Don’t know why I bothered with the other menu items really – I guess the entire content of this website could fall under that one heading…
…the reading and writing of books, for instance, the travel saga of my ‘Little Gems’, the ‘Unfairities’ of life, and ‘Q&A’ etc could all happily fall within this one category.
Diversions from everyday living, be it school, university, work, domestic chores or familial duties. There are any number of convenient labels that we attach to these ‘mini breaks’ / ‘escapes’ from the humdrum of our lives – holidays, hobbies, pastimes, sports and games to name but a few. The trouble is, that when we begin to examine them in more detail, we often find that we approach them in no different a way from our dominant activities – for we engage in them in a no less focussed manner than we adopt to the very activities we are seeking diversion from.
Evolution has cultivated within us an in-built desire to succeed, to improve, to go one better than our neighbour, to excel in our chosen pursuit, regardless of the associated stress that may threaten our very survival. Be honest, they sometimes seem to take on a life of their own; cease to generate the same level of relaxation and enjoyment that they once did.
Until that is the time comes when we seek some new diversion – often prompted by something one of our friends / family have taken up, and we slip into the same old, now expanded, rut. And later, after a couple of months sharing the new experience with our chums, perhaps during a chance meeting while out shopping (another so-called diversion), we might be heard to comment, “Oh, we noticed that you’ve suddenly dropped out of… Oh, you’ve taken up something new. How are you liking it?”
What they’ll never admit to you though is that they’ve ‘moved on’ because their very personal ‘diversion’ now carries the sign.
Craft
Apart from the more obvious sources of entertainment – books, films, TV etc. – my personal diversions, mainly solitary pursuits, began with model building. Moving on from Weetabix packet cut-outs (see ‘Nostalgia’) to plastic Airfix kits of aircraft and boats onto more challenging stuff like sailing boats and Keil Kraft balsa planes, I would spend hours on the assembly, the painting and the sticking-on of transfers. There’d be a brief moment of achievement before that space on the shelf was taken over by a bigger, better model; or the boat, while sailing happily across the canal was swamped by a passing barge; or the aeroplane disappeared over somebody’s wall and, short of a rebuild, was damaged beyond aesthetic repair. Earned me a few bob though, making model planes for dads in the neighbourhood who thought it would be easy to assemble them for their adorable little monster.
I have four grandsons now and all those skills (and patience) have stood me in good stead – they each have a sailing yacht and a WW2 Spitfire or Hurricane to grace their bedrooms. And two granddaughters have a two storey dolls house, complete with hand operated lift (staircases are a real bugger!), opening doors and interior lights.
A little secret: the Airfix boxes came with a condensed history of the warship whose component bits were contained within and hundreds of fathoms down is where the fragments of the life-sized vessel eventually ended up. I’ve already alluded to my passion for all things naval elsewhere in the website but haven’t so far mentioned that a lot of my naval historical information came off the back of those Airfix boxes, about the naval engagements such as Narvik and The River Plate. And it’s like a magnet: if somebody happens to mention HMS Exeter for instance in friendly conversation (like they do all the time) it’s useful to be in a position to comment (in a non contradictory manner) and show interest. Raconteurs love it when they find a knowledgeable and kindred spirit nestling among their audience.
I would never describe DIY as a diversion though. More an economic necessity really, mending those vital bits of technology on which home life depends – electrical, plumbing, car mechanics, tiling and decorating. I mention it here, though, as it became a half-way house for gathering information, learning skills and also what became my life blood later on – research (not necessarily Google).
A bit of a diversion here – more akin to the scenic route if you like.
Research
I’ve made reference to my elder brother elsewhere on the site, but two incidents stand out for me. Probably because of his background as an electronics engineer and having more money at his disposal than I, he invested heavily in manuals. Should mention first that this was pre-Google – his eldest son had just started playing with a Commodore 64 – and my brother’s heavyweight tomes included a Singer Chamois Workshop Manual and a Readers Digest DIY Manual. Me? – I had to rely on advice from a friendly neighbour, word of mouth from work colleagues or suck it and see (inherent creative genius).
Had a problem with my Hillman Imp (unable to select 2nd gear) but as it was impractical to send his manual through the post, I had to wait for him to return from Oman so I could consult over the phone. So, in the spirit of “fools rush in”, I dropped the gearbox and ‘had a go’. It turned out to be a seized linkage outside the actual gearbox and so, after putting it back together, managed to get a replacement while avoiding the use of 2nd gear. To cut along story short, I managed to emery the part down and fit it. Cost me a couple of quid.
Brother returns from the Middle East and rings me up. His son (of Commodore 64 fame) has bought a 2nd hand Hillman Imp. He tells me that, my having repaired an Imp gearbox (hardly) I now am the family authority on Hillman transmission issues. “Eh!” I respond. He goes on to tell me the entire gearbox section of his manual is highlighted as “beyond the capabilities of the DIY mechanic.” Apparently, except for fools, people trade in their old gearboxes for a factory-reconditioned unit.
Got my own back later, though. I did out our Utility Room, installed a sink, moved the toilet and re-tiled the floor. Never one for listening, my brother picked up on the tiling and posted some photocopies from his DIY Manual he’d taken at his local library, explaining to me over the ‘phone how to measure the last tile that fits against the skirting board. The fact that I’d already finished the job didn’t seem to register.
Anyway, I took a couple of photographs of the finished job and massaged the grout lines of one of them on my XP laptop so that the half tile appeared in the middle of the floor. The original photo was enclosed in a separate envelope bearing the legend “Not to be opened until you’re in the pub.” The enclosed letter and doctored ‘photo told him that the Missus was ‘very unhappy’ and suggested that he didn’t think of visiting us again for at least 10 years.”
He took it in good part, as did his drinking mates, who were not exactly unfamiliar with his ‘head in the sand’ method of communication.
“ME?” Completely different strand of DNA at work here, thank you very much – auditory impairment notwithstanding.
The key linking word is RESEARCH. I love it.
Sport
Changing the subject ( a well-known diversionary tactic) I’m not particularly big on sport to be honest. I like watching a football or cricket match for instance, but the one thing I cannot abide is edited highlights – even more than the hour and a half preamble by so-called TV pundits before any key fixture. TV commentators have already ruined football, tennis and rugby and are hard at work trying to destroy athletics. Commentary always serves the viewers best by low key observation and comment. Trying to mention this in a non-sexist way, we now are subjected to 3 females with high pitched, strident voices having a Tesco-style huddled rant into obscene looking yellow microphones. Not saying that female commentators aren’t intelligently informed about men’s football teams, but somehow or other I cannot see diversity / male emancipation ever extending to women’s hockey matches, can you? At least you could call the likes of Gary Linekar a ‘wanker’.
Used to play five-a-side with work colleagues after work; used to captain a YMCA rugby team; took part in Robin Hood half marathons in five successive years and, on and off since I was a teenager, I used to play badminton. Still do – twice a week.
Biggest sporting commitment, however, was in support of my daughters who became interested in women’s gymnastics. In support of their club, I trained and qualified as a coach and subsequently trained and qualified as a Regional Judge for the East Midlands. This involved traipsing off to Lincs, Derbyshire, Notts, Leics and Northants many a Sunday to judge any one of the four disciplines – long after my daughters had become too old to compete. Favouritism used to be a bug bear when judging floor because the scoring is very complicated and the taking of one extra step on floor or beam can result in moves being heavily downgraded. My county was Leics but found myself being asked to judge in each of the other four counties to avoid partisanship among their own county judges. Picture, if you can, as head judge having a disagreement with the judging convener who taught you everything you know where she was the only one of three other judges that overrated a particular move performed by her six gymnasts, while three other regional judges only credited the move to one of her squad.
I was told once while attending a management development course that I thrived on conflict. So no adverse reviews please.
Fun & Games
As it happened, I inherited a passion for calligraphy from my father along with a directory of fonts and any number of pens and nibs. Word had got around that I could write Old English script almost as fast as normal printing. Ended up writing all the certificates for the competitions I attended. What fun!
Calligraphy came in useful when we used to go on holiday to Cornwall, sharing a house on the coast near to Goran Haven with four other families. When we returned the following year, I came prepared with a ready-made treasure hunt that kept a dozen kids busy for two weeks – much to the delight of the parents. The map and clues were written in Old English on aged paper and contained in a small bottle that I had ground down with emery and sealed with wax. The first clue was ‘discovered’ in a sea cave exposed only at low water and a ‘sample’ of the vast treasure was eventually found in a cut-out book secreted away on a bookcase.
By popular demand, Treasure Hunt #2 continued the next year, but this time with a more modern font – circa 18th century. The treasure was never collected, however, the map identified the site on one of the Scilly Isles but sadly the map had been partially damaged by fire – and on that particular location too. Bugger!
Hinted at it already somewhere in the above is the next diversion, which kept me distracted for years. Although in possession of a degree in Metallurgy, I could see the writing on the wall and moved into IT, firstly as a programmer, later an analyst and eventually project manager. Fortran, Algol and Pascal were the languages we used at work but, alongside the Commodore 64 mentioned earlier, Clive Sinclair brought out the ZX Spectrum. That guy was an absolute genius in the way in which he mapped stuff onto the screen using what was a very small footprint.
Using the manual, I quickly became proficient in BASIC and made games for my younger daughters such as Numbers Up, Perfection and Battleships – the Spectrum using strategy based entirely on random number generation. Could give you a really good game. And then I wrote them an adventure game which is still talked about within the family – ‘Five in a Poke’. Famous Five was everything back then. As I remember it, after identifying with one of the five principal characters (even Timmy, although dialogue was somewhat limited) it began with: “You are in a railway carriage. You see… (4 answers demanded). A ticket collector enters and says, ‘Tickets Please.’ “
As with every single step through the ‘adventure’ there was only ever one valid answer – else death loomed.
Games continue to be the BIG diversion for most, I guess. I can play most card games, can hold my own at chess and draughts, but beyond the more basic 2-dimensional strategy computer games I simply cannot compete. Even Jet Set Willy was a challenge.
As an educational tool in support of one of my daughter’s ‘A’ Level Maths, I wrote a few tools in BASIC on the Spectrum with which she could evaluate possible solutions. And, borrowing a portable laptop from work, I developed a 1-2-3 spreadsheet to simulate the Porthmadog to Ffestiniog single track railway to determine the optimum passing place. No diversion was possible in the middle of Snowdonia of course!
Stuff from the Right Hemisphere
Here’s one hot off the press from the ‘Q&A’ section.
“You’ve mentioned sport James and also your absolute genius with all things IT related, but you haven’t said anything yet about writing books – or any other art forms. Do we take it then that your right brain is something of a desert landscape?”
It’s a popular misconception about left Vs right brain preponderance. There’s not much help to be found in any of my novels either – “Dark Matta” and “Grey Matter” are more focussed on the Pons and Brodman Area 6 of the brain. They are excellent novels never the less and very ably demonstrate how my two hemispheres are able to collaborate with each other to produce mind blowing (sorry about the unintentional pun) creative plots alongside sound scientific and logical foundations.
So yes, one of my diversions outside school came about during my first year at University. Because I was taken on as a student apprentice, my university place was only confirmed late on in the UCCA process. Consequently I ended up in a bedsit in SE24, lodged with a Salvation Army family. Apart from transport, it worked out well for me – yet another diversion from other undergraduates on the same degree course – and I joined the eldest lad and some of his mates that took up pottery on Saturday mornings down in Camberwell.
It’s a skill you never lose and I have resurrected it on at least two occasions in later life.
Scenic Route
Digressing for a moment, I was in London throughout the college year, in Wolverhampton during the long vac (my employer) and back home in Liverpool for Christmas & Easter. I soon found out that most of the other course members were local to London and all buggered off home at the weekends. As a result, I ended up sharing a flat in SE24 with a Mech Eng student and, along with others also taking Mech Eng, I was able to mix and match. Three of us ended sharing a house in Wandsworth for the 2nd year and during the week I spent most of my time with them in and around the city – or Brands Hatch.
On a couple of occasions I got an invite to their respective houses in Fareham and Luton. Great diversions – Portsmouth more so than Dunstable.
And, as luck would have it, at a Chelsea College dance I bumped into someone that was in the same 6th Form class as me from back home. Permanently based in London, he and his two house mates (one Scottish and one Welsh) provided a very different diversion at the weekends. Nothing arty mind you, just booze and seeking talent at various dances.
Lived really well at the house in Wandsworth. The other permanent lodger was engaged and it was his fiancée that couldn’t get over the transformation of my lifestyle between weekdays and weekends. As students we lived on spagbol, Vesta meals, fish & chips and streaky bacon – 1 shilling a pound from the butcher. ( 5 new pence for 455g ) Even by standards then, that was ridiculously cheap; as was the amount of meat lurking between the layers of fat.
On Saturday, however, I bought in a large fillet of haddock (2 days’ worth) or something that the butcher needed to sell off before closing time. This was usually really good stuff that the good people of Wandsworth had never aspired to eg fillet steak. Could usually buy something for half a crown – sorry, 25 new pence – for two main meals. The housemate’s fiancée was glad to get the chance to learn how to skin fish and what marbling was when buying steak. Her own little diversion, maybe.
A little aside here for anyone out there that give credibility to the guff portrayed in official statistics. The output is only as good as the input and the way that questions are put. I cite an example from my time spent in London. I was really lucky enough to get fingered by a mini census (I’ve no idea what the plural form of ‘census’ is). My place of work was in Wolverhampton, I was living in Herne Hill, SE24 and I journeyed to work every day on the bus!
More from the Right Hemisphere
After meeting up with my wife, who was into art (as in painting ) in a big way, I took on oil painting for a while. Then later, after kids, we both joined an art class. Oils were not allowed, so the wife opted for pastels and watercolours while I dabbled with acrylics. Very proud of some of the stuff I knocked up – a few hanging on the walls of various family members. After relocating to Glos, we joined another group – more creative and varied stuff this time. I still go to an art session twice each month and am still using acrylics. I seem to do OK with animal and human subjects and I’m currently working on a night scene. A no-pressure diversion that I still enjoy.
I mentioned the YMCA earlier in the context of sport. Ironic really, as I have already declared somewhere that I entered secondary school at the age of 10. Some of the ‘boys’ in my year, 11, 12 & 13+ entrants, were just a tad bigger than me. With the other weeds, I used to play line-tig around the 25 yard line while the ‘heavyweights’ slugged it out around the middle of the pitch. Notwithstanding this, in front of the whole school, I did once score a try. Not sure who was the most scared – me or the other line-tig drop outs at the other end of the pitch! So to find myself as captain of the YMCA team did seem a bit weird. But that’s not what this little paragraph alludes to; the aforementioned YMCA decided to put out a monthly magazine – democratically entitled ‘MARC’ – Members and Residents Comments.
As the owner of a portable typewriter it fell on me to provide a lot of the ‘comment’ -hammered out on Gestetner masters. Hardly a diversion I can promise you, but looking back I have to recognise that this may have been the seed that germinated in later life into a budding passion for creative writing.
Well, there’s already a whole chunk of this website dedicated to books, so I don’t intend to dwell on them too much here, except to say that I’ve recently published a new book, ‘Roundel’ – a WW2 novel set in Norfolk: espionage and romance. Available on Kindle.
The Battle Trips
Speaking of wars, something that I never imagined would distract me from the otherwise straight and narrow was a period when, with a group of friends, I became hooked on military history. I’ve already made reference in the books section about Winston Churchill’s account of the Second World War and Johnathan Sumption’s series on The Hundred Years War, but this diversion entailed getting up off my bum (hate the use of that American term ‘butt’) and visiting various sites on mainland Europe.
I won’t attempt to describe the dynamics of the group that I joined, how it was that I became involved. Within a group of about ten or so blokes, there were only a handful that were passionate about all things military and through one of their family connections was a Major in the army who was developing a thesis on the use of communications in the First World War. He was our guide and for the first few years he organised trips to Verdun, Mons, Flanders and the Somme. I was one who originally just went along for the ride but, after the Major dropped out, I became interested in the background story to these conflicts and hooked onto that magic thing ‘research’.
My first trip was to Verdun – we hired a self-drive mini bus for the long drive down there. We stayed in cheap hotels, bought out the makings of lunch each day and ate & drank well in the evenings. On the last day, while the rest were raiding a supermarché in Verdun for booze, I took the opportunity to view the Rodin sculpture ‘The Call to Arms’, prominent on the town promenade.
(I always thought it was called ‘Victory’ – looks like the Angel of Death with dying soldiers at her feet.) Go on, Google it – it’s a masterpiece. There’s also a replica on display in the Rodin museum in Paris if Verdun is too far to go.
After the Major dropped out, a friend within the group who used to have a bookshelf crammed full of military books (until he remarried, that is), proposed that the trips continued each year thereafter. His younger brother is one of the death ‘n glory crowd and the next year we ‘did’ Waterloo. The year after that it was the fall of France but this time with a difference – we each took on a particular topic to cover and present to the rest of the group. I chose to cover the evacuation from Dunkirk, keen to highlight the brilliance of Vice Admiral Bertram Ramsay, who, with the aid of a stroke of luck arising from the ongoing availability of South Mole, exceeded his remit 10 times over by the successful evacuation by sea of 338,000 Allied troops. (It was 20 times quicker to evacuate troops from off the mole than off the beaches.) Not often recognised as part of Operation Dynamo was the contribution made by Southern Railways who laid on 327 special trains to clear 180,000 troops from Dover and somehow cleared the accumulated 12 foot high piles of ash and clinker from 300+ steam locomotives. I combined my Dunkirk talk with ‘Shipping News’ – 21 pages covering the last 16 days of May 1940 that recounted what the Royal Navy were busy doing alongside the Dunkirk action, lifting evacuees from Denmark down to Southern France (including members of a couple European Royal Families).
Another year we covered the story of “A Bridge Too Far” – an audacious plan mainly scuppered by bad weather because a key group of airborne troops (Polish) were unable to take off from Britain; and there was zero air cover during the final leg of the advance to Arnham.
Our last ‘battle trip’ was D Day – my topic being Omaha Beach. Once again Bertram Ramsay was in command of Operation Neptune, now a full Admiral. I managed to collect a very mixed bag of research – stuff that never made it to the newsreels, including a voice recording of a US 1st Army veteran who spent 8 hours in a landing craft that made repeated attempts to reach the beach while under constant heavy shell fire. While the Canadians and the Brits took advantage of specially adapted tanks to break through the beach defences, the US declined the opportunity in favour of US Army & Navy Seals! Something for which Private Ryan’s comrades are eternally grateful.
Also took the opportunity to visit the Bayeux Tapestry before making our way back to Blighty – that was the year of the Iceland volcanic eruption. Overnight, our return ferry tickets had become priceless.
In summary; each one of our ‘battle trips’ was a perfect bloke’s weekend away.
Trouble Brewing
One of my more enjoyable ‘diversions’ is the brewing of alcohol. My mother was an avid foraging wine maker but I’ve only taken an interest in this lately – there are only so many gooseberry crumbles a person can eat during the very short fruiting season. Gooseberry wine, however, my version labelled “Gander Bay” is very drinkable and very potent and, more importantly, doesn’t go off – well it hasn’t had chance to yet! But it was my mother’s beer bottles that I inherited. When Davenport’s “Beer at Home” went under, I acquired a pile of beer crates from what used to be one of their local depots. Started out with kits in a tin but soon migrated onto grain, hops and malt extracts. Still use kits for lager and cider but sourcing the stuff is now via internet instead of the local brew shop. Not that I consume all that much, just the odd pint in the garden during the summer months. Best diversion ever… except for watching those little bubbles working their way up through the fermentation lock.
Oh sugar! That reminds me…