20160531

Morning splendour




Early morning splendour. Who can resist running barefoot along this shore on a day like this, enjoying, with Christopher Robin and Kim, the sand or mud between the toes, taking a refreshing dip? And yet I had the whole beach to myself.  See also here.








20160525

Football etcetera



People get so fanatical about football. Or tennis, cricket, rugby. Or indeed any sort of organised sport or the present day plethora of get-fit regimes. And they spend vast sums on tickets, clothing or equipment. Even folk who live in Christian community. Me? I don't get it - why should I subject myself to external rules and pay for the privilege? I have enough of that sort of thing in the work I do. Not that I have it in for such people - let them continue their infatuations as it will at least keep them away from the solitude I seek.

I imagine they might say of me: what is the point in your running and what's with the mortification of going barefoot? I am quick to answer (but I assure you, they are not looking for an answer): whilst running I am free, the outdoors here is unrestricted, beautiful and quiet, I can think things over and pray or shout and sing if I want, there is a great sensation when running minimalist - the ground against your feet, the wind against your chest, and it is virtually free. And it's good exercise. Of which, only the last is true of playing football. And as for listening to or watching a football match or, worse still, a cricket tournament - this must be one of the most boring occupations imaginable. For me.

But I know (and love) folk who would violently disagree with my stance. And I wonder how it is that we are so different?

20160524

When is a hat a hat?



New Farm Chapel, Alresford

It is not my intention in this post to judge any group but rather to record my own experiences and misgivings. New Farm Chapel, the church my parents went to, was one of the caldrons of my childhood. Back then it was heavily influenced by the Open Brethren movement, and thus it was strong on Bible teaching. Which is not a bad thing. And strong on some other areas like the rapture, women may not lead or preach, women must have their heads covered in church, and that anything that smelled of pentecostal should be avoided like the plague. There was a girl, one of my peers, who returned from some third party Christian youth camp, exuberant because she had witnessed healings and levels of praise that thrilled here - and I remember that words were said... And I overheard one staid member chatting to my father about strange groups that met in houses and put scripture to music, as if that were wrong. Least-ways that is how my memory recalls. And something inside me said: hey - something is wrong here.  But, like Mary, I kept all these things and pondered them in my heart, and remained thoroughly conservative in the meantime.

The head covering rule was followed in similar fashion to our own 'rule' that women should not wear "pants" (as our friends across the sea call them) unless for modesty. The game was to see how small a covering would be acceptable - for example a tiny square of material pinned to the hair. Which begs the question: when is a hat a hat?

However, the positives outweighed these negatives and, all said and done, I bless and honour those folk for the input they had into my life. After all, it was after a gospel meeting at the age of 10 that, whilst my mother prayed with me, I gave my life to God. Or at least I said I would. Or at least I started to. For us humans can vacillate so easily. And, later at age 14 and at my own request, it was there that I was baptised.

The breaking of bread service is a hall-mark of the brethren movement and it was, once I was old enough to understand it, very meaningful to me. In later years I found the communion service at the Anglican college chapel at Oriel very different but equally meaningful. In contrast to my experience at the very friendly and sincere baptist church where Ali and I met and were later married - where communion was tacked on to the regular Sunday meeting as a sort of after-thought every 4th Sunday and consisted of dry, tiny squares of shop bread and Ribena in individual shot-glasses. Ribena is a great drink and, for me, is associated with many fond childhood memories, but it is no substitute for wine.

The ceiling of New Farm's sanctuary originally had a raised central section half-cylindrical in shape and, in the semicircle so described at the pulpit end, was a raised panel declaring in gilt lettering on a maroon back that "every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord" with the bible reference Phi 2:11 in a smaller font at the bottom.

A major renovation was carried out in my time in which extra rooms were added along the far side and the main hall was extended and the ceiling altered so that the raised part was wider and now only a segment of a cylinder, lit by a line of fluorescent tubes either side hidden in a pelmet. I see in the stock picture above that, since my time, they have extended upwards so that there is now a second story at the rear.

The church secretary, an older man who was referred to lovingly by one of our family friends as "Eddie Whirlpool" for his getting confused when giving the announcements, was a professional sign writer and it was he who painted that panel so beautifully.


courtesy Google Streetview

This is where he worked - he ran a small Christian bookshop on the ground floor and had his sign-writing shop upstairs. He was related to or a family friend of my best friend D and we would sometimes drop in for something to do - it was only a few hundred yards from where I lived. He would furnish us with paint and brushes and we would wile away a happy afternoon - I loved the smell of the paints. On one occasion I painted, not very well, a Narnian banner - a red lion rampant on a bright green field.

Genuine gold leaf

Some of E's sign-writing demanded gilt lettering - his method, as I remember, was to paint a base-coat in a sort of gold yellow and then apply the gold leaf from a book like the one above.

Powerscourt House, Co. Wicklow

Having been brought up "brethren" it is curious that I should now live not that far from a nursery of the brethren movement, Powerscourt House. Here it was that Lady Powerscourt hosted meetings that J. N. Darby frequented. The now widely accepted rapture theory also had its roots here.

Curious also that I should marry a girl who had been brought up in the exclusive brethren.

I never considered New Farm chapel as brethren "proper" - other brethren assemblies I had visited were far drier and stricter - some even to the point of men one side and women the other side of the aisle.  In the same way as I have never considered our present church as properly a part of the movement some claim it is part of. Maybe that's just the rebellious streak in me, or maybe it is because I hold dearly to the belief, held by both expressions, in the autonomy of the local assembly.

Which is why I a bit of a problem with the quote "In view of the above this meeting of elders of Auckland assemblies considers that xxx Gospel Centre has put itself outside the fellowship of Assemblies known as 'open brethren' ". Just as when is a hat a hat, when is a local expression truly autonomous?

20160523

Another ancient recipe, this time Cornish in origin

Some while ago I shared an ancient recipe.  Here is another which I have mentioned (although the location was Wadebridge, not Padstow) but not experienced recently until this evening when Ali happened to have brought clotted cream back from her visit to Devon and we happened to stumble upon some bargain jam tarts in Lidl.

The ingredients

Remove two jam tarts from the package

Load each tart with clotted cream

Enjoy!

The recipe is quite simple, as you can see. I regret the gastronomic experience did not quite match my memory, partly because the jam tarts were inferior. They had too little jam in and the jam was all the same colour. The correct ones should be in a choice of red, orange and green flavours.  Maybe next time...




20160521

The elusive dead-end of Blessington Green Way


15.62 km including part of the green way

The lake is low at the moment making it easier to run along the shore line, although some parts are stony. My quest today was to use the curious dead-end of the Blessington greenway shown with a green blob on the official map below. The main part of the green way connects the Avon RĂ­ leisure centre to Russborough House and there are car parking facilities either end. But the most southerly part ends rather abruptly and  ignominiously at the lake and thus is not very useful unless of course one wants to get to that particular random spot. Which is why I had not, up until this afternoon explored it. So now I have done the whole length, although not in one go.


Blessington green way - part of the official map

The weather forecast was for rain which I positively embraced, and rain it did. Fortunately I was running barefoot and wearing only shorts, and as I have waterproof skin I was able to enjoy the rain to the full.

View from the point where I joined the lakeshore

This is about where the greenway ends at its south end

Same place, looking back. Yes it did rain quite heavily

I took the opportunity to swim at my usual spot - I stayed in at least a couple of minutes. I cannot tell you where this spot is, for obvious reasons, but I will say it is somewhere between the two places pictured above and below this text. Which narrows it down to perhaps 5 miles of shore line.

Nearer to home, showing how low the lake is

All the Mowgli stories




My parents had a large blue case-bound book "All the Mowgli stories" being the two Jungle Books in one edition. I loved the stories, I loved the illustrations.



Prompted by the film The Jungle Book I have just finished re-reading these stories and at the close I cried and cried. I have to admit that the original stories far exceed the film in depth and emotion, great as Jon Favreau's production and Neel Sethi's acting was.  Kipling was a master story teller: the film was in 3D but the stories have many more dimensions. I can only hope that Favreau uses more of the original material in the much anticipated sequel.

The original stories are now, of course, public domain and can be downloaded from the internet free of charge.

20160513

Signals and relays



This web site describes UK signals both semaphore and colour light and is animated rather nicely.

When I was of school age I loved to join my father in the Railway Room typically on a Sunday afternoon. My mother was, I think, jealous of the time we spent there, and maybe of the money spent, so my father would disappear clandestinely. I would monitor his movements and thus figure where he had gone and join him sooner or later. And there we would stay until my mother called up the stairs "tea time". I think she visited the Room maybe once or twice, as did my sisters, but never with any particular any interest. In fact it was very rare to find anyone with similar interests.

Dad would habitually control the up line and I the down line. Neither of us were too fussed with the visuals although each of us had made a few half-hearted attempts at scenery. This is so different from the typical model railway display where visual authenticity rules ahead of technicality.  For us time and motion and the feeling of actually driving the train were more important. But this is all described in the previous post and all I want to add here is a more in depth description of the automatic signalling I added to the down line circuit.

Relay operated block signalling

I kept my original hand-drawn wiring schematic for many years but sadly no longer have it. Our community experience in the North was a great reducer of personal possessions. The schematic above (click to enlarge) is drawn from memory and may not be quite as I had it. I do remember I had to add electrolytic capacitors to slow down some of the relays, I suppose to avoid some sort of glitch happening, but I cannot remember where they were placed. I must have been that much wiser back then. But I think it will be sufficient for any other model railway signal-lover to base their design on, in the off-chance that such a one might read this. The scheme is of course based on the absolute block system which I had ample time to study on my daily journeys to and from school, in which only one train may occupy a given block or section of railway and the entrance to each block is protected by a signal and, if single track, by the occupying train driver having in possession a unique "token".

The 4-pole changeover relays were from an old telephone exchange. I may in fact have used 6-pole relays as one extra pole would save the latching effect relying on a resistor to keep just enough current to hold the relay closed. And the 6th pole could be used for four aspect signalling or added complexities such a junctions.

The 2-pole changeover relays I probably purchased. The single pole changeover "current sense" relays were hand made. At the time I was not aware that such a thing existed so I had to invent it.  A model train typically consumes between a quarter and one amp, so the idea was to wind sufficient turns on the coil to operate the armature whilst not reducing the voltage delivered to the train appreciably. The system worked superbly.

Later in life, after I had learnt about TTL logic, I tried reproducing the functionality with integrated circuits. This was unsuccessful for various reasons. I suppose now-a-days one would use a microprocessor. No - now-a-days most folk would not even bother and instead just get the "app".

It's strange reading Sci-Fi stories that date from the 1950's.  Sure, they have space ships and robots, but they are all powered by relays that click incessantly. And the people are smoking incessantly, even in space ships in outer space.  Having said that, relays are very much still with us being almost irreplaceable for many functions.  They are rugged - no problems with damage by ESD or finite on-resistance! Available with many poles. And capable of switching large currents and voltages.

The operative part of my scratch-built colour light signals were 12V grain-of-wheat bulbs which I purchased, as pocket money permitted, in the model shop in Eastleigh. This shop was tiny - a bit like the electronics shop in Winchester only the sales person was a woman if I remember correctly. Not that there is anything wrong with that: she knew her business well enough. In later years I made one using those new-fangled LED's but by then I was away at college so it was never used.

The second innovation was the automatic selection of one of two speed controllers (the "inertial" design described in my previous post). In this way it was possible to control two trains independently. The choice is controlled by the wire labelled "SELECT" which is 3-state: open-circuit leaves the next 2-pole relay in its existing state, connecting to +12V turns it on and connecting to 0V turns it off. A red signal opens the circuit thus preventing any new choice (set by the switch) to ripple through to the block beyond.

The schematic shows only 2 blocks - in fact there were 4 blocks in the overall circuit, not counting the station block itself which was controlled manually. Along the way there was a passing loop and two merging tracks which were also controlled automatically. The above schematic shows none of this detail.

Once I had designed the system I had to cut the track to create the dead section (to force the train to stop before a danger signal) and the sense section (to operate the sense relay) in each block, and run numerous extra wires under the base-board.  Cutting the rails was easy enough using a junior hacksaw, but I did it in much trepidation because I did not first ask my father's permission. This latter omission some might question but, in fact, it was done intentionally - it is a principle of life that the adventurous must "boldly go where no man has gone before".  I find it is the same now with my running hobby - I don't tell people in advance what I am about, I hardly dare even mention it to myself - for fear of disapproval. The principle only works, of course, if it works. I knew my father well enough to figure he would not be overly displeased provided I proved myself. Witness the episode when, much younger, I carved up the lawn. Any parent who stifles their kid's creativity needs their head testing. I guess there are limits, though.

Signal symbols

I invented these symbols to represent signals for track diagrams - the top row are colour light and the lower row the equivalent semaphore.



Signal box at Alresford

If I ever travel by rail my head is often out of the window (modern trains don't facilitate) - and in particular I am looking for the signals. Why signals? Doubtless because of their colour, and figuring out the necessary underlying control systems. Which of course implies my fascination with the signal box with its token system at Alresford where I boarded the train to school every day. My father introduced me to Mr Norris the signalman on one occasion when I got to see the inside of the box.

I found the pictures below on the internet - they date back to my school days.  I caught the 08:15 train every morning and often arrived (panting) at the station after the two trains had pulled in, to run along the platform and over the level crossing to the down line on the left. The picture brings back so many memories, mostly fond.


Up and down trains passing at Alresford

The route passed through Itchen Abbas station (this station was unattended and its passing loop had been removed many years before my time) and thence to Winchester Junction where it joined the main line from Waterloo.  Here the signal box was equipped with a platform where the signalman would wait to collect the token from the driver (or give it him on the return journey).

Passing the token at Winchester junction 


20160512

Fear of water

I don't have many memories of infant-hood, but I do remember rolling over in the bath. That was back when I shared the bath with my three years older sister, so I guess I was quite young. Rolling over, a baby finds its head under water and does not appreciate the experience. Apparently it is not uncommon.  It seemed to me at the time that the bath was a very dangerous place to be left unattended.

I wonder whether my fear of water and hate of my head being submerged started back then?  It wasn't until I was maybe 13 that I learned to swim and before that I was certain that I would sink if I let go. And to this day I don't dive or swim under water and get agitated if anyone tries to mess with me. And yet I love that feeling of freedom and often dream that I am swimming, though in my dreams the water generally does not let me "in" so I flounder on the surface - strange.

Swimming in the lake here is strongly discouraged because there have been several instances of drowning - in most cases because of stupidity.  There are, however, some secluded places that are relatively safe, although I have no intention of telling you where they are - and I have taken a brief plunge twice this year so far - brief because the water is still a bit too cold for my liking.


20160510

Othello and the Internet, True or False?



My rather poor photo of inside the Abbey Theatre

The other night we went to see Othello at the Abbey theater. It was a school trip and I went as chauffeur rather more than out of any love for Shakespeare. I had been primed about the plot so was able to follow things vaguely. The actors did not use microphones and, what with the archaic language, Irish accents and minimal volume I couldn't follow much of what was said. And Shakespeare is almost all speech - a good deal too much IMHO. I mean - normal people just don't talk at that length: least-ways most men don't. In brief: the main character Iago is lying all the time, there's a lot of hatred and mistrust, and as a result most of the cast end up dead. Great. The lesson: don't believe all you hear, even from people you thought you could trust.

Ali is into conspiracy theory and doubts the truth of much of what she sees reported by the media. Like, was the Boston marathon bombing a setup to instill fear?  Did man really walk on the moon? What is really the truth about weather patterns?  That sort of thing. The trouble is she is using the internet to discredit the internet. It is rather scary how folk now-a-days go to Google for answers much that same way as they might once have prayed.  Sure, some internet sites specialise in debunking like Snopes and I thought this one gives some sensible advice, but who's to say that the de-bunkers are right?.  The lesson: don't believe all you hear even if it's on the internet.

How can you tell is something is true?  People have been asking this a long time. Pilate uttered his infamous "what is truth?" while Jesus, the very embodiment of Truth, was standing in front of him. So close and yet so far. And you would think, now we have modern digital communications, that it would be easier for us to tell if something is true. It seems not, and some say things are getting worse. I'm not so sure after seeing Othello.

20160508

Railway signals and the Curragh


My route, map courtesy Bing Maps


Ali wanted to go to Newbridge for a hair do, so I hitched a lift and took the opportunity for a Curragh run on this the hottest day so far this year.  Actually I would have liked it better a bit cooler.

So I crossed that mysterious bridge over the M7 to the Other Side, found a railway line, and came back via the racecourse.

Stats 9.7 miles, average speed moving 6.2 mph, barefoot of course. I find it strange to not have seen anyone else running barefoot here - the Curragh with is grass cropped short by sheep is quite ideal.

Note the colour-light signals. More about these in a post that will be coming Soon.


Starting point

I may have said that I like railways

Curragh plain, ideal barefoot running location

More of same

Another odd earthwork (the Curragh is full of them)

Colour-light signal all clear - they use LED's

Signal at red

That's part of me, my toe dinged on a rock, and my shadow

Curragh race course

The horse that our neighbour M made out of horse shoes

the horseshoes are welded together

Beautiful iron sculpture at the M7 intersection

Some sort of rally - they were all honking their horns

20160506

The new coffee religion




Not that long ago a cup of coffee here meant getting the jar of Nescafé out. And some folk here still prefer instant coffee. Several years back a visitor made a gift of a coffee machine - the Expresso kind that freshly grinds, compacts and infuses all in one operation - and this became the coffee of choice. But more recently some claim that the plunge-pot / French press / cafetiere makes a better cup, whilst others have gone back to a filter pot, making sure they freshly grind coffee beans for each pot. Together we consume vast amounts of coffee beans and the whole shebang is not cheap.

Me, I take tea in the morning. I find coffee too heavy a drink. And, taken in the evening, it can keep me from a good night's sleep. Whereas tea does not.

Tea is a good deal simpler. Sure you do have to boil the water, an important step sometimes missed by the Americans among us, and I like to heat the tea-pot or cup first, too. And there is the subtle difference between putting milk in first (English tradition) or afterwards (Irish tradition). Some establishments boast the luxury of choosing a blend. But for me it is just: dunk a generic tea-bag in the mug and pour in boiling water.

This morning here I am fixing my breakfast of cereal and a cuppa tea and I find the coffee pundits are around. There's a still-warm plunge-pot left for somebody to deal with (a hateful job), someone was grinding coffee beans as I ate and now the filter pot is on the brew, and another person just arrived to turn on the Expresso machine for their particular morning caffeine fix.

And we claim to be an "end time farm", back to basics, deny the flesh, a "live only for Jesus" community!

20160505

Dreams and Floaters


Love-eye-floaters

They say we dream all the time, but rarely remember unless we happen to wake during a dream. In my dreams I often have memories, for example that I have been in a particular place before - they say this is common, that dreams have their own set of recollections that need not concur with awake memories.

The other night I dreamed I was going along a road - probably running barefoot - and found it didn't go anywhere so retraced my steps back over a river bridge to a junction I had remembered passing. I took the other path hoping that it would lead me back home. This road ended abruptly at the river and I found myself on a boat which took me to city build on either side of a deep valley. My vantage point gave me a panorama of both the complex architecture and the deep, rocky river gorge below. In my dream I remembered that in a previous dream (so I knew I was in a dream!) I had been amazed at the finesse of detail - so I made a point of testing this - I found I could make out striations in the rocks by the river maybe half a mile beneath me, could resolve the guy wires supporting a distant radio mast atop a fantastic building caught in rosy evening light: and the sheer glut of detail surrounding me reminded me of the film Hugo.

I rank Hugo among the best films I have ever watched, along with (to name a few) Oliver, the Sound of Music, Avatar and the new Jungle Book. I rank it highly because (in order) it is intensely beautiful, because it is about a boy discovering himself, because of its unashamedly story-book feel particularly in the way the major characters are so cleverly exaggerated, and because I liked the music. Indeed the only character that comes across at all normal is the boy Hugo himself (Asa Butterfield). Maybe you have not seen the film? You should. Here are some stills to wet your appetite and illustrate what I am saying. In a still, sadly resolution (hence quality, detail) is lost along with the dimensions of time and depth (I strongly regret that I did not see the film in 3D), just as audio quality is lost in monaural listening. The film is one continual feast for the eye - it is impossible to take in all the detail before the scene changes. Click on the images to enlarge them.
















Speaking of finesse - the word aptly describes the degree of detail generated by the Fabry–PĂ©rot interferometer. Had I not fallen for the colour and intricacy found in electronics I would surely have become a physicist specialising in optics. I have some friends who are into photography in a big way and they, at least, respect optics, but for the most part folk take sight and the fact that we can see in 3D for granted, not to mention movies and the ubiquitous digital camera to boot. Perhaps you have never taken a camera apart to study the compound lenses, or disassembled a flat screen monitor to find out how it is so evenly illuminated? You should.


Looking at this diagram it is frankly amazing that we can see as well as we can. In fact we can't - the brain adjusts for many imperfections in our eyesight but, together, I reckon they do a pretty good job. I am so glad that I can see. Even if I have largely lost the ability to accommodate - I have needed reading glasses for several years and now even my far vision needs some correction. Recently I invested in a pair of those cheap generic reading glasses with the lowest power and these work well for my far vision though I do not generally need them. Donning them whilst watching a film or movie I discover a new level of detail that I had forgotten existed.

I suppose we all see floaters to varying degrees. And I suppose everyone has "played" with their eyes - screwing up your eyelids to allow only a tiny slit of light to pass through and observing the fancy interference patterns when looking at a source of light. So you will recognise my title picture - these are basically Newton's Rings, which are closely related to the fringes generated by the interferometer.  Apparently vision artifacts like this have been observed in distant history: I guess back then they had little else to do than screw up their eyes or build the occasional pyramid.