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Daily writing prompt

You have three magic genie wishes, what are you asking for?

A million more wishes and a million more to correct the mistakes made with the first million. And finally the abolition of all genies wherever they may be.

That’s what happens when you ask an open question without conditions attached. I accept, my request might be difficult to handle. The 4th wish would have to be – please give me the mental capacity to manage all these wishes. The 5th wish would be – please don’t let me do anything irrecoverably stupid.

I am presuming that the magic genie in question has limitations. So, requests like – please make me a time machine will be processed according to the physics that rules such things. A super potent genie could easily get themselves, and me in huge trouble if a simple error eliminates existence.

Art and Emotion

Daily writing prompt

Who are your favorite artists?

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Nice question. I can’t put one artist above all others. It’s a ridiculous question to ask. Not only that but as the days go by my likes and dislikes shift like sand on a beach. It’s not as if I am wholly inconsistent. It’s that moods and emotions move. Intangible criteria are not fixed in time and space. Top that with constantly learning about works that are either new or previously mysteries to me. The questions are never ending.

For a start, my thoughts instantly go to the visual arts. What image has had such an impact on me that I want to keep going back to it? In going down that road I’ve not considered dance, music or literature. Is one medium more important than all the rest? Of course not.

Although, I cannot forget seeing German artist Katharina Fritsch big blue chicken (cock) in London, it’s her Mouse and Man[1] in Dusseldorf that sticks in my mind. Now that’s potent.

I think David Hockney[2] is oversold but I wish I could paint like him. His brush dances. Forget his portrayal of people it’s the forest, the trees, the country lanes that hit me the most.

Edward Hopper[3] is a master of scenes placing people in situation that are mundane but are far from dull. Transforming the ordinary into the exceptional.

I’d be mad if I didn’t mention Vincent van Gogh[4]. So many great images to choose from. In this case I’ll go to his Irises. I do enough gardening to spend time looking at flowers. Capturing the vibrance of nature so that the life force of the flower cascades off the painting, now that’s magic.

Caspar David Friedrich is on my list. I saw “Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog” on display at Hamburg’s Kunsthalle. It’s an often-used image. Put aside the corruptions, the original has a message that says to me – there’s always something beyond what you can see.

And that’s just a 10 minute list.

[1] https://www.iainmasterton.com/image/I00006p4TTPTNQtE

[2] https://www.hockney.com/index.php/works/digital/arrival-of-spring-woldgate

[3] https://www.gettyimages.fr/photos/edward-hopper-paintings

[4] https://www.vangoghgallery.com/painting/irisesindex.html

Reinventing Breakfast

Public service broadcasting is fine with me. It ought to be funded. We are all better for it being funded. In the UK, the BBC does a tremendous number of good works in a wide spectrum of spaces. I’m a supporter of public funded TV but now and then it drops the ball.

Switching the TV on in the morning is not something I do at home. There’s something bedsit kitchenette about having a TV blazing while the toaster is popping up. It’s what’s better placed in a gritty drama of the mid-1970’s. Gawdy wallpaper and service hatches.

I get to view breakfast morning TV when I’m in a hotel room. It’s so much easier to switch on a wall mounted TV than mess with an iPad App or flick around the long list of channels trying to find a radio station. Press the button number 1 on the remote and up comes BBC1.

So, what’s with the morning News? Is it a magazine show with snippets of life outside the studio or is it hard hitting political journalism? To me, it’s a mishmash that’s trying to be everything to everyone. A male presenter who looks half asleep and would be totally lost without an autocue. A female presenter who’s doom laden petulant style reminds me of Chicken Licken[1].

An artificial backdrop, that has become commonplace on such shows, doesn’t help. Look the morning sun is shining. One look outside the window and it’s not. I’d been tempted to suggest going back to a few of those shelving units that once adorned the set of Blue Peter.

The BBC props department must have ordered a job lot of curvy sofas about ten years ago. They turn-up on the BBC’s One Show too. Now that evening programme is a mystery to me. Although, that said, it isn’t trying to be anything other than a magazine.

Thank the heavens that I don’t have to watch breakfast TV every day. I would be ready for the men in white coats if I did. Banality mixed with artificial seriousness would do my brain in. Surely, there’s a format that can be engaging and inform in a way that wasn’t so mighty odd.

If the BBC needs a transition to something new. A format that works for the second decade in the 21^st C, then I suggest they bring back a certain popular rat. Roland[2] was a professional. Now, I’m sure he could both talk about endangered water voles or interview tricky politicians with great style and panache.

[1] https://usborne.com/media/usborne/files/quicklinks-library/englishlearnerseditions/chicken-licken-teachers-notes.pdf

[2] https://fb.watch/uHOGZqLQ_J/

Magic Mornings

Daily writing prompt

What’s your favorite time of day?

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Meat Loaf sang: “And wherever you are and wherever you go. There’s always gonna be some light.” That moment of light, when the sun returns from its overnight meanderings. It’s not so much the first moments of sunrise but the first moment that its catches my eyes.

I might be hiding behind the pillows trying to pretend it’s still dark. As the clock ticks there’s a moment when the pretence must end. Yes, I like a bright summer sunrise morning. Not a cloud covered sky but those sharp rays of sunshine. Laser like shining through the bedroom curtains.

The possibility of a new day is an unwritten book. It’s a time of day that shifts like sand. It could be half five, it could be six. It might be seven. Time flexes as the days go by.

Each day, as if a light bulb switches on, I’m awake. Senses alive. Greeting the new day. Emerging as if all time past existed only as a dream (fine – that is an exaggeration).

Morning persons, like me, are the nemesis of the late-night hawks. They prefer the dying embers of the day as if to wish the day never to pass. Me, I’m happy to meet the dark. Prospect of tomorrow is the best promise.

Origins and Meanings

Daily writing prompt

Where did your name come from?

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Doesn’t take a lot of research to answer that question when it comes to my first name. Two key people in the New Testament share my name. John the Baptist and John the Apostle. Because of those biblical references the name John has a version in a wide range of languages. In its origins, it has something to do with being gracious. Although, I can’t say that’s a particular characteristic on mine (as a gracious remark).

Having done a little family history it’s a name that reoccurs down the generations. John was a hugely popular English first name for a long time. Today, it’s well down the rank and order of popular names. Which I think is slightly strange. John is easy to spell. It’s simple to pronounce and has some agreeable variations like: Ivan, Yan, Hans, Sean, Ian, Evan and Jack.

What makes my toes curl is being called Jon or Johnathan or Johnny. Apologies to those known as such but these watering downs of my first name just make me cringe.

What I’ve never properly figured out is the reversal of my name. It’s happened to me more than a few times when checking into hotels. It certainly seems to happen in France. It’s probably because my surname is most often a first name in specific cultures. So, I will arrive at a hotel front desk. Give my name. Then the hotel receptionist will look at me in a quizzical manner. Hum. So, you are not Mr Johns. No, I’m Mr Vincent. Johns can be a version of Jones or Johnson. It’s not my surname. It’s a whole different kettle of fish.

If only my parents had known this and named me Vincent Vincent. That would have squashed any chance of naming in the wrong order. There must be folk who run around with the same first name as surname. Bet they live in a hazy mist of confusion when trying to explain.

Back to Christianity. Yes, Vincent is a Saints name[1]. The far south westerly corner of Portugal is called: Cabo de São Vicente or Cape St. Vincent in English. Martyrdom does get a priest a place name. In his case, it was an especially gruesome martyrdom at the hands of the Romans.

My Vincents extends back to the corners of the English country of Dorset. Where precisely it’s hard to say but there were some of those with that name residing around the Isle of Purbeck[2]. Which is not an isle, by the way. It’s a peninsula. Corfe Castle, and the village that adjoins it goes back to the time of William the Conqueror. That’s about 1000 years of history. Maybe that explains me being short and blue eyed. Who knows?

[1] https://catholicsaints.info/butlers-lives-of-the-saints-saint-vincent-martyr/

[2] https://www.visit-dorset.com/explore/areas-to-visit/purbeck/

Keep it simple

Daily writing prompt

Create an emergency preparedness plan.

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Plans are great. Professionally, I spent years and years making plans of all different shapes and sizes. Some collected dust on shelves, some turned out to be wholly inadequate and others did the trick, at least in saving time, money and potential harm. The often quoted saying “no plan survives contact with the enemy” has a ring of truth to it but it’s a million times worse not to have a plan when faced situations that are likely to be harmful.

It seems obvious to say it. Making plans for other people and making plans for oneself are not the same. Training staff and having a detailed plan of what do in a flight emergency is essential. As a humble passenger, sitting in an assigned seat, I expect an aircraft to safely go where it’s supposed to go. So, am I properly prepared for the one in a million event?

If I can, I always book an aisle seat. Having people climb over you to get to the loo isn’t such a big deal. It’s the elbows of the 20-stone man in the middle seat that’s more annoying.

Listen to the safety briefing. Read the safety card. Count the rows of seat to the nearest exit. Yes, I do. I try not to be that– oh, I’ve heard or seen that a hundred times before type of bore.

Fortunately, I’ve never had to work through my private emergency plan. Closest I’ve come was a flight landing on one engine at Düsseldorf Airport. The heart raced a little when looking out of the aircraft window. I could see airport firefighting vehicles chasing us down the runway.

What?

What’s wrong with what? And you can’t say how I feel about “what”. In fact, what is one of my favorite words. It belongs to a family of six. All six are words I’d be happy to hear more people using. There’re words that people with inquiring minds use a lot and with good reason.

Forgive Mr Kipling for saying this only of men. He was a man of his times. Written as it is, his six serving men have served me well. What and Why and When and How and Where and Who.

I Keep Six Honest Serving Men – The Kipling Society

Daily writing prompt

What is a word you feel that too many people use?

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Summer Reminiscence

After a long winter of heaping straw on top of straw, the layer of bedding could be 3-feet high with ease. There was hardly a space where calves, or larger cattle hadn’t over wintered. That was the West Country farmyard where I grew up.

Roughly square in shape, with cow stalls along the northern side and the cart shed in the westerly corner. These traditional stone-built buildings were made for a different era. Opposite the farmhouse there was a modern steel framed building that my father put up.

A story of livestock farming is written in these buildings. That transition from the intensive use of human labour to a more machinery dependent system. Going from cramped timber and local stone buildings to sheeted large span open spaces. One long lived and of great character, often listed and the other solely utilitarian, making life simpler.

A pick and wheelbarrow. Cleaning out was one annual manual task. My brother and I would push endless wheelbarrows of dung out into the yard. There wasn’t the machinery to get into the tight spaces of the confined old buildings. Our job was to dig out the masses of compressed dung. Then it could be attacked by our Ford 4000 tractor[1] in the yard.

Now, such hard to access areas of a cattle shed are confronted by a skid-steer[2]. Days spent with a pick and wheelbarrow are exceptional. There’s no comparison with the 1970s.

Here, it’s not this monotonous labour that I’m wanting to write about. Rather more outdoor farm work. Work that was a bit more fun on a steaming hot day.

One of the other summer jobs I had as a boy was cleaning out water tanks. We had a couple of large concrete and brick cattle troughs that hosted a mass of algae and all sorts of accumulated debris. Summer was a time to clean them out. The sheds would be empty of cattle.

We didn’t have a swimming pool. I think you can guess where I’m going with this recollection. Having scrubbed a season’s worth of growth off the walls of the biggest tank, the smooth concrete walls were then revelled. We did a thorough job because this cleaning process didn’t get done all that often.

In the mists of the summer heat and with the yard empty of cattle, this tank was a place for a dip. Chilled water, straight out of the mains supply, as the tank refilled added to the fun. So, we became the fish in the cow trough. At least for a summer day.

[1] https://heritagemachines.com/guides/buying-guide/fantastic-ford-force-4000/

[2] https://www.bobcat.com/na/en

Listen

Daily writing prompt

What brings you peace?

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The mind can be a rambling and untamed animal that runs riot with anxieties and imagined troubles. Is it possible to have too much imagination? Inventing situations, dramatic and comedic, and letting them loose by the handful. All this spent energy bearing scant connection to reality. A blizzard like information overload in our digital age.

Peace is sending that cerebral chaos away. Floating in a harmonious relation with the real world that’s going on around, here and now. Being in the moment, as some people say. How to get there on a busy day? Easy. Take time out in a pleasant space. Just close your eyes and listen. Listen hard. Different bird songs unjumble themselves. Distant conversations, although mumbles, seem distinct. Wind through the leaves becomes audible. After a couple of minutes of concentration, past untamed hours vanish into lost memories.

Public servants

That is the public servants who uphold the best of the public service ethos. Part of that is to work for the public good without expecting great admiration or fame. In the UK, the Seven Principles of Public Life (also known as the Nolan Principles) are a good start. Often mentioned when things go wrong, they are a distillation of what’s expected or, at least, hoped for when encountering a public servant.

I have known people who have demonstrated, in their every day working lives the best of these principles, and more. To balance this finding, I have known people for whom any of these seven would have been a struggle.

Prefect people, if such a term can be used, are not common place. Even they have off days, when they stray from the path that they have set themselves.

Having done a fair number of audits of organisations over the years, the message to take is that great public service is often not what’s done when someone is looking, it’s what’s done when no one is looking.

Daily writing prompt

What profession do you admire most and why?