The Simple Joys Of A Spreadsheet

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I’ve just spent the last two hours making a spreadsheet of pizzas we’re selling. Not the most exciting two hours of my life but there was certainly something satisfying about it. In truth I’m not entirely sure what was satisfying about it but I feel satisfied so it must be something. Perhaps it was the sense of accomplishment at completing a task, thats usually what gives me that feeling. It is is hard to deny though, and perhaps even harder to admit, that there was something pleasurable about looking at all those numbers on the page in order and lined up. The organised spreadsheet took on some kind of mystique before my eyes. The days of searching of creativity and havoc are seemingly behind me as I revel in the joys of ordered filing systems. What kind of monster have I become.

My Dads an accountant. I’m not, and I have no intention of ever being so. This isn’t the beginning of a heartwarming story which ends with him adding ‘& Son’ to the business. I have a GCSE in maths, just, and while I can count and do my times tables most other things seem to be beyond me. I was trying to learn computer coding recently and I realised with horror that I might need some basic maths skills. That certainly put a dent in my aspirations. I even found myself looking online for some maths courses I could do but lets be honest I’ve probably done enough courses in my life, it might just be time for a good book, a pad and a pen. The old fashioned way.

This daily writing thing can be a challenge sometimes. I wanted to share my pleasure in a spreadsheet victory but clearly it’s not worth four hundred plus words. Beyond dissecting the whole process, which I seem to be doing on writing this piece, there doesn’t seem to be a great deal more to talk about on it. Perhaps this is some kind of writing lesson; either learn how to stretch a piece out like I have done with every university essay I’ve ever written, become a better writer and therefore easily write some funny piece taking the piss out of myself and spreadsheets or just don’t choose to write about bloody spreadsheets in the first place. There is something to be said for the last two. Well it’s all part of the learning experience after all. I’m currently living beside the sea so maybe tomorrow I can write a detailed piece on how to dry sand. That’s probably on par. And that’s now over four hundred words. My essay writing skills coming to the fore once more.

A Real Roasting

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What is life without a little experimenting along the way. I have spent the last couple of months drinking freshly ground coffee beans, and while I was content at that level of coffee depth events have forced my hand. Coffee is one of those consumables which we really should have the organic version of. It absorbs a large quantity of the chemicals sprayed on it which then enter us through consumption, more so than many other foods. While searching online for big bags of organic coffee beans then, I discovered that the green unroasted version was ten pound cheaper, a little spark was born.

The internet is the font of all knowledge and I love it for it and with only twenty minutes devoted to this I discovered it is seemingly quite easy to roast your own beans. It isn’t necessarily easy to roast them well or with accuracy, but to do a rough job and get started is pretty straightforward. And this is what I’ve done.

I was pretty calculated about it too which is not my usual haphazard wing it style. I timed the first crack, which is when they are starting to dry and nearly at the first level of ready. Taste dependent of course. I timed when I shook them about in the pan so they mixed and roasted evenly. In the end I actually roasted them longer than most online articles suggested. There were some saying five to ten minutes and some ten to fifteen minutes but considering nothing had happened by five minutes and I didn’t even get my first crack until twelve minutes, the twenty two minutes I gave them felt right in the moment. Felt right in a moment of inexperience however is not always the most reliable of barometers but well I had to wing it at some point.

I say all that with the confidence and bravado of someone who has successfully roasted and brewed his first coffee but the truth is they’re still cooling off in the freezer and I have no idea how successful I have been. Apparently I should still leave it over night before brewing so it can continue to de-gas but for the sake of this piece I’m just going to brew myself a coffee and report the outcome before publishing. What is life without risk.

The anticipation….

Like a good whisky I have added a touch of water to stretch the flavour.

My first cup of home roasted and ground coffee

It smells like coffee. And it tastes like coffee, if somewhat a little bitter. Definitely going to be adding some milk. It’s a start, not as bad as it could have been but certainly could be better. Good fun this coffee roasting.

The final product

A Confused Narrative

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This morning one of those confusing moments that don’t fit comfortably in narratives happened. I read an article on Dominic Cummings interfering with the Scientific Advisory Group for Emergencies which is supposed to be an independent group that advises government on scientific matters. They are self-described as apolitical and therefore will advise without government policy in mind, simply focusing on the purity of their advice. This is contentious because throughout this whole Covid-19 pandemic in the UK politicians have always stressed they are simply following the latest scientific advice. This scientific advice then can not be independent and uncorrupted if the Prime Ministers Chief Advisor and the man actually suspected of being in charge has also been sitting in on and interfering with these meetings. This would imply that the independent advice these politicians are following is in fact their own advice just repackaged in a lab coat. The article goes on to criticise Cummings for interfering and while government says it is normal for advisors to observe, it is actually anything but and Cummings was doing anything but observe.

Now then where is this issue with narrative and why the cold sweat as I realised I didn’t know which box to fit this all in. The government has been accused repeatedly of dithering and being too slow in shutting down major events and the country on the whole. This is not an inaccurate statement to make. As would be the one that they prioritised the economy over peoples lives. Cummings is criticised for accusations that he believed attempting to create some kind of herd immunity would be the best plan even if it meant some people would die. The article also suggests that he was pushing the scientists to recommend the country go into lockdown. He is criticised in the piece for doing this and accused of interfering and manipulating the situation. Ultimately it appears to be a critical piece on him and Bloomberg Press is a centrist organisation so any political leanings are not immediately obvious.

Which leads to my confusion. He has been criticised for interfering. The government have been criticised for being too slow. His interfering was to push for the country to go into lockdown. The Government though never appeared overly keen on shutting everything down. If he wanted the country shut down it doesn’t tally with his desire for herd immunity. The piece could therefore be an attempt to portray him as the man responsible for saving the day and implementing lockdown but it criticises him throughout. Critical for herd immunity and for interfering to achieve lockdown seems in my eyes to be contradictory. Narratives have been blown wide open and I have no idea what is going on. I’m having to think independently of pre-conceived ideas and it hurts. Lazy journalism? Confusing reality? Narratives accidentally being crossed? Me lost? At least one of those is true. Potentially all of them. Probably all of them.

Being Intolerant To Intolerances

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I was hoping to think of something deep, intellectual, philosophical and meaningful to write about but I ate a pizza tonight and my stomach hurts. I can’t stop farting. It’s insane. Thankfully I enjoy and am a fan of a good fart so there is at least this pleasure to go with the pain in my stomach. The same thing happened last weekend after I had been eating pizza for a couple of day so I can only imagine it is the pizza. Saying that I had no problem the previous two weekends when I ate pizza the whole time. Maybe it has built up. It could be the onions and I will try one without them and without the sauce. If not I may have to face up to the horror that would be some kind of intolerance to the base. That would be an absolute nightmare. To make pizzas and not be able to eat them. It would nearly be as bad as having to tell people I’m gluten intolerant and watch as their faces change to disdain. A total nightmare all round.

I’m reading a book at the moment on the gut. I read this bit a few days ago and may have forgotten details but an intolerance is where the body can’t break down something in the food, it reaches the lymph glands or something like that and the body goes into overdrive trying to expel it because it thinks it is being attacked. Basically this is my body fighting back because it can’t deal with something I’ve ingested. It’s like when you get a fever this is the body increasing in temperature so as to kill any bacteria or virus within in, making itself inhospitable to survive in. Of course this feels rather unpleasant to us but it is worth remembering that this is actually a good sign. My body has decided to make itself inhospitable to something then. Fuck. I love food and I can’t think of anything worse than not being able to eat anything and everything I want. Maybe that’s the problem. A life without edible pleasures, a life less lived.

I don’t think it would be great to take what I said as fact in the last paragraph because I may have got it slightly confused with lactose intolerance which is about being unable to breakdown the lactose in dairy but the purge and inhospitable bodies isn’t far wrong. I’ve just drunk a cup of warm boiled water which seems to have helped somewhat. If in doubt just drink boiled water. I’m quite thirsty too and I’ve puffed up ever so slightly, not much but I’m a little pink. And just like that my dreams of a pizza empire have fallen flat. Could be for the best though because three days of eating pizzas each weekend is hardly going to do me any favours in the belly stakes, or heart either. Did you know when the body absorbs fats and oil they don’t go through the liver and kidneys like everything else to be filtered but instead bypass everything and go straight to the heart. That is a little worrying. Thirty four years old now. Already lost one friend my age to a heart attack. These things are serious. Maybe it’s time for the wholegrain pizza instead.

BR#4 – The Brass Butterfly

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I should start calling these ‘Play Reviews’ and not Book Reviews’ as this is my second one for a play and considering the total is now four, that’s a good half and half. Today then it’s The Brass Butterfly by William Golding. I have previous with William Golding as I recently attempted to read his third novel Pincher Martin; about a sole survivor of a torpedoed naval vessel. He washes ashore on an island and seemingly expresses every thought ever made; which may have been a wonderful recounting of a mans mind in an extreme and desperate moment of survival but seemed far too descriptive and hard to follow that I gave up on chapter three unsure of what was going on. He did though win the Nobel Prize for literature so it could be more about my ability to read than his ability to write. Having written Lord Of The Flies, which is easily his most famous and successful novel and far more accessible than Pincher Martin, an inability to grasp his third novel may be my loss over his.

The Brass Butterfly though is the only play of his I have read and I enjoyed it. It’s a comedy, and it’s quite an easy simple one at that. Set in the Third Century AD the story follows an Emperor, his grandson, his General and heir apparent, an inventor and the inventors sister. It follows a common theme of idiots with power and an inventor trying to achieve things despite them. While he comes up with pressure from steam, and therefore a ship faster than any other, as well as a pressure bomb that can be thrown from a catapult like a grenade, the Emperor is only interested in the possibilities of experiencing a pressure cooker and the food it can produce. Eventually the sister saves the day and at the end it turns out the old Emperor is far wiser than appears throughout the story. There were times I thought of Astrix, but that is probably only because the General is called Postumus. And times the story reminded me of a Tom Sharpe novel but without the sex and nudity. It was written in 1958 and there was something of that time in the humour, hence the Tom Sharpe connection in my mind. I can imagine my father enjoying the story.

Ultimately a simply and easy play. They don’t all have to be intense and painful to experience. I shall leave you though with a quote from the Emperor which had little to do with the storyline but is worth repeating;

“You work among perfect elements, and therefore politically you are an idealist. There will always be slaves, though the name may change. What is slavery but the domination of the weak by the strong? How can you make them equal? Or are you fool enough to believe we are born equal?”

A Ramble On Death

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I was watching a video this morning on Facebook, on what I can’t remember; a telling indictment of the zombie social media turns us into. I do remember at one point some footage came on of men in the First World War. It was coloured footage which I always find really fascinating because it makes old film real and relatable in a way black and white can’t be. The Great War was from a time past and those involved have all died now. I haven’t checked it but I seriously doubt there is anyone left. You know you’re looking at dead people, they’re younger than I am now, but there time has been and now they’re dead.

I’m not obsessed with death, it doesn’t fascinate me in some morbid way and I once used to dismiss it in that way people do when they’re young and like to pretend they don’t give a shit about anything. That doesn’t mean either that I’m about to tell you all I’m scared of death but I am trying to understand it. I am trying to understand it because it plays a huge part in our behaviours as a species. We’re aware consciously of our own existence and as a result our own deaths too. Are we alone in this awareness? One day all this is just not going to be there.

This idea of nothingness is hard to comprehend. Imagine you go to sleep and that feeling of deep sleep is what you will be experiencing for eternity, except you don’t experience deep sleep consciously, arguably we don’t even exist in those moments. How then can we imagine not existing. We try to imagine something we have little empirical understanding of and it’s impossible. This is almost scarier than death itself, which kind of isn’t scary at all.

These soldiers were living in their time. This is the thought that inspired me to start this ramble on death. Why do we fear getting old and dying. These people, that was there time and they lived it, they got old and were replaced by other people living their experience of time. This is my time now and I need to live it because one day I will have to let it go and I want to do it with a smile on my face, content. Not content that I lived life to the max or whatever slogan you can come up with, but just content in the knowledge that now my time is up and it’s time for others to take over. There are plenty out there who are like that and plenty who can’t let go. It’s fear ultimately. Fear of stepping into an unknown time in life, closer to the ultimate unknown. I’m just curious, if I’m lucky to live that long of course. And also, in a way, if we’re to understand death do we first need to understand life? Certainly there’s an order to these thing and maybe with some kind of understanding comes a form of acceptance. It’s especially interesting because, in a way, there are no answers and what’s more powerful than that.

So Very Thirsty These Days

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I think I’m evolving into one of those people who drinks a little every evening after work. Socially acceptable middle class alcoholism or something like that. When I get in from making pizzas I really enjoy a couple of beers. I takes the edge off lets say. Thankfully I only make pizzas three days a week but I’m aware of that craving for a drink and how much of a habit it becomes to feel it and then satiate it. Saying that in the grand scheme of things I’m probably drinking less over all than if I went to the pub and had a drinking session. Admittedly these don’t really seem to happen a great deal anymore but still the point remains.

Why do I feel like it’s something I shouldn’t be doing then. Is drinking two or three beers on my own when I get in somehow socially unacceptable now. Should I be ashamed of doing this. Why do I feel I need to be sneaky about it, although I’m obviously not, there’s certainly something that makes me want to keep it hidden. Have societies pressures finally got to me. If I had a girlfriend or flat mate it would be acceptable to come back and have a couple of drinks, so being a solitary drinker of two drinks is the issue. I genuinely don’t know what makes me feel like this is something I shouldn’t be doing. I used to be wild – says every thirty-four year old ever – and now I’m experiencing these thoughts and emotions about something so normal. Strange times.

But it would be wrong to mention this desire for a drink without raising awareness of addiction. In this case sugar addiction. I’m not saying alcoholism isn’t a very real thing but having observed that feeling of desire and necessity I have noticed that sometimes I crave alcohol in times when I’m also craving something sweet. If I give up the sugar for a week lets say, I very quickly lose interest in having a drink and it is undeniable the two are related. Anyone who has ever said “Oh I really needed that” after taking that first large gulp of their pint is feeding some addiction somewhere and it would be foolish to deny the existence of sugar in beer. People know and acknowledge the issue with sugar in alcoholic drinks but rarely do they seem to relate the connection between sugar addiction and alcohol consumption. Let’s see how this evolves in these changing times.

When Will Saturday Come

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It’s Saturday. Thought I would stumble out of bed a little hung over, not too much, just a enough to create edge. Have my breakfast which is more relaxed than the mid week one but fundamentally the same, I leave the dirty sexy breakfast for a Sunday. While eating plan all the semi-productive things I would like to accomplish for the day before leaving for the supermarket, ticking that off the list but being exhausted enough upon return that the list get scrumpled up and thrown in the fire which I made to sit in front of feeling like a wild man as the football results come in. Secretly I’ve quite enjoyed this lockdown, mainly because I’ve not really been locked down I imagine, but there are certain old habits and routines I miss. I enjoyed those semi-busy Saturdays. I long for the return of the football. And I’m currently not in the same house as the fireplace unfortunately. If that all sounds hard then don’t even get me started on the pleasures of a Sunday morning drinking coffee and reading the newspapers as my dog sits beside me and I’m surrounded by countryside. It’s pointless longing for things we cannot have but it’s good to be able to see the things we really value when they’re not there. I quite fancy a pint as well. Don’t give a shit about much us though. Although a holiday would be nice.

I miss my dog. She lives with may parents these days which is good for her because they live in the countryside and it forces them to go on walks everyday. People don’t appreciate the value of pets I don’t think. I can’t see her at the moment though because while I deliver food to my parents, I don’t let her see me because I won’t be staying and she won’t understand why I’m leaving so quickly after coming back. Poor girl. Poor me too. There are going to be some parties when this is all done. It’ll be a while until the pubs are open I reckon and people will be warned off getting together too much too soon but lets be honest, folk are going to go wild. We’re like school children at the best of times let alone when we’ve been stuck inside, away from everyone, sober and being healthy for what must feel like an eternity. I can’t wait for the outcry from the media, front pages of people having fun. Probably the same papers which will be a week earlier pushing for the end of restrictions. Theres nothing like a short memory.

I’m tired today. I was woken up early and now I need to go to work. I’m attempting to write this early now instead of tonight when I get in. It’s strange, sometimes late at night I get my best ideas. Maybe I should give up on being a morning person and accept life as a night owl. They usually seem happy. A little white and sickly maybe, but happy enough. But not tonight, this is certainly not going to be an old Saturday night. When I’m tucked up in my bed before midnight I guarantee there’ll be no nostalgia from me. I love you all. I’ll see you tomorrow. Fresh, awake, invigorated, just like an awful morning person should be.

A Disciplined Ramble

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Life is funny. Life is full of surprises. We think we have it all worked out and then something comes along to remind us we have no idea. We have no control. I have been criticised in the past for just going with what comes in front of me and forgetting everything else and in some ways there is validity in that. Living in the moment is great, being present is real but so are things that you can’t see. But then there is also a lot to be said about going with whatever twists and turns life’s rollercoaster throws at you. Part of that is embracing the good things that come up but with that we must also embrace the struggles. It may feel like what you are faced with, whatever daunting prospect you see blocking your way, is inhibiting you and preventing you from finding happiness but we never know what series of events will unfold because of it. Maybe, just maybe, something will come into our life that brings some happiness but that thing wouldn’t have had those more negative events first not come. It is important to remember this when we feel everything is lost. I could relate this to the virus, but I could very easily relate it to something else, or anything in fact. It’s just nice to discover something positive from events which haven’t turned out as we originally thought they might.

I haven’t re-read that but what a ramble I imagine it was. It’s been a long day and i’m already into the next. The early hours of the morning. This isn’t going to be a vintage piece and it’s another day of learning more about discipline. It’s genuinely interesting, for me at least, to see how natural and easy it is to write each day now. I’m so tired, it’s 2am and I really want to sleep but I’m here writing this. It can’t be that far off six months I’ve written every day. Every bloody day despite what has been going on around me. It might not always be exciting for you but fuck, it’s amazing what not wanting to have a public fail will force a person to do. What is interesting though is that I have seen changes in my daily approach to things. While I still have idle moments if I need to focus my energy on something undoubtedly I am far more capable of it that in the past. I genuinely think I have learnt and become a more disciplined man in my everyday life from this. From forcing myself to write no matter what. Habits are everything. Just imagine what kind of an enlightened being I’ll be in another six months. Look out world.

A Heroes Welcome

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As I drove through the small village near my home at about five minutes past eight this evening I noticed people had lined the street and started clapping as I approached. It’s good to have my existence celebrated finally. The strange thing is that having stopped their 8pm clap for carers session, some actually clapped in my direction as I drove by. I was in a delivery van so I wonder if they saw me as some kind of hero putting my life on the line to deliver them their bread. Still, I just drove on. I did contemplate hooting the horn as I drove through but I didn’t want to play along with whatever it is they’re doing. To be completely honest, I think the whole things a charade and it’s stupid. Don’t get me wrong I’m sure there are some exhausted and not to mention ill nurses out there and I appreciate and respect them for doing what their doing, there’s just something empty about this whole clapping show. Each Thursday at 8pm people line the streets, clap and bang pots. It’s a lovely gesture but I suspect for many it’s hollow.

It’s worth pointing out that were I live in both Northumberland and the Scottish Borders, Tory MPs were voted in to power recently. Perhaps these people banging pots could instead just not vote for them next time. Who gives a shit about what you think if you clap your hands and then vote for the very people who actively weaken those you’re clapping for. The mind numbing hypocrisy just seems lost and maybe that’s the worst part. I want to hang a banner from my window highlighting this but I’m concerned the attention it might draw to the bakery below me may not be ideal. I just want to slap everyone and point out that they’re idiots. There’s too many idiots.

People talk about ten years of Tory government and their ideological attacks on the NHS as being the reason for it’s current struggles but that’s not accurate. Either people have short memories or they’re just playing party politics. While I would trust Jeremy Corbyn with the NHS, I would be curious to know people’s opinions on Tony Blair’s version of a Labour Government. But really we can go back as far as Thatcher and the first real inroads of a neoliberal movement to destroy something that has helped so many. In truth actually we could go all the way back to Nye Bevan and the Tory government he had to fight against to establish the NHS we all love and cherish now. You see, it’s not just ten years of Tory austerity. Or forty years of neoliberalism. These bastards have had it in for free health care since the very beginning. Don’t believe their lies. And if you vote for them, save your breath, and save your effort each Thursday night. If you truly cared for the carers you wouldn’t be voting for that self-serving mob. It’s not bloody hard to understand.