Preliator

I was watching Time Team this evening (unusual for a Saturday), and they were uncovering a Norman castle which had been attacked when Stephen and Matilda were battling over the throne of England. I remembered I’d actually learnt a bit about that battle in my first year at university, and it brought home to me the fact that I’m actually starting to forget some of the things I learnt there. Memory loss is something one normally associates with old age, but I don’t think it’s quite that which I’m experiencing here. I recall learning about things when I hear about them again, when the memory is triggered by something I see or hear, or even touch or smell.

If I think about a smell triggering a memory, what springs quite vividly to mind is a trip to Yorvik I went on eleven years ago. There was a part of the museum, I think, where you got into a cart, and “went back in time” as they put it. The cart took you past all these displays of how people lived back when the Vikings were invading York (or didn’t live in some cases), and the overriding thing I remember about the ride was the smell. I think, I can’t be absolutely sure, but I think the smell was burning peat. Of course the Vikings were famous for their burn-rape-pillage approach to visiting other countries, but the burning of peat (if that is indeed what I remember) would have denoted proper settlement. Some Vikings did settle, as did Romans, Normans and Saxons.

I apologise if this is reading a bit like a History lesson, I didn’t really mean it to be. My aim was more to see how my memory reacted when I drew from the metaphorical well that I consider to be my knowledge of History. Sadly, the well isn’t as deep, nor as full, as I would like it to be. When I hear about these events that shaped the world as we know it today, I want to know more about them, to understand why things happened the way they did. Some of the things left behind by our ancestors I find both astonishing and fascinating, and I can’t help but wonder – what will our legacy be? I wonder this, but I’m not sure I really want to know the answer.

I saw a film recently called Origin: Spirits of the Past, wherein what we know today (cities, skyscrapers, a sea of technology) has been swallowed up by nature. It’s a sort of post-apocalyptic world in which humans are forced to co-exist with nature in harmony. They can’t actually get something as simple as water without asking nicely for it. The film is incredibly similar to Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind, but in Origin we see more of what used to exist “pre-apocalypse” as it were. Oddly enough, the world doesn’t look too shabby, and some people even see it as a playground that they can go exploring in, finding hidey holes and uncovering new things. It seemed strangely idyllic, and I found myself thinking when I was watching it that it wouldn’t actually be a bad place to live (ignoring the huge city outside the forest which belched out smoke and fumes and looked like a giant steam-punk mess that had just been thrown down at random in the vain hope that somehow it would just work).

Spectral Mist

The main problem with not planning these posts is they don’t make for very easy reading. Rather than a smooth transition between paragraphs, or even sentences, you get jarred, jolted. It’s like going along a bumpy road with seemingly no end in sight. So, while I endeavour to keep the spontaneity of my posts, I’ll try to iron out the metaphorical creases as best I can. Hopefully this will make this blog easier to read. With that bit of preamble out of the way, let’s get on with the show.

I say show, it isn’t really a show, it’s more a static image of what I’ve typed. Theoretically, I could film myself typing this and post it up and then it could possibly be a show, but it wouldn’t be very exciting. Since it’s just an image of what I’ve typed though, expectations of being entertained are considerably lower, so I stand a better chance of being entertaining. Make sense? Oh well, so much for ironing out the creases.

This should now be the point where I say - “And speaking of creases…” – and then carry on seamlessly (see what I did there? Crease? Seam? No?). However, I really can’t think of something relating to creases, so I’m just going to sit back and marvel at the fact that I’ve managed to keep writing this blog for a whole week. I really never thought that I’d keep it up, but to be honest, I’m finding it quite cathartic. It’s getting some of this mess in my head untangled, though given the messiness of the posts thus far, I’m beginning to wonder just how it’s doing that. Don’t worry, the rest of this post won’t just be …………… as I reflect on my unkempt thoughts, I will actually be putting some of these thoughts down.

One thing that’s been on my mind of late, as I’m sure it’s been on a lot of people’s minds, is the snow. It’s not the abundance of it, but the lack of it. Having watched the news where a lot of the country has been covered in a thick blanket of snow, I feel somewhat deprived living in one of the few places that hasn’t got any. Well, that’s not strictly true. There’s snow on the mountains, and we had one day where we did have some low-lying snow. It just seems disproportionate to what other places are getting. I realise it makes travel difficult, that people are struggling to get to work, that people are slipping and injuring themselves, but these are the same people who were disappointed we didn’t get a white Christmas (which is determined by whether or not a single snow flake falls on a particular roof in London, I forget which one). It’s snow! It gives that sense of nostalgia and that bubbling up of the child in us that make us happy! Why complain? If you’re constantly slipping, get some crampons. If you can’t get to work, play in the snow, make the most of it. Seriously, people get so stressed with work these days that surely any reprieve should be welcomed with open arms.

Speaking of work (and that’s the last time I’ll use the phrase “speaking of” to link two paragraphs together, honest), I have now given my details to so many companies, recruitment agencies, and graduate schemes that I really can’t remember them all. I’m sure a lot of people have done this, but I can’t help but get the feeling that my name appears in so many places that some people will begin to think I’m famous, hire me as, I don’t know, a news-reader on some random channel whose main demographic don’t want to watch the news, at least not in the way that that channel portrays it, be blamed personally for the lack of rise in viewing figures rather than the channel’s admin thinking it’s getting something wrong, get fired without any redundancy package whatsoever and be known thenceforth as “that bloke who couldn’t read news properly” and cry every time I hear the words “channel 5 news”. I admit that’s not very likely at all. I wouldn’t cry at the words, just send a series of polite emails with barely contained anger attempting to get between the lines. And I’ve just realised that most of the paragraph has been one sentence, for which I apologise (in part to my fingers, which I shall now rest).

Fields of Hope

As I said I would, I’ve been out for a longer drive, two in fact, since I last wrote here. The last one I was quite proud of since I managed to drive myself safely home after a one hour, forty minute run. I think I surprised myself there. It was a strange, and actually quite dramatic run I had. I’d decided to do a loop round Melbrek, since I knew the route already, but I didn’t want to drive to where one would usually park when going there, because it involved some really narrow roads and, depending on how busy it is, some very awkward parking. So I parked slightly further away from the track, thus giving myself a longer run. It being winter, I’d set off quite late in the day, and didn’t actually start running until twenty to four, and by the time I’d got to the track that looped round the mountain, it was just gone four. Light was beginning to fade, and what had started out as a beautiful winter’s afternoon was turning. Clouds were coming down over the mountain tops, and moving quite quickly. I picked up my pace round the back of the mountain, keeping an eye on the weather, and the other on where I was going. By the time I’d picked up the path that contoured up and swung back around to the lake, the wind had grown cold and dusk was beginning to take hold. I didn’t know if, or when, it would start raining, but the clouds looked rather threatening. I left the path I knew for what I thought might be a slightly shorter one, realising my mistake but a short time later. I had gained quite a bit of height by then, so I began a swift descent in the direction of the stream the main path followed. I had been running for maybe an hour by the time I came all the way down to the lakeside path, but the rain had held off, and I was feeling pretty good considering. Alongside the lake, I made pretty good time, and got to the path I had set out from after about another half hour. From there it was just ten more minutes back to the car. That ten minutes was hard, very hard. But I made it.

I think the low-lying cloud, the low light level and the few bits of snow dotted around the surrounding mountainsides made that one of the most dramatic, visually stunning runs I can remember doing. That said though, anywhere you go in the Lakes, on any day where you’re not in a thick blanket of cloud or fog, is visually stunning. But the lighting affects how you see things, can sharpen or blur your memory of the sights, make them stand out or seem relatively unremarkable. Today was definitely the former of the two.

Suspiria

It’s amazing just how many things are like “riding a bike”. I passed my driving test about three months ago and went out for my first solo drive today. Needless to say, it was quite daunting, I drove for four miles along quite narrow country lanes (out of choice I might add). And, clichéd though the saying might be, it was like riding a bike. It surprisingly came quite easily. I didn’t stall, didn’t have any clunky gear changes, and I actually came back with a huge grin on my face. It was one of those moments in life that mark a turning point, a turning point that in this case gave a sense of greater independence. So, tomorrow I’m thinking of taking a slightly longer journey than the one I did today.

There are quite a few sayings for the ease of things, some of which it’d be really interesting to find out the origins of. “As easy as falling off a log.” Fairly self explanatory, but conjures up an amusing mental image nonetheless. “Easy as pie.” How easy is pie? Easy to eat I suppose, less so to cook. And of course - “easy peasy, lemon squeasy.” I suppose that means something’s as easy as squeezing a lemon. Makes you wonder though, just how many of the sayings and proverbs we use on a daily basis would seem completely bizarre to someone learning English, and vice versa. I’m sure there are lots of sayings in other cultures, other languages, that we would just laugh at as being ludicrous. Are we, then, taking our own language a bit too seriously? Think about it: how often do we laugh at our own turns of phrase? It’s a shame we don’t do it more often, because that, I suppose, means we’re taking our language for granted instead of understanding it and using it to its full advantage. Well, generally we understand what someone means when they say, for example, “I didn’t do nothing.” They mean “I didn’t do anything.” But because of the simple logic that governs the language in this case, we can take the original statement to mean that the person did something. This can be cause for lots of fun, since double-negatives are rife at the moment, we can take this to extremes by throwing in as many negatives as we can into a sentence, do a quick mental count and see what escapes out of the other side. “I didn’t not no never not do nothing.”

These sorts of games with language are, I think, good fun, and it’s amazing to see just what you can get away with through clever wording of sentences. If you’ve ever haggled in a market, or even if you haven’t, see if you can follow this.

“That’s five-fifty.” “Four-fifty? That’s never worth that much, I’ll give you three-twenty-five for it.” “Four-eighty.” “Three-fifty.” “Four-fifty.” “Four.” “Deal.” You shake hands and hand over four pence. Perhaps not a great example since you’re unlikely to get away with it, the fact that you never mentioned pounds probably won’t have stuck in the dealer’s mind. Still, it’s a twinkling little possibility. There are opportunities to play games with language everywhere, and I recommend playing them, see if people notice. One small warning though, they can become addictive, and always make sure when you play that whomever you play with will appreciate it, otherwise you’ll just be laughing (even if only inwardly at the time) at other peoples’ stupidity, which, I’m sure you’ll agree, is a bit harsh.

I Can’t Explain

Not strictly true, but continuing on the theme from my blog title, post titles will also be named after songs, whichever I happen to be listening to at the time. Anyway, welcome, sit yourselves down, pour some tea and make yourselves comfortable. If you’re not sure what it is you’re being welcomed to, don’t worry, I’m sure it won’t be an isolated case. What will follow over however long I manage to keep this blog going will be a series of pretty much whatever comes into my head as I’m writing. I’m setting out here with no real plan nor agenda save to simply have some record of my thoughts in a vague and/or vain attempt to make sense of them.

It’s increasingly dawning on me just how much I miss university; the people, the atmosphere and, yes, even the work. I enjoyed learning, enjoyed being busy most of the time. The saying “you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone” has so much truth to it. I’m also slowly beginning to realise just how much of my life has been in academia. A visit from a plumber brought it home to me. He said he’d left school at 14, went straight into work. And though I inwardly scoffed at the notion, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. The man had been left with the impression that university is pointless. I admit having done a degree in Philosophy doesn’t put me in the best place to refute that claim, but refute it I do. Vehemently. Universities are havens for academics such as myself. They are, I believe, an invaluable part of society, which is why they’ve been around for 800 years. Not just places to pass on knowledge, but wisdom as well. Strange though it may seem for those who have never experienced it, those who have will know the truth behind the statement.

The philosopher in me at the moment is screaming at me to stop bandying about words like knowledge, truth and wisdom, for such words need careful and clear definitions. Since such definitions escape me at this time, I shall continue without those words… or try to.

So, I’m currently looking at Masters courses, as well as trying to find a job in the meantime to fund things such as travel, transport and future expenses. I’m sorely tempted to either carry on my philosophical journey or quench my thirst for history, but as I’m finding out, such qualifications in the current economic climate aren’t as helpful as, say, a qualification in IT would be. Which has led me to look for IT Masters courses which require little or no prior experience. Such courses are thin on the ground, but there are some out there, and some of those actually manage to sound interesting. History and Philosophy will sadly have to wait for another time I feel. A shame.

A false start

I’m starting off in this blog quite falsely, hence the title. This won’t really be a blog entry so much as a series of explanations. In the sense that it is, literally, the first of my posts in this, my blog; this is a blog entry. But it doesn’t count, for the very reason that it is, in its essence, a group of reasons.

The first part here is a reason, or the reason, behind the title of my blog. Well Thought Out Twinkles is a song by the band Silversun Pickups. Though I know the lyrics to the song, I honestly couldn’t tell you what it’s about, but one particular part in the song – a “well thought out twinkle” I think – is part of the reason I thought it would fit as a title. The lyric in question is this - “find one last flaw and keep it safe and free from harm”. I’ll probably leave your good self to wrap your mind around that one.

Now comes an explanation, sort of, of who I am and why I’m writing this. The latter I can address quite concisely: to inspire (myself first and foremost, I don’t claim to provide inspiration to others, but if you find any inspiration in my words then all’s well and good). My own inspiration for doing this came from a friend of mine's blog. As for who I am, I am a philosophy graduate, with all that entails (thinker, reader, writer). That’s as much as I will say on that just now.

One last reason, which will mark the end of this pseudo-entry and after which will come the first of (I hope) many real entries, is the reason I chose the name Osprey21 to write here. Osprey: because they’ve recently been reintroduced near where I live. 21: because it’s my favourite number.

Oh yes, for those who want to hear it, here is the song.