My new toy has arrived and is looking majestically decayed.

As you can see there is quite a bit to do but the good thing is its structurally in very good nick indeed and I have all the parts, glass, signs etc. It weighs 3/4 of a ton and came on a special lifter thing that after some messing about plonked it very neatly onto its base. It’s probably from the 1950’s or 60’s. I can find out as it has a unique number. The door opens onto the street, so that people other than us will be able to experience it. I have already had a very enthusiastic response from a passer by together with complete bemusement from Nonna who being Italian is seriously anti old stuff, particularly imperfect stuff that necessitates removing plants and any things that grow and can be eaten. Maria is an real enthusiast which is very nice and a bit of a relief given the disruption, cost, foolishness and current heap of rusty junk state. You may have guessed it is a significant part of my project the details of which will be known as soon as I have it properly underway. Don’t hold your breath, it’s a big deal for me but will no doubt disappoint my readers who may be anticipating something that’s actually good, meaningful, memorable and not about Chris –

xx

George has been made assistant editor of a specialist magazine. He is managing the impossible task of keeping an active freelance (bring in a wee bit of dosh) career with his writing career. We are really delighted for him and Avani. They are both really well set up in Norwich now and he even has a bike.

Ooh my butt is full of grapes. Sod it owwwwww!

It’s been ages since I have been awake at 3.30 am and writing my blog. I feel a wave of nostalgia for those steroid soaked streams of consciousness of yore. Here I am again and I have no idea why. It could be an excess of Mars Bar ice creams (I am on one or day) or more likely an extremely disturbing episode of the Sopranos – and I mean disturbing. Series 6 the Finale. It is certainly not my imminent visit to see the consultant in Leeds which promises little change, nor any particular health or other anxiety. I think it might be rather simple – it’s the birds tweeting. Blooming heck they are loud these days.

Here’s a funny thing. Among the many bits that have ‘fallen off’ since I became ill, my hearing seems to have ‘fallen on.’ Or more precisely, like my sight, it has changed. On Saturday we attended the delightful Ellie’s 21st birthday party. She looked like a radiant princess from a sunny fairy tale – any prince would have fallen for her – I did – it was a fantastic affair with all her student dentist friends cheering her on, Appleton Roebuck was transformed into a really bright and vibrant place – however like some “I only ever listen to Mozart” turd I showed my age horribly. The ‘popular music’ was loud but no louder than I was used to with the family band but I really struggled to hear anŷthing at all that was said to me, so much so that in the end I gave up conversing and must have looked like the proverbial sulky puss sitting in silence. Everyone else seemed just fine, bopping along – I was happy enough listening to some great tracks, many of which the family band had played but I was sadly condemned to gestures of mute approval. A great evening for the Baxter family though, they just should not bother to invite one foot in the gravers like me in future. Still, as I was saying, the compensation is that in non noisy conditions I would say my hearing has improved so much so that here in am roused by an insomniac starling to do some blogging. It is very early for birdsong?

I am certainly blogging less. Last year at this time I found it very difficult to be outside and last indoors pummelling the keys like a caffeinated Gordon Brown – he used to need a new keyboard every month cos he was so aggressive in his typing. I was not really moving around and about at all. This year I am enjoying the outside a lot whenever it is sunny and have fun doing things with my hands. Weekends are filled with practical things. The house and garden has been assaulted by my enthusiasm for doing odd jobs. I put washing soda down the drains, it stops them blocking, I hang pictures, I frame pictures, I drill holes and fill the holes I previously drilled. I fix bits of furniture or get them fixed. I have gone manic with lighting, lamps and lamp shades. They are all over the place. Telephones continue to preoccupy me and I still crave a K6 phone box – the red one. In the meantime I have learnt how to get old rotary dial phones to connect to the BT Network. I might have a go with a local network of crank phones (the ones with the handles.) I have expanded my collection of lighters to include an American brand of the 50’s called ‘Evans’. These are so ‘Madmen’ but are much harder to fix than the British brands. One example took me a whole day. I am also on with my lifetimes work project that I am keeping secret in case it flops. It’s pretty time consuming in a repetitive way at present.

We are the proud possessors of a new chimney pot. It has not been fitted yet but is about 6 foot tall and a foot wide – massive. It is designed to rise above the roof line and make our open fire draw properly. Hitherto we a have at time had to open the windows to let the smoke out when the wind was in the wrong direction – now I believe we will be able to run a small chemical works or a Dickensian tanning factory.

Since the election I seem to have lost my outrage. I feel as though I have arrived at a position of weariness when it comes to the bigger world picture. It didn’t take long. When I was ill I had loads of pent up energy that had nowhere to go. It was if my body was constipating my brain so it just flushed itself out in all directions, a silage spray of outrage. I am much calmer now, probably less entertaining in a ‘what stupid thing is he going to say next’ sort of way. I suppose I feel more normal. I have been bored with cancer for ages now. I don’t read about it, never have, I don’t follow the latest ‘breakthrough’ stories or do ‘living with cancer’ fun runs . I don’t seek out those who have it, nor do I avoid them. I have a good friend in the village who has it and we have enjoyed one session of mutual moaning. Her approach is a lot like mine which is very comforting. We can almost compete in the who can be coolest about it competition – we are both cool.

I must admit that I have had the traditional ‘put life in perspective’ moment. I have mentioned this before but have sought to avoid using this specific phrase because it seems so crass. It goes as follows – I take the anarchist position that our current way of regulating humanity leads to wage slavery. We all spend most of our lives doing things to feed the machine that sustains us. The more we feed it the more it wants, we can never hope to satisfy its appetite until it has consumed us and all the things that sustain us. Remove the machine and we may have time to do more to feed ourselves and others less fortunate than us. FIFA is really just a blatant version of our current world order. We are horrified to observe the rich and powerful helping themselves to stuff meant for the poor and powerless. I must remember that when I am next in Primark for a two pound T Shirt or Tesco for a one pound gallon of milk.

Our fountain stands still and firm since Mitch felled it – I think it may have been symbolic hopefully not phallic. The rats are well rotted. The hens are surprisingly still alive and extremely loveable in a thick as shit sort of way. A new cat is in the neighbourhood but so far can only be seen staring enviously out the window at our two playing metaphorical croquet and polishing their Purdey’s on the lawn – na na na na na – they purr, we are not house cats! Brian, our farmer neighbour, has a vintage tractor I am envious of. Our neighbours hung Tory posters in their window during the election just to annoy me – it worked. Maria’s mum is coping well with insulin and Arthur is the next Herbert von Karajan – not really its just that he had a conducting exam recently. He has some fantastic stories to tell which sadly I cannot repeat (danger of being whacked). He is working 12 hour 7 day weeks at the moment – ahhh the joys of showbiz.

Love to you all
Chris

The cat fell out of the cherry tree and demolished the fountain. This may sound like a French proverbial folk tale from which one learns wise things regarding the folly of cherry tree climbing in the palace garden, but in this case it describe the true fate of our fountain; that is we believe this is what happened.

I got up early one Saturday morning to head off to the car boot sale and Mitch was playing boisterously in the garden. He was sufficiently hyper to give me a farewell punch as I passed. I left him springing confidentially up and down the cherry tree swinging from perilously thin branches probably hoping to surprise a sparrow. As far as we know a few minutes later the fountain was down. The whole lot upturned. As we had never bothered to stick it together assuming it’s own weight would be sufficient to keep it upright, it was perfectly possible that a significant weight (Mitch is significant) would be enough to start a reconstituted stone avalanche. Happily and miraculously nothing was seriously damaged including Mitch and the fountain stands proud once more bonded by B&Q’s all purpose builders adhesive. Phew.

Consultant says blood results excellent. I suspect this means they will save the autograft for a rainy day. May the weather stay clement I say.

I have an interview with CBC this afternoon to talk about The Uncanny Valley – that should be fun. I must admit my valley has been pretty uncanny this last year or so but I don’t think that is what they have in mind. Strangely I have not felt like I have been in a valley at all. I have a more Nietzschean selfie in mind – perhaps astride some German mountain peaks forging aphorisms from glaciers.

Anyway I thought I would reflect on my Nietzschean struggle of the last week with K6 phone boxes. The long and the short of it is that this idea has to go on hold until my ship comes in. Preferably with a substantial cargo of illegal drugs I can sell on the Appleton Roebuck black market (not really GCHQ). It seems there are hoards of Henry and Jemima’s paying top dollar for something to brighten up the stable yard and thus I am stuffed. It has also occurred to me that my motivation for said folly is that I miss having a performance platform. Although I have left directing behind I suppose teaching gave me some outlet for my thespian tendencies, now that that has been on hold for a year I am a tad bereft and have resorted to looking for any old stage to strut. The phone box, became a shed which became a bench, a telephone and has now evolved into – well I am not telling because if I don’t deliver this time you will all think less of me. I have a thought, a good thought but I will keep It to myself.

Tat ta

C

I am waiting to go in for the ‘tube down the throat’ treatment and thought I would pass the time putting the world to rights. Haven’t done that for a bit.

(written as I think it – slightly stressed by imminent horrid treatment)

I wonder how many people really think about what they want? I don’t. I just carry on without thinking, pretty happily actually. Of course for a good part of the world’s population they don’t need to think hard, they just want the basics, but for us privileged westerners I bet most people are like me – they just carry on. In terms of the ‘don’t vote’ debate it’s the ‘carry on without thinking’ bit that bothers me. To put it another way they say – why change what doesn’t need fixing. How many assumptions are buried away in that notion of carrying on? I need a partner, a job, an education, money, a decent home, a car, holidays, free time. Before long the list escalates to include, a new kitchen, broadband an iPhone etc. In my case capo di monte lamps, phone boxes and the rest. These things become the essential building blocks of life and other people’s lives and real needs get forgotten.

I didn’t vote because all the new governments we could have elected on Thursday advocate the notion of carrying on regardless without scrutinising these assumptions and asking if they could be wrong.

The argument put forward by the pragmatists is that there is no other way of conducting practical politics. We should only think about the things that have an immediate and direct impact on people’s lives. How much tax they pay, how long it will take to get an operation, how good their local school will be. I am fed up with this and I am fed up with pragmatists. I don’t want to talk about these trivial things. I want to talk about how we are going to create a more equitable peaceful world so that the majority of people have the opportunity to indulge themselves in the sort of naval gazing I am indulging in now. There is no political party that is prepared to consider anything other than a maintenance of the status quo, the vested interest of us greedy, privileged islanders .

Of course some governments are worse than others. Conservatism is defined by its name its reactionary credentials and its supporters who tend towards the establishment, but Labour also harks back to a history of class struggle which has become the status quo for many supporters, however supposedly radical and may no longer be as relevant as they think. My point is that our political parties are too inward looking and us voters are too selfish to bring about real change. Democracy doesn’t really work. How many of us really feel as if we had a voice. I don’t. The underlying philosophies upon which the government policies are built are not progressive enough to deal with the circumstances that exist today rather they are based on principles and precedents that were once important. The significance of history, of precedents is vastly overrated. It worked like this in 1945 so it’s bound to work like this again. I see no evidence that history has ever provided any more predictive power than a crystal ball. By concocting this illusion of having a voice, of precedents and empiricism governments provide a reassuring sense to voters of continuity and stability. But this is false. Under the water they are paddling frantically. This was exemplified by the financial crash, but also by the rise of fundamentalism, antibiotic resistant bacteria, climate change and even the this last election. Such uncertainty can only be dealt with by either a very joined up system or a very fragmented system. The current system of national governments formed around an arbitrary division of the planet into nations established in prehistory by the movement of tectonic plates that formed seas, rivers and mountains is redundant. It’s also the worst of all worlds. It creates reasons to compete rather than cooperate, reasons to resent rather than celebrate and a culture of separatism and suspicion.

So the solution is to join up and establish a global government that divides the cake fairly. The alternative is to continue to accept that some lives are worthy of more resources than others, something most of us would agree is abhorrent. As a global government can only come about with the dissolution of all current governments my anarchic stance is justified and thus I can only vote for no government at all. Thus I should spoil my ballot.

Actually I didn’t, but that’s another story.

Good timing I am summoned to be plumbed.

Later.

Gastro endoscopy was a joy. I got 9 ½ out of ten for bravery. The doctor said I needed something to work toward for next time.

Dear Fans of my Blog – do you know the number of human readers has never changed – just the loyal very few – on the other hand the number of spammers and robots has increased exponentially – just shows you that their algorithms don’t work – tee hee.

Like bad pennies two things are back – I have yet another gastro endoscopy on Saturday and as if to join the party Ratty has returned. The gastro… is routine to find out if they can go ahead with the transplant at this stage or not – I don’t care as as far as I can see there are risks all round including being eaten by the rat as I write this – my only concern is that having been positively heroic the other two times I might be a blubbering nut case this time and tarnish my immaculate reputation for raw courage – but so be it – 8:30 in the morning – strewth its like a firing squad at day break –still if they get a move on and if I don’t bother with my free cup of tea I can get to the car boot sale afterwards.

Intrepid rat or daughter or granddaughter is digging mine shafts hoping to strike larder. I really do love them, in a way, and hate having to poison them. There habit of festering deaths does put me off though so Selby District Council Pied Piper here I come.

I seriously fancy buying a phone box for the garden but they are very, very expensive (perhaps Julia could organize a bike ride on behalf of Chris’s phone fetish – only joking) and weigh ¾ of a ton. I have been interested in the idea of phone theatre for years. It emerged during my PhD but I could not develop the idea because I was pretending to be a scientist and needed to count things. The obvious thing would be to make it interactive – dial this dial that – speak to this person and that person – but interactivity bores me rigid, I prefer passive listening everytime. I am particularly fond of phones with no dials (extension phones)

but in France they have options for phone with no mouthpiece the so called ‘mother-in law earpiece’ with which you can listen only.

The differences between phone theatre in these conditions and radio theatre would be 1. Its mono and lousy quality. 2. You can hang up but can’t change channel. 3. You are overhearing a conversation between at least 2 people like a crossed line. While I find that all very fascinating I am not yet sure where it takes me but a big red box in the garden is bound to help.

As far as the voice is concerned, a hybrid machine human voice seems like a possibility, anyway much food for thought.

Thoughts on the election – none – don’t vote.

We don’t have any holder of a political philosophy available to vote for who has any regard for anything other than the vested interests of the inhabitants of this insignificant isle. While hundreds are drowning in the Mediterranean trying to escape from poverty and oppression and our political class is only concerned with our selfish little minds and bodies – sorry pockets – I cannot vote – STUFF em all – except Labour and the Greens and SNP a bit.

Love C