Freedom

I was listening to my favourite Youtube person this morning - excellent channel, beautifully named, The Functional Melancholic. His slow, thoughtful content covering philosophy, political madness, cosmic dread and staring into the void at 3am, all delivered under a great collection of hats and with subtle absurdist humour never fails to inspire, and always leaves me feeling that I have been reminded of what is important in life.

This morning's offering was on freedom, and was as ever thought-provoking and strangely uplifting - for me anyway. 

So my takeaway was a reminder on what real freedom is, and how often it is something quiet and unremarkable, such as choosing to not pick up the phone and scroll during a spare moment but to lose oneself in the narrative of a novel, or to gain real, lasting information from reading something informative - and fascinating about the natural world/philosophy/history/whatever . . . from a book. I remember stuff I take the time to ingest via a page, rather than a quick Google glance. 

Of course Google et al has many uses and is invaluable for: 'shit, a flat tyre - quick, Google Renault Kangoo info on spare tyres/jacks etc' - as we don't even know where the spare is on our car. Or, map apps are great for when you are utterly lost in the middle of Paris and late for a meeting, but consulting an actual paper map, realising where you are on the world's crust and then working out the desired route is another crucial aspect of freedom, and brain nurturing. 

Like my grandmother was fond of saying, a little bit of what you fancy does you good - if you can restrict the internet content to 'a little bit'. Have the freedom and practised mind to be able to use it when you want or need but also to have the skill - and it possibly is now a skill - to be able to say, ok, enough of that, and pick up the book/paintbrush/instrument/knitting needles/welding iron/bike helmet/join a friend for a walk, or a game of chess; cook something experimental that doesn't require ChatGPT to give you all the steps.

Oh, yes. A1. I'm aware that Google is hyper old fashioned now, but that's probably where I'll stop. 

Having access to info on absolutely everything from: when was custard first invented to why is our dog afraid of balloons? to why would anyone think that living on Mars was remotely possible or desirable? is really quite enough, thanks. 

My current utterly absorbing read. Fall into another world, nothing but the slight sound of paper pages turning, and your imagination decorating the author's scenes.

This blog

I've been writing it since 2009 - a lot of posts, a lot of life passed by.
Most of my current writing (novel) is set in post-apocalyptic 2073, and one of the reasons for the world's - or rather its human societies'- imaginary cataclysm is the internet's demise.
In my tale, this particular event occurs in 2038, mainly due to someone attempting to upload a half-hour film of their cat trying to open the fridge - the final straw, in effect.
I suspect that the denouement will be somewhat closer in time - not that I'm a pessimist, I think that nearly everyone must secretly harbour this thought . . .
Anyway, as an old git, and real paper/card/ink/leather, book enthusiast, I'd like to preserve my body of  blog-work into a graspable thing with pages. Not particularly to sell - from my tentative peeks so far, nine years worth of blog to paper is yeekly expensive - more as just a record of our lives in this place called the Hot-house; all the small, mostly unremarkable happenings - dogs and other pets homed, musical/art/writing triumphs and failures/ boy's progression through the various stages of school/art college; jam made, celebrations held/ sadnesses acknowledged and got over, love and laughter treasured, plants planted and passing seasons enjoyed.
So, big correction progress underway - I think my grammar has certainly improved over time . . . should have done! Photos re-jigged, a few posts discarded and forward to the grand loading-up onto Blog-U-Like or whatever site looks easy to use - before the cat and fridge episode is upon us.

                                 

Possibly my favourite photo of this year so far - direct line to God in a Toulouse church.

before internet

Was there a time?
I can just remember, hazily, a time, yes - paper, pen, libraries, phones fixed to a plug in the wall, dangling boingy cable attached to a large plastic banana-shaped handset.
                                                   

My boyfriend at the time had a fax machine! I can remember the wild excitement; people queuing up to use it, and then the even more wild excitement when he purchased an Apple Mac - one of those, that in my mind's eye, resembled a beige cereal box with a tiny screen.

While clearing out a bookshelf yesterday, I came across the early version of today's Smart Phones - The Filofax.
My Filofax - how proud I was of it at the time. It was the lifeline in my job (stylist). Information stored of transport companies, prop houses, photographers, etc. But unlike a smart phone, the information stored within had virtually no order; a vague nod to someones surname, or street name where someone might have told me that Fred so and so lived - he who might be able to lend me a vintage Bentley for a photo shoot, or whatever I was sweatily tracking down at that moment in time.
When I look at this book now, I realise I had a map of it in my head; knew which thumbed page to alight on for Aardvark courriers, Harrods food hall, or Nina the makeup artist. Even without looking in the Filofax I could recall over forty telephone numbers (I checked once), now, I can call to mind about six.
How did I do that job without emails? I can't imagine now the endless phone calls, checking a re-checking dates, times, deliveries. But I did. We did. The world did function, even though you could only go to the bank between certain hours in the afternoon.
Below, a page from the afore-mentioned book, including a piranha and a phone number for Ryanair - imagine, no booking a flight on-line . . .