If someone approached you whilst you went about your everyday business and said “Do you like it slow or do you like it fast?!” would you know what they were hinting at or would you recoil in a bemused, disgusted manner at their implication? Only the fully initiated will appreciate this subtle address and if the imaginary horror of a zombie plague ever explodes across the globe, then understanding how to answer this question will be the key to your survival in the newly-undead world. To be able to dissect the subtle differences between movie zombies in order to discover why they are now firmly established and revered in our lexicon of post-modernity is a desirable trait and may just come in handy when you least expect it.
As mentioned in my previous blog entries (see “Cycling…” for more details) I have for now – well, over the last six or so months any rate – been cycling to my place of work in what I like to refer to as an “enforced fitness regime”: this phrase basically means having to use a bicycle for a ten mile round commute into my job and thus enduring a physical workout I actually have no say in. Now, please don’t get the wrong idea and think I’m complaining about pedalling hardships without gaining some benefit from all this cycling; now I’m half a year into this perpetual sloggery, at an age where the good times are long gone and my belly’s future does indeed appear bleak, I’ve noticed my once slack shape has tightened somewhat and I do feel quite fit, although not quite as a fiddle.
When you wake up from a night’s slumber, without any perceivable stress from the day before or untoward malice eating you away from inside, then I’m betting you probably expect a fairly easy trip through the approaching day? It’s not much to ask to just get on with a boring, unquestionable existence and strive to pass the following hours off without incident, mark them down as time well spent and slip off into a little dreamland, with the hope to arise and face another fresh 24 hours, perpetually looped until your time’s up. There we are; a perfect little life.
In today’s modern Britain, all the job positions are open to all of the people and this must be commended as an example of a forward-thinking, adaptive society and one leading the way with civil and personal rights. However, surely there must be a point when common sense overrides the need to adhere to Governmental or company policies in the face of blatantly, ill-informed choices when seeking to fill a job role that requires a degree of hardiness and strength. For example, a local reservoir complex and beauty spot near to where I live has had to address this exact issue as the local Water Board Company has over the last six months or so struggled to find a replacement Countryside Ranger.
I am a great wildlife lover and advocate of being able to observe our flying little feathered things and cuddly little furry things in their natural environs, which in the UK means either flying above our heads in the sky or trotting about fields, moorland and hedgerows for our enjoyment. Most people in our animal-loving country appreciate and get pleasure from the little inter-species interaction we can garner during our high-powered, stress-filled, post-modern lifestyles. Whether this contact is taking the dog for a walk, stroking their lazy cat or putting nuts and seeds out for the birds – and thieving squirrels – that frequent their back gardens is a moot point to most of us: any dealings with the animals which surround us taps into and feeds our lost sense of belonging within the natural world, a world we seem to have separated from in our developed societies via technological advancement and obsession with monetary gain. An example of this affinity with the wildlife around us might occur when an office worker in the busiest city finds themselves sitting at a favourite bench in the local park for their lunch; after a certain amount of time, they find themselves starting to save their sandwiches’ crusts to feed ducks on a pond, thus giving the birds a meal and also getting enjoyment from sharing time watching real animals in close proximity instead of through a TV screen.
As I write these words, I cannot believe that 6 months has passed since my last entry on this blog. Indeed, as I have been obsessively busy building my photography blog’s content up to an acceptable level – see stretchthehorizon.com for further details – this period has passed in the blink of an eye, as we all know ‘Time flies when you’re having fun’ (the best idiom I can find, sorry).
Now let’s break my shutter-snapping pictorial absence down a little more, shall we?
- 6 months
- 25 weeks
- 181 days
- 4,344 hours
- 260,640 minutes
- 15,638,400 seconds
So, there we have the explanation of why this blog’s entries have suffered so badly for the last year-and-a-half and I hope you will click the above link to assess whether it’s been ‘Time well spent’ or I’ve just been ‘biding my Time’ or has it all been just ‘a waste of Time’ (okay, enough of the Time-related sayings now, eh)?!
While out walking with my camera recently, I spotted the above sign. As my initial surprise wore off after reading it, I snapped a shot of it and then tried to decipher what the confusing message could possibly mean (indeed, Microsoft Word has immediately flagged its wording as being bad grammar):
“This footpath and cycle track are permissive in nature only”
As I pondered this potential life-changing episode, the Nurse spoke and tapped a lowered gurney adjacent to the scanner’s opening. ‘Just pop yourself up on here, lie back and try to make yourself comfortable,’ she said and as I followed her directions, I felt the rush of unfettered adrenaline constrict my airways, blood vessels and any potential thought process that may have been needed.
By the time I arrived at the hospital, I was once again soaked like a drowned Rat and feeling knackered through yet another two miles of incessant pavement pounding to an urgent destination. With virtually no time to waste, I finally reached the correct department, flashed my appointment letter and was then ushered into a small waiting room; luckily, no-one else was sat there to witness the pooling of water beneath my chair and to mistakenly believe I’d actually soiled myself whilst seated.