I seem unable to get outside much at the moment — this is the fifth interior in a row and the 11th in the last 13 days. But I do have some work to do. For now, at least. Note: Drew is not a student midwife. The journey that mug has made in order to now reside at our place has been a saga in itself, in fact.
I am still making my fortnightly Monday visits to the John Rylands Library for my Palaeography (literally, ‘old writing’) course. With two classes after today’s to go, we have reached “Early Modern English Scripts”. I do not know whether this will ever have any impact on my life, but it’s been interesting enough. Manuscript pages should be touched as little as possible, so rather than holding them down by hand, one should use weights, two types of which are seen here. These will be the kind of thing, never seen in other contexts, that some tiny specialist company based in an old mill in Bradford-on-Avon has been manufacturing and selling for a few hundred years.
I have absolutely no idea, for certain, whether this will be my last full day on St Helena or not. I have given up speculating, for if I don’t leave tomorrow as currently scheduled, I might succumb to despair. I tried to avoid this emotion today by going on a walk up to High Knoll Fort — appearing for the third time on this visit. This view is taken from inside, looking down through the battlements to the island’s secondary school on Francis Plain. What the code means, I have absolutely no idea either. One Exits Now? That would be good.
Yes, I did first type ‘2023’ as the date in the heading. Don’t we all do that for a while? But 2024 it is, and as it starts off in a work sense, here’s my definite aspiration for the year expressed on the cover of the work diary I quite deliberately bought back in November sometime.
It looks like I may have laid these captions over the photo with some editing software but that’s not the case. Instead these were hanging above Briggate, in Leeds, because someone had clearly decided that positive-sounding, but actually meaningless, exhortations to solidarity are just what the country needs to get us through this time of incompetency.
I am in Oxford to consult an archive of material relevant to St. Helena, collected by the late Trevor Hearl, who, it appears, knew absolutely everything there was to know about the island — and as you see here, was prepared to offer his opinions to civil servants on their ‘Efficiency Reports’.
After the expanded horizons of yesterday, it was back to work today. I could have posted a pic demonstrating that I am a Pinball Wizard (all-time high score on the pub machine) but that would just have been me showing off, so let’s try to make out that I was engaged in some gainful employment. Whether the message on the pen is a metaphor or not, that’s up to you to determine.
Communicating by carving a message into a tree is known as ‘blazing’ — something I only found out immediately before posting this, thanks to the ever-fascinating Wikipedia. The most famous blazed tree is probably one in Queensland, where a message was left in 1861 for a party of explorers that was never found. I doubt this one, on the path from Hebden Bridge to Mytholmroyd, is as significant in historical terms, but obviously it meant something to someone at the time. And, thanks to this post, to me too, here and now.
From Wednesday this week I am off work for the rest of the month. But until that day is reached, I am like this pen. Just about still functioning but there’s very little left in the tank.
Dull photo, but it was a dull day as everyone waited for Storm Dennis to see whether it felt like adding to the misery. But it did not.
This blog is really just an outgrowth of the personal diary I have kept every day since the start of 1984. I raided the archive today, and here are a bunch of the thirty or so volumes of my other auto-chronicle. Is there a word for this urge to record things? Whatever the name of the condition, I have it.
Being 42 