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* Image from Sheldrake’s Twitter account.

Well, we went to see Merlin talk about his book, Entangled Life, and it was good. We met Cath Coombs there, but not – at least not until after – her ‘plus one’, Janey, who arrived late.

Cath jokingly (I’m assuming?) said I might be bored, having just read the book. And either because of the ‘orrible ‘ead cold I’ve got – I was sneezing like a mofo all day, but (both amazingly and mercifully!), during the talk – that very nearly was the case.

The talk itself was structured as an interview, with questions from a Topping staff member, to which Merlin responded. This was then continued afterwards, with questions from the audience.

It was, like the book itself, fascinating. Although there was very little that was new or fresh, to me, in the talk, that I hadn’t already encountered in the book. Nevertheless, it was still fascinating. Sheldrake is a charming speaker, and his enthusiasm for his subject is contagious.

Tim Oliver was also there, with son Sam. I said a brief hello to them, both afore and after. Teresa wanted us to go straight home, so we didn’t really get to meet/know Janey, Cath’s friend. I’d have liked to have hung out with Cath, etc, at least briefly.

Hey-ho! Maybe it was my cold/sneezing, and thus being generally tired. Maybe it was Teresa’s slightly anti-social tendencies? All in all I left feeling a bit glum. But maybe that’s just me, at this difficult time in my life?

The picture above accompanies an article that I haven’t read (beyond a quick glance), as yet, which looks intriguing; I might well read it in full, at a later date.

I headed out to work too early by mistake today. So I’ve wound up eating a salad-bar take out salad, from the Stanground Morrisons, in Peterborough, sat in my car.

I’m feeling an awful amount of anxiety at present. For numerous reasons: drank too much last night; didn’t sleep properly; omnipresent financial struggles, etc.

I have a few tools and strategies, and whatnot, for such times. for starters I might call Samaritans, and get a load off my chest by telling the hapless sod on the other end o’ the line all my troubles.

I try and make sure that there’s positivity in the mix, as if I just vent and focus on the bad stuff, it only makes things worse. Today I had a mediocre chat with a lady Samaritan, followed by a longer and better one with a Scots guy on another helpline.

But I’m posting this now because I’m parked up in Peterborough in the cold, the dark, and the rain, all of which seem ‘orrible apt to my baseline mood.

But I’m determined not to let my dad chemistry… er, wow, there’s a Freudian slip… bad chemistry, that should’ve been, overwhelm me! I’ve decided that today, after many, many, many false starts, re trying to control my drinking, I simply have to face the ugly truth, and concede that I’ve lost control.

To re-assert it, I must simply stop drinking any booze whatsoever. Possibly for the rest of my life. But certainly till I’m happier, healthier, and back in control (or at least more control). That pledge, to myself and to Teresa, begins today.

I’m really posting, however, as a note to myself, re these positive affirmation cue-cards I made, and keep in my wallet. I recently printed a new set, as I’d given half of my old set to dad, after one of his booze-fuelled meltdowns.

He and I have discussed getting a set each properly printed, for arse-elves…

On my call to the lady Samaritan, I told her about how I use these – I was looking at them at the time – and the first one I read off to her was ‘Take Time’. Then I read a bunch more.

She suggested, why didn’t I just focus on one card, and really meditate on it. Which is a suggestion I like. And, lo’, on taking the cards out of my wallet ‘Take Time’ is not just the top card, but the top two!

I have duplicates within each set, plus I have a set and a half, due to the reprinting and giving dad some of them. So most are duplicated at least twice, and some of the same cues are yet more plentiful.

So here I am, early for my work shift. Sat in the car, taking time. Hoping that doing so might allay my anxieties! And you know what, I think it’s working. Only mildly perhaps. But that’s still something.

Another thing I do, to finish on a footnote, so to speak, is the Joe Wicks seniors workout I’ve occasionally referred to before. And again, that can help lift my spirits a little. These tools, ‘umble as they may be, are important!

I just finished the mammoth fifth chapter; Stars In Their Courses, 154 pages – the size of a small paperback novel – on the battle of Gettysburg.

Marking, more or less, the middle of the trilogy, and, more or less, the middle of the war, it’s a kind of midway hinge of the whole story, and marks the beginning of the end for Lee and Johnny Reb.

I often write about how much I love many short chapters. It’s nice to chomp steadily and quickly through bite-sized morsels. Mammoth chapters can feel like a real slog, sometimes.

Not so here, however. Within the chapters there are little mini-breaks. And I treated these like mini-chapter-ettes. I have the Gettysburg movie on DVD, and that’s a two-disc affair. That left me thinking it was a two day battle (it’s a while since I watched that!).

But it was three days, and there were also peripheral actions. And all of this is covered admirably here. Indeed, to all intents and porpoises, this chapter really is a mini-novel. Highly enjoyable!

The battle itself, with Lee missing his eyes (Jeb Stuart’s cavalry), and Meade forced to fight on ground other than that he’d chosen and preferred, was therefore an instance of two generals having to deal with fighting under less than ideal ad hoc conditions.

Lee’s formerly successful hands off m.o. seems clumsily mistaken here, and comes undone. Whereas Meade’s typical and predictable Union caution, so often their undoing, in this instance seems both correct, and pays off.

This very bloody battle becomes the first significant clear cut Union victory in a long while, and a turning point – albeit a predictable enough one (re the overall arc of the war, that is, rather than the individual battle) – in the war.

Shelby Foote’s enthusiasm is contagious. And his writing style, informed no doubt (in a Stateside echo of British novelist R. F. Delderfield’s Napoleonic passions) by his authorial skills.

Fabulous! Very highly recommended.

PS – The title sounds Shakespearean, but is, according to my brief look online, Biblical, coming from the King James’ Judges, 5:20, and, very aptly, referring to the fortunes of war:

They fought from heaven; the stars in their courses fought against Sisera.

Wow! What a load of weird shit I just awoke from. I was dreaming about orgies, and elephants and lions, and all sorts. Bonkers!

There was stuff tethered, albeit only loosely, in reality – Teresa and I cuddling Chester – but he was super-ripped, a kind of cartoon Arnold Schwarze-pussy!?

There was a whole segment of the dream in which I was staying with a crazy rich family, who were a kind of ever-shifting mix of toothless hillbillies, and suave rich folk. They seemed to live semi/feral, in either Africa or a game park. There were elephants. And shortly after that, lions.

At one point I’m in a shack, facing off several lions, who are trying to get in. I’m shouting/roaring at them, to scare them off, and they’re on their hind-legs, roaring back, trying to get in, via those two-part farm style doors.

And, as is the way with dreams, suddenly things shift. And we’re rounded up and herded off; are we now prisoners, or were we rescued? It isn’t at all clear.

There was also a bit where a big character says he doesn’t like rabbits, and proceeds to drop-kick one over a house, only for it to survive, and, after a pause to recover, hop/limp off. What’s that all about?

But the bit I enjoyed the most was a full on sex orgy, in which I got to eat plenty of sopping wet… er, well… least said soonest mended. But that was a seriously bonkers night of dreams.

I kind of wish it were possible to record them. There’s so much more in them than one can get down or convey afterwards. It remains my view that, to at least some degree, they’re a bit of a random kaleidoscope, a smorgasbord (or in this instance a ‘smorgasmbord’), maybe even a ‘flushing out’, of the mind.

Essentially random, our brains respond by seeking to make order and narrative out of it all. Which is what they do anyway, in waking life as well, with the raw material of ‘real life’. Properly weird, but very enjoyable!

I just finished reading this terrific little book. One of the many joys of reading are the ways in which, as one reads, what one reads seems to relate to one’s own life.

In many ways, whatever we’re into, from our passions to the chores life may force upon us, all this stuff becomes part of the medium of living, such that we then filter our lives through it all.

This seems peculiarly apt for a book such as Entangled Life.

One of the chief takeaways for me, on having just finished reading the book, is neatly summed up by the author in his final chapter:

Ambiguity isn’t as itchy as it was; it’s easier for me to resist the temptation to remedy uncertainty with certainty.

P. 251, Epilogue.

That seems like a good lesson to learn.

But aside from that, this is a plain ol’ rip-snorting good read, in the tradition of the best of popular science. Educating and entertaining, simultaneously. Wonderful!

And I’m chuffed that – after a mild panick, where I thought I’d lost my copy – I’ve finished the book in advance of the authors’ forthcoming talk, in Ely, this Tuesday coming. I’m very much looking forward to that.

Will the shelves, at left in the above pic, fit in the drawers, at right? I emptied and moved the drawers into the left corner. But, it turns out the answer is… NO!

First of all the chesty o’drawers is too narrow, width-wise. By only two or three centimetres. But it’s also too tall. By a similar minuscule margin. Drawers plus shelves equals more height than we can accommodate.

I measured Teresa’s other chest o’drawers. And lo, ‘twas both wider, and not so tall. Possibly poifeck? So, I emptied that set of drawers, moved it into the corner, and, ‘wallah’, as TV chefs like to say…

I want to give the shelves another day, to dry out and cure a bit more, before putting a lorra expensive/precious books back on them.

All of this shifting stuff around has left us needing to find new places for the former bedside drawers – seen in their new homes, above – which are, I’m assuming, what would’ve been the base of an old desk. My dad had a roll-mop desk with exactly these sorts o’drawers.

This also means that the blue drawers can move left, and the office/studio door can, if we want, be re-hung. Let’s think about that, eh… hmmm!?

There’s still a fair acreage of wall and skirting board to be painted. And a few dabs of flooring to be neatened up. But this revamp is nearing overall completion. And I think, all in all, I’m pretty pleased.

Alas, another of the many churches not open to the public. I’ll pop back another time, perhaps?

I love the name of this village… Friday Bridge! I wonder how it got that name? A quick look online yields this:

Friday Bridge is Fridayesbrugg ‘1298Ass , Frydaybrigge 1340 Imb.fridai is the name of a fishery of the monks of Ely in 1086 (InqEl), later Frideiwere (1251ElyCouch ). There was also a Fryday lake 1570 Imb in Elm. In Haddenham also we have Frydaye weyr 1549Ct , Frydayeware1608AddCh , and near Whittlesey we have Fridaylake , Fridaylone 1244, 1286 Rams. These should probably be associated with fishing by the monks for Friday fare and not be associated with other Fridaynames discussed in PN Sr 410–11.

Talking of names, my fascination with churches has me wondering why, after the split wi’ Rome, all those years ago, are so many churches still styled ‘St [insert patron Saint here]’?

Whilst delivering for Amazon/Morrisons, I saw this knackered old diesel loco’. Two guys were nearby, so I stopped briefly and chatted with them. Turns out this might be the future ‘gate guard’ for the putative Bramley Line heritage railway, a local project aiming to reopen an old disused line ‘twixt March and Wisbech.

I told the chaps, Clive and Dave, I/we might like to pitch in, and get involved. They gave me several leaflets. It’d be good to have a heritage line on our doorstep. And March really should have one, being as the ol’ marshalling yards were once a major hub.

Having started to get Xmas gifts in, today I wrapped the first few. One for Teresa, one for Terry & Margaret, and one for Tim. Got a few more to wrap. And many more to get. But the madness has started…

I love this wrapping paper. Mistletoe, for kissing under. And in lovely warm seasonal yet organic design/colours.

I’ve been meaning to finish Teresa’s corner of our bedroom floor for quite a while. But we moved back in rather precipitously. We’ll have to move out again whilst the paint drys.

Perhaps rather foolishly I decided, whilst doing this, I’d do not only the skirting boards, walls and floor, but also the recently acquired red shelves (another Freecycle acquisition), pictured above.

*I’m not sure about the colour names! Well, Cupcake I am sure of. It’s on the tin I’m painting out of. But Egyptian Cotton… hmmm!? It’s my best guess!

After undercoating the shelves, first I did the walls, then the skirting boards, and finally the undercoat for the floor. Then it was back to the skirting boards and the shelves, for a coat of white gloss.

Once all that was done – and I had to keep shifting the shelves around, all the time, whilst working – I finally got to the floor itself. Phew!

Looking at the photo above, I’m thinking, will these shelves sit atop the nearby chest o’drawers, perhaps? Thereby raising them up, to a similar height to the wall-mounted set, to their immediate right. And also possibly making better use of floor space.

This might also help with the de-cluttering effort. And, having painted the shelves white, I’m tempted to do the same to the dark brown chest o’drawers. This latter also needs some repairs, to the ornamental woodwork. Hmmm…

With the floor done, the overall room re-paint is now nearing completion, with just relatively small portions of wall and skirting board to be done. The lighter warmer colours, and white woodwork, all help make the room brighter, and even more spacious feeling.

And… the following day (24th, Nov’), a second coat of white gloss on’t shelves:

I love the fluted ‘pillars and capitals’ style carving on this set of shelves. And the (routed?) profile around the top is great. Will I paint the dark drawers, on the right, and put these atop ‘em, I wonder?

I’m giving this book my rare and coveted (ha! I wish!) six stars rating. For the exceptionally good. Am I being swept up and away in the euphoric hype around young Merlin and his über-trendy book? Will I regret my blissful embrace? We shall see, I guess. Anyhoo… my review:

I’m still reading this, at the time of starting this review. I’m probably about 80% through the main body of text (there are tons of notes!). And we – my wife and I, and some friends – are going to see the author give a talk about the book in Ely, next week (Nov, ‘23).

Knowing that Merlin is the son of the maverick and sometimes controversial Rupert Sheldrake (who has published a book with the provocative title The Science Delusion*), I was rather sceptical of this at first glance.

*Haven’t read it yet. But want to.

Also, as one can see by the plethora of breathlessly admiring quotes that adorn the various editions – and this is the authors’ first book! – Merlin appears to be the very dictionary definition of what it is to be lionised, or (even worse), fashionable.

Deploying little quotes that range from Prince to Tolkien and Tom Waits – all of whom I love, as it happens – this populist vibe, and his background, reared on the lap of such psychedelic psychonauts as Terence McKenna and Paul Stamets, might be cause for grave concern.

And he does have an occasionally rhapsodic side, that’s nearly as evangelistic as folk like McKenna. But all in all, the younger Sheldrake gives us a very balanced account, putting both the enthused visionary’s views, and those of the more sober sort over with nearly equal weight.

One thing I’ve come away with, amongst many, from reading this hugely interesting, highly readable, deeply informative, and altogether fascinating book, is a view Sheldrake shares; I forget who he quotes at the time (the book is strewn with quotations and citations), but someone describes mycology as a neglected ‘mega-science’, compared with our studies of plants and animals (or even inert matter, for that matter!).

And this brilliant book makes a very strong case for the need for more folk, both at grassroots and social/institutional levels, to remedy this oversight. The stories Sheldrake tells here – from his own rotten-wood fermentation bath, to stuff from deep history and/or a ‘fungal point of view’ – are both very beguilingly told, and full of inherent interest.

I’m one to bridle at hype, and both book and author seem to be ‘instant darlings’, making me deeply suspicious. But on reading the book, I’m entirely won over. Superb. Highly recommended.