Dear Family & Friends,
I'm sorry. I died because I'm stubborn.
I died because I wanted something better for this planet, and I didn't shirk my own responsibility for being a part of something better, not part of the problem.
I know that using a bicycle as transport is dangerous. Some would say foolhardy. Some of you probably wanted me to stop doing it but didn't know how to tell me that. And anyway, you knew I wouldn't listen. Sometimes it's not just me being pigheaded, it's about my principles being so damned strong that I can't swerve the personal responsibility I wholeheartedly accept.
It is an individual responsibility, to protect the planet, in whatever way we can. All consumer decisions have an impact. I don't want to be beholden to the car to get to work, to get home, to shop for food, for exercise, for leisure, for voluntary work. Because it's wrong.
To me, it's wrong to elect to live a lifestyle which depends on motor transport. It is a choice. We choose where we live in relation to where we work, we choose what we do when we're not working. You make bad choices if all the basic life decisions require you to use a vehicle for your daily routines. Yes, judgemental, I know, but I believe your choices are bad.
I don't want to be part of the problem. I don't want to see the earth covered in tarmac, to see ecosystems destroyed for the sake of us moving around in our polluting transport. We need to preserve every single ecosystem we can. We rely on plants for the air we breathe, for the oxygen. We rely on insects for pollination, we need our ecosystems for basic things such as breathing and for food, and yet somehow we've decided our need to drive is more important than the rest of the planet's right to survive, to thrive. We're inextricably meshed together, all of us, every species has a reliance on at least one other plant or animal species. We don't truly understand the web of interactions and for every little bit we remove, we're impacting not just on humankind but every other species on the planet. We're so selfish, thinking that the most important species is the Homo sapiens. Even within our species, unintended, and unacknowledged selfishness seems to drive so many of the bigger decisions we take.
So, even though these days cycling on the roads truly terrifies me. There have been mornings when I've been crying at the thought of swinging a leg over my saddle. There have been journeys home completed in tears. I know some of you probably think I moan so much that I'm surely over sensitive, or exaggerating, or perhaps its something to do with the way I ride or the routes I choose. I can assure you, I'm not trying to die, I'm not deliberately making myself unhappy. I'm sorry I've complained so much, but it's from a frustrated urge to find a way to create change. The handlebar camera is my attempt, dear friends, dear family to prove to you in the event of my death on the hostile leafy lanes of East Cheshire, that it wasn't my fault. There's nothing wrong with my road positioning, I'm living by the rules. You know me, I am a law abiding, rule respecting person, it's pretty certain that I'm sticking to the rules. But I haven't found a way to influence other people to stick to those rules. Even in the deepest of summer, please know that I'm always reflective and high viz. Please know that I always wear a helmet, my brakes are always functional, and I always have a light in my bag just in case the summer suddenly ends with some kind of volcanic eruption on the outskirts of Manchester. You won't have to read the Daily Mail saying that it was my fault because I wasn't wearing a helmet or high viz.
I'm sorry. I tried. And I would encourage every single one of you to also try. If more people like me, and like you, were riding their bicycles instead of driving journeys under 5 miles then there would be fewer cars on the road, fewer dangers to cyclists.
I have sometimes still loved riding my bicycle. On days when the traffic is light, the tarmac is smooth, and the bicycle is a flowing machine and all is well with the world. I still sometimes love riding. But mostly I'm doing it because I want the planet to be habitable for the future generations I have no part in. And again, I'm sorry.
Wednesday, 24 July 2019
Sunday, 26 August 2018
Being 50
The benefit of wisdom, eh? Or not.
I've learned to politely decline invitations to wedding receptions with a simple, sorry I won't be able to attend, but let me know about the gift list as I'd love to buy you a present to celebrate the start of a long and happy marriage.
And this works for all the occasions I simply don't want to go to a wedding reception. Because I don't really enjoy all that and think it's really ridiculous that someone would spend money providing for me to have food and drink and stuff when I don't even want to be there.
I've already learned to make the excuse, Oh, recovery time from exercise takes so much longer when you're over 50. Chuckle.
I've learned that I don't want to slow down, I'm not ready to be put out to pasture. I love feeling energised, excited, busy, useful, purposeful, I love the thrill of using my brain until it hurts.
I've learned that I do actually feel like an adult. That's it, an adult, not an old person, not a young person but a bona fide adult. Calm, considered, thoughtful, experienced, with a clarity of mind that's taken a long time coming. But still with the drive to make the world a better place, to help other people, to improve things for my community - with a massive definition of community.
I've learned to politely decline invitations to wedding receptions with a simple, sorry I won't be able to attend, but let me know about the gift list as I'd love to buy you a present to celebrate the start of a long and happy marriage.
And this works for all the occasions I simply don't want to go to a wedding reception. Because I don't really enjoy all that and think it's really ridiculous that someone would spend money providing for me to have food and drink and stuff when I don't even want to be there.
I've already learned to make the excuse, Oh, recovery time from exercise takes so much longer when you're over 50. Chuckle.
I've learned that I don't want to slow down, I'm not ready to be put out to pasture. I love feeling energised, excited, busy, useful, purposeful, I love the thrill of using my brain until it hurts.
I've learned that I do actually feel like an adult. That's it, an adult, not an old person, not a young person but a bona fide adult. Calm, considered, thoughtful, experienced, with a clarity of mind that's taken a long time coming. But still with the drive to make the world a better place, to help other people, to improve things for my community - with a massive definition of community.
Sunday, 22 July 2018
First run
This is how my internal conversation went on my first run for five months.
Child: Whoop, whoop, wheeee, let's goooooooo
Parent: There are rules. We will obey the rules
Adult: Having asked for expert advice and listened to it, it seems it would be a good thing to go with that.
Child: Pavement. We're doing pavement? Sulks
Parent: We will obey the rules
Adult: Just for a bit, hey, while we see how it goes
Ankle: Help.
Parent: We will obey the rules
Child: Wheee, we can run for miles, let's keep going. We could go all the way to the end and back, it's only 30 minutes there
Adult: Um, it's a 30 minute in total run we're doing. Remember the whole not run for 5 months thing.
Child: sulks
Parent: There are rules
Adult: Tell you what, we've never run this footpath but reckon it goes to the Sett Valley trail and we're on one of the two minute walks, how about we walk down there and then do the trail
Child: Yeay, new places, yeah, mud, yeay.
Child: Hill, I'm being allowed to run up a hill.
Parent: There are rules
Adult: yep, three minute run, two minutes walk, we're walking now. Tell you what though, slow trot to the traffic lights then we can bound home.
Child: Bounces
Ankle: Weeps a little
Child: Whoop, whoop, wheeee, let's goooooooo
Parent: There are rules. We will obey the rules
Adult: Having asked for expert advice and listened to it, it seems it would be a good thing to go with that.
Child: Pavement. We're doing pavement? Sulks
Parent: We will obey the rules
Adult: Just for a bit, hey, while we see how it goes
Ankle: Help.
Parent: We will obey the rules
Child: Wheee, we can run for miles, let's keep going. We could go all the way to the end and back, it's only 30 minutes there
Adult: Um, it's a 30 minute in total run we're doing. Remember the whole not run for 5 months thing.
Child: sulks
Parent: There are rules
Adult: Tell you what, we've never run this footpath but reckon it goes to the Sett Valley trail and we're on one of the two minute walks, how about we walk down there and then do the trail
Child: Yeay, new places, yeah, mud, yeay.
Child: Hill, I'm being allowed to run up a hill.
Parent: There are rules
Adult: yep, three minute run, two minutes walk, we're walking now. Tell you what though, slow trot to the traffic lights then we can bound home.
Child: Bounces
Ankle: Weeps a little
Saturday, 2 June 2018
Freedom
Freedom
I am sat next to the window,
My world is only what is within reach
Of the ugly chair.
The irregular stone wall of the bathroom,
The waste pipe from the cistern,
The bird box which has been found wanting.
And a view of the industrial unit
I am visited by a male sparrow
There’s only one of him, I know.
His right wing with a willful deformity;
Two feathers perpendicular in perpetuity,
His dark chest patch missing symmetry.
He has a predilection for sideways sliding
On his playground of black gloss painted fascia.
Sometimes, like now, he whisks his feathers,
Creates of himself a fluffy meringue
Which softly settles into sleekness;
A diminution.
While inside my room there are reminders and relics
My teddy bear is approaching fifty.
As am I.
Monday, 28 May 2018
Poem manufacture
So, I'm doing an online poetry course "How to Make a Poem". This is my homework!
Thinking about a craftsperson (see how politically correct I am) and how they might painstakingly create a thing, a chair, a bicycle, a painting etc. What are a poet's tools, their materials, can their "work" be compared.
In my head I want to argue with the word "work". Sometimes a craft isn't work, even if it's mechanical, it's an art form. If it's done for enjoyment of the person creating it, does that make it not work. If it's done for someone else to enjoy, does that then make it work. I have no answers.
I do think that poetry, in the hands of someone who knows what they are doing has, for me, the same value as a perfectly built bicycle, made out of carefully considered components, attuned to each other. Simply having the best components all installed well onto a bicycle doesn't make it a great bicycle. The right things have to work together, in harmony, just selecting the right combination is part of the "work" in putting together the perfect bicycle. Except, there is no such thing as a perfect bicycle. Shock, horror. There isn't. A bicycle is intensely personal to the individual riding it, their geometry, their strength, their skills, their love of roads or rocks, of climbing or descending. It isn't possible to have one machine which is perfect for every single person and every single use. Hell, I have four bicycles and there are maybe tiny bits of imperfection on each one. One has a creaking bottom bracket. One has forks that don't always work. One has a saddle which after time isn't comfortable. One has bottle cages which can't both take 750ml bottles. You know what I'm saying, there isn't one perfect bicycle, not even for just one person.
And so there are many poems, many forms, for many different occasions and one which strikes a chord for me might not for someone else. And similarly, the words are selected with care but work differently when combined with other words. And the aim of the piece is up for grabs, even whether there is an aim. Perhaps the "aim" changes as the poem is shaped, the direction evolves, it isn't what was planned. It might not have a message, it might have a message. The poet uses tools to amalgamate their words in a meaningful way. Tools like rhyme, rhythm, alliteration, metaphor, all those poetic devices.
Concise? Not necessarily. Clear or unclear. In your face or clouded. There isn't a final outcome or a one size fits all.
Thinking about a craftsperson (see how politically correct I am) and how they might painstakingly create a thing, a chair, a bicycle, a painting etc. What are a poet's tools, their materials, can their "work" be compared.
In my head I want to argue with the word "work". Sometimes a craft isn't work, even if it's mechanical, it's an art form. If it's done for enjoyment of the person creating it, does that make it not work. If it's done for someone else to enjoy, does that then make it work. I have no answers.
I do think that poetry, in the hands of someone who knows what they are doing has, for me, the same value as a perfectly built bicycle, made out of carefully considered components, attuned to each other. Simply having the best components all installed well onto a bicycle doesn't make it a great bicycle. The right things have to work together, in harmony, just selecting the right combination is part of the "work" in putting together the perfect bicycle. Except, there is no such thing as a perfect bicycle. Shock, horror. There isn't. A bicycle is intensely personal to the individual riding it, their geometry, their strength, their skills, their love of roads or rocks, of climbing or descending. It isn't possible to have one machine which is perfect for every single person and every single use. Hell, I have four bicycles and there are maybe tiny bits of imperfection on each one. One has a creaking bottom bracket. One has forks that don't always work. One has a saddle which after time isn't comfortable. One has bottle cages which can't both take 750ml bottles. You know what I'm saying, there isn't one perfect bicycle, not even for just one person.
And so there are many poems, many forms, for many different occasions and one which strikes a chord for me might not for someone else. And similarly, the words are selected with care but work differently when combined with other words. And the aim of the piece is up for grabs, even whether there is an aim. Perhaps the "aim" changes as the poem is shaped, the direction evolves, it isn't what was planned. It might not have a message, it might have a message. The poet uses tools to amalgamate their words in a meaningful way. Tools like rhyme, rhythm, alliteration, metaphor, all those poetic devices.
Concise? Not necessarily. Clear or unclear. In your face or clouded. There isn't a final outcome or a one size fits all.
Saturday, 5 May 2018
Pro logistics
I don't often write about anything relating to my job.
Sometimes we do things which look odd and clunky but in honesty are more reflections of people who really really want to make things work, and trust their colleagues and think about another way to get things done. Logistics is one of these. We have the ability not to look at logistics and not say that's ridiculous. So, this is what happened, and I only have a little bit of the picture.
My colleague H, who is British based but happens to be at our warehousing in Belgium contacts me on WhatsApp. Am I going into the office (in Manchester) on Friday, she asks. I haven't planned that far ahead and say I can do if needed. She then asks if I can take something from New Mills to Manchester. Depends what, I say, bearing in mind my commute includes a bicycle and a train. I get a photo. It's some caps. They weigh 650g. This seems entirely workable. That's fine I say.
Another colleague, also in Belgium gets in touch. Can I also take some garmin mounts, oh, and some shirts. I say yes and dig out my bigger rucksack.
So, this small package starts its journey:
Belgian Warehouse to station - with colleague M who gets a lift from colleague C
Station to Airport Brussells airport - M by train
Brussells to Manchester - M by train
Manchester airport to New Mills - M by taxi
Across the valley to my house - M by car
My house to station - Me by bicycle
New Mills to Reddish North - Me by train
Reddish North to Manchester office - Me by bicycle
Handed to colleague D in office
Manchester to Yorkshire - D by motorbike
Trains, Planes, Automobiles, Bicycles and Motorbikes
And this is all quite normal and ordinary and more effective, quicker and cheaper than courier, and by the time the package arrives with me it has gained other stuff I didn't know about. Metal things, maybe something to do with TT bars I hypothesise.
And if in five years time someone says, you must remember that package, this was an unusual request, yes? I say no, this is just one example of many of how we get things to places. We rely on good willing people and a system where someone centrally understands the various micro movements of its staff. It relies on people like my colleague M getting home to his family after a week away and at 10pm at night getting into his car to drop things off at my house. It depends on him and me having the kind of friendship where that's OK. It depends on me not being bothered about taking a 32 litre rucksack on my folding bike where normally a 15 litre would do. It depends on my colleague D going on his own motorbike at the bank holiday weekend to see the Tour of Yorkshire. It depends on my colleague H knowing enough about her people to know that this can work and on her keeping a general handle on the packing. We're capable of moving things around quickly and flexibly and talking to each other and knowing each other. What there isn't, is paperwork for this kind of mundane event. Except this one, where there's this solitary blog entry which ties all the different gentle communications together into one brain dump.
I find it hard to believe that all businesses don't operate like this. When I worked on the Underground it was quite reasonable to drop something off with a train driver to hand over to a colleague organised to be there at the station waiting for it at its destination. Surely this is how all businesses with more than one base operate?
Sometimes we do things which look odd and clunky but in honesty are more reflections of people who really really want to make things work, and trust their colleagues and think about another way to get things done. Logistics is one of these. We have the ability not to look at logistics and not say that's ridiculous. So, this is what happened, and I only have a little bit of the picture.
My colleague H, who is British based but happens to be at our warehousing in Belgium contacts me on WhatsApp. Am I going into the office (in Manchester) on Friday, she asks. I haven't planned that far ahead and say I can do if needed. She then asks if I can take something from New Mills to Manchester. Depends what, I say, bearing in mind my commute includes a bicycle and a train. I get a photo. It's some caps. They weigh 650g. This seems entirely workable. That's fine I say.
Another colleague, also in Belgium gets in touch. Can I also take some garmin mounts, oh, and some shirts. I say yes and dig out my bigger rucksack.
So, this small package starts its journey:
Belgian Warehouse to station - with colleague M who gets a lift from colleague C
Station to Airport Brussells airport - M by train
Brussells to Manchester - M by train
Manchester airport to New Mills - M by taxi
Across the valley to my house - M by car
My house to station - Me by bicycle
New Mills to Reddish North - Me by train
Reddish North to Manchester office - Me by bicycle
Handed to colleague D in office
Manchester to Yorkshire - D by motorbike
Trains, Planes, Automobiles, Bicycles and Motorbikes
And this is all quite normal and ordinary and more effective, quicker and cheaper than courier, and by the time the package arrives with me it has gained other stuff I didn't know about. Metal things, maybe something to do with TT bars I hypothesise.
And if in five years time someone says, you must remember that package, this was an unusual request, yes? I say no, this is just one example of many of how we get things to places. We rely on good willing people and a system where someone centrally understands the various micro movements of its staff. It relies on people like my colleague M getting home to his family after a week away and at 10pm at night getting into his car to drop things off at my house. It depends on him and me having the kind of friendship where that's OK. It depends on me not being bothered about taking a 32 litre rucksack on my folding bike where normally a 15 litre would do. It depends on my colleague D going on his own motorbike at the bank holiday weekend to see the Tour of Yorkshire. It depends on my colleague H knowing enough about her people to know that this can work and on her keeping a general handle on the packing. We're capable of moving things around quickly and flexibly and talking to each other and knowing each other. What there isn't, is paperwork for this kind of mundane event. Except this one, where there's this solitary blog entry which ties all the different gentle communications together into one brain dump.
I find it hard to believe that all businesses don't operate like this. When I worked on the Underground it was quite reasonable to drop something off with a train driver to hand over to a colleague organised to be there at the station waiting for it at its destination. Surely this is how all businesses with more than one base operate?
Sunday, 29 April 2018
Poem meaning
I've never thought about what my poems mean. I'm not sure what their meaning is, or even if meaning is essential? Maybe I use them in far too cathartic fashion, their meaning is me wanting to be understood, sometimes wanting to shock by truly explaining how things are for me. Not many people get to see the inside of me, and it's not how you think it is. The message I try to get over seems to be:
I am not strong
I am not stoic
I am not happy
Life is unfair
I put on a bloody good front
That's basically my inspiration.
It may be time for me to move on from that. I am interested in the outside world, I'm angry about stuff in the outside world, as well as being well informed and opinionated. I'm proper cross about the roll out of Universal Credit and the deafness of the government to hear how people are suffering as a result. I'm proper cross about the Windrush generation and our country's perverse attitude towards immigrants. I'm angry about the small minded racist bigoted country I feel we became, and where Brexit is the biggest red flag indicator of that. I'm angry for the millennial generation that has got the shit end of the stick as far as jobs and homes are concerned. I'm cross about a lot of things, but so are a lot of people and a lot of people write far better than I can about these. I have nothing new to offer on these subjects, nothing.
I am not strong
I am not stoic
I am not happy
Life is unfair
I put on a bloody good front
That's basically my inspiration.
It may be time for me to move on from that. I am interested in the outside world, I'm angry about stuff in the outside world, as well as being well informed and opinionated. I'm proper cross about the roll out of Universal Credit and the deafness of the government to hear how people are suffering as a result. I'm proper cross about the Windrush generation and our country's perverse attitude towards immigrants. I'm angry about the small minded racist bigoted country I feel we became, and where Brexit is the biggest red flag indicator of that. I'm angry for the millennial generation that has got the shit end of the stick as far as jobs and homes are concerned. I'm cross about a lot of things, but so are a lot of people and a lot of people write far better than I can about these. I have nothing new to offer on these subjects, nothing.
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