So I recently discovered the wonderful world of LaTeX. For the uninitiatied, this is a type setting, document preparation system that allows you to produce documents whilst giving you much more control than you have in programme such as Word.
It’s like I’ve joined a little gang or clique. We know about something that everybody else is missing out on, poor souls. I’ve never wanted to be in the Mac-users gang – far too pretentious – but LaTeX people are my sort of people.
I guess a lot of people would be scared off by the way a document looks whilst in preparation – you have to put in your own commands and make sure the syntax and punctuation is all correct. One bracket out of place and the whole thing can fall apart, but what can beat the feeling of finding that missing bracket and seeing it all fall into place? [Does this last statement make me very very sad?]
This approach appeals to me hugely. I like to know how something is working and be able to tweak it to be the way I want it. It’s far more satisfying than spending an afternoon trying to persuade Word that I really do want more than one numbered list in my document and trying to ignore that smug little paperclip help thingy. All of this probably says much more about me than I realise…
The editing programme that I’ve been using kindly points out any errors that you may have made and sometimes it does this without much subtly. Yesterday it informed me that if I didn’t correct my error the examples in my linguistics paper were, ‘likely to be screwed up!’
Perhaps it appeals to those parts of me that I secretly know exist, but that perhaps I don’t always like to acknowledge to the world: geekiness, a love of problem solving and a need for control. There is something about knowing that if something isn’t working the way you want it to, it’s because you haven’t put the correct instructions in somewhere. It’s predictable, logical and with a bit of effort it can be mastered. If only the rest of life were so simple…
I’ve spent a fair proportion of the last 48 hours in waiting rooms. Yesterday, this was to give blood and today for a very different reason. My mother has been diagnosed with cancer and today we went to see her consultant to find out the results of her various scans and tests, and hear what treatment is lined up for her.
In both cases there was a distinct atmosphere amongst the people waiting. We all knew why the others were there, and to a greater or lesser extent shared part of the experience with them. In the donor session you are all undergoing the same procedure for more or less the same reasons, and there is an element of shared identity in the room. We are, after all, all blood donors! The gentleman who had been on the bed next to mine, rummaged through the box of ‘blood group’ keyrings as he enjoyed his post-donation coffee. I noticed that we didn’t share the same blood group, but despite that, and all the other more obvious differences between us, we had one thing in common.
I found the waiting room today a strangely positive place (although with nearly 2 hours of it, I could have done with a little less…) There I was with all these women, all at various stages of undergoing the same or at least similar experiences. Some were obvious regulars. Two appeared to have become friends from just this waiting room experience.
I now realise that a cancer diagnosis in yourself or a loved one can make you feel quite lonely. Everyone does their best, but nobody is experiencing it in quite the same way as you are. However, here were six women who were going through something very similar. What struck me most about them was how alive they were. Some were chatting away, reading recipes from the magazines, discussing their families and so on. Some were just quietly sitting, alone or with partners. All of them, were very much alive, and living with cancer.
For my mother, the news was worth waiting for – probably the most positive we could hope for considering the circumstances, and she’ll start chemotherapy in the next few weeks. I imagine there’ll be many more waiting room opportunities to look forward to over the next few months!
I have a confession to make. When I was at primary school and we had to do a 100m swim test, I cheated. Yes, that’s right during the final length of breaststroke, I put my foot down. To be fair it wasn’t intentional – my stroke had become virtually vertical by that point and my foot just touched the bottom, but it gave me that little extra push I need to make it to the end and claim my badge. And claim that badge I did and sew it to my swimming costume I did!
I mention this now, because 20ish years later I feel I have made amends. I’ve recently joined a gym that has a swimming pool and I’ve been going at least once a week for the last 6 weeks or so. Although I have a decent front crawl, my stamina when I started was virtually non-existent. This morning I had a breakthrough. I swam 150m without stopping – something unthinkable even two weeks ago when I huffed, puffed and spluttered my way to 3 lengths (75m). What’s more I feel that I could have gone on and done more. I managed 1000m in total over the whole session.
When I started running about 10 years ago I had a similar breakthrough moment. To begin with it was a struggle – running 2 minutes with burning lungs only to have to walk for 5 minutes to get back to normal. I stuck with it and built it up gradually, and when I hit the 15 minute mark I suddenly felt that I could go on forever. I’ve never looked back and even if I don’t run for months at a time, I know I can go out there and put in at least 20 minutes of solid jogging.
So I’m feeling pretty proud of myself. I set myself a goal and I worked at it, practised, pushed myself a little bit more each time and I really feel like I’ve got somewhere.
A the risk of sounding extremely sporty (which I am really not), I’ve also got on really well with my climbing lately. This is something I started a few months ago – my development rudely interrupted by a broken finger – and again I’ve come on in leaps and bounds in the last couple of weeks. Once again, this was down to a bit of technique, a lot of encouragement to push my boundaries – from someone with lots of experience – and a belief that my legs would hold me and my arms wouldn’t give way. In short a belief in myself.
To those in the know – I flashed my first 4C problem this week. Another small but important achievement.
I’m sure there’s a moral in all this somewhere…!?!
Ok, I’m unashamedly stealing this from Tom’s blog, but it did make me chuckle and chuckling is always worth passing on. The video is still ace after all these years, and my heart still goes all a-flutter at the sight of the beautiful Morton Harket.
I think this would be a good time to share with the world the details of my first ever published work. Circa 1989, “Smash Hits” magazine, the crap joke corner – I jest not.
What pop star comes out of volcanoes? Molten Harket.
Believe me – that was pretty good by their standards. However, even at that tender age I knew it was appalling and had the foresight to submit it anonymously. Still, I knew it was me and that was shame enough.
I don’t do much better with jokes nowadays…one for the linguists out there:
“I used to be a structuralist, but now I’m not Saussure”
and one that will always have a special place in my heart:
Over the past year or so, lots of people have talked to me of ‘fate’ and how things happen for a reason.
I understand what they are saying and why are they saying it – but I can’t help thinking that there just are no guarantees… for that reason, this song appealed to me.
The brilliant Tim Minchin performed it at the recent Secret Policeman’s Ball.
It sums up what I’ve thought all along, and despite not being hearts and flowers, is, in its own way, romantic.
So, I’m enjoying the fact that I’m really happy at the moment and hoping deep down that maybe it is fate…but at the same time wondering about other possible worlds..and remembering that:
“Love is nothing to do with destined perfection, the connection is strengthened, the affection simply grows over time, like a flower or a mushroom or guinea pig or a vine or a sponge or bigotry…or a banana…and love is made more powerful by the ongoing drama of shared experience and synergy of a kind of symbiotic empathy…or something…”
I was walking home this evening across the bridge over the river near my flat. As I glanced along the river I noticed a woman standing by the bank. She was systematically emptying a bag of rubbish – mostly paper – into the river. She calmly did this and then walked away.
I stood there and watched her in disbelief. She walked up the the main road and turned left. This was lucky for her, as if she’d turned right, towards me, I don’t think I would have been able to resist asking her what she thought she was doing. My instinct told me to take a photo, but I couldn’t get my camera out in time. I don’t know what it would have achieved – it was unlikely to identify her as she was wearing the full veil, with only her face showing and it was at quite a distance.
I really can’t think of any good reason to do such a thing. As someone who carefully separates out stuff to recycle and is stricken with guilt when I forget to take a bag to the supermarket, I really can’t conceive what would make someone think this was acceptable.
Two weeks ago I took a ball to the hand whilst warming up for a softball match, and spent the evening in A&E with a fractured little finger. I had my first physio session today, and it looks like the next few weeks/months are going to be spent making slow and painful progress of getting back to normal. Apparently the break is on the PIP joint, at the side. The therapist today told me that a break on a joint makes the physio more painful. Great.
I’ve had lots of comments along the line of ‘it’s only your little finger’ – ‘at least it’s your left hand’ – ‘why do you need a sling for a broken finger?’ Whilst I’m sure it could have been a lot worse, I’m finding it very frustrating that there are so many things that I can’t do, and all because of a split second and some bad luck. So dear readers, heed my words – appreciate your pinkies – they do more than you realise!
Last Saturday, however, I had a bit more of a positive bone experience. We took a trip to the Skeletons exhibition at the Wellcome Collection. This is a fascinating selection of skeletons from the Museum of London’s collection. From Roman right up to the 19th Century, there is a huge selection of bones. Interesting features and likely causes of death are pointed out for each exhibit, and it really goes to show that if the subject matter is captivating enough you don’t need whistles and bells to attract visitors.
So, whilst I moan about the discomfort and inconvenience of my current injury, I find myself thinking about one of the skeletons in particular. This man had a broken hip, that never fully healed. However, the rest of his skeleton reveals that he stayed active all his life – presumably not out of choice. My physiotherapy might hurt and my finger might never be quite the same again, but at least I don’t need to toil in the fields on it for the rest of my days.
Whilst I was browsing in a bookshop a couple of week ago I came across a book by Stephen Fry called, ‘The Ode Less Travelled : unlocking the poet within’. This book claims that ‘if you can speak and read English you can write poetry’.
I’ve always been interested in poetry – from adolescent obsessions with Syliva Plath via Heaney’s Bog poems on my A-level syllabus to the funny and poignant work of Wendy Cope that has been such a comfort to me lately – it’s all fascinated me. So I’ve decided to take Mr Fry up on his challenge.
The books takes you through the techiques of poetry writing and the different styles and forms, and sets you exercises at the end of each chapter. He usually gives you a topic, a task and the amount of time you should be spending on it.
I’ve been working through this book for the last week or so, and I thought I’d make my attempts so far public for anyone who comes across them. I’ve added them to a new blog, which can be found here.
Be warned, they are on such exciting topics as ‘What I’d like to Eat’ and ‘Pesky Tasks Overdue’, but the point is that it does seem possible to train yourself to various techniques and styles. Ok, so I may not be heading for a Nobel prize just yet, but just because we aren’t all Picassos, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t sketch for fun, or because we’re not Roger Federer we shouldn’t enjoy a knockabout on the tennis court.
I would say comments welcome, but I’m not sure I’m ready for criticism quite yet!
