johnwvincent

Wolseley 2

British cars moved on. Pun intended. The clumpy shapes of the 1960s were replaced by more racy lines in the 1970s. The demand for higher performance became part an aspirational fashion. In this century our ecofriendly instincts have taken over. Back in the mid-70s, being green was not mainstream. Fuel consumption was noted but lost in the numbers. Now, it would be untenable but then lead in petrol was normal[1].

I don’t know what came over my dad. We migrated from loyalty to the Wolseley name to something completely different. I guess the experience of the wallowing monstrosity of the Wolseley 18/85[2][3] was too much. Yes, we had one. I see that petrolheads nickname that car type the “land crab” and that’s a good summary of how it behaved. That generation of BMC cars had an innovative suspension system responsible for oceans of car sickness.

As we got to the late 1970s, something must have snapped. It could have been that the farming year had been a good one. What came next was a sporty saloon that wasn’t just a family transport.

A bright white Triumph Dolomite Sprint[4], much like the ones the police used to chase speeding motorists then became our pride and joy. It’s remarkable to think that I took my first driving test in that car. My theory is that’s why I failed my first test on the quiet streets of Yeovil. It wasn’t my driving ability as much as the reaction of my instructor. He was sane man. I imagine him thinking, no way am I going to pass this cocky 17-year-old lad in this flashy Dolomite Sprint.

Here was a car with kerb appeal. There were few at a time when British Leyland was failing badly. Britain’s car industry was sliding into oblivion. Standing out, the Dolomite Sprint was a British high-performance saloon car capable of matching its foreign rivals. Much as I liked that sporty road car it’s the story of the Wolseley 16/60 that I have in mind.

The joy of living on a farm was the open space. Green fields surrounded us. At the times of the year when the mud wasn’t knee deep that meant a readymade racetrack. Long before I took to the public roads officially, my friends and I drove a series of bangers to destruction. No such thing as health and safety. Only the occasional disapproving look.

One of our best bangers was an Austin A35 van that a couple of friends bought from a local schoolteacher. It had been used as a chicken shed but the engine was sound. Before that motor came along, we had a maroon Wolseley 16/60. Rust was the big enemy of cars in the 70s. So, picking up an MOT failure for five quid was easy enough to do. The fields were somewhere to keep it.

If I recall, correctly the Wolseley had a 3-speed gearbox with a steering column change. Not only was the car peppered with rust holes, but the gear change rods never connected properly. It could be driven in first and reverse or second and third gear but never the two together. The poor car died as a friend drove it to hell in first gear. A robust slogger the BMC “B” series engine was no racer.

Thus, two Wolseley 16/60s were part of my past. One as a child passenger and the other as a part in a Mad Max movie made in Somerset. Shall I tell you about the Wolseley 15/50? Maybe not.

[1] https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/business-40593353

[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/BMC_ADO17

[3] https://www.wolseleyregister.co.uk/wolseley-history/blmc/1885-six/

[4] https://www.classiccarsforsale.co.uk/reviews/classic-triumph-reviews-dolomite-sprint

Wolseley

In the early 1960s, there was a wonderful appreciation of Italian design. Car manufacturers looked for stylish Latin lines to package their popular models. The public were up for this, and some models became iconic. The BMC[1] Mini is often thought of as Italian in design even though it’s not.

In amongst the popular cars of the 1960s, were some that faded into the background and, although cherished at the time, now don’t star much in classic car magazines or shows. My childhood memories are pepper dashed with images of a standard family saloon. In fact, a luxury version of a car that was a workhorse of the BMC line.

It looked like two cardboard boxes lumped one on top of the other. The “style” was added by understated fins at the rear and a chrome grill that looked like a big carp mouth. Contrary to so much Italian design, aerodynamics was not a consideration. The classic four in-line 1600cc engine had the job of pushing this brick through the air.

For my family the advantage, in the pre-seatbelt era, was wide seats capable of taking parents and four boys without difficulty. Tones of junk could be carried in the boot. The “luxury” came from these seats being robust leather. Sweaty in the summer and cold in the winter. The walnut venerer dashboard and Smiths instruments tried to distinguish the model.

I’m recalling this shiny black Wolseley 16/60[2], because it was so much part of our families’ excursions around Somerset, Dorset, and Wiltshire that it really was part of the family. Sundays were reserved for visiting the uncles, aunties, and cousins. Trips to the Weymouth beach or the pantomime in Bournemouth were great motoring adventures. Studland bay was our best day out. Slowly weaving up and down rolling hills. Peerling out of the windows as the countryside drifted by.

In the early days there was the need to get back to milk the cows or set-off after the work was done. This made the day busier than most. Pre-packing the car for every eventuality we set-off with anticipation and excitement. Although there was less traffic on our country roads in the 60s, there was enough to create jams on hot sunny summer days. My mum and dad must have had fun keeping an eye on squabbling boys, bored with playing I-Spy. Return journeys were easier as we all snoozed.

I can close my eyes and clearly see a couple of those return journeys late at night. After all the excitement of shouting our hearts out: “look behind you” a dozen times my brothers slept until we got close to home. It must have been so tiring motoring through the wind and driving rain to be confronted by a flood about a mile from the farm. River waters spilled over the road. Easily a couple of feet deep.

That’s how it was late in a winter evening. I can distinctly remember my dad, in his best clothes pushing the lumbering Wolseley through a flood with us sitting high and dry. Headlight beams shining on the turbulent water. I never heard a bad word coming from him but I’m sure if I was faced with that situation the air would have turned blue.

The family’s Wolseley 16/60 was a gateway to other worlds. The marque has long since gone. Nevertheless, my memories of that car are etched into every corner of my childhood.

[1] British Motor Corporation (BMC)

[2] https://www.wolseleyownersclub.com/wolseley-cars/farina-design/wolseley-16-60/

Swing

The results are in. They are exceptional in the true sense of the word. The Labour Party pushed aside two large Conservative Party majorities[1]. The momentum for change is gathering pace. It’s not slowing. Those motivated to go out and vote on Thursday sent a strong message.

The Labour Party candidate was victorious in Mid Bedfordshire despite all three major British political parties putting up a fight. Only a tiny minority are going to miss the former Conservative MP Nadine Dorries. At least for the next year, or so the constituents of Mid Bedfordshire will have some form of representation in Parliament.

Overturning massive electoral majorities doesn’t happen every day. The Conservatives were sitting on a majority of more than 24,000 and now it’s all gone. It’s true that the voter turnout in a byelection doesn’t match that of a UK General Election but in the face of such a massive swing this is immaterial. Even making the case that defending parties are often on the back foot doesn’t make much difference.

Having been on the doorstep in Mid Bedfordshire my impression is that the mood was for change. Immediate change. The electorate is smart when it comes to making choices. In this case they have chosen those they perceive as most likely to deliver what they want.

Commentators have described this as a “political earthquake” for the Conservatives. The references to May 1997 are flooding out of media outlets. How can they not? Similar percussors were evident in the years leading up to Tony Blair’s victory over the then Conservative Prime Minister John Major.

Are we heading for a UK General Election in 2024 that mimics the results of May 1997? A simple reading of public opinion does point in that direction, at the moment.

With a year to go, and all that may bring, it would be hubris to assume that a General Election result can be predicted. In 1964, Labour politician Harold Wilson famously said: a week is a long time in politics. That’s as true now as it ever was. In fact, volatility is a mark of our age.

Despite the wisdom of caution, with the legacy that the Conservatives have accumulated, it would be remarkable in the absolute extreme if they did engineer a sustained recovery in the next year.

It’s an American saying, and with some argument over its attribution – politicians, like diapers, should be changed regularly. The meaning is clear. There are times when change is the imperative. The exact nature of the change is not as important as the fact that change takes place.

That’s where we are. There’s a hunger to put the dreadful political mess of the last decade behind us. To aim for higher goals. To look ahead with ambition and optimism.

[1] https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/live/uk-politics-67126173

Voting

We could call them Thursday boxes. In the UK byelections take place on a Thursday. Ballot boxes and polling stations are open for the full day. This Thursday there are two important parliamentary byelections taking place in England. Both seats have been occupied by Conservative politicians and by the end of the day that may no longer be the case.

Named after the Norse god of Thunder, Thor, our Thursday is a good day to make changes. There’s the next working day to absorb the implications of any change. Then there’s the coming Monday to make a new start. The UK has stuck with Thursday as election day, with few exceptions.

One theory is that Thursday was often a market day in the towns of England. Thus, people would be gathered in town squares where polling stations could be located. This gave election candidates an opportunity to meet and treat the electorate on their way to cast their votes. Remember the voting franchise was for land and property owners over much of British history.

Fridays have been paydays. So, the voter may have been more absorbed in shopping, socialising and winding-up the working week than listening to campaigning politicians. Making a Friday visit to a polling booth a low priority. This is more the case after the passing of the Great Reform Act[1].

Now, it may be advantageous to move voting day to weekends to maximise the number of people who would be free to vote in-person. However, you could say that we have a 24-hour society and postal voting is popular, so the day of the week is no longer a big deal. It maybe the case that on-line voting will eventually take the place of the traditional in-person marking a cross on a paper ballot. That would open-up the opportunity to have a similar scheme to postal voting and open-up the ballot to more than one day.

Going back to the past, Sundays would have been reserved for religious services. That’s more political than one might first imagine. The Church of England vicar imploring parishioners to be good might also look down at the landed gentry in the front row and recommends voting in a particular way. Naturally, in a Methodist chapel, or other non-conformist chapel, down the road another congregation might be given different heavenly advice.

Has Thursday been adopted to minimise the influence of the Church or the public house? The reason for the choice of Thursday has been lost in the mists of time. That doesn’t matter so much given that there’s still some good reasons to continue the tradition.

Personally, I hope that in-person voting at a polling station will always be part of the British electoral system. However much the world around us is being digitised so that we interface with colourful Apps and websites there’s nothing quite like putting a cross in a box with a pencil.

The trail of evidence it provides and the pure satisfaction of the physical act of marking a paper must be preserved. It a ritual that emphasises the importance of voting. Even for those who choose to deface their voting papers this is an important democratic process.

[1] https://www.parliament.uk/about/living-heritage/evolutionofparliament/houseofcommons/reformacts/overview/reformact1832/

Tip

You may think it was a bit of a joke. Certainly, some of the holiday makers around me thought the cabin crew were joking. I was at the back of the aeroplane and so one of the last passengers off.

We arrived at London Gatwick’s North Terminal at about 9:30 pm on a Sunday. Passengers were keen to get off and get home. That said, the amount of sizable luggage in the aircraft cabin overhead bins and maybe the sleepiness of one or two people meant the long line down the aisle was moving slowly and intermittently. The process was civilised but at a snail’s pace as it seemed from the back.

When you hear a request to hurry-up otherwise the plane will tip up it does instil some urgency. That and one or two questions. It also made me think; could that really happen in this situation? I was standing next to the cabin crew at the back, and I can attest to their concern being real. Being at the terminal gate there was only the front door open to exist the aircraft. When we got on-board the aircraft both the front and rear doors were available.

The Boeing 737 MAX-8 is a not an overly long aircraft. That said, under certain unfavourable conditions it can tip. In fact, there are longer versions of both the Boeing and Airbus single aisle aircraft that pose more of a challenge in this respect. There is much stretching of popular aircraft types to increase passenger capacity.

At the same time as we were deplaning[1] (ghastly word), the ground crew were unloading our luggage. As a result of all this movement of passengers and luggage it is possible to have too much weight at the back of the aircraft. Yes, you could blame it on masses of carry-on bags obstructing the aisle on a full aircraft, but it also takes the front passengers to have got off quickly. There are more passenger seats behind the aircraft wings than there are in front. On a cool Sunday evening when the airport’s public transport options are limited there’s an incentive to rush-off from the front. As the deplaning continued there was a sense that something was happening underfoot.

Does it happen? Do aircraft tip up? Yes, they do[2]. It’s not an attractive sight. I have no idea what the procedures are if it does happen. It certainly would be a shock for those on-board. Anyone in the vicinity of the aircraft would have to watch out too. In these unplanned events, there is a hazard to ground crew that can result in injury.

This sort of event happens more often in the air cargo world[3]. While these events maybe comical to witness, they are no joke for airlines. The possibility of damage and the disruption to aircraft operations can be significant. Nose wheels coming off the ground don’t always result in an aircraft tip, but this is not somewhere any crew responsible would want to go.

Weight and balance issues are real. Each aircraft will have weight and centre of gravity limits established at the time of aircraft certification. Aircraft operators will have procedures[4] that fully consider loading and unloading. That said, as we can see, miscalculations do get made.

[1] https://grammarist.com/spelling/deplane-or-disembark/

[2] https://youtu.be/JTDSS8unwQM

[3] https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/middle-east/747-plane-tips-backward-airport-cargo-doha-qatar-fars-air-qeshm-a8829896.html

[4] https://www.faa.gov/documentLibrary/media/Advisory_Circular/AC_120-27F.pdf

Bad Seat

There’re bus trips, I can recount where people were packed in like sardines in hot sweaty environments. Never a pleasant situation but, in such circumstances, a way of getting from A to B. Maybe the only way of taking an essential journey. Life’s necessities.

I could rattle off the mantra “any safe flight is a good flight” and that remains true. It’s top of our normal priorities. Getting from A to B in one piece. No harm done. It’s the homing pigeon in all of us. I’ll put up with this unpleasantness because it gets me home.

Last night, I had that experience. It was my first flight on a Boeing 737 MAX. I’m not going to recount the saga of that aircraft type over the last couple of years. Much as to say, I reassured a nervous flyer with me that she was quite safe and nothing bad would happen. That is bar a small amount of turbulence in our three and a half hours in-flight.

I was returning from Preveza-Lefkas [PVK] to London Gatwick [LGW] on a TUi package flight. We got into Gatwick at about 9:30 pm with a full aircraft. The temperature change of having gone from a day of sunshine and about 28 degrees C in Greece to 6 degrees C and darkness on the ground at Gatwick was quite a shock. I must admit I was prepared with three layers to keep me warm.

What I want to recount is the gross unpleasantness of seat 32D. Row 32 is the last row of passenger seats in the aircraft cabin, with two toilets behind. By the way seat 32E is just as bad.

The aircraft was chock full of holiday makers returning home. Bags full and overhead bins stuffed. This shiny new Boeing 737 was fuller than anticipated. Left on the tarmac was an EasyJet aircraft that had been expected to depart earlier in the day. It had “gone technical” – as they say. So, to get home, many passengers had transferred to the later TUi flight ensuing that every aircraft seat was full.

Now, given that I’d checked-in for my return home flight in good time and I have no idea why TUi decided to punish me. I should have spotted that 32D meant the last row of seats. But you know how it is, it was enough to get that bit of administration behind me and carry on enjoying the day.

My intention was to do what I do well, at least in the past and that’s to get some sleep on an uneventful evening flight. I was ready to sit back and wander off to dreamland hoping to wake as the aircraft wheels hit the ground back at Gatwick airport. Unfortunately, I wasn’t to be given that opportunity last night.

Toilet flush motors are not silent. With a full aircraft, and three and a half hours the toilet traffic was almost continuous. The sequence of noises had a horrible rhythm. Door open. Clack of the door latch or fumbling around as a passenger worked out how to close the toilet door. Maybe even a few words with another passenger who block the aisle. Then the clank of the toilet seat. Maybe the walls get bumped as awkward manoeuvrings took place. There was no stop to this soundscape of lavatorial processes, ablutions, and choreographies.

It’s so British to que. When the trollies were not being pushed up and down the aisle, the aisle filled up with passengers waiting for the loos. Then those returning to their seats had to squeeze past the assembled que. Naturally, the 32^nd row aisle seats got to see every kind of human shape and form. Trying to ignore a rear end sliding past your face gets tedious when it happens a lot.

That’s not all. When the toilet doors swing wide open, they bump against the back of seats 32D or 32E. What a mad design or stupid afterthought.

Then there’s the issue of well used aircraft toilet facilities, even on a new aircraft. They may start off as sweat smelling as the air freshener applied. After a few hours of constant use, they are nothing like sweat smelling.

My overall message is – when flying on a Boeing 737 MAX, do not accept passenger seats 32D or 32E unless you have been a very bad person and deserve punishment. Ideally, a good airline would remove these two seats altogether but to make such a suggestion is to p*** in the wind.

Climate

It’s an odd day that I write in agreement with The Pope in Rome. He says: “People are not responding at the level of urgency that is needed” on global climate change. The Pope has a go at a commonly held blind faith in transformative ways out of our troubles by technical innovation alone. He seems to say that we ignore reality in the hope of technological magical thinking popping-up just-in-time. His references are to the need for lifestyle changes rather than carrying on regardless.

Now, quite a number on the right of political debate will see this as a lefty intervention. Anytime religious people step over the boundaries from the ethereal into everyday life the standard conservative response is to shout – get back to the pulpit. The same response, but more polite, occurs when English bishops speak up in the UK House of Lords. I’m no advocate of them being an intrinsic part of our national political systems but they do, at least, speak from an ethical grounding[1]. If we are to talk of political long-term thinking this is very much it. There’s nothing more that prompts short-term thinking than a looming election.

Combating climate change and pushing for environmental justice are not fringe activities. It requires dialogue across the main political parties. Saddly, we are going through a phase of squandering opportunities to change.

I agree that taking a puritan line and making “hairshirt” rules will not deliver the results that are needed. Most often such a sturdy approach just fuels luddite opposition and media outcry. Continuous graduated change and a robust commitment are needed. Unfortunately, these two are an anathema to the populist newspaper headline seekers.

Economic interests are often quoted as a reason to shelve changes. Yet, everyone knows that the costs ahead of us will be far bigger if change is not driven consistently – now. Resilient long-term policy isn’t a lefty luxury. Or liberal daydreaming. Or unafordable. It’s vital.

What’s interesting about active in-action is that there can be no such thing. Climate change will bite back. Action will have to be taken under presure. In civil aviation, for example the climate has an impact on aircraft operations. So, not only does aviation impact the environment but increasingly hazardous weather impacts aviation, with severe results in some cases. Turbulence experienced in-flight is increasing as the world is warming[2].

Approaching risks there are, at least, 3 positive actions to be taken. Eliminate it, reduce it, or mitigate it. With the climate emergency we’d better be committed to the first two because by the time we get to mitigation there’s likely to be few more unpalatable opportunities left.

[1] https://www.churchofengland.org/news-and-media/news-and-statements/bishops-warn-environmental-racism

[2] https://www.reading.ac.uk/news/2023/Research-News/Aviation-turbulence-strengthened-as-the-world-warmed

HS1 and a bit

John F. Kennedy made speeches that have become legendary. My favourite is: “Ask Not What Your Country Can Do For You.[1]” In it he stepped up to meet the challenges of the times with clear purpose. There was no dither or wishy-washy ambiguity. The speech was a signal to the world saying: this is where we stand.

This morning, this is not the speech that I’m thinking of. I mention it because without Kennedy setting the scene in his Inaugural Address of January 1961, then his next steps would have been more difficult. There are epoch changing words. There are few modern words that match these: “We choose to go to the Moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard.[2]“

In the context of the decision on the future of the HS2 railway project the words “but because they are hard” rings in my ears. In the whole saga of this national railway project did anyone say it would be easy. No one said it would be inexpensive. It was always going to be hard from the start.

If Kennedy had announced just to have a look at the Moon and return. No need to land. And he said that after a strong commitment to land on the Moon had been made, the achievement would not have changed the world. It would have been a footnote in 20^th century history because others would have made the first steps on our satellite.

In a country that gave birth to the railways you would imagine that ambition in that field of endeavour would be high. Britain had energy. Britain had innovative engineers. Britain had a technological lead. The early days of the railways fuelled the industrial revolution.

Today, we need a bold and ambitious infrastructure plan in the UK. Living off the legacy of Victorian construction has lasted longer than is wise. Tracks that were set down almost two centuries ago are still the arteries that transport people and goods throughout Britain. Where is the Isambard Kingdom Brunel[3] of the 21st century?

Now, Conservative politicians are attempting to con the country – yet again. The idiotic line that – people don’t travel by train anymore – is insulting and wrong. The thin line that we can do more with our inherited Victorian infrastructure is pitiful. The Prime Minister’s hotch-potch of projects, with no timescales given, are no alternative.

Commitments can be hard to keep. Politicians that make “firm” promises and then back track in the days before a General Election are will-o’-the-wisps. Then to claim that they are working for the long-term is newspeak. Not to be trusted. Infinity forgettable.

POST 1: Promises to upgrade main roads, that had been already anounced but delayed is not adding transport projects at all.

POST 2: HS2 explained: What is the route now, what are the costs and why is the Manchester leg being axed? | Business News | Sky News

[1] https://www.jfklibrary.org/learn/about-jfk/historic-speeches/inaugural-address

[2] https://www.jfklibrary.org/learn/about-jfk/historic-speeches/address-at-rice-university-on-the-nations-space-effort

[3] GWR was designed and built by Isambard Kingdom Brunel between 1835 and 1841 and is regarded as the most complete early railway in the world.

Button down

More as a matter of amusement than anything else, I’ll write about something that I’m entirely unqualified to raise. It’s the sartorial styles of the Conservatives as they huddle in Manchester this week. Pictures of prominent people or would be prominent people are scattered around the media and it’s impossible not to have a response. My main point of reference is the standard press shots of the MPs who have planned to stand up to speak. Standing up in public is not something to be done in one’s underwear.

Business casual hasn’t got to the Conservative Party Conference. Even business casual is now a bit of a blast from the past[1]. More suited to an industrial estate office complex in Slough than the real world. Wearing clothes that are more “modern and casual” has by-passed Manchester’s gathering of politicians. Shirts are all buttoned down.

The Conservative men’s recipe remains a strict and traditional. Even Moss Bross[2] have stepped into the 2020s. The Conservative have not. They are buttoned up and best seen against a grey background. Male politicians assembled in Manchester exhibit a dress code that is country club or what was once known as, when we had them in Britain, bank manager like. A regiment of blue ties are tightened to the neckline. Stiff collars look like they came straight out of the packet.

So much of what we see is the typecasted stereotype. No wonder a great mass of people are put off ever standing for election. It’s a good question to ask? Should British politicians look like standard politicians, and long lines of past politicians?

It’s true appearance can shape attitudes. However, my thought on the subject is that politicians shouldn’t look that much different from the population they serve. Afterall, if I turn up on your doorstep as if I was dressed to go to a funeral you might only give me the directions to the local cemetery. Strict and traditional apparel doesn’t help break down barriers. Nothing signals remoteness better than expensive dress shoes and a sharp button-down shirt.

So many years ago, it seems like another century, it was in-fact, I did do the Colour Me Beautiful training[3] at a party conference. I only have favourable memories of that brief experience. It was fun. Somewhere in a draw, I still have the colour patch that was given away as part of the course. The message is that confidence can flow from dressing in tune with who you are.

It does matter what politicians look like. I know that sounds superficial. Like it or not, what we see, as first impressions can make a huge impact on subsequent reactions. This is not a fixed phenomenon. Gradually, understated casual appearances have become the new code. Smart attire can be put together to form an individual style. More politicians should do just that.

[1] https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b00jd68z

[2] https://www.moss.co.uk/

[3] https://www.colourmebeautiful.co.uk/training-academy

Trees 2

The story of a Sycamore has captured the imagination of a wide range of people this week.

To be frank, I’m much more a fan of the venerable Oak tree than the humble Sycamore. It’s the quintessential English tree. The Oak is the most Shakespearean of trees[1]. Even my pathetic education in English literature means I know the role played by Birnam Wood.

Again, maybe it’s my childhood. Certainly, Somerset’s farmland is peppered with old Oaks. Not as many as in the 1960s and 70s but they are still the most longstanding living organisms in the open western countryside. As far as I’m aware. Happy to be corrected on that one.

Yesterday, I wandered around under the canopy of the trees in our local park. The park has a random selection of tree species. It may have been planted with a logic. No logic is evident when wandering around. Most prolific are the Beech and Birch trees that tower, straining to reach the sunlight.

Yesterday was the last day of September. The woodland canopy’s colour is slowly changing. Leaf fall is testing the air. A few rustles underfoot and one or two falling Chestnut leaves bounce off me. Colours are mellowing. The intense green of springtime has long since faded.

I’m no wild man of the woods. To me they are more places of contemplation. It’s a contrasting atmosphere we have in our local park. I can be totally alone, except with a nod to an occasional dog walker, but only a couple hundred feet away all the noise of Saturday morning football pitches fills the air. It’s the peacefulness of a woodland cathedral with the business of life just outside its walls.

Time runs differently in woods. The rhythm of the seasons is underscored by a longer timescale. Tens of years, if not hundreds, tick away oblivious to human concerns. If left alone, a wood would make its own story of struggle, tree on tree, as the younger ones fight with their mature colleagues for space.

I did find a healthy Sycamore sapling. I felt compelled to apologies for the goings on of the week’s news. That sounds a little crazy. For a tree in the sandy soil of Surrey the fate of a distant cousin up North isn’t going to mean a lot. The point is that it made me feel better. It’s the cycle of life.

A mystical element occupies a wood[2]. There’s never a moment when our eyes and ears, sensitive to movement, are not alerted to a disturbance. However small. In our park it’s likely a squirrel. That’s no threat at all. But because our senses, however acute, can’t penetrate the depths of a wood there’s always a sense of mystery as to what’s ahead or behind.

[1] https://www.cam.ac.uk/research/features/into-the-woods-with-shakespeare

[2] https://www.thedavidhockneyfoundation.org/chronology/2008