Sunday, 8th March, 2026
Quite cold out there and misty this morning. It’s going to be another day in the Gym. I’ve torn a muscle in my back so I’m taking forever to get going and really look like an old man when I’m walking. I hate it. It makes me feel so decrepit. My wife says I should rest but I can’t miss my targets. I would never sleep if I did.

They say a picture tells a thousand words and regular readers of the Blog will know that I have been gradually transitioning that way in my writing. An old friend, Dave Weatherley, who I haven’t seen since 1972 and who lives in Bolton shared this photo with me of one of his walks. Anyway, I will be going up there soon and hope to meet up with him to cross the 54 year time divide.

It is Springtime in Greece as the weather starts to warm up for the Summer to come. Winter rains have carpeted the countryside with greenery and wild flowers are starting to paint the landcape. This photo from the olive groves of Naxos was posted yesterday. It took me back immediately to our annual arrival at our Greek home usually in March and the smells, sounds and colours of our island. These photos also took me back 43 years when we stayed on Naxos for a few weeks in 1983. I could just go back and touch it right now.

That is what the past does to me – make me want to go back and touch it just one more time. And I will. This gorgeous and unexpected view across a field of Flax on a sunny day in Coquelles while away on a wine buying trip would always draw me back. Wouldn’t it you, Dear Reader? I have already arranged two more trips in the next few months to enjoy the heady scent and pastel view that I once saw before.
Monday, 9th March, 2026
A dull and misty morning. The mists of time swirl everywhere. A marketing website came up for a smart property by the river in West London. I looked through it with a semi-casual eye. I looked at the map and realised how close it was to being in the London Borough of Ealing and my heart shrank and splintered.

It was just 54 years ago at the end of April that I went for a job interview for a post as an English teacher. For sad reasons in retrospect, I turned it down and moved on to Oldham of all places. I have often wondered how life would have been different if I’d taken the job. Even in those days, I knew property ownership was the way to go and a purchase then would certainly have accumulated massively over the years. I would almost certainly have lived a more cosmopolitan life if I’d worked there.

Back in the mists of time, my little sister was a fairly quiet and tubby little girl in the background of my life. She grew into a lovely and determined lady who takes her fitness very seriously. She is 71 today and we wish her a very happy birthday. So much water has flowed under the bridge and the yellow fog that rubs its back upon the windowpanes where only through time time is conquered.

Well, it was back at the start of February that I began to write about and warn about potential World War and I don’t like to say I told you so but … I told you so. Who knows what the lunatics of the ‘alt-right’ -influenced White House will do next. Starmer is absolutely correct in not following them but we will suffer anyway. Gas and oil prices are soaring, share prices and pension investments are crashing. This will only serve to fracture international relations and increase the cost of living across the world.
In these situations, there is always a temptation to run away. To escape. This morning I heard the suggestion that curling up with a good book is a popular response to the chaos outside. I just can’t do that.

As I’ve written before, I haven’t read a book for pure escapism since I was in Primary School. For me, books are for facts and education, for theories and developing understanding, for philosophies and self improvement. Pleasure doesn’t come in to it.

My pleasure doesn’t come through escape but through facing, analysing and understanding reality and my place in it. It still means hours and hours of reading but not tucked up in the womb-like warmth of my bed, allowing myself to float off into imagination. I really haven’t been able to do that since early childhood. What it means is that I virtually never read a book from cover to cover these days but dip in to search for evidence and answers.
It is a male trait. Some can’t read. Some don’t read books at all. Those who do read tend to favour non-fiction. I favour books which do rather than books which are. I want a book to do something to make me a better person not help me escape from myself. My recommendation for a good read would be an autobiographical work from 1914 – The Ragged-Trousered Philanthropists by Robert Tressell with a foreword by my hero, Tony Benn.
Tuesday, 10th March, 2026

On this grey and misty morning, I’ve been looking at the life of an ancestor. She was, in a child’s mind, a rather a fierce and scary old lady. She was known as Auntie Kessie but she was actually our Great Aunt as the sister of my Grandfather. She was born in Repton in April 1887 so almost exactly 64 years before me. She died in 1962 when she was 75 and I was 11 and about to go to Grammar School. She was born Kate Anne Kesterton Sanders but was always known as Kessie to me.
By the time I knew Auntie Kessie she was retired and living with a Companion. I didn’t really understand that at the time but I can assure you, it wasn’t a euphemism. Unlike the faint-hearted ‘ladies’ of her generation, Kessie had a fierce intellect and determination to achieve. In 1905, she applied for Teacher Training at a college in the city of Lincoln.

Like so many colleges, it is now a University. Bishop Grosseteste Ladies Teacher Training College is now a Lincoln Dioscesan University.
At that time, teaching was regarded very much as a vocation. Training colleges were entirely single sex. There were to be no distractions! Most women teachers remained spinsters all their lives, and they certainly could not remain in post and marry.

Kessie’s first teaching post was in Manchester of all places teaching poor kids. In 1908, she was appointed as an assistant elementary school mistress at St Andrew’s School, Ancoats in Manchester. For a middle class girl from a small, rural Derbyshire village, it must have been a hell of a culture shock. I found a picture of a class of kids at that exact school in 1920 by which time Kessie would have moved on but she won’t have met many streetwise, little people from incredibly poor homes and parents who worked in the local mills.

By 1913, Kessie had moved back home to teach in Burton and then in Derbyshire where she became a headteacher of a village school where she remained for 20 years and retired in 1947.
Kessie never married and did what many Victorian era women did, she retired to her home alone and took in a companion. A lady’s companion was a respectable, often impoverished woman employed by a wealthy lady to provide company, emotional support, and chaperonage. Unlike servants, they were considered social equals or gentlewomen who acted as confidantes, chaperones for outings, and assistants with light tasks.
Kessie and her companion made evil tasting elderberry wines and real dandelion & burdock drinks which were kept on the thrall in the pantry. They maintained a huge garden looking lovely but, as people, they were largely invisible to me on a daily basis.
I remember being taken into Kessie’s house when she died in 1962 and being asked if there was something I would like to remember her by. It was a scarily Victorian interior and as an 11 year old boy, there was absolutely nothing of that I wanted. I remember thinking, why would I want to remember that stern, old lady? I rather regret that now. I am told that relatives clearing the house found what they considered an engagement ring in a draw. Had Kessie sacrificed love for her profession? Sadly, nobody will ever know.
Because I failed to get the A Level results I wanted, I didn’t get in to Newcastle University to do an English Degree and I didn’t get to enjoy any of the gorgeous girls I met there on interview. Such is my luck. They say you make your own luck and it was my fault. I didn’t apply myself enough. At the last minute, I found a Teacher Training College who were desperate to attract male students to train as English teachers because the Department of Education had instructed them to increase their male intake.
Ripon College was reasonably far enough away from home and it meant not thinking about a job for a few years so I went for it. I think I had been told I wanted to be a teacher from a young age although, as the time came closer, I was being told I would never be wealthy in that profession so I ought to consider land and property – maybe as a Quantity Surveyor, a Land Agent, or something which carried rural cachet.
The College building was opened in September 1862 as 32 students moved to the new Ripon College. The building was described as ‘the Italian style of architecture which has a centre, three floors in height and two wings. It affords accommodation with separate bedrooms, for sixty students besides apartments for the Lady Superintendent, the governesses and the servants; and includes a large dining room, a lecture room, a committee room and classrooms.

What I found there was a fascinating transition of cultures and times. The College had been right up to this point an all female ‘Anglican Ladies Training College’ since 1846. I was one of the first ever 24 men to arrive there. The touches of the old, feminine past continued for a while. Fresh cut flowers were brought into the Common Room each morning. Mixed Sex activities were strictly regulated. No men in women’s rooms after 10.00 pm was a rule. Decorum was still expected. My friend, Kevin and I were reprimanded by the Principal – a fierce looking Miss Gage (another spinster) – for singing in the corridor outside her office.
I had been brought up a Catholic male and I found myself in an Anglican female atmosphere but even more noticeable was the brusk transition from the genteel and staid culture of Kessie’s era to the thrusting, white hot technology of Wilson and the Europeanism of Heath and Roy Jenkins, of the lifstyles of the Beatles and Rolling Stones, of liberal moral values and the prominence of youth, of drugs and birth control. It was a swift and decisive transition which brought casualties on both sides. Of course, I went on to teach, like Kessie, in Greater Manchester and I can tell you it was just as much a culture shock for me as it was for her.
Wednesday, 11th March, 2026

This morning, Easyjet have contacted me to say that 3 of our flights have had some adjustments. They inform me through the app on my phone/iPad. In this case 2 of the flights have had timings changed and the third has a changed aircraft which could affect the seats I’ve booked. It’s one of the risks of booking early.
Our international travel has evolved over the years to the point where I feel it is quite slick and relaxed these days. After all, travelling should be a joy not a chore. Currently. I have 8 flights booked between now and December and they are all with Easyjet. We have been using them since 1998 when we were on there first flight from Athens to Luton. Our flight on the 8th of August 1998 one way from Athens cost £198.83. Quite expensive at the time.
Our first Athens flight in 1981 and many in the following decade were on very cheap and cheerful charter airlines flying in utterly anti-social timeslots so we could reduce the cost.

We were young and keen and prepared to accept hardships in order to get what we wanted. Flying through the night. Arriving in Athens at 4.00 in the morning. Taking the night bus down to Piraeus. Snatching an hour’s sleep on a bench at port side and being woken up being licked by a stray dog before dashing onto the first ferry for a 5 hour trip to the island. Travelling cattle class. It was all part of the fun.
As we became more affluent and thought we deserved more esteem, we moved on to British Airways flights and then Olympic Airlines both of which were much more expensive but also more comfortable. In August 1998, we ditched our booked flight and had to buy an emergency one from Athens to UK. A back street agency offered us a flight with a new airline called Easyjet started by a young Greek called Stelios Haji-Ioannou. We took it and the rest is history. We have been flying Easyjet in Europe ever since. Still B.A. to cross the Atlantic but not short haul.

We fly the best that Easyjet can offer which currently is Easyjet Plus with fast track, extra leg room and instead of taking huge bags for the Plane Hold, we get to carry on 2 bags each and choose properties where we can wash and iron so need to carry minimal clothes. We have the luxury of Executive Lounges to cushion the pressures of cattle class. We transfer by taxi rather than night buses now. We are lucky. Life is better.

THe skies have cleared and the sun has come out. Inspite of my bad back, I’m going out for a walk. It is so warm, I’m going to have to move back into shorts and teeshirts now. As I walk, I will be able to contemplate my new Council Tax bill which has just fallen on the mat. I don’t know how it compares with others but I am now paying £3,612.81 a year. Even so, I am getting excellent services for that.
Thursday, 12th March, 2026
It is time for a new mattress. They say you should change it every 8 years and that the average person spends one-third of their life sleeping. I spend less than that but it still must be one quarter. Ours is 10 years old. I have a bad back so I’m looking at every cause. Sleeping posture could be one. I don’t sleep well anyway. I have to have a ‘firm’ (rock hard) mattress. I also prefer a cool bed not a hot one. I am looking at firm, kingsize pocket sprung mattresses. I’m not bothered about the cost. It will probably last until we are 85 years old if we’re still here so we need a really good one.
I could buy a new mattress for under £500.00 but it is possible to spend 5 x that amount to get something luxurious. It’s not that easy these days. Which is the best construction? The cheapest are the old fashioned Open Spring Mattresses but they have been superseded by Pocket Spring, Memory Foam and a Hybrid Mattress which combines the two. In the past we chose by manufacturer reputation.

Seeley is a longstanding, quality producer. We have bought those before but they are quite expensive. This is one of their best offerings currently and I have been seriously considering it. Seeley products can be seen in High Street outlets but, as people say, the old method of trying something out in the shop by laying on it for a couple of minutes is not a good way of deciding. Seeley offer a 10 yr warranty and a 40 day return for another type if you’re not happy. Should I go for that?

Well, I was close to going out to do just that although I had seen another, much cheaper mattress which looked interesting by a new, young company called Origin who are winning lots of awards.

The problem appeared to be that they only sell online. You can’t try them out in the shop. Then, a few days ago, Channel 5 ran a show all about modern mattresses. They reviewed more than I knew existed. They settled on the ultimate mattress accoring to their panel and it was Origin Hybrid Pro. What appears to be very persuasive is that they offer a 15 year warranty plus free use of the mattress at home for 200 weeks during which time they will take it back and provide a full refund. I think I’m moving towards a conclusion although my companion may push me through a few more checks first.

And then I was told to look at this. I thought I’d arrived and I hate indecision. There are only so mattresses one can consider, Dear Reader. Help! I’ve got to do something. My back is killing me. I’m hobbling painfully everywhere. I think I’m dying!
Friday, 13th March, 2026
Well, Dear Reader, it has arrived. Not a day to take risks. Going for a Facial or having your Hair done is definitely risky today. You could end up bald or orange!

Even choosing a mattress may be a step too far. Unfortunately, my lower back pain is worse today. Movement is agony at least before I’m warmed up. I have Google-diagnosed the problem and it is almost certainly Sciatica. I had it once before while we were living in Greece and it was agony for weeks.

I’ve got to get on with finding a new mattress and that’s what I’m doing today. It’s quite cool out there this morning – just 9C/48F with a sharp breeze. Doesn’t feel like Spring out there at all today. Not good for bad backs.
Been to town to see some bed shops. Went in Dreams where they used all the latest tech. They got us laying on a test mattress and gradually adjusting it electronically until an appropriate standard was reached. It looked ‘scientific’ but I was more confused when I left than when I arrived.

We went on to Sussex Beds where a knowledgeable young assistant walked us through our preferences, left us to try out our choices and we all but chose on the spot. Back home we have decided to order. With two Mattress Protectors, two Gell Pillows, Delivery and Removal of the old mattress, the price will be almost £2,000.00. Spread over the next 10 years to the age of 85, that is an acceptable outlay.
Saturday, 14th March, 2026
Almost the middle of March already. On this most beautiful of mornings, I could barely walk to the car. My sciatica is agony. Clear blue sky with gorgeously strong sunshine, I drove down the beach to see the Prom. Run. So many fit, young bodies and here was I – a cripple in a car.

The one exercise I’ve found possible and helpful is cycling. Fortunately, I have a lumbar support bike in my Gym. Yesterday I spent 2 hrs on it. After shuffling from the house to the Gym, I was able to walk back reasonably normally having done 2 hrs loosening up on the bike. Unfortunately, after sitting down, everything siezes up and I am back to square 1. I will try again today. Instead of passively watching sport, I will cycle while I watch and hope to see the benefit. I am nothing if not optimistic.

All my life, I have been introspective. It is a curse and a blessing. I know, it really annoys some people which suggests there are swathes of others who would rather not know themselves in any depth at all. That is a concept I can hardly imagine. I don’t know how one functions without considering why you are doing something and setting targets for success & failure.
Introspection derives from Latin introspicere, to look within and refers to the process of observing and examining your own conscious thoughts or emotions. Surely it is a basic distinction between humans and animals that we consider our actions and don’t just act on instinct. It is the mind/body dualism that was the method of primary importance to many philosophers—including Thomas Hobbes, John Locke, George Berkeley, David Hume, John Stuart Mill.

This process was first analysed in the 1860s by Wilhelm Wundt, a German philosopher considered one of the fathers of modern psychology. He moved the study from the art of Philosophy into the science of Psychology as an analytical tool.
Self reflection is practiced daily through meditation, self-reflection, or by asking guided questions about personal goals, feelings, and values. Mind you, it can be really annoying. It can be very painful, embarrassing and confidence destroying.
This morning, I was listening to an analysis of Keir Starmer and the observation that, at his core, he doesn’t have many long held beliefs unlike many other politicians. He doesn’t seem to have a long thought out agenda based on well established personal principles. What he does have is massive self-belief and determination to win at all costs. I, on the other hand, have massive determination to win at all costs but little self-belief. That’s why he is prime minister and I’m not.

















































































































































































