First Day of June

When I was a kid, I was always on my bike – it was the only way to travel. Although I didn’t really go very far, it was a good way to get round (and kept me fit too – even though I couldn’t really be bothered with this – not like some of my school mates, who would often be seen pumping iron in the gym and comparing ‘ripple’ next day at school – like I say, I couldn’t be bothered). I digress.

It was not unusual for me to cycle, and – this time – to my brother in Frankley. I remember one year distinctly. I’d been to see him and his family (I think it must have been a Saturday, as neither he was at work nor me at school). I don’t remember much of the visit (sorry bro), but I do remember the journey home. It was the 1^st of June.

Some of you will know that UK is one of the nicest countries in the world, when we are having good weather. It can be glorious; and I’m sure all of you have stories about different adventures from the days of Yor. I have lots, and maybe over the following weeks you’ll get to hear about some of them (some are strictly for the memory box).

So I’m saying goodbye to my brother and his family and off I set. The hill, at the start of the journey home, is enough to get a sweat-on. However, on this occasion that was just not going to happen. As is often the case, in June (i.e. Summer) it is likely that one will dress in light clothing, such as a T-shirt, and that would be enough. So I did, I got up, got dressed and set off to Frankley. On this occasion, however, the climb up the hill was met with snow. Not just a sprinkling, but a whole hearted blizzard – IN JUNE!!! I was frozen. My hands were freezing. My toes were frost bitten. My fingers were nearly falling off. IT WAS B****Y COLD!!!

I finally got home – relieved that no long-term damage was sustained. I was cold, wet, tired, but relieved. What I couldn’t believe was that on the first day of June that year, it snowed. The year? 1976. Three weeks after that, the weather broke and we had the hottest summer on record - wouldn’t you know?

A Four-day Week.

I’m liking this four-day week malarkey. It makes for a pleasant time at work (although at this time of year there is so much to do, an eight-day week wouldn’t go amiss).

I feel as though I’m bringing the seventies back – neck scarf, double denim, four-day week.

I remember the candle lit dinners we used to have. We would eat our food by the only light source available – candle light. This was mainly because the electricity had been turned off and no lights were available. Some called them power-cuts. I just thought it was a chance for adventure – it was quite exciting at times. Because some utility provider workforce had gone on strike (or that’s what we thought / were told), we had a whole lot of fun! Even though I wasn’t into romance, it was still nice to experience those times.

Of course, looking back, and being so much older (and just a little bit wiser), it must have been really difficult for my parents. To cook, to do the domestic chores etc. would have been a nightmare. But when you’re 13 going on 14, the world looks very different.

I still try to keep up the romanticism of those times. At home, we have a wood-fired Rayburn (older than me!!), which we use for cooking on in the winter (actually, wherever possible, we try to not use gas cooking when the Rayburn is fired up. On a good session, it can last for a couple of weeks!!). We also use the beeswax from the hive as candles and so when we want to really feel as though we’re living in Medieval times, we can light those too.

I do draw the line at sanitary compromises. One has to have some luxuries.

Perhaps that’s why I used to like the night shift. It was, after-all, a four day [night] working week. This had so many advantages – travelling in the opposite direction to the rush hour peoples; staying in bed until the afternoon; an extra day off; and the all-important body clock shift preparing for the late night out on a Friday.

What’s not to like?

At one time, I did have a day job where the management were very generous to me. I’d been working there about five years and wanted to do some personal project work (film-making) outside my usual work times. It was difficult to fit in during the evening, so I asked if I could fit all my teaching into four days, so that I could take the fifth working day off to do my project work.

I must say it was lovely. To be working four days a week was psychologically restoring.

The last time I did this was just before embarking on my PhD. I had a number of days holiday left over (I think it was eight), so I requested that I had the same day off each week for eight weeks. Although I wasn’t part time, it was a welcome treat to only work for four days a week – a sort of pseudo part-time.

Maybe retirement at 60 is a little too much of a move to the other end of the spectrum. Going part-time might well be an appropriate step forward. That way, I still benefit from the the salary (and not just a meagre pension) and from the psychological effects of not having to go to work for five days per week. I’d have to make sure I work on the Mondays. That way, I can take advantage of the bank holidays, when they come around.

The four-day week. I'm loving' it.

Doors of Digbeth

On my travels, when I do a regular commute, I often take a number of different routes, just to break up the monotony of the journey.

My current trip is from home > my local station > New Street > Work (Millennium Point). Depending on my departure time (if I need to get washing up liquid, etc.), the route to work may vary. Betty is good like that – she’ll go where I go.

The usual route from NS to MP is: out the front entrance; turn left to go through Swan Passage; past Moor Street Station; down Moor Street Queensway; Past Hotel La Tour (crossing Park Street between Fazeley Street and Masshouse Lane); past the bus stops; down through Eastside Park and; into Millennium Point.

It’s a straightforward enough journey that get me to work in a reasonable amount of time.

This route might change if I go via Corporation Street; so that I can get some shopping from Poundland.

As the weather picks up, and the teaching load diminishes (or if I get up extra early because of the lighter mornings – does anyone else get that?), I might treat myself to alighting at University, riding along the canal, through to the Mailbox, past New Street Station and back en route. This is quite a nice way to cycle to work as a) it’s by the canal and b) it gives me more exercise.

In the summer months, I like to get away from the desk at lunchtimes. Previous years have seen all sorts of activities. My favourite so far (after they built the grassy knoll outside Millennium Point – I think this is Eastside Park), bar one, is a French game. We played Pétanque.

For the uninitiated, Pétanque is a French game where steel balls are tossed onto a semi hard surface (usually sand or fine grit, or in this case, grass). It’s sort of a cross between cricket and flat green bowling. A wooden cochonnet (piglet) is tossed onto the grass at the opposite side of the playing area (this changes as the game progresses), then the starting team toss their steel balls as close as they can to the cochonnet. The opposing team then have to try  and knock the balls out of the way in order to get as close as they can to the cochonnet. This keeps going until all player have had a turn and then the closest wins (or at least that’s how we play it).

Sometimes I’ll go for a walk.

However, this year I have a project. A photography project. Some will know that I’m a keen photographer (and occasional film-maker). And for a long time, I’ve been wanting to photograph some of the feature doors you find in Digbeth. The good thing about having Betty is that I can bring my camera to work and in the lunch breaks cycle to Digbeth and take some piccies. This all realy started with my Discarded 365 photoblog (where I tasked myself to upload, every day, an iPhotograph of found discarded items as I travelled around), and it was during this period that I stumbled upon some great door features in Digbeth.

So watch this space for more details.

Star Wars Day

You can always tell the newbies. They haven’t been influence by cynicism.

Yesterday, I thought I would be a little lazy and not fold Betty. Mistake.

I was intending to rest Betty in the bicycle area on the second carriage. So I lined up on the platform ready to board the first door of the second carriage. But it was a ‘six coacher’ and the intended door went siling past.

I got on anyway into the third carriage. This is often a useful position as the conductor can be easily reached. But today we have a newbie.

I’ll admit that I was being a mite tardy when I stowed Betty. She was unfolded, and her rear end was sticking out in to the aisle slightly. The other way I’m getting lazy is to split my travel card. It’s more convenient for me to have the ticket part on me (for getting through the barriers at New Street) and the photocard is kept in my wallet, in my rack bag, strapped to the bike with lock, helmet and other paraphernalia in the way of access. I have taken a photo of this photocard, which has served me well on other occasions. But not today.

I’ve not seen this one before, so he might only be a newbie for this area. I sort of guessed he is a newbie, because he got off the train and stood wondering why people weren’t getting on – until he got back on the train and unlocked the doors. Anyway, Betty is on board, I’m seated and getting ready to settle for my half-day holiday. Shortly before departure, The Newbie approached me with “Tickets please!” I get out my travel card and show hi. “do you have the photocard, sir?” “It’s in my bag.” I retort, “but I have a photo of it on my phone, would that be any good?” “Sorry sir, I would prefer to see the card.” “It might take a while – it’s buried and right at the bottom.”

He changed tack, and asked: “Is that your bike, sir?” I proudly answer with a ‘yes’ (after all it is a Bickerton). “Well if you wouldn’t mind, getting off and taking the bike to the next carriage down – you can park it in there without blocking the aisle.” (I kept silent – It was hard, but I resisted.) Also, I’m not convinced he’ll wait for me to get back on – I know that trick – so I offer to fold Betty, retrieve the rail card, and be a generally nice passenger. Sensing my suspicion of dirty tricks, he then said "or you could just make sure it is tucked into the doorway, so it doesn't block the aisle."

Methinks - Not enough to fully block the aisle, clearly, as he managed to get past. Then he clears off.

I, on the other hand, dutifully located Betty into the doorway, retrieve the rail card, and secured her to the rail with the usual bungee. It didn't take long before the rocking of the train took effect and the inevitable 'pick up Betty again' game had started.

So I was not going to get chance to be lazy today. I fold Betty, settle in my seat and prepare for the imminent ticket inspection. We get to the next stop – no inspection. Then the next. And the next and so on. No inspection. I’m left thinking:

“I’ve taken the considerable trouble to fold Betty (while the train was moving), retrieve my photocard from my wallet and prevent Betty from protruding into the aisle. Would you please do me the courtesy of taking the trouble to come back and inspect my ticket!!!”

As I’m thinking this (towards the end of my journey) said Newbie returns with a cheerful. “Unchecked tickets please!! And if you smile, I won’t charge.” A newbie with a sense of humour – I was right; he hasn’t got cynical yet.

What does this have to do with Star Wars Day? Nothing.

Tickets please!! Newbies – They thwart all expectations!!!.