pleasure cruiser, although this one had been a barge in a past life.

I waited until they were passing each other before taking my shot.

Peace returned once more and I became absorbed in watching some Damsel Flies as they flitted to and fro.

I looked up and spied yet another barge coming down the river and about 100 yards behind it, another one.

Where were they all coming from?

I then remembered that I was about a mile downstream from Gunthorpe Lock and also about a mile upstream from Bleasby Lock and that was why there was all this river traffic that seemed to be travelling in pulses.

I gave up on any idea of photographing more scenes and followed the path to Gunthorpe Lock.

The place was crowded, all seemed to be making use of the cafe which had been turned into a bistro (with concomitant hikes in the price of the food on sale ), so I gave that place the once-over and left.

 Passing another 'exclusive' 'Eaterie' my heart began to sink- they had even closed the small boatyard-is nothing sacred?

Closer examination revealed that all that had really happened was that they had repainted the building and put a proper café ( a 'caff'  ) in part of it.

A closer examination was needed.

Before long I was tucking in to a Sausage Sandwich and drinking a mug of Tea that didn't cost me the Earth nor did the items suffer from an overly florid description of their state of being.
It was as Sausage sandwich and a mug of tea.
I cheered up.

Thus revived I decided that it was time to head back to Lowdham to catch the train to home.

Walking alongside a main road is not a pleasant experience so, ignoring the noise of the road traffic, I made fairly short work of the mile or so distance and was lucky enough not to have wait to long for my homeward train.
It was a pleasant amble through an attractive piece of country.

Another Day: Yet another walk

Another Day: Yet another walk: "The weather being decent I went out for another walk. This time I decided to go and have a look at the River Trent. I took my camera alo..."

Today I went to the shop

In my ceaseless quest to convey to you, the dear reader, the banality of life-particularly mine I feel that I must share with you some detail of my actions that I have undertaken  today. This is something that, I am sanguine will provide you with endless entertainment.
( OKAY, if you want the truth, I am really ******* bored and to relieve my self of this I thought that I might  share some report of something that happened this afternoon )

I went around to the shop to buy some milk and miracle of miracles-I actually remembered to buy some milk!
There, don't you feel that your life has been enhanced with the receipt of this info'?
What do you mean by NO?!

The nights are drawing in...

So, now that Summer has officially started and the nights are drawing in it is time for me to make another entry in this journal/'blog.

Yesterday was the longest day.
To celebrate this I decided to take a trip out somewhere.
The somewhere that I tripped out to was York.
A place that always manages to satisfy my desire to travel for some reason.
I cannot really think why this should be-but it does.
Maybe it is because of the history that is associated with the place.
Anyway, I got to York and being a tourist I did what tourist generally do when in York-I went up onto the City Wall.
However I managed to do something that most other tourists to York, just as I got to the top step I managed to trip over and sprained my ankle!
OUCH!

Do you know what?

Spring might just be arriving-there is the hint of green about the trees and the birds are now singing in a more coherent fashion. They seem to be forming longer passages of calls that have a more melodic structure-not just the "tuning-up" meanderings of the past few weeks.

Not a lot is happening...

apart from the weather.
First, at the start of December, it snowed.
After the snow, it froze for about a fortnight.
Then it was back to normal with rain.
Now in February, the wind is blowing a little more strongly than usual.
This isn't supposed to happen until the first week in March.

You have to understand that the weather if which I write is extraordinarily ordinary-there is nothing like the stuff the Queensland inhabitants have been having to cope with.

No, this is far more genteel- typical English Winter weather- it help to pass the time.


 To gain a better insight into the English Psyche may I recommend that you try to watch three films made by Lindsay Anderson, these are: 'If', 'Oh Lucky Man!' and 'Britannia Hospital'.

 These are excellent representations of what it is to be English.