Sorting out the issues

There have been fewer blog posts of late because of numerous technical problems with too little time available to sort them.  Open Live Writer has only been able to publish intermittently because of an Error 500 associated with posting pictures.  Blogger stores photos in dedicated albums in Google Photos, and the interface is, at best, inconsistent. 

The project team at Github has suggested workarounds, but I’ve had mixed success in getting them running.  Test posts have, therefore, been popping up occasionally while I run potential fixes: I’m sorry for the spam and will hopefully get things to settle down shortly.

The camera also needed to go into the shop for another lens.  This is the third time that the camera has stopped recognising its own E-mount glass, its never in the body, but always in the lens recognition system.  I have replacement insurance with John Lewis, fortunately, but it leaves me without good photo support until the system comes back.  Hopefully it will be resolved next week.

Finally, I updated the blog theme last week, slightly: Blogger has been changing its templates and a consultant suggested that uploads might start working if my migrated off of my 5-year-old standard.  The blog and photos migrated fine, but I’ll likely make more aesthetic adjustments in the coming month.

However, I’m still around and doing fine.  There’s lots to share once things get sorted, and as the workload eases up in the Netherlands and UK.

Poole, into London

A close friend called, asked if I could meet him in London today on a personal matter.  Of course, anything, let me get the train in.  I pick up a flower and a some fizzy water before heading out.

I’d planned a day along the beach, long overdue.  A storm surf would have been wonderful, white foam and booming breaks, but the early morning was placid along the harbor and the beachfront.  Still, lovely to walk the sands and share the morning with the couples and dog-walkers.

    

Right.  9 am: hit the roads north.  On arriving in Basingstoke, though, there were a few adjustments.  There is no more cruel word in Dutch than snelbus. The British equivalent is Replacement Bus, evident only after I’d paid for parking.  When track works are on, the transit times double.

 

In this case, the delays start with waiting for an onwards bus, and end with further 45 minute waits for a train in Woking.  Still, it’s a chance to see the place, and, in my case, to find the landing spots for Wells' Martians.  They are well remembered in the city: a landing spot near the mall, the mechanical tripod striding along the thoroughfares.

  

All in all, five hours to London, car, bus, and train.  And there will be an equal measure back for the evening.  Still, the visit with the family in St. Thomas meant a lot for all of us.  Between conversations, there were moments free for walks along Southbank.  A small food fair, a burst of rain, a lot of tourists to study.

     

‘not a terrible trade for the day on the beach.

Saturday errands and walks

It’s a day for catching up, sorting through small jobs and picking up parts.  I’d promised to fix a lock for the house, screws, oil, and  fat screwdriver to get the cover off.  Whereas, in the US, I’d be off to Home Depot or (back in the day) Ernst, here in the UK it’s a trip to B&Q (DIY Store, as the Brits say, rather than an American Hardware Store, but the same idea).
 

With a bit of help, I found the little machine screws at one end of the warehouse, a can of light oil at the other, and the tools somewhere in between.  It’s been a long time since I did minor carpentry, and I’m sort of looking forward to working with my hands and getting a bit dirty again.

I’m also trying to sort out my phone: its been three years since my last purchase, and O2 has consistently downgraded me with each insurance claim until I have something that barely works now.  With the business still largely virtual, I rely heavily on my connectivity: I need pure Android, good reception and battery life, decent Bluetooth, a serviceable camera, and pocketable size.  The alternatives seem to be an HTC-10, Pixel C, Sony XZ, or OneTouch 3T (Sorry, I’m not going near a Samsung). 

I’ve inquired about upgrade through O2 but they only carry one of the phones.  Their full replacement insurance has also degraded over the years, from ‘Instant swap‘ to ‘Send it in and we’ll let you know in a week or so what we want to do’.  I’m talking with Carphone Warehouse and others now, and like the phones and insurance better.

The two choices remaining are whether to wait a month for O2’s upgrade charge to disappear, and whether to wait for April to see what the spring HTC-11 and OneTouch 4 look like.

 

Otherwise, my w.wezen and I took the car to Farnborough for repairs and looked for a nice evening out for dinner.  Farnborough turns out to be a culinary desert: a pedestrian mall lined with budget shops, a couple of low=end pubs, and a few fast-food chains.  ‘Better to go to Reading and try something new.

The Bluegrass BBQ was a good choice, reminiscent of Blue’s Smokehouse, a personal favorite in Bracknell.  Not the portion size or intense bar-b-q flavour that good Southern smokehouses would have, its nonetheless a credible local substitute.  The burnt ends were better than the brisket, the burger better than the fries, the craft beers better than the US.

Although a bit of a rainy night, we decided a walk home would beat a bus or taxi.  It settled the dinner appropriately, and afforded some good opportunities to photograph light and reflections.

   

Back online

‘sorry to have been missing the past few weeks: it’s been a busy travel interval mingled with a couple of technical failures and a brief illness.  Things are progressing with the products, though, and life has generally been good.  My sincere thanks to the folks who have asked how things are going, I apologize for worrying you.

A friend pointed out that if I’m going to focus my attention on a limited number of social media channels, then I need to be both vocal and visible on them.  For me, that would be narrative on this blog and images on Instagram.  I will be more diligent on both.

Another friend reminded me of my resolution in leaving Facebook: The people who want to find me know where to look.  A fair number have actually sent emails, but I’ve been unforgivably slow in replying.  In my defense, work emails haven’t fared much better in recent weeks.  But I take the point that waiting until I find the time to write a proper letter, or to finally settling circumstances once and for all, has meant that I don’t make any timely reply.  That, too, will change.

I’ll do a bit of backfill here and I’ll try to be more regular in writing ideas and in sharing pictures going forward.  And you should always know  that a koffie or bierje is on offer for those with time to spare among the Maas cafés or walking the Poole beaches.

‘just drop me a line or a text.

Picking up the Pen

“If I waited till I felt like writing, I’d never write at all.” — Anne Tyler

It’s been a couple of months since I last wrote a note or posted a picture.  Thank you to the friends and followers who wrote asking if everything was okay: It is.

There has been a lot going on since April 22, milestones and changes, good times and difficult intervals.  And the further I fell behind in sharing it all, the more difficult it became to start again. 

Still, I made notes to myself, collected pictures and bookmarked articles, banking content for the future.

So, pen to paper and back to it.

I’ll likely backfill a bit, certainly look forward, and update on the many changes in life as time allows.  Some of the constants are still there: I can be found in the same haunts in Poole and Maastricht, for now.  My w.wezen and my medtech /entrepreneurial dreams remain my passions.  I remain somewhat FOMO’d on weekends and occasionally tortuous under questioning.

But life is generally good, even if transitioning yet again.

Over pints in Henley-on-Thames

‘taking a bit of a quiet Sunday, lying in reading, then a shared coffee toast and poached egg breakfast.  The New York Times has been making the case for breakfast all week, with emails and recipes. There are lots of good ideas for new things to try, variations on eggs and spreads for muffins look particularly appealing. But the main m4essage is that breakfast is ‘home’: familiar food in a comfort setting, part of a cozy family routine.

I was always one for making eggs, fried, then scrambled (loose for the British and firm for the Americans), finally poached over toast.  I went through a period of boy scout pancakes, then artistic shapes for the kids, finally fluffy Western-style flapjacks early in Europe.  Sausage and potatoes likewise have given way to grilled peppers and onions, cereal and fruit to yogurt-muesli-coulis mixtures.

I’m experimenting improving my coffee and preserves.  Jams are best from the farm shops, but better coffee required an online search and some ordering.  ‘Combined with an Aero press, I can get a pretty decent cup when I make a project out of it.  But my Sicilian housemates sniff that my morning brew will never rise above ‘coffee-scented tea’ unless I concentrate it into syrupy espresso using a Bialetti Moka stovetop device.

‘Over to the Anchor pub in Henley-on-Thames, then, for a riverside walk together, sharing news articles over G&T and local bitters. 

   

We drift into talking about the Oscars and the films we haven’t seen this year (or last).  I send a link about the Fashion on to my family.  There’s a laugh over the Guardian’s commentary, and I get a bit rapturous over Jenny Beavan, who won an Oscar for costume design.  She was wholly herself when it came to dressing up (although she says it was Mad Max inspired).  There were some lovely pictures of looks that she got from the audience as she accepted her award, and conspiracy theories as to why.

I try to get a few good pictures of a lovely antique roadster outside, playing off  of the plant and the cracked window.  Depth of focus fails me: I resolve to go back to the photography course.

It’s all comfortably domestic, fitting with the weekend theme. Yet, what is ‘home’ for a nomad like me?  Less a place, than:
  - Where I unpack everything into it’s place
  - Where my things have a safe place to rest
   - Where I cook for myself
   - Where my 13 boxes of things are kept
   - Where my souvenirs are arrayed along the bookshelves

No, it’s most assuredly where I know that am most loved and welcomed, and where I give the same in return.