He thinks I'm young, confused and struggling

Substack is an online platform for writers who wish to target potential new readers with intriguing free content - news, opinion pieces, essays, and life-experience articles - and then get them to upgrade to better stuff with a paid subscription. They want your money, and offer a kickback if you refer your friends to them. More grist to their mill, of course. The writer's aim is to generate sufficient subscription income to make a nice living out of it. There's a review of how Substack works for the writer here: https://selzy.com/en/blog/what-is-substack/. 

Writers who sign up for a Substack account need to build a following who will subscribe to their regular emailed output. So the articles they produce must be appealing and relevant to the potential reader's point of view, their prejudices, their beliefs and their self-perception. 

I've been targeted by one of these writers. A first email came four days ago, followed up by an email each day since. They all came from this email address: lifeuplift@substack.com, and the author was someone called M Hamza Ibrar. 

First email on 22nd November (moved to spam box)

Title: You're on the list! 

My reaction: This looked suspicious. I marked it as spam. Google moved it to my spam box, where future emails would now be diverted. 

Second email on 23rd November (straight to spam box, but I checked it for content)

Title: Ever Since I Was 13, All I Wanted Was to Be in Love

Subtitle: A surprising lesson in why waiting to find "the one" is okay - and maybe even necessary

My reaction: It was an essay, apparently written by a woman author and now republished, about why - for various important reasons - one should wait for the right person to love. If I were young and craved a relationship, this might be worth reading: but neither thing applies. Disturbingly, there was this notice embedded in the email:

Deep Mind? It sounds sinister! I don't think it's Google DeepMind. And what was that 'other platform' I was 'moved' from? I'm still on Google Blogger, and that's the only place my posts have ever appeared. Hmm! I'm on my guard.

Third email on 25rd November (straight to spam box, but I checked it for content)

Title: Comfort Is Killing You! Honest Advice to Someone who Feels Behind in Life

Subtitle: Think you're not ready for success? This surprising shift will have you taking action immediately

My reaction: An essay on getting out of one's comfort zone and doing what needs to be done to achieve an end, without waiting for perfect conditions, and without worrying about other people's bad reactions. Again, were I feeling sorry for myself, afraid of consequences, and trapped in a rut, the advice might help. But none of that applies.

Fourth email, later on 25rd November (straight to spam box, but I checked it for content)

Title: Why You Should Become a Paid Subscriber and Get Even More Value!

Subtitle: Unlock Exclusive Insights, Social Media Tips, and Personal Growth Strategies That Will Take You to the Next Level!

My reaction: The author explains what he's offering for a modest $5 a month subscription. I won't paraphrase it. Here are the actual screenshots:

It speaks for itself. I think he must be targeting young, insecure people with low self-esteem - malleable and easily-led people. I don't know why he thinks I'm one of them. Do I come across - in my Blog or in my Flickr photos - as ineffectual or confused? I hope not. And 'real life' is not to be found in 'books, movies and TV shows'. Only fantasy, fiction and escapism.

The admission that his Medium account was suspended is a source of concern. Medium is a similar platform to Substack for writers. What happened? What did he do? Did he infringe their rules in some way? Whatever it was, it doesn't reassure me, and I won't be bringing him to my friends' notice. 

I remain wary. There's no compelling reason to have anything more to do with these emails, not even to have the satisfaction of getting to the bottom of it. I think there's an influencer at work here, feeding ideas to the kind of immature person who hasn't yet learned to be discriminating and worldly-wise. And what if those articles are in fact AI-generated? If so, the subscriptions would be money for nothing.

I haven't responded to any of the four emails received so far. I don't want to see any more. So how to stop them coming, when (a) they are unsolicited, and (b) I'm certainly not subscribed. There's an 'unsubscribe' option I can click on, but is it safe to use it? It will confirm that my email address is a live one. That could have unwelcome consequences.

I'll see what happens. He may note that I remain unresponsive, and therefore not worth further powder and shot. I hope so.

SEQUEL on 27th November 2024

I carried out further (cautious) research on the Internet, to learn a bit more about Substack, Medium, Deep Mind and M Hamza Ibrar. I became satisfied that Substack was a proper platform for writers offering all kinds of content, including advice on getting one's life in gear. A kind of social media feed, if you will. 'Deep Mind' seemed to be a nom-de-plume of M Hamza Ibrar. His misdemeanour on Medium remained obscure, but his web pages there were inaccessible and the word 'investigation' appeared in the standard brief explanation for no access. Hmm.

This morning (27th November) I received a fifth email from him. Another article, about letting go and moving forward from failure and self-blame. Not a personal concern, although relevant enough for anyone crushed by mistakes they had made and the consequences that flowed from them. But all of the 'advice' could have been AI-generated. 

I concluded that this was at worst a low-level scam to extract a subscription from me and thousands of others. I decided to 'unsubscribe'. 

It looks as if that went through without anything bad happening. Fingers crossed there are no unwelcome future developments.

I remain wondering how I got onto this author's emailing list in the first place. I generally stick to favourite bookmarked websites on the subjects that interest me - such as websites on photography - and I don't trawl the Internet searching (for instance) for the meaning of life, or how to turn myself into a better person. But I must have been a blip on someone's radar screen, and perhaps they sold my email address to this author. 'They' could have been Google itself. Who knows. 

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How the other half lives - posh tiki bars for the garden!

Yesterday, having shot Storm Bert rampaging at Newhaven Harbour and Seaford, I dropped by at Paradise Park, where there is a dinosaur garden for kids and a rather good garden centre for adults. Rather good? It was a lot better than I expected (I'd never been there before) and perhaps worth another visit. I'd scorned going there before, thinking that - this being Newhaven - it wouldn't be anything special. But I was quite wrong.

Off at one end was a large display of garden structures, way more than just simple sheds. Many of them were decidedly upmarket. 

A cluster of furnished wooden shelters with a round or oval-shaped footprint caught my eye. These were styled 'breeze houses', but in common parlance would be called 'tiki bars for the garden' because users would clearly sit inside and enjoy exotic tropical drinks with umbrellas in them, or whatever tipple was appropriate for the season. Maybe, after frolics in the hot tub, one might adjourn - while still in one's wet bikini - to one of these domestic tiki bars for Sophisticated Conversation. I wouldn't know. 

These particular tiki bars were unglazed and doorless, so that you could be inside, and in the shade, and yet enjoy fresh air and sunshine. But if there was a nagging cold wind, blinds with transparent windows could be unrolled and secured with studs and toggles. They were clearly meant to be wired up too, so that deep into the evening one could converse and clink glasses under soft lighting and even gentle heating. I should think you'd still have to think how to best situate them in your garden, so that the prevailing wind and rain would hit only the back of the structure, leaving most of it dry and undisturbed. Doubtless finding a suitably sheltered spot wouldn't be difficult in the kind of garden a prospective buyer might have. 

Intrigued, I took some shots. First, the smallest option, costing a mere £14,357.

There wasn't actually a cocktail bar within, just shelving, and the occupants would be knocking knees. Not much comfort really. Personally, I'd pass this one up.

Next, a larger faux-thatched-roof affair that cost £23,517, but had a proper bar and a lot more space.

Ah, a much nicer proposition. And it had the proper Polynesian Look. You could get blotto with style in something like this. Convincing. But it still wasn't the best on offer.

No, aspiring Lotus Eaters needed this. A spacious and luxurious tiled-roofed outhouse for all-season entertaining. Only £42,818.

That was me in the red jacket, behind the bar, although I'm not bartending but reflected in the mirror. 

Well, this was a superior 'breeze house' and no mistake! In fact, really much too far removed from that Polynesian vibe to be called a 'tiki bar', even though designed with serious drinking in mind. But look: there was a dining table, and a settee with a low coffee table in front of it, and a carpet. It was still an informal space, but civilised - the retreat not of wild youngsters but of their staid parents, and definitely not somewhere to get drunk in. It was too nice for that. 

But 42 grand...you could buy a lovely used car for money like that, or a respectable new one. Then again, if you did have the money, and the right house and garden, then why not? 

Once again, I found myself feeling thankful that, although I consider myself comfortably placed, I haven't got any spare cash. I wouldn't want to feel tempted to buy something like this. It's not in any case my idea of high-level living. No, my personal situation forces me to budget and make down-to-earth choices. My unswerving top financial priorities - beyond day-to-day stuff - have to be holidays, healthcare (mainly dentist and optician), next-car finance, and house maintenance. Other things must await their turn, and will get bought only when I can afford it. The next laptop, for instance.

So a tiki bar for my back garden? I think not.

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Merry Christmas! Let's discuss your death and cremation!

What do I get through my front door? I may get a few birthday cards in July, and a few Christmas cards in December. Twice a month I get free Club magazines. There's a constant, but not overwhelming, stream of junk mail. Then there are local booklets, leaflets and fliers delivered by an unseen hand. And plastic charity bags delivered in the same way, to put my unwanted clothes into for collection, that I consider to be scams and ignore. (I take such clothes personally to the charity shop of my own choice) Occasionally, I'll get small items I've ordered online. 

This all cumulatively sounds a lot. But really, compared to many other households, I get very little post through my front door. I've made it that way. I want as much as possible - certainly everything that would once have been put into a typed or handwritten letter - sent electronically as an email, or as an attachment to an email. This makes sense for me, as I'm away from home so much. I need to be able to read communications while out on the road, when holidaying far from home, and not wait until I'm back.

Proper paper letters - if I get them - are often impersonal, addressed to me as 'the Occupier' or 'the Resident'. It's a little unusual to get something addressed to me by name. If it happens, it'll likely be something from the DWP about my State Pension, or from HMRC about the PAYE coding for my Civil Service Pension. Something important. So if any sender addresses their paper letter to me using my proper name, I'll assume it's essential to open the envelope carefully to see what's inside.  

Well, a couple of days ago I got just such a letter. It was addressed to 'Ms L Melford'. (How I hate being called 'Ms'. It's 'Miss'!) It began thus:

This winter, here's an easy answer to a difficult question - and something important you should know.

Dear Ms Melford,

As the nights close in and 2024 begins to draw to a close, our thoughts turn to family, friends and what the future may hold. Which may be why at this time of year, more people choose to put their funeral plan in place - and you may wish to as well. Having a funeral plan in place can be a huge relief, and means you can rest easy over the coming festive period. A funeral plan ensures your wishes are respected, your funeral arrangements are guaranteed and you don't need to think or worry about it ever again.

It was from a company called Pure Cremation. It was urging me to apply for one of their simple, no-frills cremations. (The credit agency Experian had pointed them in my direction - they were quite open about that)

The cost? If I died suddenly, without pre-purchasing their plan, but my 'loved ones' bought a Pure Cremation funeral for me themselves, they'd currently pay £1,645. That's certainly much less than the usual price for a funeral. If I applied now, myself, while still alive, it would cost me £1,895, with the plan effective immediately. But I could spread the cost over as much as 120 months - ten years - at only £24.99 per month. Although the total paid would then be £2,998.80, and I'd not be covered for the first two years.

Well, these amounts don't seem unreasonable, and are attractive if simplicity and low cost are of paramount importance. But I have no plans to bale out this winter. Nor, if I have my way, at any time before my 100th birthday in 2052. Nobody knows what the body-disposal options will be that far into the future. And I reckon Pure Cremation won't be around by then anyway. So this is one for the bin.

To be honest, I'm not really interested in what happens to my lifeless remains. I will have ceased to exist, and can't possibly care. I do however fancy having a commemorative bench seat somewhere, perhaps in a country churchyard. Although a seat with an estuary view (as at Padstow in Cornwall) would be even nicer! There'd be a plate on it that said 'Lucy Melford. 1952-2052 (or whatever the year of death would be). A free and independent woman who loved photography. Remember her.' 

Pure Cremation must know their market, and are not wrong to suppose that winter weighs heavily on many elderly people's minds, even if not on mine. Certainly, many oldies do not enjoy good health, and fret a lot about inflicting the cost of a sudden funeral on their family, even if I don't. And certainly, the cold and dark months are the likeliest for deaths in old age. So I don't think their writing to me is in any way out of order. They can't know my state of health (pretty good), nor my circumstances (no family to worry about). 

But I do hope cremation plan letters don't become an annual event. It won't be such a merry Christmas if I'm pestered with things like this.

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ELO or not

A band I liked very much from the mid 1970s to the early 1980s was the Electric Light Orchestra, aka ELO. Originally a joint venture between Roy Wood (of Move fame) and Jeff Lynne (of Idle Race fame), it soon became solely Jeff Lynne's creature. He wrote a string of great albums and several chart hits, all using traditional orchestral instruments alongside modern electronic ones. I bought all the vinyl albums, and later on the CDs too, which enabled me to rip the music off them and have it forever on my successive digital devices, current phone included. (And not just on my phone. As many as four backups exist of my music at any one time, regularly refreshed)   

Although it evolved, ELO's sound was always very distinctive and recognisable. Each album had a theme, generally in some way other-worldly or futuristic. Speaking personally, I think ELO's output has stood the test of time quite well, not dating in the same way as (say) much of the Beatles' output has dated. I was, and remain, a Beatles fan; but they are very much tied to the 1960s scene and the social changes the 1960s brought about. On the other hand, if you want to evoke the spirit of Britain in that key decade, an era that perhaps now needs re-evaluation, who better to express it? 

But ELO wasn't fixed forever in the 1970s or 1980s. The 'ELO sound' could be adapted to other kinds of music. A striking example is Not Alone Any More, a song Jeff Lynne wrote especially for Roy Orbison when both were members of The Traveling Wilburys in the late 1980s. A masterly meld of the ELO sound in maturity with Orbison's wonderful, unique and so well-remembered nasal voice, it served as both Roy Orbison's comeback vehicle and his very last great hit. Apparently he was staggered by the welcome his appearance in the Traveling Wilburys lineup brought forth from the public, having for twenty years written himself off as irrelevant and without contemporary appeal. It led him to consider the possibility of a revived solo career - an unwise decision that quickly killed him. If you have never heard Orbison singing Not Alone Any More, do it now: it may sound like ELO in the background, but the song has the tempo of Pretty Woman and the sunset anguish of It's Over. It is so, so reminiscent of the Big O at his best. A fitting farewell recording, surely.

I lived in Southampton in the 1970s (with London within easy reach by train), and in London itself in the 1980s; but despite that, only two bands ever saw me buy tickets to see them with a friend: Brian Ferry and Roxy Music, and ELO, and only once each. That was - I think - in 1979 and 1981: I'll have to go through my old bank and credit card statements to check. I never saw another band after that. In fact, I've not gone to any kind of pop-music stage performance since 1981. Not for for over forty years. Getting married in 1983 evidently turned a fresh page for me!

But in July 2025, Jeff Lynne and a reconstituted ELO are going to give farewell performances in a few places around the country (Birmingham among them, of course), culminating in a grand final concert in London's Hyde Park. Will I get tickets and attend? 

I'm tempted. I've gone so far as to look up the price of tickets on the official ELO website. It would cost me hundreds of pounds: and with rail fare and food for the day included, the whole thing would probably leave me out of pocket by £1,000. That's way too much. Besides, my cash resources in 2025 are already committed to the big Orkney holiday, new glasses and, inevitably, further dental work.  

But then there's another thing. Do I really want to see a band led by somebody several years older than me? 

I don't think so. I want to remember ELO (and all other bands and individual artists I once so admired, even ABBA) as they once were, and not dilute or confuse that memory by seeing them as they now are. It's generally fine to celebrate the musicians and artists that one appreciated ten or even twenty years ago, because they remain much as they used to be. But forty years on? It can't possibly be the same. I have no doubt whatever that Jeff Lynne, aided by the session players and sound engineers in his stage team, would ably recreate the characteristic ELO sound, and it would be a definite Occasion, in its own way unforgettable. But I don't want a recreation. I want what I heard in 1981. Which I can play for nothing, whenever I want, on my phone-and-speaker combo. 

The wider question is whether I would ever pay to see a geriatric artist who was famous when I was young, and has not yet died. Mick Jagger and the remaining Rolling Stones, for instance. Am I being cruel? Shouldn't I, as an ageing person myself, with my own wrinkles, aches and pains, and lesser powers generally, be empathetic? And disregard what time has done to these people? After all, time has done the same thing to me. 

But I don't want to feel saddened, nor moved to tears, by seeing somebody long past their best. Nor do I want my ears making regretful comparisons with the recordings that excited me so long ago. Nor even try to be blind and deaf and deceive myself. There is a time for an artist to quit and never perform again - or at least not perform the stuff that first made them famous in the same way they did back then. 

Besides, if I'm shelling out as much as £1,000, I want proper value for money. Can a nostalgic performance, long after the glory years, ever provide that? Some might say yes; but I might easily be left feeling that the artist was merely passing round the hat, so to speak, to better fund their retirement. Speaking as a fellow old age pensioner, I rather wish I could do the same. I'll grant that Jeff Lynne has always had talent and musical ability that I do not possess, and if he can still monetise it then - of course - good luck to him. But it's perfectly reasonable for me to weigh the benefits of attending a concert against its costs (and the personal wear and tear from going there).

There is a further thing that makes me hesitate. I don't want to get scammed over buying the ticket, as can happen so easily nowadays. An experience to avoid. 

It would be just one ticket: I don't know anybody else who likes ELO and would want to come. But in any case, this would be a very personal pilgrimage, something for myself alone, referencing memories I couldn't possibly share. And it would be a photographic opportunity I'd want to make the most of. I'd want shots of the audience as much as the distant stage. It would be incredibly frustrating to stay fixed in one position, unable to move freely about. But that's probably how it would be. Sat down in one spot for many hours. My right knee wouldn't stand up to that. 

To cap it all, I hear that nowadays some indoor venues won't let you buy only one ticket. That could apply to Hyde Park too. 

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My new Bluetooth speaker

My old speaker was a JBL Flip 4. It was a free gift from BT in August 2019, for switching my Broadband from Vodafone to them. In 2019 the Flip 4 had already been replaced by the Flip 5, but the Flip 4 was still available new online for £119. So this was a pretty good gift, and it turned out to be an excellent one. 

From the start I used my Flip 4 to play the mp3 music on my phone. But it quickly found another role, for listening to live radio broadcasts, and radio podcasts, streamed to my phone using Mobile Internet, and then sent onwards to the Flip 4 using Bluetooth. So much better than the phone's own speaker, even though that was acceptable at need. And almost as good as the sound from my Ruark R1 DAB radio. I had good DAB radio reception at home; but it was not always so when caravanning; so having a streaming option was very valuable. 

Well, the Flip 4 had lasted very well. It was built for outdoor use, intended for backpackers and beach parties, a device that could take knocks and drops. It was waterproof, and could be used by the pool or in the shower. It was a rubberised cylinder that could be held in one hand or hung up. Very suitable for the caravan. In the home, the waterproofing and damage-shrugging build wasn't really necessary, just nice to have. 

My Flip 4 was cared for and never abused in any way, so even after five years of ownership it looked good, although of course no longer pristine. Still, it was time to upgrade and pass the Flip 4 on, which is what I've done with it. (I like to rehome my devices, rather than sell them)  

What should be its replacement? I looked at a few online review websites, such as SoundGuys. I wanted something similar that would suit my hearing, making voice broadcasts and podcasts clear and pleasant to listen to, and in particular play my music in a well-balanced way, without distortion if I ever wanted to turn up the volume a bit. 

At my age, it was no good kidding myself that my ears would discern the difference between a mid-range speaker and the best on the market. So there was no point in spending luxury money. JBL's Flip 6, an evolution of the Flip 4, stood out. The Flip 7 was rumoured to be coming, but not yet launched. So I chose the Flip 6 - in black, as it was the most discreet and unobtrusive finish, and would never look grubby. I ordered it online from John Lewis, click and collect from my local Waitrose. Their price was £89.99, which seemed like the kind of money you might pay if the next iteration was just around the corner. But I'd be well content with the Flip 6, as the reviews considered it excellent for a robust all-rounder. I picked it up on 1st November. 

So here it is. The first of the following shots were taken on the day it arrived. The rest next day. I used LXV, my Leica X Vario camera, and my phone Olivia, my Samsung Galaxy S24 Ultra. Have fun working out which one took each shot! Click on them to see more clearly.

Here my Flip 6 is being charged up. That didn't take long - it came two-thirds charged. 

I put the old Flip 4 and the new Flip 6 on my mantlepiece for comparison:

Next day I took more comparison shots in better light:

As you can see, sizewise (and indeed weightwise) they were much the same, with only small changes to the very simple external controls. Simplicity was the key design element. The USB socket on the speaker was the now-universal USB-C instead of JBL's old proprietary version, almost the biggest external change. Internally, a new woofer and tweeter, a better battery, and more efficient electronics.

So how much of an improvement did I get?

Well, the Flip 6's sound was certainly louder, a bit more there in the bass department, but it was still balanced, as I could hear mid-range and treble sounds distinctly. One standard test was to play an instrumental piece and listen for the individual instruments. Were they crisply distinct or fuzzy? I couldn't really decide; my ears couldn't deal with the finely-nuanced; but I'd assert - subjectively - that overall the Flip 6's sound quality was definitely better. It was certainly very pleasing. But then I would have said the same for the Flip 4. On a scale of ten, with nine and ten beyond my powers to hear properly, I'd place the new Flip 6 at eight, and the Flip 4 at seven. They were that close. So in summary I'd say I'd bought slightly better sound. 

But in any case, I've now got a new speaker that will serve me well for another five years. Time to fire it up and do the dishes!

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Coco the Clown

When holidaying in the East Midlands last September - I was pitched near Stamford, on my way to the Peak District - I came across the grave of Nicolai Polakovs (the Latvian version of his name), alias Coco the Clown. He was born in Latvia (then part of Czarist Russia) in 1900 and died in in Peterborough Hospital on 25th September 1974, so that when I saw his grave in Woodnewton churchyard on 19th September, it was very nearly the exact fiftieth anniversary of his death. What an odd coincidence!  

The village of Woodnewton is in the green countryside between Stamford and Oundle: an area of farming and woodland, steeped in English history, in the north-eastern corner of Northamptonshire. But an unexpected place for a world-famous circus entertainer, and a foreign-born person at that, to retire to. Even though he and his wife had long become naturalised Britons, and clearly regarded England as their permanent home. Possibly there was some very practical reason for being there. But if one has a choice, one's last years are generally lived where the family is, or somewhere linked to past memories of great significance. What significance had Woodnewton possessed? 

The village is a pleasant place, but not especially remarkable. I went there twice. I drove around it. I got out and walked about. It has an ancient church and the remains of a medieval layout, but there is plenty of modern development. It's neat and tidy and faintly suburban in the way of a village whose professional residents mainly commute to larger places, such as Peterborough. It's not at all unrelentingly posh, but there are certainly some expensive homes. Here are a few shots, so you can see what Woodnewton typically looks like:

Well, it has become the home of Clownfest, an annual celebration of circus clowns, and I suppose you have to imagine hundreds of clowns descending on the village once a year and milling about in their costumes. Bizarre! The village hall, built with money donated by Polakovs and his connections, would be the nerve centre for Clownfest. I wonder what the residents opposite the village hall think, when they see the road outside thronged with clowns of all types? Maybe they love it. 

There's a blue plaque on the village hall to acknowledge Polakovs' help in creating - first - the smart recreation field behind, and then getting the hall itself built. I took several shots of all this, including some posters connected with Coco the Clown:

In the churchyard is this grave for him, complete with a small stone bust set in the headstone:

Did I ever see Coco the Clown when I was young? Well, no. I didn't like clowns. I was a timid and rather fearful child, and thought they were scary. I couldn't see what was funny about them. So if ever a circus appeared on TV - as it still might at Christmastime in the late 1950s and early 1960s - I didn't want to watch. 

I went to a real circus only once - it was Billy Smart's, in Cardiff. Dad took me. It was just he and me. (I don't know where Mum was at the time. Possibly she was having an operation for varicose veins, or recovering from one at home) I'd be eight, nine or ten. I remember the circus was in a huge green area. Lots of tents and brightly-painted vehicles and caravans. An immense white Big Top, with guy ropes all around: and being a clumsy child, I surely tripped on one. I could smell animals: a jungle smell I didn't like. It was noisy, confusing, and very strange. So many people too: circus people, but also a torrent of paying customers. The inside of the Big Top was vast. The tiered seats were hard and uncomfortable. The show itself, hosted by a commanding red-coated Ringmaster cracking his whip, with prancing horses in headdresses, with acrobats in sparkling outfits doing crazy things high up, with lions, tigers and at least one elephant, have all merged into a blur. The clowns seemed to be the main stars of the show, tumbling or flat-footing into the ring amid wild applause, shouting to the audience, looking jubilant one moment, then pathetic the next, and generally messing about with custard pies. It must have been very clever stuff, requiring split-second timing; the result of many hours of careful practice. But I didn't understand what was going on. It was spectacle after spectacle, loud and dazzling, but it didn't touch me. I didn't enjoy myself.

I came away feeling that I'd disappointed Dad in some way, by not being enthralled. We never spoke of it again. I never asked to see another circus. 

I thought of that long-ago experience when walking around Woodnewton, and when contemplating Polakovs' grave. I wanted to tell him that I'd been a strange and awkward child. A failed child, despite redemption in adult life. That my lifelong negativity about circuses and similar events was not his fault. It was inbuilt, a deficiency of my own. That if I hadn't been moving on to the Peak District I would have stuck around to see what happened in Woodnewton on the fiftieth anniversay of his death in 1974. Wouldn't it have made a fine series of photos? Maybe I'd shoot some custard pies flying through the air. Maybe I'd get besmirched by one. Wouldn't it make a great selfie? Wouldn't I laugh! Alas, it couldn't happen.

Surely, in 2024, the great days of traditional circuses are long over. They don't fit into the modern digital world. I still see circus posters everywhere, but they are apparently small affairs akin to glorified cabaret acts, shrunk in performance scope to humans only - no animals. And totally geared to modern entertainment tastes. I don't want to see them. Circuses have become last-century, a relic, just as Punch and Judy on the beach has become a relic. It's kind of sad, but no matter what amazing performing skills are on display, they are not in tune with life in the 2020s. 

It was once common for pop songs to make references to circuses in their lyrics - to clowns especially: Cathy's clown; send in the clowns; ha! ha! said the clown; the tears of a clown; death of a clown. I hear those lyrics daily when I play my music, which is predominantly the music of my teens and early twenties in the 1960s and 1970s. I'm certain that clowns don't feature in lyrics anymore. They are no longer the kings of knockabout comedy. If anything at all, they have become the frightening stuff of shock-horror movies, the very opposite of what they once stood for.   

In fact, I do wonder whether any contemporary youngster has ever heard of Coco the Clown, and what he stood for, and what he actually achieved in real life. Dare I ask?

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