My posties

I am very fond of the men who deliver my mail. There are two: a short. rotund, smiling one and a tall, thin lugubrious one. Both are efficent and courteous - but shy. That is why I cannot show you a photograph of either; here is their mail trolley instead, safely attached to a convenient lamppost. 

"Letters of thanks, letters from banks ..."

Grateful though I am for my daily visit, I also recall that, in the days when Anthony Trollope revolutionised the service, there were up to 10 to 12 deliveries a day, starting at around 7.30 a.m. and ending at 7.30 p.m. George Bernard Shaw sent off a thick MS of a novel in the morning only to have it returned the same day, rejected. Trollope, during his 33 years as a civil servant, brought the idea of the post box to Britain, although they were sage green at first before becoming the familiar bright red we know and love. Of course, he was also writing many fat novels, drafting them before starting the day's work for the Royal Mail. I wonder what he did with the rest of his time.

 There is no need to show you a pillar box but here is a warning that you should never attempt to drive through a red telephone kiosk just because it looks faded.

Modern annoyances

 The internet and AI are useful and have become a modern necessity. It is difficult to know how we could manage without them. Yet there are aspects which are deeply irksome.

1) Being asked to review a delivery. A person walks up my short, front garden path and places a small package in a box marked "Parcels here". I am then asked to review this amazing achievement by rating the courier's manner, promptitude, courtesy etc. Mostly I have never seen him or her but I feel obliged to do the review so that they will keep their job or even get promotion. One day I'll be asked how kind they are to their great-aunt and I will find myself giving them 5 stars for looking after the old lady so compassionately.

2) Being offered services that I have not asked for. I make a simple Google enquiry about something and AI leaps in and asks me if I would like help exploring it further and in writing about it. If we all said we would, a whole ghastly, bland, unispeak language would take over the world and all quirky individuality would be lost. I make a point of looking for and pointing out a solecism in their use of words. I gather that AI uses a great deal of water and I deplore any unnecessary waste. Just give me the information I ask for and only that, I mumble. Even the BBC is joining this trend by suggesting that I might like to listen to mind-soothing, soupy music when all I want from Sounds is The Archers. The unctuously pseudo-helpful tone is so irritating that I am in need of my own calming remedies like a strong cup of tea. 

That's all for now but there will be more to come! Much more.

Mother, father and child.

 Have you heard those words recently or seen them written on social media? Or even read them in a solemn context such as a person writing about a funeral? 

Neither have I. They have been replaced by Mum (not always with a capital), Dad and kid. People talk about grieving for their mum or sending their kids to school. I know I am old-fashioned but I think it's a pity to lose the more formal tone entirely.  Let's keep the subtle distinctions of different registers. 

"Upset" and "incredibly"

 These two words have a profoundly disagreeable effect on me. "Upset" is a bland umbrella term used to mean anything from mildly bothered to deeply distressed. "Incredibly"denotes the exact opposite of what is meant: the speaker expects the listener to believe what s/he has just said cannot be believed. 

9:30 start

Sent from my iPhone

Warwick Castle - mixed reaction

This gives you some idea of the magnificence of Warwick Castle - and it is so rich in history. English Heritage? Yes but there is a burger tent in the Bailey plus intrusive music to distract the visitor. How can they destroy atmosphere in such a way? I know they need to keep up the revenue but surely the added entertainments could be outside the castle walls. So disappointing and such a contrast with the magnificent Kenilworth Castle nearby.
There is a responsibility involved in managing a castle - and that includes other considerations than short-term revenue. Do not turn these sites into theme parks. 

Tai Chi and Qi Gong

   I thought you might like to gaze at this photo of my left foot! Actually I don?t have a selfie of me doing Tai Chi and so this piccie of my greatly improved appendage will have to do.

   I took up these routines because an ex-GP I know said it improved his balance and I confess to wobbling sometimes. I have bought lots of dvd's and go to a class and find it all both soothing and energising. All my body seems to work better and so do its functions, the mentionable ones  like sleeping and the unmentionable like ... 

   It has taken me some time to work out the difference, if any, between Tai Chi and Qi Gong and I am not sure I have it right now. In Tai Chi you can do individual poses and movements - which have fascinating names such as The Golden Rooster Stands on One Leg - but you have the ultimate aim of joining them up into a "form" like a slow ballet. This is my stumbling block as I seem to have a poor memory for continuous movements. I won't give up but, meanwhile, I prefer Qi Gong, where the individual exercises have a healing claim for the various organs.

  I do recommend these methods of exercise: you can adopt the philosophy behind them or just treat them as physical routines but you can do them into old age, even sitting down. You do not heed any special equipment - just wear comfortable clothing. Yet I confess to envying the silk pyjamas the presenters wear! 

  For me it has been a life changer and the golden rooster stands on one leg a little longer every day. In summer I shall stun my neighbours by performing in the garden.