Month: January 2025

Tuesday Tiny Tale -The Sponge

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The other kids called him The Sponge because of the effortless way he soaked up information. His parents had thought he might meet his match at the large senior school, no longer top dog as he was at  primary school, but he was soon a legend. Far from being an awkward genius his quick wit and sense of humour attracted friends and the fact he did their homework for them ensured a loyal following.

Mr and Mrs Nardo had followed family tradition of naming first born sons Leo. By the time he was four they had realised he was far cleverer than them and his younger siblings just took it for granted that Leo knew everything. They were not quite as clever as Leo, but their parents continued producing babies, considering it was their duty to contribute to the gene pool.

At school the teachers played down his abilities. As he appeared to have no syndromes, nor be on any spectrum they were not eligible for extra funding to get university professors in to keep Leo challenged. Instead, an afterschool club was started, for children with ‘extra interests’, it was not to be suggested that the little group were clever or cleverer than all the other pupils.

Leo was soon running the group and showing off his party tricks such as writing normally with his left hand and writing back to front on the other side of the paper with his right hand at the same time. He said it was easy, but nobody else in the group could do it. Parents were persuaded to contribute so the group could buy Lego and chemistry sets and all sorts of items that inventors would need. A teacher was present merely for health and safety reasons.

Dinner time at home was always lively and Mr and Mrs Nardo tried to make sure all the children got a chance to talk about their day, but somehow by the time they were eating pudding Leo had an intellectual conversation underway.

‘I was thinking it would be impossible to work out who the cleverest person in the world is, because nobody else would be clever or knowledgeable enough to understand how much that person knew or understood.’

‘Or she’ butted in his sister’ why can’t the cleverest person be a woman?’

‘They could be’ said Leo ‘but I was thinking it would be me, but how would I know?’

His parents sighed.

‘I don’t think it matters,’ said his father ‘all you have to do is use your talents for good, not for power or money.’

‘Yes I’ve already considered that. I will need a good deal of money for all my inventions, but I could get investors for that. I thought I could save the whole planet.’

‘Rather ambitious, but an excellent idea’ said his mother. ‘Will that be after university?’

‘No, soon, I’ve already written a book about how to do it. I just need to publish it. You can read it if you like.’

After dinner his parents sat at the state of the art computer they had given Leo for Christmas and started reading the word document of 300, 000 words. There were only about thirty words they understood.

‘The first few chapters are about metaphysics’ said Leo airily ‘I want readers to keep an open mind about the universe.’

His father hoped they would not be expected to proof read it and suggested as a joke he self published on Amazon first. Leo thought that a good idea and persuaded his father to open an account, then leave him to get on with it.

By Sunday evening he had borrowed his mother’s Kindle and showed the family his new book. By Wednesday a box arrived from Amazon with his weighty tome in paperback. He took a few copies to school.

The head of the science department was surprised and impressed with the cover design and happy and not a little amused to accept a signed copy as a gift, promising to start reading it in his lunch break.

In the afternoon science lesson Leo asked him what he thought of it so far. He responded by asking Leo what his parents thought of it.

‘Well to be honest, I don’t think they understood a word.’

The teacher was relieved as he grappled with the right words of encouragement.

‘Ah, I am managing to understand it so far, well the introduction at least…’

Silly Saturday – January Japes

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Why does this little fellow fear Burns Night? Warning, the following picture may contain upsetting images.

New eyesight test for frequent users of screens. Can you tell the difference?

What crafty ideas did you get for Christmas?

What have you ordered on line recently? ‘Hoovering’ used to be a simple operation…

Let’s relax and play some games. Do you manage to fill in all the lines?

How is your language learning going?

Do you manage to win at Wordblitz or start off hopeful…

Still hopeful, but it usually goes wrong in the last round. Final results later perhaps…

Results just in, scroll down to the end.

Luckily I seem to have acquired a new friend.

Yup, beaten again. I’m the left hand side, I’m not saying who is on the right, it could be one of several friends who regularly beat me. A scientific study shows it makes no difference whether I am playing on my desk top, on my iPad or on my phone on the wobbly bus.

How do you like to pass these winter days or hot summer days?

A Quarter of a Century

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My father came home one day, very excited with a new invention, Velcro! He worked in plastics, but I’m not sure if the plastic factory where he was manager actually produced it. Looking up Velcro I see it was commercially available in the fifties, but to us in the late 1960s it was a novelty. He kept trying to find ways of using Velcro around the house. 

More exciting inventions lay ahead of course, Dad once said that he would like to live to a hundred to see what would be invented. Sadly he only got past seventy. August 2025 he would have been one hundred and I have thought for a while it would be interesting to think of how many new inventions he has missed. This is rather an overwhelming task; there is a difference between something being invented and most people being aware or getting to use it.

2025 also marks a quarter of a century gone by, whether 25 is the last year of the quarter or the first year of the next, doesn’t really matter. I can remember when, thanks to George Orwell, 1984 was The Future, then 2001 A Space Odyssey confirmed the start of a new century as the obvious FUTURE when we would be living in plastic bubbles on the moon.

All that seemed to happen at the turn of the century was the panic that all the computers would get confused and everything would be switched off. At work we were seriously considering whether we should all go home and fill the garage with tins of food and flagons of water. Chez Gogerty we didn’t in the end and luckily all was well.

How has life changed in those twenty five years? Before the millennium I naively thought the twenty first century would be one of peace after all the violence of the twentieth, how wrong could I be. We can definitely conclude that humans have tried everything to make the world a better place, following faith, education, new political ideas, better medical treatments, scientific improvements. Alas new inventions are hijacked by criminals and war mongers as well as doctors and scientists hoping to improve lives.

So what in your life is vastly different from 2001 AD or CE .

I seem to recall saying at the end of last century that had I known home computers were going to be invented, I would not have got married let alone had children! I cannot recall why. Probably children arguing over whose turn it was to use the one computer and me saying everyone was spending too much time on that ghastly second hand machine with green writing, my memories are hazy. I do know that fathers were saying they should get a computer for the children, when they actually wanted one for themselves.

Now of course I can’t imagine not having a computer and iPad and panic if I forget my phone, even if I am just popping to the greengrocers.

What has changed in your life over the past twenty five years?

Sunday Stroll – Following Famous Footsteps

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Here’s a clue as to where we might go today.

It’s very windy so you may not want to sit on the top deck.

Freshwater Bay

A stroll up the road leads us to a lovely home…

Clues to the talent of the home’s owner

Who visited her?

You have probably guessed we are in the nineteenth century during the reign of Queen Victoria and Freshwater Bay was definitely the place to be.

At home with Julia Margaret Cameron

https://dimbola.co.uk/

Thursday Thoughts from the Unherd

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Here we are, standing shivering, wondering why we have been woken up before sunrise. TV cameras intruding just to please breakfast television, then the reporter has the cheek to say

‘Of course these chaps don’t feel the cold, they come from the Antarctic.’

I come from Bristol and my feet are frozen.

Yup, same with us. There they are in their Alpine designer outdoor wear talking about our fur coats keeping us warm in the Gobi desert. They don’t even keep us warm in English snow, let alone the Gobi, not that I have ever seen an actual desert.

Don’t know why they were so surprised we had a baby, we’ve known for ages, chose a name weeks ago. Now they have the cheek to announce a competition to name OUR baby.

She’s right, taking away our dignity and identity, trying to disconnect us from thousands of years of family tradition, the proud name of our clan. They have no fashion sense then laugh at our stripes. Then the ultimate insult, what name do they give us? ZEBRAS! How ridiculous a name is that.

It could be worse, what about me. Miss know-it-all reporter is telling everyone I’m going to give birth to a mammoth. I thought they had laws against offensive remarks. There is nothing more insulting you can call us than Mammoth. There is a very good reason those hairy idiots died out millennia ago.

Thursday Thoughts – What Is Real Life?

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If you live in a city or suburb you will probably hope to get away for a change of scenery. As you stand on top of a moor, hearing only sheep bleating, you will say to yourself ‘This is Real Life.’ The same thoughts will surface if you stand on a rocky outcrop feeling the spray from the waves pounding below, or perhaps you have visited a peaceful holy island, Iona or Lindisfarne.

Supposing you move somewhere remote and idyllic, or to the coast and can saunter down to the beach on a wild winter day, dodging waves. Sheer bliss. Then one day you go up to London to visit friends or relatives or for a cultural outing. As you arrive at a London terminus, descend into the underground, hear the rumble of an approaching tube train, then squeeze on board with the multitudes, you find yourself saying ‘Back to Real Life!’

Could it be that real life must involve cities, mainline railway stations and underground trains?

Those millions of us brought up in suburbs anywhere in the world are bound to feel we are never in real life; neither in the bustling heart of the city, nor in the countryside growing food and raising livestock to feed the nation.

When you turn on the television news real life takes on a different dimension. Why are your working on the cheese counter at Waitrose when that girl you were at school with is now a war correspondent standing on a heap of rubble?

Is real life the peace all great prophets have urged us to follow; cherishing the soil, creating harmony, music, arts, science and babies. Or is reality living on a knife edge beneath a volcano or on an earthquake fault line?  Are you likely to see your home swept away by fire or flood or do you face death every day in war?

Have you experienced real life or are you still waiting to find it?

What is your reality?

Friday Fiction 1000 – New Year’s Wish

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She had heard her mother talking to Aunty Lucy, a throwaway remark. They were in the garden, it was her tenth birthday party.

‘Of course poor Arabella has no imagination whatsoever.’

They were watching her younger sister Anastatia organize Arabella’s friends in some kind of fantasy adventure. Anastasia was playing the bold princess while Arabella was supposed to be a peasant girl hiding from the dragon and destined to be eaten.

‘Anastasia’s just like you were at that age’ said Aunty Lucy to Arabella’s mother. ‘We always knew you would be on the stage or become a writer.’

‘Or both’ twittered her mother.

‘I expect Arabella will take after Justin’ said Lucy unconvincingly.

The girls’ father was an artist, successful in several fields from high class book illustrations and theatre designs to proper paintings that people wanted on the walls of their homes.

‘She’s very good with her hands,’ continued Lucy ‘knitting and that little tapestry she made me.’

‘Well she has a logical mind, just following patterns…’

Thirty year old Arabella closed her eyes on the memory, closed her eyes to the television screen, then opened them long enough to press the off button on the remote control. It was Jack, her husband, who had reminded her that her mother and sister were appearing on yet another intellectual arts programme. Her family were always on television or radio, though not often together.

‘Have I missed it?’ Jack came bowling into the room.

‘No, or rather you haven’t missed much.’

She picked up her comforting knitting.

‘Is the baby asleep?’

‘Yes of course.’ Arabella laughed. ‘Just like me apparently, my mother used to say I slept through the night from two months old, always needed my sleep, then it was a shock when they had Anastasia. Mother reassured herself that the sleepless nights were because Anastasia had an overactive brain, highly intelligent.’

‘I am glad we have our ordinary little chap, heaven forbid he should turn out like your sister. I like our serene life and I am lucky to have you both.’

It was true thought Arabella, they were happy in their own little world and would snuggle up with a nice nature programme tonight, then turn over in time for Big Ben and welcome 2025. No wishes or resolutions, just thankful for what they had. Though as the bells chimed she couldn’t help wishing she had a little bit of imagination, just enough to know what it was like. Perhaps she would invent bedroom scenarios for her and Jack, she had read in magazines that couples did that. Or make up stories to tell the baby later on.

The next day they went to the big park for their traditional New Year’s Day walk, the baby safely strapped to Arabella and cosy inside her coat. A young child on a scooter whizzed by and she suddenly had a picture in her mind of the child hurtling off, hitting the bitumen head first and being attacked by the big dog she had just spotted. No sooner had this thought entered her mind than Jack suddenly bolted ahead, telling her to stay put.

A small crowd hid what was happening from Arabella’s view. Then Jack emerged with a firm grip on the dog’s collar. Several worried adults were rushing over, it was hard to tell who belonged to the child and who to the dog, until Jack handed the dog to someone waving a lead. He trotted back to his own family.

‘The poor grandparents couldn’t keep up with her…’

‘.. and she ran into the dog and fell off and seeing the creature lying on the ground revived the dog’s ancient hunting instincts and he went for her throat? And you’re a hero.’ Arabella concluded.

‘Not exactly, the dog was licking her face and she was crying because she hurt her knee.’

On the way home they passed the New Year fairground at the other end of the park. They looked up at the big rides.

‘Be a while before we take our chap on those rides’ said Jack.

‘Thank goodness, imagine if the big wheel got stuck when we were at the top’ said Arabella.

‘I’m sure the council makes sure all the rides are safe.’

‘I still wouldn’t take the chance.’

When they watched the local news that evening the fairground appeared on the screen.

Fire rescue teams were called when the big wheel stopped and could not be started. In view of the below zero temperatures, the difficult decision was taken to bring people down from the top on the fire ladders.

‘Oh I can’ t believe it, just what I imagined happening’ said Arabella.

Arabella was beginning to wonder if she had been granted imagination, was this what it was like, making things happen. She dismissed the thoughts from her mind.

The next day was an outing to the pantomime with Jack’s sister and family. Arabella thought the baby was a bit young, but had been reassured that it was a special calm performance for autistic children like Jack’s nephew or deaf children, or anybody that didn’t like screaming and shouting on stage or off.

‘Sign language, subtitles and miming, the baby will just sleep through it. We’re at the back of the top circle apparently, in case we do have to take the baby out.’

Arabella had not realised just how high up they would be in the top circle.

‘Thank goodness we’re at the back, I wouldn’t like to be in the front row and those steps down are so steep, if you weren’t careful you could go hurtling over.’

As soon as her words were uttered a small child flashed by running and whooping down the steps, ignoring his frantic mother who was yelling at him to stop. There was a collective gasp from others getting settled in their seats. Luckily the child was shorter than the barrier wall and collided with it, but the momentum his mother had picked up propelled her straight over. Any hope of calm had evaporated.