Here is the news

I do keep up with the news. Every day. Two or three times a day sometimes. I get it from the BBC News app on my phone, and LBC on my radio. Two respected sources. 

I know the BBC is in disfavour in some people's minds. Apparently they have sucked up the notion that it's hopelessly biased, and suppresses things that the public should know about. Ditto, LBC. I would say that any broadcasting outfit that is run by human beings is going to make editorial decisions that are sometimes wrong. The BBC and LBC do however have to adhere to certain stringent standards, and they know what happens when errors or misjudgements occur and they seem to stumble. So it isn't surprising that both steer away from any story that relies on unchecked or unsubstantiated reports, or dodgy statistics.  

Not so newspapers, whether paper or online. They need to generate income for their owners and are much more likely to chase a lurid and passion-provoking story that their readership might enjoy. I have never in my whole adult life taken a daily newspaper. I perceived how truly biased they were long ago when I could study the selection available in my school library in the late 1960s. I read, at sixteen and seventeen, what appeared in their editorials - the insinuations, the venom even - and was forewarned that all such publications had a political point of view - sometimes a prejudice - and wanted you to be persuaded to it. 

What surprised me then, and still does now, is how easily ordinary people who should know better will swallow some ludicrous idea that an obviously partisan figure is banging on about. Currently, things like immigration. Or the energy crisis.

Well, I like to think for myself, and form my own view. It isn't hard if you stand back and apply general knowledge, geography, a degree of common sense, and make proper allowance for human nature and motivation. I don't rely on what I'm told. I don't accept statistics unless the source is impeccable. I certainly expect all kinds of stuff to be hidden and kept out of discussion. 

Even in 'open' societies not everything is revealed. Here in Britain we have a history and social organisation that is both permissive and restrictive, with those at the top traditionally secretive. I think it is still status-driven, full of snobbery and one-upmanship, loaded with taboos and pride and prejudice. 

At the same time, I think that most British people (indigenous or otherwise) see themselves as living in the best country, however much they may moan. And unless some special reason draws you away, or you have succumbed to the lure of big money overseas, nobody wants to leave. Indeed, half the world wants to come here. 

In a way the 'news' pushed at us day by day is just a catalogue of what British Life is all about. It's a mirror, and much of it is mere opinion and analysis, the reporters tut-tutting over a stream of standard stuff that sometimes seems very worrying, but doesn't get fixed, nor does it fundamentally affect the everyday lives of anyone. For instance, the price of car fuel may go up, but I don't notice empty roads as a result. Even the International news has come through a sieve, so that we hear about appalling matters there, but not here, that simply reinforce the notion that Britain is a very safe place. Which it mostly is.

But two much bigger things are creeping up on us that I find concerning.

One is of course global warming. It's now unstoppable, and nobody really knows how it will pan out. I suspect that in the next twenty years there will be much mass-migration to cooler land around the world. So watch out, Scandinavia and Canada. And watch out, Russia: you particularly. An irresistible tide is coming your way. 

Beyond human population movements - or mass die-offs, if attempts to travel are left too late or become impossible - will be unpredictable climate alteration. Think of jet streams and ocean currents altering their courses. I'd been thinking about heading north to escape the summer heat in the south-east of England. But what if the Gulf Stream weakens, and Britain becomes a cold country? Should I best stay where I am? 

Hand in hand with mass-migration will be a serious hardening of attitudes on who can be let in. I'm not surprised at all that parties like Reform beat their tin drum on this topic, although I think they currently oppose immigration for crude reasons based on hateful prejudice. But looking ahead, I think there will be an 'overcrowded low-in-the-water lifeboat' scenario, where only so many people can be allowed to come on board and join the huddled survivors. The unlucky ones will be pushed away with oars. Fortress Britannia in fact. Not a pleasant thought.

I sound like a doom-monger, but short-sighted greedy money men at the top in every country have brought the world to its knees, and are still doing so. We'll just have to find ways to get rid of them and cope with the disaster that is looming.

Time to go back to a mechanical watch?

I've been very content with the Garmin Vivoactive 5 fitness watch I bought in May 2024. 

It's light and easy to wear. It shows me the things I want to see: the time, the day, the date, how many steps I've taken, and what my heart rate is. I can also use it as a timer.

Its rechargeable battery lasts at least a week, and it comes up to full charge again in only a hour or so. The procedure is very straightforward and no trouble if there is a power socket handy.

I've modified its original appearance. It still has its black aluminium case, but I've replaced the original black strap with a white silicone one. It's now a standout black-and-white watch. I installed a very simple black face with white numerals, a red hour hand, a green minute hand, and a white seconds hand. That combo looks good, and - most importantly - is easy to see and decipher at night in bed, when I'm not wearing my glasses. Perfect - for my needs anyway.

The Vivoactive 5 has several smartwatch features, but I don't use them. I have my phone for all that, and there is no point in duplication. There is never an occasion when I don't want to have my phone with me.

It has - of course - a fair number of fitness-related features. But I've progressively turned most of them off. A couple of key metrics will do: only the believable ones. It's not a medical-grade device, and whatever it tells me needs to be taken as only a rough indication. I am confident that in ordinary circumstances it can record the number of steps I take to the nearest hundred or so - which is good enough. And I am reasonably sure it gets my heart rate right. 

Beyond that, I have my doubts. It seems unwise to take the watch's analyses and graphs and textual comments too seriously. And certainly not to start obsessing about any of them. That's why I've turned them off. I don't want to obsess about some too-low or too-high metric that is unlikely to be accurate. Such concern causes stress, which definitely will adversely affect my general wellbeing. I have come to see fitness watches as potential worry-machines. I'd rather address real-life causes of stress, obvious things that don't require a fitness watch for recognition, and focus my attention on finding a solution for them. 

Much better to use the watch to spur modest but beneficial achievement. My only fitness goals are to take at least 7,000 steps a day (10,000 or more if possible); and to put in enough physical effort to exercise my heart, so that it gets up to 100 beats per minute at least once a day. 

Apparently I have a rather slow heartbeat, slower than most people in their seventies. I've had prolonged monitoring as recently as last December. Blood tests show nothing amiss, and my circulation is good. Perhaps an unhurried heartbeat indicates a heart that pumps strongly but slowly, pushing the blood along through wide, unclogged arteries. (I'd be delighted to know for certain that this is true)

Is it really worth strapping on a fitness watch? After all, I don't need a watch to know that I've had a good brisk walk, and have tackled a hill or steps without running out of breath too quickly. Could I therefore manage without one? I used to, for many years up to 2018. At home there was always a wall clock in view. Away from home, I consulted my phone. 

What about returning to a conventional watch? Just to tell the time with? And perhaps the day and date? Not one with a replaceable battery. One with a mechanical movement, that ticks, and merely needs to be wound up. Indeed, an automatic watch that winds itself, and only needs to be reset every few days, to maintain reasonable accuracy.  I wouldn't want a 'luxury' watch with complications and a fancy finish. I'd only want something that's plain and very easy to read. priced at not more than £300, like these Seiko watches:

This isn't an urgent thing. I could buy one as a Christmas present to myself, but my Garmin Vivoactive 5 is doing fine and I'm not longing for a change. It's just something that's now in my mind. 

There are some things that could make me hesitate. 

● I'd be wearing my mechanical watch 24/7. Or at least all the time I'm not in bed. It's a dense metal and crystal object. Would its weight bother me? 

● I'm rather noise-sensitive. How would I react to its constant tick? Would I need to shut it away in a bedside drawer at night? 

● I like the idea of an automatic watch, which winds itself up via a swinging weight inside, set in motion by wrist movement. Apparently the swinging can be felt. Would this be pleasant, or an irritation? I'm right-handed. Would I need to wear the automatic watch on my right wrist to ensure that it winds itself sufficiently? (If so, I'd have to take it off to adjust it)

● I'd enjoy setting up the regular reminders associated with resetting the hands to the correct time every week, and adjusting the day and date each month, but I have fat fingers. Would the actual adjustment processes be a fiddle? (A big, easily-turned crown would help here, though) 

● What about maintenance? Am I letting myself in for an expensive cleaning/lubrication bill every few years? (I once had a Tag Heuer watch that had to be sent away to Germany each time at surprising cost)

On the other hand, a mechanical watch would be 'alive' in a way that a silent battery-driven watch wouldn't be. That really would be something. And it might last forever, so that I wouldn't need to buy a long succession of soulless electronic watches.

One thing's for sure: I'm not keen on spending money on another fitness watch. I don't think they are good for your health or happiness. 

Selecting frames for my next pair of glasses

I'm due to have my eyes tested at Specsavers by the end of the year. At the moment my general vision with the current glasses remains good, but I'm having growing problems with reading and laptop work, so a fresh eye test and a lens upgrade will be needed. I like varifocal lenses. With varifocals, I can wear the same glasses all the time I'm awake. That's highly convenient - I don't want to be switching between glasses for different purposes. 

The frames I wear are made of metal with a raspberry tint and I bought them from Specsavers in 2018. They have been re-lensed twice already. It's a style they called 'Raina'. They are comfortable and have served me well. But they are not deep enough (by which I mean wide enough from top to bottom) to allow a decent section in the lower half for seeing anything close up. It's getting hard to tilt my head so that I can get fine print into proper focus. This is the Raina frames' only fault: I still love them otherwise. 

They are of course part of my look, and a change of frames will mean that I look different. It's something to be approached with care. It's essential that the frames are not only perfect for my usage, they must also suit my face. I have an oval face, and oval frames suit me best, not square or angular frames. And if I must have larger lenses for better close-up vision, then round frames will be the next best thing for me. 

I had a bit of fun with my local friends at my 74th birthday lunch recently. We tried on each others' glasses. It was a lesson in which frames not to wear!

So this is me in my own glasses with the oval 'Raina' frames from 2018:

This is me in Sue's rather striking dark tortoiseshell glasses:

Next up, me in Valerie's glasses:

And now in Avril's, which had such a super-strong prescription that it was an effort to look through the lenses - hence my pop-eyed appearance! 

Nevertheless, I thought that round glasses like this, but with lighter-coloured or thinner frames, would be the way to go. The others agreed. 

I'm completely satisfied with my nearby Specsavers branch in Burgess Hill. When the time comes, perhaps in December, possibly late November, I will book an appointment with them, have my eye test plus OCT scan and whatever else they include, and see what they have in this kind of style. My target cost for new frames with new varifocal lenses will be around £350. I never bother with having a second pair. Nor prescription sunglasses. Nor light-reactive lenses (which would interfere with my photography). But I will need to look into polarising lenses that fit over the new, larger frames, for when I'm driving. 

Meanwhile I've been looking at what Specsavers currently offer by way of round frames, and these have caught my eye:

Those two styles above would be the front runners, were I getting new frames right now.

There are also 'cat's eye' styles. Back in 2018, before I settled on the oval 'Raina' frames, I tried out (but rejected, which Specsavers allowed without fuss) these frames by Comfit called 'Silvia':

I thought they were too large, and affected my look too radically, but now I'm not sure. This is what my contemporary notes on them said: 

I was...taken with the Comfit range of glasses, finding one pair of frames, very slender and in a reddish purple, that looked good and felt very comfortable: Silvia, product code 30689909. I hadn’t even considered them online. With the same lens options as last time, and a welcome 25% age discount, they cost me £216.00. We made a forward appointment for 9.30am on 2018 1017, a week ahead, to collect them.

2018 1017 9.30am

Collected my new specs. They were a perfect fit, and needed no adjustment. They were also very comfortable. But within hours I was having second thoughts about them. They looked good - Jackie and Jo saw them, and thought them fab - but they were too definite and assertive for my liking. They were the specs of someone who wanted to be boss. They robbed my face of softness and approachability. I decided to go back to Specsavers next morning, and ask for alternative frames (Raina), which were the same as my old frames but in silver/pink instead of gold.

Looking at the photos now, I don't think I would dismiss the 'Silvia' frames so quickly. Of course you can't really decide just from a photograph. You need to try them on. 

Well, at least some preliminary research has been done. I'll leave a final decision to later in the year. 

Susan Roberts' seat at Treyarnon Bay

Treyarnon Bay - near Padstow - is a Very Special Place for me. It's the scene of many annual family holidays in Cornwall, generally in August. In Easter 1965 we'd been to France - all the way down to Provence, with a look at the Atlantic coast, then a few days near the Normandy beaches where the D-Day Landings took place. An important holiday, but despite my hopes, Mum and Dad hadn't given me a camera to play with. But I did get one (and some Kodak slide film) for my 13th birthday in July. It was just in time for the August holiday in Cornwall and the first visit to Treyarnon Bay. This, a sunset there, was almost the first ever picture I took with my new camera, a Kodak Instamatic 50:

Treyarnon Bay was very photogenic, as was the coast the views north or south from it. It was also a good place for surfing. Here's Dad filming the bay with his Super 8 cine camera in 1973:

One reason why so very few pictures exist of me when young is that until July 1965 Dad was the only photographer, and he only shot moving pictures. He liked play with the zoom a lot (rather too much really). I still have some of that footage, not examined for donkey's years and gathering dust in the garage. I doubt if the reels are in a state to view now. The film base must have become brittle. They were also heavily spliced, so I'm pretty certain that they wouldn't stand up to being run through a projector (if I had one) without breaking. I don't think Dad ever had any of his footage converted to VHS format, which would have eventually opened up the possibility of copying those family holidays to a CD. In any case, Dad tried to save money by using 'free films' from the developer, which were of poor quality. The colours were never true, being unnaturally warm even when only just developed, and they were inclined to fade. I wouldn't be surprised to find that after sixty-odd years these reels have faded entirely. 

One day I will take a look, in case there is anything I might be able to view on a screen, copy with my camera, then enhance and save. I remember that most clips were cringe-worthy, but at this remove it wouldn't matter. I'd be wanting selected stills.

I became by default the still photographer of the family, but I didn't actually take many photos before 1970, mainly because I couldn't afford to buy much film. My pocket money was not ungenerous, but still inadequate for a junior photo-journalist. I used Kodachrome II slide film in the 1960s and early 1970s, which wasn't cheap, as the cost of developing it at Kodak's Hemel Hempstead lab was part the purchase price, though not the stamps needed. I posted each finished film off, and in a week or so got thirty-six slides back in one of Kodak's distinctive yellow slide boxes. It was infallible. At first I organised my collection using those little boxes. But once working, with proper money available, I began to buy and use large wooden slide boxes lined with red velvet, with numbered dividers for each slide. I could squeeze 350 slides into each, and eventually had eight of them. 

Lacking practice, my technique wasn't very good to begin with, and there were a lot of duds. Nevertheless my collection of pictures worth keeping steadily grew, especially after buying a better camera in 1973. Within a few years I ran out of storage, and to create space I began to weed out slides that didn't seem important. Much early stuff went in the bin. I regret that now. So much was discarded that should have been kept. Nowadays it would be scanned, digitised, and rescued with post-processing. No matter how poor the picture, every shot from that era was unrepeatable and ought to have been too precious to throw away. But storage was always an issue with slides, and later prints. To keep things manageable, there had to be a low limit on the size of one's collection - quite unlike how it is with digital photos.

Back to Treyarnon Bay.

Here's another iconic view across the Bay, taken in 2016, looking north to Constantine Bay, and Trevose Head, with its lighthouse (I'm fascinated by those too). In the 1960s, the Trevose Head lighthouse winked red - thrilling to watch - but at some point Trinity House decreed that it should flash with a plain white light. Sigh. 

Susan Roberts' seat - the subject of this post - is right out at the mouth of the Bay. (Trace leftwards to the centre of the picture from the black house) It has a spectacularly good position, better than any of the other seats. But it is also the most exposed.

This isn't the first time I've posted about this seat. I said much about it in my post Surfing Bays, the ravages of time, Jill, and the YHA on 28th March 2015. So this post brings the story up to date, with further reflections. 

I still don't know anything about Susan Roberts, although one can gather from the seat that she died in 1994, aged forty-four, presumably from some dire illness like cancer, and loved the Bay for perhaps much the same reasons that I did. If she were still alive, she would be only two years older than me. We'd quite possibly encounter each other and enjoy a nice chat in the sunshine and breeze while taking in the wide view. Someone who treasured her memory had an iron seat built in her memory, set on a concrete plinth. The ironwork has heart-shaped motifs, so I'm guessing her husband or somebody equally close had this memorial made. Freshly installed - presumably in 1995 or 1996 - and well-painted against the Atlantic weather, it must originally have looked resplendent and stout enough to last half a century or more. 

I first paid it special attention in November 2010, when I noticed how the concrete plinth was getting undermined by erosion. The seat itself was still intact, but rust had a firm hold. This was only fifteen-odd years since its installation. Nevertheless, it could still have been restored to its first glory. A liberal application of paint would have done the trick. But nobody had come to do that. 

A year and a half later, in July 2012, I spotted a couple sitting on it. So it was still functional as a seat.

After then, I made a point of inspecting it whenever I visited Treyarnon Bay. It got rustier and rustier as the years passed, but you could still sit on it. Here it was in March 2015, twenty-odd years after installation:

But its deterioration must then have accelerated. Parts of the seat began to drop out. I was dismayed to see its state in September 2020:

Oh dear, such a pity! There was enough 'seat' left to sit down on, and I could still enjoy the delightful view and smile serenely at it; but at the same time I thought this might be the last time I'd commune with Susan Roberts. Either the seat would fall apart in the coming winter storms, or the plinth would slide over the cliff edge.

But I was wrong. It was still there in September 2021:

Not much left to sit on! And that plinth looked ready to plunge seawards at any moment! 

But the seat was still perched there in September 2023:

The last bit of proper 'seat' had however disintegrated, and was gone. Surely this had to be my farewell visit? But wrong again. I went back in April this year (2026) and was amazed to find little further change.

I began to suspect that the concrete plinth must have something that anchored it into position, like a couple of downward spikes on its bottom side. As for the remainder, this was no longer a seat as such, but a metal artwork that in this form could endure for a long time to come, the plate with SUSAN ROBERTS 1950-1994' engraved on it being the final thing to succumb to rust and general weathering. 

Indeed, it might see me out. Unless the Council deems it a hazard and takes it away.

A return to HMS Ganges

HMS Ganges was a training shore establishment of the Royal Navy, and was active at Shotley Gate in Suffolk until 1976. It trained teenage boys to become professional seamen. The Navy had switched to using iron steam-propelled warships well before 1900, but continued to insist on its youthful intake learning how to manage a wind-driven vessel. So the training laid emphasis on traditional sailing skills, including agility and confidence on tall masts. 

I have been fascinated with HMS Ganges for decades. It's the fascination of the fearful for a place where terrifying things were expected.  What did I fear? Dizzy heights. The nightmare of the tiny platform at the very top of the mast in the parade ground at HMS Ganges, to which a chosen trainee would be sent - the Button Boy - to stand erect in smart Naval fashion, one arm stiffly by his side, the other raised in a formal salute; and below him, arranged in symmetrical order on each horizontal spar, or on the shrouds and ratlines, dozens of other young trainees, all forming the kind of spectacle beloved of training masters, put on for the benefit of important visitors. Each boy trying to quell the natural dread of being far from the ground and highly likely to fall if careless. But the Button Boy most likely of all. 

Here are three pictures, probably taken in 1918, 1925 and the third much later, any time up to the 1970s. 

It's undeniably impressive. I had a good deal to say about it all in my post Ultra vertigo potential: the Button Boy on 29th July 2023. And in my post The boy who fell, published on 29th August 2023, I related how I personally tracked down the grave (at nearby Shotley churchyard) of the only Boy recorded as falling to his death from the mast. The only one the Navy ever admitted to, that is. 

When HMS Ganges closed in 1976, the buildings and grounds were turned over to other official uses. The mast remained, although gradually deteriorating, so that by the time I came to see what was left in July 2023, it had been partially dismantled, and was a sad shadow of its former self, half the height and devoid of rigging. 

The site had been taken over by a private developer, on the basis that the mast would be reinstated in all its former glory. So I resolved to return, to see whether this would happen. I managed it in June this year.

As you enter Shotley Gate, you see the first fruit of the the developer's work. It's clearly intended to be a cut above the ordinary run-of-the-mill building scheme.

Here's some of their online material:

That's meant to be a Button Boy showing the shilling coin he would have received from the commander of HMS Ganges for climbing to the top of the mast and saluting from the tiny platform there, the 'button'. It was a kind of medal for the skill and courage displayed. I can imagine a very daring kind of boy putting themselves forward for that duty. He would get a lot of admiration for it, and it would do him no harm whatever in his future career in the Navy.

I turned into Nelson Avenue, one of the new residential roads, to find out whether the mast could be seen from there, and if so, what state it was in.

It was a large site to develop, containing some old buildings, presumably listed, that might prove difficult to turn into apartments. Such as that long one in the picture just above (although I think it might be used as a sports hall). Now wasn't that the mast behind it? I drove around to what had once been the main gates.

Yes, the mast had been restored to its full height, button included, and with all its rigging. I took a series of telephoto shots, mostly with with my phone.

You can make out the lightning-conductor at the very top that served as a thin handle for the Button Boy to grasp when hauling himself onto the button. He would try to lean against it when standing to attention and making his salute. 

These were, incidentally, evening shots, taken after 8.00pm, with sunset approaching. I think that, considering the diminishing light level, the little Leica and the phone did quite well. 

I was pleased to see that the developer had restored the mast. Although I do not care for the use it was once put to, it is an historic structure that could have been lost, and the historian in me approves of its renaissance. I do wonder, however, who will maintain it in the years to come. Will the new residents have to take turns to mount the rigging to tar and repaint as needed? And who will check the button at the very top?