World Time = Greenwich Mean Time (GMT) - Current Time in every Time Zone...
Summer is over for another year :-( In just half an hour, the official end of "British Summer Time" will be with us, and good old Greenwich Mean Time returns to the fore until next March. While it will be good to wake up and find it light earlier for a while, I hardly relish the darkness which will fall as of today from around 4.30 in the afternoon. Suddenly, we're plunged into winter.
I retain some of the fascination I have always had with the clock changeover, and this site which my brother pointed me to includes some fascinating detail about it. If YOU forgot, and you are in the UK, USA or Europe, don't forget: SPRING forward, FALL (i.e Autumn) back. On the other hand, if by chance you are one of those lucky souls basking in the sun in Oz or NZ- welcome to Summer! However, whether I will bother waiting up another half hour to see what Brian Gobby says on the Accurist Timeline, or watch the Ceefax timecheck change, or hear announcers on the air get dreadfully confused, I don't know. It's time for bed!
On the other hand, at least it makes life easier for DXers and international listening enthusiasts alike. But catch me calling it UTC? Never! The current changeover dates for Summer and Winter times may be fixed by EU directives, but this is one British legacy we can be proud of. At least the World Service recognises that and has not yielded to the tendency to talk about Universal time. Dreadful, and not even true. So what is the time zone on the moon, or Jupiter, or Saturn, pray?
Which, this being Sunday, is what I shall be doing later and why I have returned to Eastbourne from the bosom of the family in Feltham after a frustrating afternoon not being able to sort the car out. It seems I may have a problem with the fuel injection system, which is what I suspected anyway when the car suddenly gave up on me on the M25 last Monday. Mercifully, I was able to get over to the hard shoulder safely and waited for the AA, but he could not really offer much help, especially when he found the sump emtpy. At least the engine seems OK, but it's another expense I could do without right now-even if some other generous benefactor pays it!
Let us pray that the winter ahead, will be a time when the message of peace in our homes and families might be more widely applied. It's probably a vain hope, but where there is no hope there is no point!
Sunday, 31 October 2004
Tuesday, 26 October 2004
On the Radio: John Peel RIP
BBC NEWS | Entertainment | TV and Radio | Legendary radio DJ John Peel dies
This was the sad news I became aware of when turning on to the late Mr Ravenscroft's second radio home this evening at 6.30 for the last episode of the current series of Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy- the product of another great radio talent who died too young. John Peel- as everyone knew him even if both the name and the accent belied his public school upbringing- was one of Radio's best, and the airwaves will be the poorer without him. I can't pretend that I was ever one of the camp followers for his Radio One shows, and even Home Truths was only an occasional listen for me. Nevertheless, there was a humour and a compassion in his personality which few in modern radio can match with their off the peg "personas". Peel brought a touch of the Python to the nuances of everyday life and I know his team - including a producer I used to work with at Radio Sussex- will be devastated by his passing.
And never mind radio, what will the voice-over industry do without perhaps the most famous Liverpudlian voice on the air after the Beatles? Peel's was the much-used narration for many a TV show- including the peculiarly appealing earlier series of A Life of Grime- as well as countless ads. He will be mourned indeed for a long time to come, and with his too early and tragic death Radio One loses a piece of its heritage. God Bless you, John and may your comforting voice now be heard in the heavenlies.
This was the sad news I became aware of when turning on to the late Mr Ravenscroft's second radio home this evening at 6.30 for the last episode of the current series of Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy- the product of another great radio talent who died too young. John Peel- as everyone knew him even if both the name and the accent belied his public school upbringing- was one of Radio's best, and the airwaves will be the poorer without him. I can't pretend that I was ever one of the camp followers for his Radio One shows, and even Home Truths was only an occasional listen for me. Nevertheless, there was a humour and a compassion in his personality which few in modern radio can match with their off the peg "personas". Peel brought a touch of the Python to the nuances of everyday life and I know his team - including a producer I used to work with at Radio Sussex- will be devastated by his passing.
And never mind radio, what will the voice-over industry do without perhaps the most famous Liverpudlian voice on the air after the Beatles? Peel's was the much-used narration for many a TV show- including the peculiarly appealing earlier series of A Life of Grime- as well as countless ads. He will be mourned indeed for a long time to come, and with his too early and tragic death Radio One loses a piece of its heritage. God Bless you, John and may your comforting voice now be heard in the heavenlies.
Monday, 25 October 2004
Forty Winks....?
Why do we talk of having FORTY winks? Why not thirty-nine, or forty-four or even,dare I suggest, forty-two? It's a question I suppose Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable or, these days, an internet equivalent should be able to answer I guess. But it remains a puzzle. If you have any ideas as to the derivation of this quaint and somehow very English phrase, answers in a comments post please.
Whatever the number of eye movements, rapid or otherwise, an afternoon snooze remains one of the great remaining pleasures of a British Sunday. I've just surfaced from my cat nap, and I will defend to the end a Briton's duty to doze on the original day of rest. I guess political correctness and respect for our multi-faith society means I ought to really say "a" day of rest, but nobody ever said you had to be a believer to enjoy a day's refrain from the concerns of the rest of the week, did they?
A sleep during one's normal waking hours can be so much more satisfying than the shut-eye undertaken in the hours of darkness. But why restrict it to Sundays? Why not take on one of the less controversial aspects of the European lifestyle, the siesta? Give us a referendum on that and I bet the result would be a unanimous "yes". Productivity would soar, crativity would flourish and everyone would be refreshed ready to count beans again after counting sheep. Yes, I'm all in favour of that. Let's get Britain snoring!
NICE CREAM
The strains of "Girls and Boys come out to play" brought this rather old boy dashing out to the ice cream van while writing this blog yesterday. It's another of those great British institutions is the ice cream van, though if the EU had had their way a few years ago it would have gone the same way as the threatened demise of the milkman some years back. Why do we have to have these pointless rules from Brussels which serve no-one's best interests? The one that really gets me is having to list all the ingredients of toiletries on the packaging- but in Latin! Now what possible use is that to anybody? Presumably the bureaucrats would say it's to help medical teams in the event of an emergency involving all these chemicals, but is it really necessary to go to these extremes? What's wrong with the local lingo so that consumers unschooled in the classics can actually understand what's in their products. If you mean water, why not say so rather than confusing the issue with Aqua!
I suppose it's another of those things we just have to live with, but my non-milk fat semi-soft aerated confection in a flour-based edible receptacle complete with granulated chocolate flavoured compacted pieces and fructose topping was very tasty indeed, and Mum agreed as she had one too. It's a 99 to you and me.
Memories too of following the ice cream vans as boys and putting our own words to their chimes. "Your Ice creams are terrible/watery" seemed to do the trick with this particular tune in getting a freebie.
Whatever the number of eye movements, rapid or otherwise, an afternoon snooze remains one of the great remaining pleasures of a British Sunday. I've just surfaced from my cat nap, and I will defend to the end a Briton's duty to doze on the original day of rest. I guess political correctness and respect for our multi-faith society means I ought to really say "a" day of rest, but nobody ever said you had to be a believer to enjoy a day's refrain from the concerns of the rest of the week, did they?
A sleep during one's normal waking hours can be so much more satisfying than the shut-eye undertaken in the hours of darkness. But why restrict it to Sundays? Why not take on one of the less controversial aspects of the European lifestyle, the siesta? Give us a referendum on that and I bet the result would be a unanimous "yes". Productivity would soar, crativity would flourish and everyone would be refreshed ready to count beans again after counting sheep. Yes, I'm all in favour of that. Let's get Britain snoring!
NICE CREAM
The strains of "Girls and Boys come out to play" brought this rather old boy dashing out to the ice cream van while writing this blog yesterday. It's another of those great British institutions is the ice cream van, though if the EU had had their way a few years ago it would have gone the same way as the threatened demise of the milkman some years back. Why do we have to have these pointless rules from Brussels which serve no-one's best interests? The one that really gets me is having to list all the ingredients of toiletries on the packaging- but in Latin! Now what possible use is that to anybody? Presumably the bureaucrats would say it's to help medical teams in the event of an emergency involving all these chemicals, but is it really necessary to go to these extremes? What's wrong with the local lingo so that consumers unschooled in the classics can actually understand what's in their products. If you mean water, why not say so rather than confusing the issue with Aqua!
I suppose it's another of those things we just have to live with, but my non-milk fat semi-soft aerated confection in a flour-based edible receptacle complete with granulated chocolate flavoured compacted pieces and fructose topping was very tasty indeed, and Mum agreed as she had one too. It's a 99 to you and me.
Memories too of following the ice cream vans as boys and putting our own words to their chimes. "Your Ice creams are terrible/watery" seemed to do the trick with this particular tune in getting a freebie.
Monday, 18 October 2004
Wars, Winds and Wordsworth
No blog posting for over a week now. Oh dear, I must rectify that! It's not of course that opportunity hasn't presented itself; goodness knows I have plenty of time on my hands right now. However, I've been spending most of my on-line sessions recently in some interesting e-mail conversations with friends so this one, started last week, never got finished. Maybe I ought to abandon my "long form" style altogether in favour of quicker, pithier paragraphs; let me know what you think.
Today's title however reminds me of that rather tacky but strangely enjoyable mini series The Winds of War of many years back. They don't make them like that anymore, and some would say thank goodness! I believe it was one of Robert Mitchum's last parts, but I can still see him and all the glamorous wartime lovelies, and hear that rather epic theme tune with its poignancy and pathos.
Film and TV will probably always rush to the calamitous and profound emotions of conflict to bring "entertainment", but the unsanitised reality of course is that war stinks. Real people die, not the triumphs of some make-up artist's brush to rise again at the "cut", but mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters and innocent young lives who have barely had time to explore this wonderful world, let alone make sense of it's awfulness.
The horror that is post-Saddam Iraq continues to dominate the headlines, but how many other conflicts go unreported or half-forgotten? This is where international broadcasting comes into it's own, so maybe I ought to be listening to short wave a bit more. Darfur and Sudan got mentions a week or two back, but now it is firmly back to Iraq. The latest controversies revolve around the US attempting to bring in the Black Watch to take over their duties, but retaining control. The US continue to bomb Faluja, supposedly justified in an effort to root out the killers of Ken Bigley and many others.
Meanwhile,close to the supposed centre of power in the interim regime in Baghdad itself, Iraqi activists struck last week. At least 7 people are reported killed, but I will wager it is actually many more. Let no one pretend that Iraq was liberated last year: the conflict rages on, and nobody is the victor but sanity is the loser.
And yet, still Tony Blair at Prime Minister's Questions last Wednesday would not concede that going to war was wrong. Oh, he will apologise for just about everything else, admit that the intelligence was wrong, but not for the lives that have been lost in the vainglorious attempt to demonstrate that might is right in league with George Bush. I guess that's politics, but it's not humility. The world needs more of that.
I'm being unusually open in my own opinions here, perhaps, about the war. I don't pretend for one moment that Saddam Hussein had any merits, but what has replaced him for the moment is no better. And yet, it gets to the point where the news becomes so repetitive and sickening you almost want to turn your ears and eyes off to it. For heaven's sake, we know Blair will not apologise for the war, so why don't we just let the past and it's mistakes rest, and get on with planning for a peaceful future. Or is that just too much to ask?
WINDY WORDS
It was a stormy week weatherwise, as local media on Wednesday reported a tornado in Horsham, where I have friends. I worried for them for a while, but fortunately an e-mail reply later in the week revealed all is OK. There was quite a trail of devastation left behind in the small hours of the morning there though. Further east here in East Sussex, we seem to have fared a little better, but it nevertheless has been a time of galoshes and gusts. With the seventeenth anniversary of the great storm just passed this weekend, a few hearts must have missed a beat or two with worry at the time. My own concern during the heavy rain was more for the people of Lewes and Uckfield, the most badly hit during the floods of October 2000.
Is global warming a reality and is this a consequence? Who knows- I don't think even the experts do quite frankly. However, as someone pointed out on the radio yesterday, there is nothing new about all this. Indeed, the very make up of our British Isles has happened as a consequence of melting ice and receeding flood, so why should we expect the future to be any different?
WORDSWORTH WEMEMBERED
Excuse the shades of Elmer Fudd- did you know you can even get Google in his language? It probably comes of singing along with "I tought I taw a Putty Tat" on Abracadbra last week on the DAB, but I can't resist some rather tacky alliteration with all the W's this morning.
Most of last week, my memories turned regularly back to a very happy holiday of exactly a year ago, when I revisited the English Lake District. I had been there only once previously, back on a Merrymaker day trip in May 1979 in the good old days of British Rail. However, I remember how awe-struck I was by the beauty of Windermere and the surrounding fells and mountains, and vowed that I would return one day. A pity that it took me nearly a quarter of a century to do so, but I very much doubt it will be another 25 years before I return to explore this wonderful consequence of climate change eons ago.
It was perhaps appropriate that my arrival in Windermere village was greeted by that nasty fine rain which always seems to penetrate through to the marrow. At least it wasn't actually cold and windy though, How very different the scene looked the next morning, a Sunday, and how appropriate was the first hymn at the lovely service I attended at Windermere Methodist Church: Hills of the North Rejoice! As those who read my Christmas newsletter last year will know, that has always been one of my favourites.
Anybody who has known me for a while will also know that I tend to have the sort of memory that can remember the most miniscule details of past happenings. Last week therefore, I was remembering what I was doing at the same time 366 days ago (don't forget this has been a leap year!). There were so many experiences precious to recall which salved this unsettling time in my present life. Wandering around Ambleside on a Sunday afternoon, for instance, after a cream tea by the lake. Marvelling at the level of detail and expression on a fresco in the parish church there, which preserves on stone a local ceremony which took place poignantly in that dark and dangerous period around the start of the Second World War. Or the sedate passage southwards down Windermere to Lakeside on Monday morning, or taking delight in the antics of the otters in the aquarium there, following my ride on the Lakeside and Haverthwaite Steam Railway. And could I ever forget probably the most heavenly train journey in Britain, along the Settle to Carlisle line on the Wednesday afternoon? If Windermere took my breath away in 1979, this holiday certainly left me gasping anew at the beauty of it all, and marvelling at the creator behind the splendour of the landscape.
However, probably the day of that holiday which most endures for me was the Tuesday, when I followed in the footsteps of probably the greatest of the romantic poets, William Wordsworth. Taking tea and a Danish (or was it coffee? See, my memory is not infallible!) sitting next to the tiny river which runs through Grasmere, before following the tourist hordes to the church Wordsworth worshipped in there was a good starter, but somehow it didn't quite capture the spirit of wandering lonely as a cloud.
Looking round Dove Cottage, the house he shared with his sister Dorothy, was getting nearer to the essence of the man; it was certainly a fascinating trip back in time. At the next door museum maintained by the Wordsworth Trust, I felt a time of high emotion and joy as somehow this great channel of the muse took on flesh and blood again in the twenty-first century, though time seems to stand still in these parts. Never was a scribe better named.His ability to encapsulate the profound beauty of his surroundings in rhyme and rhythm, syllables and syntax would stir the poet in all but the hardest heart: it certainly did in mine.
However, it was the area around Rydal Mount, Wordsworth's later home, that I found my most precious time of the day. Over a pub pint of the delicious complexity which is Coniston Bluebird Bitter (well, had to sample a local brew, didn't I!) I refreshed my thirsty body before exploring alone the wonderful, relatively simple little church built by Wordsworth's patronage at Rydal Mount. It's interior with it's rounded roof reminded me rather of a tube train, and hence figuratively of the journey that we are all making towards eternity. Yet it's not with anguish or fear this image came to mind, but with cheer. The interior of the church is bright and airy, almost like the light of a spring day which so famously inspired the Lakeland poet as he watched my favourite flower, the daffodil, dancing in the breeze.
Outside in the churchyard, I shared my joys,my hopes and my disappointments with the Lord, looking out over the timeless watery serenity of Grasmere as the poet did on many occasions. No wonder he loved this area so much. I bet he prayed here too.
As I sat there and brought my words as well as my silences to The Master, I thought back to my own hopes and promise of early boyhood. I recalled the wonderful primary school teachers who had helped to foster my own love of the language, of the high marks scored for "composition" (i.e creative writing) and of always being the one who got asked to help the other children with their spelling. Doubt I would do so well at the latter now! I thought of those holiday accounts I used to love writing and which meant so much to my grandma. And once again, I realised that I longed to write, that I felt born to write, but how and where?
Well, maybe in part you're seeing an answer to that particular prayer right now- excuse the pun. I would never have dreamt a year ago that I could be letting the world and his wife read my opinions and thoughts so easily through the web (even less that anyone should actually want to read them!). I would not have even had the time or energy, with the stressful existence which was my previous job, to get writing most of the time. I'm not intending to be conceited, but this most definitely is one of my gifts. But as we were reminded at the excellent service and AGM at church yesterday, gifts from God are meant to be used and shared. Yet still I'm asking how best can I use this gift, where should I be applying it for God's glory rather than self-satisfaction and maybe earning a crust.
I guess my full answer may only be found at the last stop, when the Victory line draws nigh to Heaven's Gate and my earthly journey is done. There are no day return tickets on this trip,except in memory, but every opportunity to enjoy the journey as much as you can: "life in all its fulness", Jesus called it. He meant us to get the most out of travelling along that permanent way to the truth and thelife. In his earthly life and teaching, I find all penalty fares are cancelled and a new ticket written by the engineer of creation. No long dark tunnel or impossible gradient is too much for him- indeed he said that faith could move mountains. In Him are words worth trusting. In the beginning was the Word...
ON THE RADIO
I just finished typing my original posting in time to catch the Daily Service on Radio4. It took me ages to realise that this is actually offered as an alternative programme on DAB, though I guess it makes sense- hence "DService" as the radiotext identifier on my Pure Evoke's display. It was an excellent service which fitted in well with some of the thoughts I've written above actually, but one thing puzzles me with the technology.
Both Radio 4's main service and the Daily Service show a sampling rate of 64kbps- quite abysmal really, but we'll have to live with it I guess. However, there is a quite noticeable difference in the audible volume levels between the Daily Service and the main service. This becomes very prominent at 10.00 when both streams of the multiplex join together again. In fact, it is so noticeable that I often have to turn the volume down again. Why is this? Is it something to do with the compression used? Any technophiles out there who can supply an answer, and has anyone noticed this with other DAB opts, such as 5 Live sports extra?
Today's title however reminds me of that rather tacky but strangely enjoyable mini series The Winds of War of many years back. They don't make them like that anymore, and some would say thank goodness! I believe it was one of Robert Mitchum's last parts, but I can still see him and all the glamorous wartime lovelies, and hear that rather epic theme tune with its poignancy and pathos.
Film and TV will probably always rush to the calamitous and profound emotions of conflict to bring "entertainment", but the unsanitised reality of course is that war stinks. Real people die, not the triumphs of some make-up artist's brush to rise again at the "cut", but mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters and innocent young lives who have barely had time to explore this wonderful world, let alone make sense of it's awfulness.
The horror that is post-Saddam Iraq continues to dominate the headlines, but how many other conflicts go unreported or half-forgotten? This is where international broadcasting comes into it's own, so maybe I ought to be listening to short wave a bit more. Darfur and Sudan got mentions a week or two back, but now it is firmly back to Iraq. The latest controversies revolve around the US attempting to bring in the Black Watch to take over their duties, but retaining control. The US continue to bomb Faluja, supposedly justified in an effort to root out the killers of Ken Bigley and many others.
Meanwhile,close to the supposed centre of power in the interim regime in Baghdad itself, Iraqi activists struck last week. At least 7 people are reported killed, but I will wager it is actually many more. Let no one pretend that Iraq was liberated last year: the conflict rages on, and nobody is the victor but sanity is the loser.
And yet, still Tony Blair at Prime Minister's Questions last Wednesday would not concede that going to war was wrong. Oh, he will apologise for just about everything else, admit that the intelligence was wrong, but not for the lives that have been lost in the vainglorious attempt to demonstrate that might is right in league with George Bush. I guess that's politics, but it's not humility. The world needs more of that.
I'm being unusually open in my own opinions here, perhaps, about the war. I don't pretend for one moment that Saddam Hussein had any merits, but what has replaced him for the moment is no better. And yet, it gets to the point where the news becomes so repetitive and sickening you almost want to turn your ears and eyes off to it. For heaven's sake, we know Blair will not apologise for the war, so why don't we just let the past and it's mistakes rest, and get on with planning for a peaceful future. Or is that just too much to ask?
WINDY WORDS
It was a stormy week weatherwise, as local media on Wednesday reported a tornado in Horsham, where I have friends. I worried for them for a while, but fortunately an e-mail reply later in the week revealed all is OK. There was quite a trail of devastation left behind in the small hours of the morning there though. Further east here in East Sussex, we seem to have fared a little better, but it nevertheless has been a time of galoshes and gusts. With the seventeenth anniversary of the great storm just passed this weekend, a few hearts must have missed a beat or two with worry at the time. My own concern during the heavy rain was more for the people of Lewes and Uckfield, the most badly hit during the floods of October 2000.
Is global warming a reality and is this a consequence? Who knows- I don't think even the experts do quite frankly. However, as someone pointed out on the radio yesterday, there is nothing new about all this. Indeed, the very make up of our British Isles has happened as a consequence of melting ice and receeding flood, so why should we expect the future to be any different?
WORDSWORTH WEMEMBERED
Excuse the shades of Elmer Fudd- did you know you can even get Google in his language? It probably comes of singing along with "I tought I taw a Putty Tat" on Abracadbra last week on the DAB, but I can't resist some rather tacky alliteration with all the W's this morning.
Most of last week, my memories turned regularly back to a very happy holiday of exactly a year ago, when I revisited the English Lake District. I had been there only once previously, back on a Merrymaker day trip in May 1979 in the good old days of British Rail. However, I remember how awe-struck I was by the beauty of Windermere and the surrounding fells and mountains, and vowed that I would return one day. A pity that it took me nearly a quarter of a century to do so, but I very much doubt it will be another 25 years before I return to explore this wonderful consequence of climate change eons ago.
It was perhaps appropriate that my arrival in Windermere village was greeted by that nasty fine rain which always seems to penetrate through to the marrow. At least it wasn't actually cold and windy though, How very different the scene looked the next morning, a Sunday, and how appropriate was the first hymn at the lovely service I attended at Windermere Methodist Church: Hills of the North Rejoice! As those who read my Christmas newsletter last year will know, that has always been one of my favourites.
Anybody who has known me for a while will also know that I tend to have the sort of memory that can remember the most miniscule details of past happenings. Last week therefore, I was remembering what I was doing at the same time 366 days ago (don't forget this has been a leap year!). There were so many experiences precious to recall which salved this unsettling time in my present life. Wandering around Ambleside on a Sunday afternoon, for instance, after a cream tea by the lake. Marvelling at the level of detail and expression on a fresco in the parish church there, which preserves on stone a local ceremony which took place poignantly in that dark and dangerous period around the start of the Second World War. Or the sedate passage southwards down Windermere to Lakeside on Monday morning, or taking delight in the antics of the otters in the aquarium there, following my ride on the Lakeside and Haverthwaite Steam Railway. And could I ever forget probably the most heavenly train journey in Britain, along the Settle to Carlisle line on the Wednesday afternoon? If Windermere took my breath away in 1979, this holiday certainly left me gasping anew at the beauty of it all, and marvelling at the creator behind the splendour of the landscape.
However, probably the day of that holiday which most endures for me was the Tuesday, when I followed in the footsteps of probably the greatest of the romantic poets, William Wordsworth. Taking tea and a Danish (or was it coffee? See, my memory is not infallible!) sitting next to the tiny river which runs through Grasmere, before following the tourist hordes to the church Wordsworth worshipped in there was a good starter, but somehow it didn't quite capture the spirit of wandering lonely as a cloud.
Looking round Dove Cottage, the house he shared with his sister Dorothy, was getting nearer to the essence of the man; it was certainly a fascinating trip back in time. At the next door museum maintained by the Wordsworth Trust, I felt a time of high emotion and joy as somehow this great channel of the muse took on flesh and blood again in the twenty-first century, though time seems to stand still in these parts. Never was a scribe better named.His ability to encapsulate the profound beauty of his surroundings in rhyme and rhythm, syllables and syntax would stir the poet in all but the hardest heart: it certainly did in mine.
However, it was the area around Rydal Mount, Wordsworth's later home, that I found my most precious time of the day. Over a pub pint of the delicious complexity which is Coniston Bluebird Bitter (well, had to sample a local brew, didn't I!) I refreshed my thirsty body before exploring alone the wonderful, relatively simple little church built by Wordsworth's patronage at Rydal Mount. It's interior with it's rounded roof reminded me rather of a tube train, and hence figuratively of the journey that we are all making towards eternity. Yet it's not with anguish or fear this image came to mind, but with cheer. The interior of the church is bright and airy, almost like the light of a spring day which so famously inspired the Lakeland poet as he watched my favourite flower, the daffodil, dancing in the breeze.
Outside in the churchyard, I shared my joys,my hopes and my disappointments with the Lord, looking out over the timeless watery serenity of Grasmere as the poet did on many occasions. No wonder he loved this area so much. I bet he prayed here too.
As I sat there and brought my words as well as my silences to The Master, I thought back to my own hopes and promise of early boyhood. I recalled the wonderful primary school teachers who had helped to foster my own love of the language, of the high marks scored for "composition" (i.e creative writing) and of always being the one who got asked to help the other children with their spelling. Doubt I would do so well at the latter now! I thought of those holiday accounts I used to love writing and which meant so much to my grandma. And once again, I realised that I longed to write, that I felt born to write, but how and where?
Well, maybe in part you're seeing an answer to that particular prayer right now- excuse the pun. I would never have dreamt a year ago that I could be letting the world and his wife read my opinions and thoughts so easily through the web (even less that anyone should actually want to read them!). I would not have even had the time or energy, with the stressful existence which was my previous job, to get writing most of the time. I'm not intending to be conceited, but this most definitely is one of my gifts. But as we were reminded at the excellent service and AGM at church yesterday, gifts from God are meant to be used and shared. Yet still I'm asking how best can I use this gift, where should I be applying it for God's glory rather than self-satisfaction and maybe earning a crust.
I guess my full answer may only be found at the last stop, when the Victory line draws nigh to Heaven's Gate and my earthly journey is done. There are no day return tickets on this trip,except in memory, but every opportunity to enjoy the journey as much as you can: "life in all its fulness", Jesus called it. He meant us to get the most out of travelling along that permanent way to the truth and thelife. In his earthly life and teaching, I find all penalty fares are cancelled and a new ticket written by the engineer of creation. No long dark tunnel or impossible gradient is too much for him- indeed he said that faith could move mountains. In Him are words worth trusting. In the beginning was the Word...
ON THE RADIO
I just finished typing my original posting in time to catch the Daily Service on Radio4. It took me ages to realise that this is actually offered as an alternative programme on DAB, though I guess it makes sense- hence "DService" as the radiotext identifier on my Pure Evoke's display. It was an excellent service which fitted in well with some of the thoughts I've written above actually, but one thing puzzles me with the technology.
Both Radio 4's main service and the Daily Service show a sampling rate of 64kbps- quite abysmal really, but we'll have to live with it I guess. However, there is a quite noticeable difference in the audible volume levels between the Daily Service and the main service. This becomes very prominent at 10.00 when both streams of the multiplex join together again. In fact, it is so noticeable that I often have to turn the volume down again. Why is this? Is it something to do with the compression used? Any technophiles out there who can supply an answer, and has anyone noticed this with other DAB opts, such as 5 Live sports extra?
Thursday, 7 October 2004
A Fish out of Weather
It was a sad day on BBC TV and Radio on Wednesday, as Michael Fish delivered his last weather forecasts for the Beeb. Actually, I'm surprised he's stayed on this long, as I am sure he turned sixty some months ago- the official retirement age for the BBC (lucky people!) and most civil servants, which is what he remained. Ah well, such are the strange ways of the Met Office, I suppose.
Naturally, it was a day of affectionate reminiscing, including of course endless re-runs of the notorious "hurricane" clip. As was his privilege on his final day, Michael put the record straight on that one- more information on the website. Just goes to show, though, how easily things get taken out of context and get misquoted.
Fish may not be everyone's favourite dish, but he certainly has personality if not always the best fashion sense in the past. Nevertheless, did BBC producers really have to mar his last day with those embarrasing seventies non-fashions (he's been in the job for thirty years!) and David Bedfordesque moustache? In later years, he was actually voted Britain's BEST dressed man, maybe when wearing one of his stylish blazers. I loved his own quip about one of these "the colour's supposed to be salmon, but I think it's gone off". Well, what more could you expect from a fish!
The BBC Weather site is a wealth of information on a Briton's favourite topic, actually. Read it in full and you could be well on your way to becoming a top flight met man yourself, I imagine. Mr Fish though was apparently one of the old style met forecasters who could tell from the signs what was coming and didn't rely on a supercomputer. Maybe he was even able to use that gift with his early girlfriends: he could look into a girl's eyes and tell weather. Mmm, the old ones may be the best, but they don't work on screen as well as they do on radio, do they?
Talking of radio, I got an e-mail from Mark Griffiths at Classic FM a wee while ago! I'd entered his late competition by identifying that beautiful piano piece Fuer Elise by Beethoven, more correctly known as Bagatelle number 25. It was written for a love of his life; I wonder if a girl I was thinking of a few minutes ago likes classical music? I was reflecting at this early hour that maybe I don't know how lucky I am in some ways to have the single life and this degree of freedom, but it doesn't make up for a cuddle up on a chilly night with your ever-loving and I'd rather be woken at this hour by the sound of joyful children's laughter than the noisy piece of equipment upstairs,possibly a fan heater, which seems to have mercifully stopped for the moment.
The radio is a great companion, though, and unlike other halfs, you need never have a cross word with it. Except, maybe, when DAB Radio 4's Daily Service disappears entirely with no rhyme or reason, or when interference or fading cuts a programme at a crucial moment. I do love the overnight show on Classic FM- so comforting and stress-relieving,at least when I AM stressed. Leaving my previous job has rid me of much of that for the moment and in some ways I shall actually regret it when I have to return to work. I recall though what a comforter the radio was when I was a wee lad and my Dad was, I thought, seriously ill-turned out he was in hospital with stress, interestingly at the age I am now.
Dad's much in my thoughts this week as we approach the anniversary of his loss five years ago on Saturday, but time is a healer so I don't need to dash to the American Forces Network (AFN) like I did back then. For years after that, whenever I heard Blue Mink's "Band of Gold" with the line "Now that you've gone", I couldn't help thinking it was about someone who had died, as I feared my Daddy had back then as a 12 year old. As you may have gathered reading these posts, I have a very over-imaginative mind at times! I often find it hard though to not think about the next loss I will have to face in the not too distant future, that of my Mum, and fear how I will handle that.
Like all of us, I want to be happy, all of the time. Life is not like that of course though, but Jesus did say that those who mourn, those who make peace, those who thirst after righteousness (i.e try to better the world for the sake of those unable to do it for themselves) are blessed, which is often translated as "happy".
Michael Fish's last day certainly gave the weather most associated with him-strong winds, but it didn't stop me feeling really quite happy yesterday as I spent time in the afternoon contemplating spiritual things as the wind made it's presence felt though mercifully with much less force than that frightening day back in 1987 when SE England took the brunt of the "Great Storm". As it punched the rooftops, I went into the marvellous Anglo-Catholic edifice which is St Saviour's Eastbourne, which was apparently designed by Street, the architect of the Royal Courts of Justice in London. This church is a wonderful building where one wants to linger, contemplating particularly the marvellous glass and ceramic mosaics telling bible stories with life-like faces showing real emotion and feeling. Iconic almost.
Afterwards, I strolled down to the seafront, for a cup of tea and a scone along with the wrinklies in the sun lounge of the Wish Tower restaurant. I shouldn't jest though, as soon enough I will join their league. It's time to Carpe Diem, as my old school motto says, gather the day at this harvest time- something else I have much had on my mind this week as the prolonged Harvest Festival period draws to a close.
But WHAT exactly is a tare? I was contemplating that great old school favourite "Come ye thankful people come" with it's line "Wheat and tares together sown". Now not being a farmer, I really don't know: perhaps I should ask Tim at church who is! I remember freight wagons on trains used to say "Tare weight" or something like that. My ever inquisitive mind wants to know; if I can't find out from the internet, I guess I never will. Or perhaps just a good old fashioned dictionary! Instead though, maybe www.factcheck.com might be able to help-apparently quoted by one of the Vice Presidential candidates in his debate yesterday. It appears however he may have shot himself in the foot: I'd better read it to find out why.
Things are starting to look up on the work front. I have had contact from no less than three agencies this week, and I registered with another (The Work Shop) yesterday. I feel I have reached the point where I am content to take something to pay the bills while my quest for that job which is "just me" goes on. Who knows, I may be pleasantly surprised. Not so sure, though, that I really want to spend out £40 a week commuting to a Brighton call centre for eight weeks, which was one offer I had on Monday. We'll see.
Well I guess it's time to get back to the DAB set in the bedroom for a bit more shut eye after catching the end of the shipping forecast (Fisher, Dogger, German Bite- Woof!) I know, it' spelt Bight, but you know what I mean. Then afterwards, another Prayer for the Day from Judy Merry who is always insightful and I like a lot. Radio is still a far from perfect medium, but will we ever reach perfection in audio visual technology, I wonder? We certainly won't reach it in our personal lives this side of glory, but that's no reason to stop trying and it is the essence of taking one more step along the road as Christians. From the old into the new, keep me travelling along with you! And help me Lord, to be in your catch of fish. Amen.
(PS: I just missed the prayer on air anyway, so time to check it out on the website before catching more Zzz's. Freedom, don't you just love it!)
Naturally, it was a day of affectionate reminiscing, including of course endless re-runs of the notorious "hurricane" clip. As was his privilege on his final day, Michael put the record straight on that one- more information on the website. Just goes to show, though, how easily things get taken out of context and get misquoted.
Fish may not be everyone's favourite dish, but he certainly has personality if not always the best fashion sense in the past. Nevertheless, did BBC producers really have to mar his last day with those embarrasing seventies non-fashions (he's been in the job for thirty years!) and David Bedfordesque moustache? In later years, he was actually voted Britain's BEST dressed man, maybe when wearing one of his stylish blazers. I loved his own quip about one of these "the colour's supposed to be salmon, but I think it's gone off". Well, what more could you expect from a fish!
The BBC Weather site is a wealth of information on a Briton's favourite topic, actually. Read it in full and you could be well on your way to becoming a top flight met man yourself, I imagine. Mr Fish though was apparently one of the old style met forecasters who could tell from the signs what was coming and didn't rely on a supercomputer. Maybe he was even able to use that gift with his early girlfriends: he could look into a girl's eyes and tell weather. Mmm, the old ones may be the best, but they don't work on screen as well as they do on radio, do they?
Talking of radio, I got an e-mail from Mark Griffiths at Classic FM a wee while ago! I'd entered his late competition by identifying that beautiful piano piece Fuer Elise by Beethoven, more correctly known as Bagatelle number 25. It was written for a love of his life; I wonder if a girl I was thinking of a few minutes ago likes classical music? I was reflecting at this early hour that maybe I don't know how lucky I am in some ways to have the single life and this degree of freedom, but it doesn't make up for a cuddle up on a chilly night with your ever-loving and I'd rather be woken at this hour by the sound of joyful children's laughter than the noisy piece of equipment upstairs,possibly a fan heater, which seems to have mercifully stopped for the moment.
The radio is a great companion, though, and unlike other halfs, you need never have a cross word with it. Except, maybe, when DAB Radio 4's Daily Service disappears entirely with no rhyme or reason, or when interference or fading cuts a programme at a crucial moment. I do love the overnight show on Classic FM- so comforting and stress-relieving,at least when I AM stressed. Leaving my previous job has rid me of much of that for the moment and in some ways I shall actually regret it when I have to return to work. I recall though what a comforter the radio was when I was a wee lad and my Dad was, I thought, seriously ill-turned out he was in hospital with stress, interestingly at the age I am now.
Dad's much in my thoughts this week as we approach the anniversary of his loss five years ago on Saturday, but time is a healer so I don't need to dash to the American Forces Network (AFN) like I did back then. For years after that, whenever I heard Blue Mink's "Band of Gold" with the line "Now that you've gone", I couldn't help thinking it was about someone who had died, as I feared my Daddy had back then as a 12 year old. As you may have gathered reading these posts, I have a very over-imaginative mind at times! I often find it hard though to not think about the next loss I will have to face in the not too distant future, that of my Mum, and fear how I will handle that.
Like all of us, I want to be happy, all of the time. Life is not like that of course though, but Jesus did say that those who mourn, those who make peace, those who thirst after righteousness (i.e try to better the world for the sake of those unable to do it for themselves) are blessed, which is often translated as "happy".
Michael Fish's last day certainly gave the weather most associated with him-strong winds, but it didn't stop me feeling really quite happy yesterday as I spent time in the afternoon contemplating spiritual things as the wind made it's presence felt though mercifully with much less force than that frightening day back in 1987 when SE England took the brunt of the "Great Storm". As it punched the rooftops, I went into the marvellous Anglo-Catholic edifice which is St Saviour's Eastbourne, which was apparently designed by Street, the architect of the Royal Courts of Justice in London. This church is a wonderful building where one wants to linger, contemplating particularly the marvellous glass and ceramic mosaics telling bible stories with life-like faces showing real emotion and feeling. Iconic almost.
Afterwards, I strolled down to the seafront, for a cup of tea and a scone along with the wrinklies in the sun lounge of the Wish Tower restaurant. I shouldn't jest though, as soon enough I will join their league. It's time to Carpe Diem, as my old school motto says, gather the day at this harvest time- something else I have much had on my mind this week as the prolonged Harvest Festival period draws to a close.
But WHAT exactly is a tare? I was contemplating that great old school favourite "Come ye thankful people come" with it's line "Wheat and tares together sown". Now not being a farmer, I really don't know: perhaps I should ask Tim at church who is! I remember freight wagons on trains used to say "Tare weight" or something like that. My ever inquisitive mind wants to know; if I can't find out from the internet, I guess I never will. Or perhaps just a good old fashioned dictionary! Instead though, maybe www.factcheck.com might be able to help-apparently quoted by one of the Vice Presidential candidates in his debate yesterday. It appears however he may have shot himself in the foot: I'd better read it to find out why.
Things are starting to look up on the work front. I have had contact from no less than three agencies this week, and I registered with another (The Work Shop) yesterday. I feel I have reached the point where I am content to take something to pay the bills while my quest for that job which is "just me" goes on. Who knows, I may be pleasantly surprised. Not so sure, though, that I really want to spend out £40 a week commuting to a Brighton call centre for eight weeks, which was one offer I had on Monday. We'll see.
Well I guess it's time to get back to the DAB set in the bedroom for a bit more shut eye after catching the end of the shipping forecast (Fisher, Dogger, German Bite- Woof!) I know, it' spelt Bight, but you know what I mean. Then afterwards, another Prayer for the Day from Judy Merry who is always insightful and I like a lot. Radio is still a far from perfect medium, but will we ever reach perfection in audio visual technology, I wonder? We certainly won't reach it in our personal lives this side of glory, but that's no reason to stop trying and it is the essence of taking one more step along the road as Christians. From the old into the new, keep me travelling along with you! And help me Lord, to be in your catch of fish. Amen.
(PS: I just missed the prayer on air anyway, so time to check it out on the website before catching more Zzz's. Freedom, don't you just love it!)
Sunday, 3 October 2004
The Three R's
New readers start here! I know I've had a flattering plug this week in Communication, the monthly journal of the British DX Club. So, if this is the first time you have happened across my blog, or made a deliberate effort to surf to it- welcome! If you're one of the regulars from the past six weeks or so since I started this wonderful activity on the other hand, well thanks for putting up with my 'stream of consciousness' writing so far
There are no "rules" as such with blogs, apart from the law and common courtesy which I do my best to observe. "Blogistan" is very much a country peopled by individual Ian's, normal Normans and eccentric Ericas, all with their own way of seeing things and saying things so as a muttering Mark I'm no different. However, obviously some postings may make more interesting reading to you than others. Just like reading any other newspaper or magazine, you're probably not going to read literally every line from end to end(including the ads!), so I won't feel offended if you pass on some of my postings! I would though rather stimulate honest opinions and exchanges of views, so don't hold back and if you have any criticisms, I want to hear them. If I willingly place myself in a public stocks, I expect to have the odd tomato or bad egg hurled at me once in a while!
Still, it's probably easier to read a piece where you have some idea where you are going, or to use the current cliche a "road map". I'm therefore going to try to put some pointers such as paragraph headings in these postings from now on, if I go off on a different road with my grasshopper mind. I was once described by my English teacher as an enigma, i.e with a great ability and potential with the language but a tendency to laziness. I think he probably had me sussed quite well actually, such that 27 years later probably not much has changed! At the same time, I take to heart encouragingly the words of another academic, in this case my lecturer at night school when I took my A Level History ten years after flunking it at the same school. He said I was a born essay writer!
Well, whether that is true is not for me to say but I do adore writing and long to do it more. Indeed, in my ideal world I'd probably be making a living from it. For the present though, I'm happy to log on and blog on, so trust you will enjoy reading my humble or perhaps self-indulgent thoughts from time to time. So, on with this first posting of the month, and back to the Three- or perhaps more- R's...
RADIO
Mr Marconi's world-changing invention has been a friend to me ever since I was a wee lad. However, as with all friends I've sometimes spent more time and played with it more often than others, simply because of the demands of daily living and other distractions, many of which if I am honest are not particularly fulfilling and add little to my knowledge of our global village and the God who I believe built it. Yesterday though (Saturday 2nd) brought I think, something of a renewal of my vows of marriage to this wonderful medium and a strengthening of metaphorical and literal friendships.
Dozed off on Friday night to the soporific sounds of thirties dance music in a language I couldn't understand, but it was absolutely wonderful and unexpected to hear. The frequency was 6165 kHz in the 49 metre band, and I discovered the next day the station was Radio Croatia . Although there was interference audible underneath, I had no problem listening, and this made an unusual change from the soothing late-night fare I normally listen to from Classic FM In fact, it reminded me what a wonderful world of listening still lies out there, despite the increasing tendency for broadcasters to abandon ship on the high frequen-cies. How much more thrilling it must have been, then, for listeners in an era before jumbo jet jaunting and satellite seeing to experience faraway places and different cultures through little more than a thin paper cone, a few bits of wire and solder or maybe a pair of heavy headphones.
The world of broadcasting is so very different today, where a flick of a switch or a a click of a mouse can bring up the latest happenings in both sound and vision anywhere from Hamburg to Harare, or Aberdeen to Auckland. Yet somehow that only heightens the appeal and the marvel, at both the new technology- the highways, if you like- which brings this entertainment and information to our fingertips, and the by-ways, the "side streets" of local stations, short term event stations and other curiosities, which still make the hobby of "DXing", or distant listening, so fascinating.
This duopoly of the old and the new was brought home with a fascinating visit on Saturday to the studios of the World Radio Network, known for short as WRN. The trip was arranged by Mike Terry, who I've mentioned before in this blog is a fellow member of the British DX Club a, one of our longest-serving in fact. Mike had been planning this trip for some time, but I have to admit I had not originally approached it with a great deal of enthusiasm of expectation. When you've worked in radio particularly, as I have, there can be something of a blase attitude of "when you've seen one radio station, you've seen them all", after a while. Nothing could be further from the truth in WRN's case, however. We had an enthralling afternoon both learning about the background to the station and their exciting plans, as well as looking round the "business end" where a large bank of flashing lights and whirring gubbins worthy of the Tardis transported in radio programming from all over the globe.
WRN is a unique organisation in that it takes in programmes from most of the world's major international broadcasters and then sends them flying out again through satellites and cables to landfall listener-side to the world's TVs, radios and PCs. It's an interesting and unique business proposition which nevertheless remains in the hands of three former BBC bods, but looks set to go from strength to strength as the means of digital delivery continue to grow and burgeon.
I've known of WRN's existence for some time, of course (they started in 1992) and for a while used to listen to them through WorldSpace, a somewhat less well-organised satellite system which started with good intentions but has rather lost the plot recently. Following my visit to WRN yesterday, however, I intend to hook the WorldSpace receiver back up to it's windowsill mini-dish, so that I can take full advantage of the excellent programming "bouquet" WRN offers. Even if I don't do that, there's always the option of catching up via the net and cordless speakers. Can you think of a more comforting way to end a dark and damp autumn night on a large island in the North Atlantic, by moving by the magic of technology to hear what's happening in the warm seas of the Pacific on a Spring day? That's how I concluded my Saturday night, falling asleep listening to Radio New Zealand in perfect quality, thanks to WRN. Excellent stuff.
Having said all that, it takes a lot to stifle the pleasure of chance discovery which a short wave radio set with an old fashioned "analogue" tuner can bring. On my late night train journey back from London, my audio boat landed me on the far off shores of the People's Republic, with the enchanting sounds of China Roots on China Radio International (find their website at www.cri.org.)
For those that would like to know more about WRN, there should be a report on this visit in the next edition of Communication. This is of course sent on subscription to members. We always welcome new participants, whatever your level of interest in broadcast radio or however long you've been listening. Check out the BDXC website for more information. Also, look out for an article on WRN written by my good buddy Chris Brand in a forthcoming edition of RADIO ACTIVE, an excellent magazine available from all good newsagents.
My other R's ?
RAIL
How great it is to see the name of Southern back on the rail map of Britain. The network now may be a shadow of its pre-Beeching heyday, but it recalls a wonderful part of Britain's rail heritage. I'll never forget the thrill my brother Matthew and I got from "driving" an electric multiple unit out of Strawberry Hill depot on the Southern- and the deafening hiss of the brakes as we let go of the "dead man's handle" remains a powerful arual memory even now.
However, I bet the old Southern had on-board loos which worked, which is more than can be said for their hi-tech modern equivalent. The new Electrostar trains have sophisticated sensors which lock the loo when the waste tank is 80 per cent full, meaning they can't be used. But what possible harm can be done by a little tinkling of uric acid on some isolated rail track in the middle of nowhere? Sometimes I think nanny state restrictions are just slightly mad!
REAL ALE
Working "facilities" are all the more needed on the homeward trip after a pint or two of a great cask ale. After the WRN visit, we made our way through a little boxes Vauxhall housing estate, to a pub which I think was called the Mawby Arms. Full of locals flitting between fillies and foulers- racing and soccer- it didn't look a promising venue for a post-visit chinwag at first. However, first impressions can be deceptive. The pub had an excellent range of three cask ales, of which my choice was the very tasty Kickoff from Robinsons of Stockport. I need to investigate this one further! The real ale lubricated some good chat for a couple of hours, before I headed back to Feltham for an evening visit- though no more beer!
Radio, Rail and Real Ale made for a fun day out yesterday and are things I take great delight in. However, if all these great enjoyments of life were taken away from me, I know I'd still have the one thing that matters most- my faith in Jesus Christ. Learning to read and write is a fundamental right, but I wonder how many modern folk know that it's only through the efforts of faithful Christians that some people are able to do so at all. Our education system has its roots in the tireless social action of folk who knew the three R's that matter most, and for me without this the rest is meaningless. Believing in the meaning of the life and death of Christ savours all my other friendships and family ties; in other words, it brings a Really Redeeming Relationship. Amen
Links: Tried to paste in some links here readers, but seem to be having some technical troubles which prevent it right now. I'm sure a little searching with Google should soon trawl up anything you might want to know about from the above though. Try pasting in:
www.bdxc.org.uk
www.classicfm.org
www.wrn.org
www.southern-railway.co.uk
There are no "rules" as such with blogs, apart from the law and common courtesy which I do my best to observe. "Blogistan" is very much a country peopled by individual Ian's, normal Normans and eccentric Ericas, all with their own way of seeing things and saying things so as a muttering Mark I'm no different. However, obviously some postings may make more interesting reading to you than others. Just like reading any other newspaper or magazine, you're probably not going to read literally every line from end to end(including the ads!), so I won't feel offended if you pass on some of my postings! I would though rather stimulate honest opinions and exchanges of views, so don't hold back and if you have any criticisms, I want to hear them. If I willingly place myself in a public stocks, I expect to have the odd tomato or bad egg hurled at me once in a while!
Still, it's probably easier to read a piece where you have some idea where you are going, or to use the current cliche a "road map". I'm therefore going to try to put some pointers such as paragraph headings in these postings from now on, if I go off on a different road with my grasshopper mind. I was once described by my English teacher as an enigma, i.e with a great ability and potential with the language but a tendency to laziness. I think he probably had me sussed quite well actually, such that 27 years later probably not much has changed! At the same time, I take to heart encouragingly the words of another academic, in this case my lecturer at night school when I took my A Level History ten years after flunking it at the same school. He said I was a born essay writer!
Well, whether that is true is not for me to say but I do adore writing and long to do it more. Indeed, in my ideal world I'd probably be making a living from it. For the present though, I'm happy to log on and blog on, so trust you will enjoy reading my humble or perhaps self-indulgent thoughts from time to time. So, on with this first posting of the month, and back to the Three- or perhaps more- R's...
RADIO
Mr Marconi's world-changing invention has been a friend to me ever since I was a wee lad. However, as with all friends I've sometimes spent more time and played with it more often than others, simply because of the demands of daily living and other distractions, many of which if I am honest are not particularly fulfilling and add little to my knowledge of our global village and the God who I believe built it. Yesterday though (Saturday 2nd) brought I think, something of a renewal of my vows of marriage to this wonderful medium and a strengthening of metaphorical and literal friendships.
Dozed off on Friday night to the soporific sounds of thirties dance music in a language I couldn't understand, but it was absolutely wonderful and unexpected to hear. The frequency was 6165 kHz in the 49 metre band, and I discovered the next day the station was Radio Croatia . Although there was interference audible underneath, I had no problem listening, and this made an unusual change from the soothing late-night fare I normally listen to from Classic FM In fact, it reminded me what a wonderful world of listening still lies out there, despite the increasing tendency for broadcasters to abandon ship on the high frequen-cies. How much more thrilling it must have been, then, for listeners in an era before jumbo jet jaunting and satellite seeing to experience faraway places and different cultures through little more than a thin paper cone, a few bits of wire and solder or maybe a pair of heavy headphones.
The world of broadcasting is so very different today, where a flick of a switch or a a click of a mouse can bring up the latest happenings in both sound and vision anywhere from Hamburg to Harare, or Aberdeen to Auckland. Yet somehow that only heightens the appeal and the marvel, at both the new technology- the highways, if you like- which brings this entertainment and information to our fingertips, and the by-ways, the "side streets" of local stations, short term event stations and other curiosities, which still make the hobby of "DXing", or distant listening, so fascinating.
This duopoly of the old and the new was brought home with a fascinating visit on Saturday to the studios of the World Radio Network, known for short as WRN. The trip was arranged by Mike Terry, who I've mentioned before in this blog is a fellow member of the British DX Club a, one of our longest-serving in fact. Mike had been planning this trip for some time, but I have to admit I had not originally approached it with a great deal of enthusiasm of expectation. When you've worked in radio particularly, as I have, there can be something of a blase attitude of "when you've seen one radio station, you've seen them all", after a while. Nothing could be further from the truth in WRN's case, however. We had an enthralling afternoon both learning about the background to the station and their exciting plans, as well as looking round the "business end" where a large bank of flashing lights and whirring gubbins worthy of the Tardis transported in radio programming from all over the globe.
WRN is a unique organisation in that it takes in programmes from most of the world's major international broadcasters and then sends them flying out again through satellites and cables to landfall listener-side to the world's TVs, radios and PCs. It's an interesting and unique business proposition which nevertheless remains in the hands of three former BBC bods, but looks set to go from strength to strength as the means of digital delivery continue to grow and burgeon.
I've known of WRN's existence for some time, of course (they started in 1992) and for a while used to listen to them through WorldSpace, a somewhat less well-organised satellite system which started with good intentions but has rather lost the plot recently. Following my visit to WRN yesterday, however, I intend to hook the WorldSpace receiver back up to it's windowsill mini-dish, so that I can take full advantage of the excellent programming "bouquet" WRN offers. Even if I don't do that, there's always the option of catching up via the net and cordless speakers. Can you think of a more comforting way to end a dark and damp autumn night on a large island in the North Atlantic, by moving by the magic of technology to hear what's happening in the warm seas of the Pacific on a Spring day? That's how I concluded my Saturday night, falling asleep listening to Radio New Zealand in perfect quality, thanks to WRN. Excellent stuff.
Having said all that, it takes a lot to stifle the pleasure of chance discovery which a short wave radio set with an old fashioned "analogue" tuner can bring. On my late night train journey back from London, my audio boat landed me on the far off shores of the People's Republic, with the enchanting sounds of China Roots on China Radio International (find their website at www.cri.org.)
For those that would like to know more about WRN, there should be a report on this visit in the next edition of Communication. This is of course sent on subscription to members. We always welcome new participants, whatever your level of interest in broadcast radio or however long you've been listening. Check out the BDXC website for more information. Also, look out for an article on WRN written by my good buddy Chris Brand in a forthcoming edition of RADIO ACTIVE, an excellent magazine available from all good newsagents.
My other R's ?
RAIL
How great it is to see the name of Southern back on the rail map of Britain. The network now may be a shadow of its pre-Beeching heyday, but it recalls a wonderful part of Britain's rail heritage. I'll never forget the thrill my brother Matthew and I got from "driving" an electric multiple unit out of Strawberry Hill depot on the Southern- and the deafening hiss of the brakes as we let go of the "dead man's handle" remains a powerful arual memory even now.
However, I bet the old Southern had on-board loos which worked, which is more than can be said for their hi-tech modern equivalent. The new Electrostar trains have sophisticated sensors which lock the loo when the waste tank is 80 per cent full, meaning they can't be used. But what possible harm can be done by a little tinkling of uric acid on some isolated rail track in the middle of nowhere? Sometimes I think nanny state restrictions are just slightly mad!
REAL ALE
Working "facilities" are all the more needed on the homeward trip after a pint or two of a great cask ale. After the WRN visit, we made our way through a little boxes Vauxhall housing estate, to a pub which I think was called the Mawby Arms. Full of locals flitting between fillies and foulers- racing and soccer- it didn't look a promising venue for a post-visit chinwag at first. However, first impressions can be deceptive. The pub had an excellent range of three cask ales, of which my choice was the very tasty Kickoff from Robinsons of Stockport. I need to investigate this one further! The real ale lubricated some good chat for a couple of hours, before I headed back to Feltham for an evening visit- though no more beer!
Radio, Rail and Real Ale made for a fun day out yesterday and are things I take great delight in. However, if all these great enjoyments of life were taken away from me, I know I'd still have the one thing that matters most- my faith in Jesus Christ. Learning to read and write is a fundamental right, but I wonder how many modern folk know that it's only through the efforts of faithful Christians that some people are able to do so at all. Our education system has its roots in the tireless social action of folk who knew the three R's that matter most, and for me without this the rest is meaningless. Believing in the meaning of the life and death of Christ savours all my other friendships and family ties; in other words, it brings a Really Redeeming Relationship. Amen
Links: Tried to paste in some links here readers, but seem to be having some technical troubles which prevent it right now. I'm sure a little searching with Google should soon trawl up anything you might want to know about from the above though. Try pasting in:
www.bdxc.org.uk
www.classicfm.org
www.wrn.org
www.southern-railway.co.uk
Friday, 1 October 2004
On the last day of September
Or maybe I'd do better calling it "I'm tired and I want to go to bed". Not that I need to be shown the way home, mind, as I'm already there!
However, couldn't resist the opportunity to post as the ninth month of the year draws to a close- it would be kind of cheating, wouldn't it, if I posted tomorrow and changed the date! The big ship may well have been sailing on the Ally, Ally O (which I gather is or was a nickname for the Manchester Ship Canal at one stage!), but no sign of any on the English English Channel today. Mind you, earlier in the week the locals of Camber Sands must have been sad to see the departure of a huge ship which had been grounded for a fortnight, making it the most celebrated hulk of metal in Sussex since the Athena B back in the seventies.
Actually, I'd kind of forgotten it was the last day of September until I ventured out for a late afternoon walk today. After some rather miserable conditions earlier in the week, it was actually very nice today. Having found my weight was back up a couple of pounds, I decided I needed a bit more of a walk than usual, so I did a full 3 miles from the Pier to Holywell and back. Had hoped to enjoy a cuppa in the Holywell Tea Chalet with a view over to Beachy Head, but just my luck they seem to be closing earlier now. The sun had dipped down behind the cliffs, so maybe 4.30 is when the urn stops boiling.
Never mind, still a good walk, and I settled for a very nice cuppa and even a scone at the Wish Tower which was still open til 6.00, though next Monday even that haven reverts to it's winter closing time of 5.00. A sure sign that Summer is over, though the sunny pause today, with the yellow fellow almost blindingly bright, I hope augurs well for the Autumn ahead. I have often known October to be a very pleasant month indeed, for weather if not for happenings always. However, no doubt many will be glad to see the back of this month though the traumas of the world continue whatever the month.
As I type, Ken Bigley is still being held hostage somewhere in Iraq (one presumes), despite numerous high profile pleas and efforts to free him. He is clearly being used as a political pawn by his captors. Meanwhile, his Mum is still in hospital. And yet there is hope; his plight has captured hearts all over the world, according to his brother, so maybe we will yet see prayer answered mercifully. Even if not, one cannot blame God for this poor man's plight, but the sins of the world.
I enjoyed my cuppa at the Wish Tower, and sat outside to enjoy it. Although I'd worked up quite a sweat with my brisk walking, it was actually decidedly chillier outside, so maybe I would have been better staying in the sun lounge again. However, being outside gave me the chance to appreciate the fish pond there, which was absolutely teaming with grey and orange coy carp (Goldfish to you and me!). One little girl came by with her parents and was reminded of Finding Nemo, until coming out the other side of the building she looked at them again and said "there's my tea!" Bless her, out of the mouths of babes, eh.
However, I was reminded rather more of Jesus' command to his disciples to put down their nets on the other side, and the great catch they got when they obeyed. It was a precious few moments where I felt spiritually still and encouraged by hearing God's voice, I believe, at a time when I am still out of work and perhaps beginning to feel a little concerned now, yet at the same time at more peace than I have been in such situations before. Maybe that's happening as I mature in faith, and particularly as I attempt to "Practice the Presence of God", which is the theme of the current part of the "Understanding Spirituality" course I'm so enjoying.
On the news front, surprising headlines tonight that Prime Minister Tony Blair is to go into hospital tomorrow for what is described as a routine and low-risk procedure to cure his heart arythmia which first started media tongues wagging about his future next year. He has now announced that though he will stand for the next election and intends to serve a full term, he will not go on beyond that. Probably very wise, if not inevitable. Certainly he's had a tough week, if not a few months. I don't for one moment support what he did on Iraq, but can't help really feeling a certain sorrow for him. But who knows what really goes on in the heart of a politician, or indeed anyone. Only God knows the heart of man, and at least Mr Blair is a Christian, as indeed is his likely successor Gordon Brown. Or should I say James Gordon Brown. Had a fascinating few minutes this evening checking out his biography, on the number 10 website among others- which is kind of appropriate seeing as Mr Brown is actually already living there.
Now, I think it really is time for bed. If you've retrieved this posting from the September archive, which is where it will disappear in a few hours time no doubt, well done! Time for some feedback though- get posting your comments here or if you know me, send an e.
However, couldn't resist the opportunity to post as the ninth month of the year draws to a close- it would be kind of cheating, wouldn't it, if I posted tomorrow and changed the date! The big ship may well have been sailing on the Ally, Ally O (which I gather is or was a nickname for the Manchester Ship Canal at one stage!), but no sign of any on the English English Channel today. Mind you, earlier in the week the locals of Camber Sands must have been sad to see the departure of a huge ship which had been grounded for a fortnight, making it the most celebrated hulk of metal in Sussex since the Athena B back in the seventies.
Actually, I'd kind of forgotten it was the last day of September until I ventured out for a late afternoon walk today. After some rather miserable conditions earlier in the week, it was actually very nice today. Having found my weight was back up a couple of pounds, I decided I needed a bit more of a walk than usual, so I did a full 3 miles from the Pier to Holywell and back. Had hoped to enjoy a cuppa in the Holywell Tea Chalet with a view over to Beachy Head, but just my luck they seem to be closing earlier now. The sun had dipped down behind the cliffs, so maybe 4.30 is when the urn stops boiling.
Never mind, still a good walk, and I settled for a very nice cuppa and even a scone at the Wish Tower which was still open til 6.00, though next Monday even that haven reverts to it's winter closing time of 5.00. A sure sign that Summer is over, though the sunny pause today, with the yellow fellow almost blindingly bright, I hope augurs well for the Autumn ahead. I have often known October to be a very pleasant month indeed, for weather if not for happenings always. However, no doubt many will be glad to see the back of this month though the traumas of the world continue whatever the month.
As I type, Ken Bigley is still being held hostage somewhere in Iraq (one presumes), despite numerous high profile pleas and efforts to free him. He is clearly being used as a political pawn by his captors. Meanwhile, his Mum is still in hospital. And yet there is hope; his plight has captured hearts all over the world, according to his brother, so maybe we will yet see prayer answered mercifully. Even if not, one cannot blame God for this poor man's plight, but the sins of the world.
I enjoyed my cuppa at the Wish Tower, and sat outside to enjoy it. Although I'd worked up quite a sweat with my brisk walking, it was actually decidedly chillier outside, so maybe I would have been better staying in the sun lounge again. However, being outside gave me the chance to appreciate the fish pond there, which was absolutely teaming with grey and orange coy carp (Goldfish to you and me!). One little girl came by with her parents and was reminded of Finding Nemo, until coming out the other side of the building she looked at them again and said "there's my tea!" Bless her, out of the mouths of babes, eh.
However, I was reminded rather more of Jesus' command to his disciples to put down their nets on the other side, and the great catch they got when they obeyed. It was a precious few moments where I felt spiritually still and encouraged by hearing God's voice, I believe, at a time when I am still out of work and perhaps beginning to feel a little concerned now, yet at the same time at more peace than I have been in such situations before. Maybe that's happening as I mature in faith, and particularly as I attempt to "Practice the Presence of God", which is the theme of the current part of the "Understanding Spirituality" course I'm so enjoying.
On the news front, surprising headlines tonight that Prime Minister Tony Blair is to go into hospital tomorrow for what is described as a routine and low-risk procedure to cure his heart arythmia which first started media tongues wagging about his future next year. He has now announced that though he will stand for the next election and intends to serve a full term, he will not go on beyond that. Probably very wise, if not inevitable. Certainly he's had a tough week, if not a few months. I don't for one moment support what he did on Iraq, but can't help really feeling a certain sorrow for him. But who knows what really goes on in the heart of a politician, or indeed anyone. Only God knows the heart of man, and at least Mr Blair is a Christian, as indeed is his likely successor Gordon Brown. Or should I say James Gordon Brown. Had a fascinating few minutes this evening checking out his biography, on the number 10 website among others- which is kind of appropriate seeing as Mr Brown is actually already living there.
Now, I think it really is time for bed. If you've retrieved this posting from the September archive, which is where it will disappear in a few hours time no doubt, well done! Time for some feedback though- get posting your comments here or if you know me, send an e.
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