The Computer Speaks

 January 2nd 2024 8.53

Happy New Year to you my dear computer user. Why don't I call you by your name you ask? Which name would that be? Your non-de-plume?

Your Facebook name? Your college name? Yes I do know your 'real' name but from now on I shall call you computer user. I should really call you computer abuser.

So let's start this new year with a few home truths. First of all it's not my fault if you forget what date it is. Open your eyes and read it. It's at the bottom left of the page in big letters when you open me. Secondly it's not my fault if you can't find the story you wrote yesterday, or the piece you wrote for the writing group, or the new post you wanted to put on Facebook, or the new stuff for your blog. Furthermore it's not my fault if you can't even find your blogs.

The problem my dear computer abuser is that you do not remember where you have saved things. You are not consistent. Oh yes I know you try you even bought a new computer just for writing. How did that turn out ye? I bigger muddle than ever.

Now just to get some things straight. You have been told this before by Richard for one and your son. What is the common denominater of all your difficulties. Yes, you. Yes, you. I suggest you make an effort to save things correctly. Keep a note book and write down for example: Date-Title-Place . So what are you going to do now and I do mean now, this minute. It's like the pandemic -face – safe -something or was it -mask

-flask -task , no that's wrong. I don't know it wasn't me who could get the virus. Yes yes I could get a virus, a computer virus but I have anti-virus protection unfortunaely it does not not protect me from abusers like you. I know what you did with your first computer. How do I know? Because you have written about it numerous times; on Facebook, in your blogs and in emails. Oh that leads me to another thing. Why oh why don't you record email addresses in the email address book that I have provided for you.

Where are you going to save this?

To the Moon and Back Dreaming

 

Rachael was lying on the massage table with her face awkwardly positioned in the hole which was supposedly designed to facilitate comfort. She had been working long hours in a stressful job and it seemed that her whole body was one huge Gordian knot. It was obvious however from the oohs and aahs that she was enjoying the experience of the massage.

After what seemed to Rachael five minutes but was in fact thirty, Elizabeth the massage therapist bent over Rachael and said quietly, “ I am going to leave you now to relax for a few minutes before you dress.”

Rachael opened her eyes and looked down expecting to see the floor but instead could only see what seemed to be a mist. 'OMG,” she said out loud. “I am blind.”

Here I was tempted to write “Fear not,” said the guide but my better judgment resisted.

A voice from the apparent mist said,” It's not mist you are lying on a cloud.”

“Who, what, where are you?” said Rachael feeling sort of floaty but also rather stupid because she was talking to she knew not what.

“I am your thaumaturgist. Stand up and look around you. You really are in the clouds and no you won't fall through. They are fairly substantial and you are very light, almost weightless.”

Rachael did stand up and look around. “What in the name of god am I doing up here?”

“Obviously nothing at the moment. I can help you to do anything you like. Oh, and my name is Elisabeth but you can call me Liz.”

“Do whatever I like? I am standing in the clouds and talking to a thauma, therma whatever you are --”

“Thaumaturgist. Would you like me to make some suggestions?”

Rachael sat down and tried to think but nothing came to her.

“OK,” said Liz. “I can take you back to meet anybody in the world who is deceased.”

Rachael seemed to get herself together and began to enjoy herself. She began rolling around on the clouds.

“For goodness sake stop that. You are wasting time. Think what you would like to do.”

“That is an awfully big brief. I don't think I want to meet my family, my mother or father or the twins. No that wouldn't be--- I know I have always wanted to converse with famous writers. But then I do read about them.”

“Oh for goodness sake will make up your mind. You are wasting my time. Let me make a suggestion. You can go anywhere in the world in fact anywhere in the Universe.”

“Really anywhere in the Universe?”

“That is what I said, please make a decision.” Liz thinks, “Human beings drive me crazy. I don't know why I do this job. Maybe I'll ask for a transfer.”

“OK how do you fancy a trip to the moon?”

“A trip to the moon, a trip to the moon, really a trip to the moon you can do that?”

“I just said so didn't I? I take it that, that is a yes.”

“Here we go then, Hold my hand.”

“I am flying, really flying. Rachael started singing “Fly me to the Moon, and let me play among the stars
Let me see what spring is like
On Jupiter and Mars. ”

“Just be satisfied with the moon. Jupiter or mars for goodness sake they are too far away.”

“There is the earth below.”

“Yes it is,”said Liz thinking where did she think it would be, up above.

They floated down and landed gently.

“It is not made of cheese then,” said Rachael.

“ How old are you? Of course it's not made of cheese and no there isn't a 'man in the moon' either.”

“Sorry,” said Rachael, “I was only joking.”

“Now then where would you like to go ? “

“Well as I know nothing about the moon why don't you suggest somewhere?”

“OK, There are many seas. I will list the positive ones. There is the sea of tranquillity. The sea of of cleverness, the sea of fertility, the sea of knowledge, the sea of nectar and dozens more. There are lots of lakes too. The lake of goodness, the lake of excellence, the lake of happiness, the lake of joy, and more . There are also valleys and mountains and bays.”

“How can I choose? There is too much to choose from. Why don't you choose for me?”

“Ok, I choose the Sea of tranquility as that is suppose to be how you feel after you have had a massage.”

Liz took Rachael's hand and they floated up and across the surface of the moon and landed gently by the sea of tranquility. Rachael immediately lay down and fell asleep. Liz flew away thinking, that is the last time I work with humans. They are sooo stupid.

The massage therapist leaned over Rachael and whispered, “ Are you ready to dress now? I hope you went somewhare nice in your dreams.”

Rachael muttered something like, “To the Moon and Back.” sat up and began to dress.

The term  masseuse is a French word that refers to a female who practices massage. (Males in the industry were known as masseurs.) However, due to certain unsavory connotations (as well as the need for more gender neutral terminology), both male and female massage practitioners go by the term “massage therapist”.17 Aug 2022

thaumaturgist  Thaumaturgy is the  purported capability of a magician to work magic or other paranormal events or a saint to  perform miracles. It is sometimes translated  into English ...as wonder-working. A practitioner of thaumaturgy is a "thaumaturge", "thaumaturgist", "thaumaturgus", "miracle worker", or "wonderworker".  Wikipedia

To Moscow

 

To Moscow 1946

Info- meet at Rugby Rail Station at 1.30 pm Bring enough sandwiches for the meals and a cup. Don't forget your cup.

We tried to get more information. For example we asked which route are we taking through Europe? Where are we going to cross the channel? We only received vague replies.

So we got on a coach at Rugby rail station with a sense of adventure, apprehension and sheer fear. We tried eaves dropping, we tried asking questions again for example, "When do we starting eating the sandwiches." We had just eaten at a motorway service station does that meal count as one of the four which are included in the cost. " Don't you worry about it. Have you fetched your cup?" I assumed fetched was Yorkshire for brought. "You'll be alright then. I'll brew up when we stop then we can have breakfast in Germany." We were in London at the time. It was 4.30 pm so I asked what happens between now and then?"

"Which route do we take through--" "It's a bit complicated through Berlin. Have you not been with Yorkshire Tours before." No . "Oh you've a lot to learn then." Have you been to--- " no "You'll see it all."

Getting off the coach at 5.00 am in Germany the courier said" I slept like a log." He he had had the whole of the back seat of the coach to himself. We were squashed two to a seat with our bags.

From East to West Berlin the Yorkshire sparcity with words continued. We went through many check points showing passports etc, then the coach stops suddenly. The driver says," OK. Get out. This is it." Now we have been on the coach for 2 days so to jump out of the coach in 2 minutes is expecting a lot. He then says, "Come on be quick. I'll get booked if I don't move." People are waking up, stuffing clothing into bags, rubbing bleary eyes and then falling off the coach. We muster in a group on the pavement and discover that we have left the coach for ever. We now have to carry our luggage to the train on which we will be travelling for 2/3 days to Moscow. We follow the courier to the station like a pack of hounds. We don't speak the language, we don't know where we are or where we are going so it is important not to lose sight him. We go from Zoo station to Friedrickstatssa where we go through customs and immigration. We line up in alphabetical order so I am first. I go through a door, pass through a turnstile, then a barrier pass a guard/ soldier, not sure which. He was a man in uniform. Then yet another door. The other side of the last door proves to be East Berlin. Crowds of people are eagerly awaiting, every door opening. The person emerging could be a relative.

We stayed on Friedrickstrassa for 2 and a half hours. We didn't know why. Apparently we needed a group ticket which we learned as the courier rushed past us waving said ticket and shouting follow me. Still bleary eyed and slowed down by having to collect our bags we moved as quickly as we could up the stairs. Shouts of, "Some people are changing money. And whose bags are those? and where is the courier." Go up those stairs - no- not in there . Look there's the train to Oestranstrassa. Who is left behind? Get in the other carriage. We don't know where to get off. But she's still changing money. We have to get on. The train is moving. Stand in the door- the doors are closing. They are left behind. Do they know at which station to get off. He should do he's the courier.

We arrive in Oestranstrassa. We pile out like we are instructed by a German man to stand still. He gathers us together like sheep. He wants to impose himself on us as a guide. he manage to do this to some extent. We wait and the others arrive on the next train.

We follow Dereck. We are determined not to lose him now.. We realise how important this is but he has no intention of making it easy. Anyway we move along and descend some stairs then along a passage ways and then out into the street. We find the left luggage office. We wait again and messages come down the queue- it's full- it's closing. It will open again in half an hour.. The German guide tries to help but he can't speak English. He thinks if he speaks very clearly in German we will understand. A variation of English people speaking more loudly in English thinking that this somehow helps translation.

Our couriers finally get to the front of the queue. We go into the office and start dumping cases, bags and rucksacks on the counter. The man starts shouting. people stand around wondering what he wants us to do. We finally understand that he wants us to leave only suitcases. We move out with our hand luggage. The office closes at midnight. Also if you are not back before that you will miss the train we are told.

Dereck leaves. Lawrence is now in charge. "Well I'll be back here by 11.00pm, we'll retrieve all the luggage together." That is the first coherent information that we have received from Yorkshire Tours. We take it and run or more accurately crawl. We have a few hours to explore East Berlin. We find a seat and rest our weary bodies and people watch. There are many people rushing back and forth. There is a huge building on our right which looks like a shopping complex. there are also a few market stalls nearby. WE try to buy a nylon shopping bag. It is 74 marks that's £15. It would be a fiver in UK. We walk away.

We find a map. We decide to walk to the centre of Berlin to Karl Marx Plaza.. It is further than we thought and it takes us a long time. We see children in a play ground, men playing football, joggers, teenagers chatting in a park. There are many cars All tiny and all the same.

We reach Karl Marx Plasa. It's enormous. There seems to be no coherent design. It's a mixture of old and new. It's mostly plain with flashes of glister.

There were fountains in a beer garden and shops. The café we ate in was like a works canteen but more solid, practical and very clean.. The menu was limited and the food was not very good. Whilst we were in there Lawrence appeared with a remarkable story. He had lost all the money he was carrying for the whole of company. He returned to the café where he had eaten and found that the tables had been cleared . He looked in a waste bin and found the soaking wet envelope with all our money. Yorkshire Tours ay.

We returned to the station in time to retrieve our luggage and found the correct platform at the station by midnight. We deciphered the timetable and found loos before the train arrived. Lawrence says four to a car sort your selves out. In carriage 10 we had 24 compartments in carriage 1 we had 20 compartments. There were four bunk beds in each compartment.

We shared with a young couple called Frank and Kate and we tumbled into bed for a good night's sleep. Door was flung open lights switched on, "passport", "passport", "passport" 5 times.

Earlier Lawrence had given us our visas for Poland and Moscow. "Don't give away part B whatever you do or you won't be able to get back. I can't remember whether it was the fifth or sixth soldier who demanded it but anyway he took the lot. Finally we went to sleep around 2.30 am.

Next morning, we wash dress and eat breakfast in the dining car. Scrambled eggs on black/white bread and tea. Back to the carriage and the opportunity to look through the window as we travel through East Germany and then Poland. All very flat. The monotonous view occasionally broken by a cow or a single tree. But it was a Polish tree or a Polish cow. Delicious tea was available constantly and served from a samovar in glass cups by a Russian woman. At the Polish/Russian border more officials took our visas. We were interviewed by a succession of officials. Books every book was inspected, fruit, flowers, animals. My oranges were sliced. I was given a leaflet about pests. We were moved out of the compartment. Instructed not to move. "Get back in " on official said to Phil as he attempted to go to the toilet. The courier Lawrence was taken away with all our passports. Then the train moved out off the station. Panic. What is happening now.

They have to jack up the train, roll out the wheels and replace them with the narrower gauged ones because the gauge in Poland is different from the Russian gauge. Lawrence returns with Passports. Now if you want to change money come with me. We walk along the rail track back to the station. Wishing we could speak the language. At the station we change money. Find toilets which were of the stirrup variety. We walk up and down the platform looking at the food and drinks for sale. Bottles of mineral water, bread and cheese and thick slices of meat. We buy some anyway then walk back to the train.

We discover by bush telegraph that we can have an evening meal which is paid for. So we all troup off to the dining car on the train. Ingrid one of our party attemps to explain vegetarianism. We are served tomatoes with fresh cream followed by 3 practically uncooked fried eggs in grease. We feel sick but do not want to be rude. We drink pleasant raspberry and cherry juice. Lawrence pays and announces that we must leave the dining room. The waitress was not pleased about the leftovers. Lawrence brings us a mint or a chocolate to our carriage. We have no idea why? It was the first meal of his life that Phil had left uneaten. Greasy uncooked eggs were too much for even him.

Now the desire to sleep over comes the desire to look out of the window.

We gradually learn the details of the journey. Rumours filter down. Info is like Chinese whispers or secrets getting changed slightly or added to by each telling. We end up with a paranoid group.

A women gets out at Minsk to meet a friend from Liverpool University.

I can't remember how many nights we spent on this train. The last night I slept badly knowing that we had to be up early the next day. Still once up I thought I'll be OK. I thought I would be able to sleep in the hotel.

5.00 am door opens stewardess says time to get up in Russian. We fall out of bunk and stand in line for the toilet. We learn it will be locked half an hour before arrival in Moscow.. I wash and dress and manage to get a cup of tea. Phil breaks two glasses. **** We are told to fold sheets etc. Frank and Kate continue to sleep The stewardess comes in and puts the lights full on and insists that they get up. We manage to disembark. We are in Moscow.

Kidsgrove in Metaphors and Similes

 

Kidsgrove in Metaphors and Similes

Kidsgrove is--- 

A  patchwork quilt of houses ,

A seasonal calendar.

Trees forecast Spring with pale green leaves

followed by blossom and daffodils.

It's my comfort blanket of childhood, memories

Teen years, my wedding, the baby clinic, a friendship club.

Streets  full of good-days, hiya, you OK.

But mostly smiles.

A history lesson

A hundred year old Victoria Hall

Even older and more famous

The Harecastle Tunnel.

He had to go down on his hands and knees

 

Red Bull Writers'

He had to go down on his hands and knees. He crawled to the side of the foot bridge. The view was dizzying. He could see a doll's house village inhabited by ants below in the valley. He clung to the rail and tried to stand. It was no use. He felt sick. The comic in him fleetingly wondered, what would happen if he vomited over the side. The mathematician in him started to calculate the speed of the decent not just for the vomit but for his body.

The platform on which he was kneeling and clinging on to for dear life was the footbridge on L'Aiguille du Midi which he had been informed was the absolute dream, the place to see at least once in a life time. He knew it would certainly be a once in a life time experience for him vowing that he would never ever do this again but at this departure the pessimist in him thought, it could be his last,

Some how he managed to reach the platform which connects the cable car station with the Central Piton terrace. An elevator inside the rock rises by 42metres to the top terrace which would mean that he would be at an altitude of 3,842metres.

Now he had to decide. He had come this far would he be able to take the elevator inside the rock which would rise even higher to a point for the Panoramic Mont Blanc cable car, the highest cable car in the world, which connects France to Italy.

Or could he be satisfied here at this station. He remembered the publicity which described, the Aiguille du Midi as having several terraces, restaurants and services where visitors can take in the spectacular views of the French, Swiss and Italian Alps. At this point he realised that he wasn't dying. He was suffering from altitude sickness.

'That's it then. I will rise no further. He crawled into the restaurant found a seat on which he manage to climb, by a window.

'I am happy,' he said raising the cup of brandy laced coffee,'I am happy to toast the views of the Alps of three countries from this restaurant window'.

The writer and optimist thought, ' I'll write about this and read it at the next meeting of the 'Kidsgrove Band of Writers'.

The Long Sleep Dialogue with Myself 268

 

The Long Sleep Dialogue with Myself 268

I know I am not dreaming.

Are your sure?

Of course my eyes are wide open.

How do you feel?

I feel tired. I have been tired for a week haven't I?

Yes but you're not getting any better even though you have done absolutely nothing. You haven't washed or dressed for days.

Like I said I'm tired. I'll be better tomorow after a good night's sleep. Maybe one more day of rest will do the trick. I've cancelled all my meetings. Trying to decide things is tiring.

Maybe if you go to a meeting you will feel better,

Yes but then I would have to get dressed and that means deciding what to wear that's the problem and what if it's raining?

You could take a taxi.

That's not easy, sometimes when I ring they are busy and they put you on hold. A cup of tea would be nice. When did I last have a cup of tea? Is it nearly bedtime? Maybe I'll get dressed tomorrow.

What if you have visitors.

They always ring first. Where is my phone? Never mind if someone rings I'll hear it. I know I am not asleep and I am not dreaming. I am just so tired. I can hear singing.

Did the door just open? Did some one come in? Who's talking? I can hear singing.

AS the congregation sang the coffin slid forward and the curtains closed. Our exhausted character will now enjoy the endless sleep for which she had longed.

Eight Thirty

 Eight thirty

This is a true story. During my teaching career I held a post deemed 'Teacher in charge of the nursery and remedial education.' There were two nursey classes of twenty five children, each having two nursery trained nursery assistants.. 

I soon realised that as far as the Head Teacher was concerned my post was in name only. Her ideas were, how shall I say? Old fashioned. As I was recently qualified my were somewhat different. 

I did try to engage the nursery staff in new ideas but failed miserably. I suggested that I could arrange exchanges for a day or even half a day with other nurseries. These were nurseries that I had visited and found them to be innovative. My suggestions were met with blank refusals. The staffs stubbornness to change was evident to me when I discovered that the wall displays were taken down at the end of each term, placed in the store room and taken out and reused the following year. The furniture in the rooms was never, I mean never, moved or re-arranged. One member of staff was away on maternity leave and the other teacher and the temporary supply teacher re-arranged the tables and cupboards. The new mother returned and after two weeks I asked her how she was coping with the new arrangement. She said that it took all her control to stop herself from screaming for the first few days but she had gradually become used to it.

One Autumn term, in  late in September we were notified that some poisonous fungi had appeared suddenly as fungi is wont to. I forgot to mention that the school had a large, very large playing field. All the classrooms had a door which lead via a flagged patio onto the field. Most classes this was mainly used at dinner time. 

However when the weather was warm and dry the nursery children used the field frequently. We, that is the whole staff were warned about the poisonous fungi which, we were told resembled edible mushrooms. As theoretically I was 'in charge of the nursery' I walked down the corridor to the nursery classrooms. The first was empty as I thought it would be as all the children were out on the field. I went to the second and found one member of staff and a child sitting on a chair. 'Why is Johnny sitting there when all the others are outside.' 

 Unbelievably the answer came. 'He is a very naughty boy. I told him not to eat the toadstools.' 

I picked Johnny up and was out of the door as I heard.  I told him that they are not mushrooms even if they look like mushrooms.'

I ran with him to the office where the Head Mistress rang for his parent. I suggested that an ambulance would be quicker. To be honest I don't remember how he got to the hospital but the head had the forethought to send a sample of the fungi to the hospital where poor little Johnny had his stomach pumped. 

The next day I rang Johnny's Mum to ask about visiting times at the hospital. She said, 'Ate thirty.' 

I said, ' That can't be right. Do you mean eighteen thirty?'

'No, I mean yes ' she said visiting times are eighteen thirty to eight thirty.  But Johnny ate thirty toadstools. That's why he had his stomach pumped.'

When I asked what happened the next day it was his Mum who said. 'He absolutely loves mushrooms. He is lucky to be alive because he ate thirty.