Hour

It may be something to do with putting the clocks forward, but there seemed to be more than the usual amount of daylight this evening. There was quite a summery feel about things as I pottered about the garden, trying to make it look less dead. And then in the kitchen, as I casually threw some ingredients together to make a nutritious yet colourful dinner, the daylight still hung around, as if it wasn't sure what to do.

The downside to all of this is that, somewhere along the line, I lost an hour of my life. This does not seem much – although, now I come to think of it, it is actually quite concerning: there are only so many hours left to any of us, and it seems a shame to waste one of them simply by taking it away, without even asking my opinion on the matter. They say, those who understand these things, that we get the hour back some time in the autumn. But by then I might have forgotten what I was planning to do with it.

Debris

Watching Gravity only served to confirm what I had long suspected, that a trip into outer space would probably not represent quite my cup of tea. (Do they say outer space any more? Or is that a throwback to the home-made science fiction serials of my youth? Outer seems a half-hearted sort of adjective for the infinite vastness of the universe. The Outer Hebrides, for example, are certainly quite a distance away from here, yet even they are not quite on the same scale as a trip to the moon.)

Clearly, there was never much chance of ever getting the opportunity to fly into orbit, short of winning the lottery and spending it all on becoming a space tourist. But even then, I suspect I would find better uses for the money that didn't involve the risk of serious injury or being abducted by aliens. I suppose I am not one of life's natural adventurers, preferring to explore the wonders of the universe from the comfort of the armchair, ideally with a couple of chocolate digestives to hand. However, I am younger than George Clooney, so perhaps there is still hope.

Commentary

– You seem to be watching the radio.
– Sorry? No, I am listening to the radio. But on the television.
– But you are also watching it.
– Not really. The page on the screen is only telling me what I know already, that I am tuned in to the radio. Admittedly I do keep glancing at the screen, quite frequently, in fact, but that's just out of habit. You keep expecting something exciting to happen, but nothing ever does.
– There was a time when people would listen to the radio on the radio.
– Technology has moved on. You don't need a radio any more when they broadcast it on the television. Just as you don't need a television, really, when you can watch everything on your laptop. Or smartphone, for that matter.
– You get the impression that you could chuck out all the technology in your life and replace it with a single smartphone.
– And possibly an additional 60 inch widescreen wall-mounted smartphone for when the football is on.
– I can see that would be important. Mind you, you seem to be coping well enough with listening to the football on the radio.
– It's not the same as watching it. Try as they might, the commentators don't really describe all the crucial details, such as what's happening on the pitch. But it's better than nothing.
– I suppose the great thing about radio is how it lets you use your imagination. You can try to imagine what the players are doing. And what the score is. It's probably more entertaining that way.

Vernal

With the arrival of the equinox we have somehow stumbled into spring, despite the weather hesitating between warm sunshine and bleakly grey showers. Random flowers are bravely showing their faces, the grass no doubt thinking seriously about growing. The garden, what there is of it, is looking rather faded and untidy, almost as if no one has bothered to tend it since last summer.

I ought to do more with the garden. In my defence, there is not much space to work with, but people with skill and interest in these matters manage to work miracles with plots the size of shoe boxes, so that really is no excuse. More of an excuse is my lack of imagination, my inability to conjure up a vision of how I would like it to look, and then have the enthusiasm for rolling up my sleeves and doing something about it. I tell myself I am leaving Nature to take its course: left unfettered, it may decide to flourish into a lush tropical Eden, or, more radically, transform into a weed-infested wilderness; who am I to get in the way? Seeing that the garden mostly consists of gravel, it actually hardly changes at all when you hand it over to the ravages of time and the forces of Nature: gravel seems so intrinsically unchanging, even after you kick it around a bit. Unlike flowers.

Parade

– And did you not celebrate St Patrick's Day yesterday?
– Well, I thought about it, briefly. But I didn't quite feel up to it.
– Why ever not?
– It seemed somehow a little out of place to deck myself out in green and parade up and down the high street. Had there been a large crowd of Irish men and women on hand it might have been quite enjoyable. But on my own, I would have felt quite self-conscious.
– I'm sure casual bystanders would have joined in, once they realised what you were up to.
– I don't know: bystanders can be pretty aloof at times. Especially when they suspect you're slightly unhinged.
– You should take more pride in celebrating your heritage.
– I'm not Irish.
– Well, not anatomically, perhaps, but culturally? Surely you have thrilled to the words of Yeats and Joyce and – and the rest?
– Of course, at least occasionally, but I'm not sure that qualifies me. Anyway, I don't have anything to wear in green. Apart from socks.
– That would have been enough. As long as you made sure they were clearly visible.

Focus

Every so often I try to take a look through the manual for the new camera: just out of interest, to see if I can learn anything useful: pick up some tips. There is quite a lot of it, the manual; and, like manuals tend to be nowadays, it is in pdf format, which is not so conducive for idly thumbing through. But were I ever interested enough to print it off (unlikely, given the chronically inert state of my printer), it would come to quite a hefty tome; the sort of thing that would be far too big to prop up the leg of a table unless the table were missing an entire leg.

I don't know if cameras were ever particularly simple devices: I suppose there has always been a certain degree of fiddling around with them to get a half decent picture out. But these newfangled digital contraptions seem to go to town with buttons and dials and menus: everything you could wish to adjust can be adjusted. And even dozens of features you have never dreamed of adjusting, mainly because you have not the faintest idea what they do, or why you should want to interfere with them, are laid bare before you. Clearly, there is always the fully automatic mode available to you: but you bought the camera thinking how nice it would be to get away from mindless automation, and how you would relish the opportunity to get to grips with the inner workings of this seemingly logical device in order to express your artistic cravings. But then you discover the buttons, and dials, and menus. And suddenly mindless automation seems an attractive option.

Cog

– I need to take a holiday.
– We all need a holiday at some time or other. A chance to relax and recuperate. Visit new and exotic lands. Sample the local cuisine.
– I mean I actually need to take a holiday, in that it's getting towards the end of the financial year, and, for reasons beyond my ken, I have to take my remaining holiday entitlement before the end of the month.
– Of course. And how many days have you got left?
– Goodness knows. Weeks and weeks. I am allowed to carry some over to next year, but you don't want to carry too much over as it just accumulates.
– Is that bad?
– It will be when I have an even worse problem this time next year.
– You clearly spend too much time at work. Try to tear yourself away more often. Enjoy the spring sunshine while it lasts.
– It's sometimes tricky finding an appropriate time to be away: there is always so much work to be done, meetings to go to, slides to write...
– I know it often seems you are essential to the running of the company, but you have to realise that you are merely the smallest of cogs in a massive machine. It is always surprising to find out how little we are missed when we are away.
– That's not very reassuring.
– True. But it's something to be thinking about while you're enjoying your holiday.
– It might stop me enjoying the holiday.
– You could always ensure you're still replying to emails while you're away: just so they don't forget you.

Heat

It was unexpectedly warm today. At least, it was unexpected by me: perhaps if I listened more to forecasts these things would not come as such a surprise, and I could dress appropriately.

The nice weather seemed to tempt everyone outside, so that there were cyclists clogging the roads and walkers littering the hilltops. I did my best to avoid the crowds by going out while the Six Nations rugby and FA Cup quarter finals were on TV, but clearly ran into hoards of day trippers with no interest in team sports, or no access to television, or simply an overwhelming desire to experience the great outdoors.

I took my camera, the new one I got myself at Christmas, which I've not had a chance to use as much as I would have liked due to the inclement weather earlier in the year. It is a problem with landscape photography: you tend to be very reliant on the weather, and, now I think of it, the landscape. Neither are really in your control, try as you might. But I have also dabbled in pet portraiture, and that, I'm afraid, is even worse. Unless you wait till it's asleep.

Fence

It is March already. I thought the weather was improving, but it seems very changeable. I suppose it is as much as you can expect.

I should be grateful that the tempestuous gales of a few weeks ago have not returned. The garden fence is still in tatters. My neighbour has suggested repairing it himself, which may be a great mistake: I gave up trying to do these things a long time ago. You start off with the best intentions, but then things inexplicably turn against you, and fall over when you're not looking. I think it is something to do with entropy: the fence wants to return to the state of maximum disorder it is currently enjoying. It is cruel to confine it to a single, invariant, upright position: it is defying nature.

Having said that, it would be nice to get the fence fixed, as frankly it looks a mess and could disappear completely the next time there is a southerly gust. The cat wanders unhindered into the neighbour's garden, which makes you wonder what creatures of the night might wander into mine when I'm not looking. Certainly Cat is inept at guarding her own territory, which smacks a little of ingratitude, given how much care and attention I lavish upon her: protecting my garden from marauding strays would seem the minimum she could do. But there is no reasoning with her.

Feast

– It just goes to show: you think you're feeling fine after a minor stomach bug, and yet I ended up at death's door for a whole week.
 – At death's door? That sounds rather serious. You should have mentioned it.
– Well, I was feeling pretty poorly, at least: spending large parts of the day in bed, with no interest in food; neither of which is normal for me.
– But at least it's over now. Hopefully. Which is luckily just in the nick of time.
– For?
– For the traditional feasting of Shrove Tuesday.
– I'm not sure I'm really in the mood for feasting tonight. Maybe tomorrow.
– You miss the point. You feast today in order to forsake all food tomorrow, and indeed for the next few months. Till Christmas, I think.
– That seems an awful long time. Especially having not eaten much all week.
– It will make you a better person: spiritually, as well as physically. So in order to avoid temptation, you should empty the house of unnecessary food. Hence the invention of the pancake, which clearly makes use of the entire contents of your fridge. And larder. At least it did in mediaeval times, when people tended to keep less in the fridge. Eggs, basically, and not much else.
– Life must have been simpler then.
– Yes. I suppose it must have been a little dull. Unless you were particularly fond of eggs.