Lance Greenfield's Blog, page 38
April 10, 2018
On Top of the World
The history of survey in India is fascinating an culminates in the highest peak in the world: Everest.
This article is packed with interesting facts about that mountain.
Dom’s Everest adventure has begun. The dream is about to become a reality and it’s both exciting and terrifying in equal measures. A lot of people think climbing Everest is like taking a walk in the park, let me dispel that myth and acquaint you with some of the facts.
The Mountain
Mount Everest is 29,029ft (8,848m) high. This is based on a 1954 ground-based measurement. A disputed satellite-based measurement in 1999 suggested it was six feet taller.
No one knew it was the tallest mountain until 1856, when the Great Trigonometric Survey of India established its height.
In 1865 it was renamed in honour of the Surveyor General of India George Everest, from its original name of Peak 15.
Geologically speaking, it is about 60 million years old.
It started life as a sea bed and fossils of sea creatures can be found in the rocks at the summit.
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April 9, 2018
Book Review – Business Reimagined: Why Work Isn’t Working and What You Can Do about It by Dave Coplin
Business Reimagined: Why Work Isn’t Working and What You Can Do about It by Dave Coplin
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
The business world is evolving rapidly. The way that people work is changing just as quickly. We need to understand what is required to ensure that we continue that rapid evolution, delivering real business value with the same velocity as the business itself. This requires social collaboration and the empowerment of all contributors. So, it is less about the WAY that we provide value to the business, the processes and the technology tools, and more about the ACTUAL VALUE that we deliver to the business and its continuous alignment to the strategic business objectives.
In this book, David Coplin helps us to understand what his means to us and to the way that we work. He provides some real examples and quotes from business leaders who have pioneered such change. I particularly liked the Netflix examples.
It is very clear that we do need to change. I have always advocated the line of thought that we should adjust the way that we use technology to suit the business objectives rather than allow ourselves to be constrained by the available tools. This is in line with Coplin’s thinking.
And that the main point of this book. It is not a set of prescriptive solutions. Rather, it is a collection of thought-provoking concepts which might move us to change the way that we work so that we become both more effective and happier in our work.
Although it is a short volume, I feel that the content could have been compressed even more. It was sometimes a bit long-winded.
It is well worth a read and I cannot wait to read the sequel, “The Rise of Humans: How to Outsmart the Digital Deluge.”
April 3, 2018
Book Review: Witch Hunt by Syd Moore
Witch Hunt by Syd Moore
My rating: 3 of 5 stars
After a promising start, this book seemed to cruise along at a leisurely pace until the final three or four chapters. I didn’t find it scary at all, although the chilling shower scene made me a bit shivery.
As a believer in the interconnectedness of everything, through time as well as space, the concept of links between the main character, Sadie, and others in the present and those of the seventeenth century was easily consumed. However, the ending, which I shall not spoil for you, bordered on the ridiculous and unbelievable.
It was a captivating and interesting story in that I always wanted to read on to find out what happened next. I got a little bored with the railing against the Essex girl stereotype and Sadie’s attempts to prove that wrong. It was almost as if she was carrying a banner saying, “Essex gals ain’t fick!”
I enjoyed the true history of those witch hunt days and the suggestion, probably true, that there was a battle of the classes behind much of the horror. One thing is for sure, the witch, once accused, could not survive. Most of us know about the trial by ducking stool. If the accused drowned, it proved that she was not a witch, but she would be dead. If she survived, she was definitely a witch and would be hanged or burned at the stake. Heads you lose, tails you lose!
I felt that there was too much about the challenges that face almost every freelance journalist and novelist and the fact that it is very difficult to earn a living that way. This seemed like the every-day gripes of the author creeping into her story.
Having said all of this, I would still recommend the book to those who like a good historical yarn and are interested in those puritanical times and the local history of Essex.
I would probably read another book by this author, but I have many higher priorities on my TBR mountain.
March 29, 2018
Granny’s Advice
Unlike the first three items in my “Granny” series, this is pure fiction and was inspired by a picture prompt exercise at Andover Writer’s Circle in March 2018. I have included the photo that was used as a prompt. Others wrote about cigarettes and the use of face cream. Why not have a stab at writing your own shortie based on this photo?
[image error]
Uncle Albert always had sticky out ears. He told me that the boys at school called him Eff-Eh, after the FA Cup. He knew the reason why his ears had continued to develop in the mode of an African elephant rather than in proportion to the rest of his body. It was because he had ignored my granny’s advice. My granny, of course, was Uncle Albert’s Mum. She was very wise, but all of her wisdom had been inherited by my mother. My uncle had benefited from none of it.
“What did Granny tell you, Uncle Albert?” I asked.
“She told me that, if I continued to smoke, my body would shrink and my ears would grow. Luckily, I realised that she was right before it had gone too far.
I gave up smoking when I was fifteen. That’s why you’ll never see me with a lit cigarette between my lips. Take heed, young man. Always listen to Granny’s advice!”
March 4, 2018
Book Review: King’s Gold by Michael Jecks
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
Well researched: a story well told.
Historical fiction has always been my favourite genre since I first read Eagle of the Ninth by Rosemary Sutcliff when I was eight years old. I have my favourite authors in this genre and Michael Jecks has just added his name to my list.
He is a true master of historical fiction. And, having met the man, I can report that he is a modest master. He took the time to speak to me, as an equal, although I know that I am not, while we were both attending the Swanwick Writers’ Summer School in 2016. That encounter has not influenced this review.
There are many murders in this gory story, yet it all seems very authentic and realistic. It is certainly very well researched. The author has put a lot of effort into getting it right.
Initially, it is difficult to get to grips with all the characters and their inter-relationships. There is political wrangling and, as per the modern day, the banks are very powerful. Even within the family-run bank, there is internal conflict.
True to history, King Edward II has recently been forced to abdicate in favour of his young son whose regent is his mother, advised by her lover, Sir Roger Mortimer.
Throughout the whole novel, we are set to wonder about the motives of those who seek to rescue Edward of Caernarfon, as the King has become, imprison him, assassinate him, re-install him as King. In the main, it is also difficult to work out who are allies and who are foes. This is deliberate and effective. Almost to the very end, you, the reader, are solving the puzzles.
This is a great read. I highly recommend it to all fans of historical fiction, especially of the medieval era.
February 28, 2018
Book Review: Dark Matter by Michelle Paver
Dark Matter by Michelle Paver
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
I wasn’t sure that I would like this book as I read the first ten pages, but it gradually drew me in until I knew that I could not escape!
The opening is a letter to a journalist from Algernon Carlisle, a survivor of the ill-fated 1937 expedition to the deep Arctic Circle, which denies the existence of Jack Miller’s journal. He admits that Jack wrote a journal during those continuously dark days in the far north, but, although it would probably explain a lot, he knows not what happened to it and requests that the journalist backs off.
Almost the whole of the rest of the book is a transcription of Jack’s mysterious journal.
All the way through, I was wondering if Jack also survived, or if his journal was found next to his lonely, dead body, or of numerous other possibilities. Did Algernon have the journal, and have good reason to hide it? After all, he was now an aspiring post-war politician.
When I was a child at boarding school, we used to try to terrify our friends with our imaginative ghost stories. I therefore regard myself as a bit of an expert in the potency of such stories. Let me tell you that this rates as a powerful ghost story.
It also brings out the beauty and dangers of the cold and hostile frozen north.
I really loved this book, and it was nicely capped off with the author’s notes at the end.
Highly recommended.
February 23, 2018
The Challenge Of Describing Scents In Your Writing
Here is a thought-provoking article about the struggle that writers have to describe smells. I would say that the same applies to tastes. I will certainly work harder in the future to stimulate the noses and tongues of my readers.
By the way, I have also been puzzled by the descriptions offered up by wine connoisseurs. Their language is rather pretentious and usually means nothing to me.. They should try harder too!
Image: Pixabay
Of all the human senses, I find smell the hardest to use in writing. And yet, it’s one of the most powerful, as a number of studies have shown it’s hard-wired into our brain, and a shortcut to all sorts of strong emotions. So why is it so hard to find the right word for a smell?
Turns out, I’m hardly the only one in this predicament. As a recently explained, the human sense of smell itself is weak. Scientists suspect this is the result of an evolutionary trade-off in the primate brain in favor of visual procession power. In simple terms, we see great, but we couldn’t smell ourselves out of a perfume factory.
This is of particular interest to humans, as the relative weakness of smell compared with sight extends to language, too. Humans have no difficulty putting names to…
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February 20, 2018
My Granny was a Lion Tamer
One of Gran’s favourite stories was the Blairgowrie lion.
Blairgowrie is a small town to the north of Perth. It is very famous for being the berry capital of Great Britain. The best raspberries and strawberries in the world are grown in the locale and picked by seasonal travellers who just appear on the scene every summer. It’s second claim to fame, as ar as we kids were concerned, was the best Italian ice cream ever. Whenever we passed through the town, we were lucky to be treated to an amazing ice cream.
Lesser known in Blairgowrie’s history is the episode of the escaped lion. Chipperfield’s Circus once toured the country and included many live animal acts. These days, travelling circuses have a completely different character and the performers are all human. That’s quite right, as, on reflection, the training and use of animals, although spectacular, was cruel.
One day, when the circus was in town, a lioness escaped and wandered around the town. Naturally, everyone was alarmed and retreated behind the closed doors of shops and houses.
My grandmother was unphased, mainly because she had no idea of the danger that the big cat posed. She had no idea that this was a killer. “It was so sweet!”
The streets were deserted, apart from Gran and the lioness. Some of the folk opened doors and windows to shout warnings to Gran. Most looked on in horror, fearing her inevitable demise.
Gran walked, fearlessly, toward the lioness.
“Come on, pretty kitty,” she urged, in her gentle Highland lilt. “Come back to the circus, where you belong.”
The lioness backed into the entrance of the tailor’s shop and meekly lay down, purring loudly.
Gran continued to talk to the peaceful cat until the trainer arrived to take her away.
It was in all the papers and Gran never thought much of it.
At least, that is the story that she told us. My grandfather, shamelessly, supported her account.
The truth of the matter is that a lioness really did escape from Chipperfield’s Circus, but that happened in 1905. Gran wasn’t born until 1910 and she only lived near Blairgowrie for a few years on her migration path between Bonar Bridge and Perth in the 1940s. We think that she must have heard the story while she lived there and adopted it for herself just to entertain us, her grandchildren. As she told it so often, she started to believe her own involvement.
We certainly believed it and it definitely entertained us.
The big bonus for me was that one of the many cuddly toys that Gran made for us was a lion pyjama case, complete with mane. I loved Leo, my cuddly lion, as much as I loved the woman who stitched him together for me. He stayed with me until I was well into my thirties, when he fell apart.
February 19, 2018
Granny’s Greatest Embarrassment
My grandmother was a gentle soul. She was a humble Heelan’ lassie with no pretentions. I never heard her raise her voice. She was very kind to me and my sister. She was also very naïve and as pure as the driven snow.
We called her Lollol, or Loll for short. I don’t know where that came from, but her sisters, my great-aunts, called her Polly the Horse. Maybe, as very young children, we misheard ‘Poll’ as ‘Loll.’
Loll had some stories to tell and she often repeated them. My favourite was the one about what she saw as the most embarrassing moment of her life. It was made even more amusing because I knew that it most definitely wasn’t.
One day, before I met Nandy (our family name for my dear grandfather), I was at the croft on my own. Jimmy the Post came up to the croft with a letter for Pops, your great grandfather. He must have knocked on the door and called out several times before he made his way around to the back of the house. He took me completely by surprise, as I hadn’t heard any of his knocking or calling.
It was terrible! He caught me gnawing on a chicken drumstick, holding it with my bare hands! That is not the behaviour that one would expect of a young lady in those days.
I dropped the drumstick on the ground and apologised. Jimmy just chuckled but I could tell that he was almost as embarrassed as I was. I don’t think that I stopped blushing all day.
To make matters worse, when I walked down to Bonar the next day, people were imitating me chewing on that chicken leg, held with bare hands. Jimmy had obviously spread the news, as is a postman’s wont.
Most people, in this day and age, would be amused by Loll’s story and be left wondering why she should be so embarrassed by such an incident. But, as I told you earlier, dear reader, this was definitely not the most embarrassing moment of my grandmother’s life.
When my sister and I were in our early teens, we lived in North Anderson Drive, an gentile suburb of Aberdeen. Our mother and step-father went away for a week, driving around the Highlands in a repeat of their honeymoon. Loll and Nandy came up from Perth to look after us.
At the time, we had a blue point Siamese cat called Susu, Malay for milk.
We have no idea where it came from, but our grandmother got a word into her head which she attached to Susu rather than her correct name. The word was ‘Scrotum!’ Sometimes, she would corrupt this to ‘Scrottie.’
Every time she called the cat, my sister and I would be suppressing our giggles. It was painful.
In the evening, Loll would stand outside our back door, in that almost silent, posh suburb of Aberdeen, calling shrilly, “Scrotum! Scrotum! Come on little Scrottie! Where are you? Scrotum! Scotum! Time for tea, Scrottie.”
We wondered what our neighbours would be thinking. On one side of us lived a consultant surgeon who was also a professor at the university. On the other side lived a very famous Scottish singer who often appeared on television and performed in concert halls all over Europe.
Eventually, our parents returned and our grandparents departed on the road south. As soon as their car had disappeared around the King’s Cross roundabout just to the south of our house, the esteemed surgeon came running into the driveway.
He tears of laughter flowed as he reported Loll’s behaviour to my startled mother.
From that day on, whenever our grandmother related the story of her ‘most embarrassing moment,’ my sister and I would exchange glances and supress our laughter. To the day she died, we never told her that she actually had a moment which should have been much more embarrassing.
I love that woman more than any other.
February 18, 2018
Granny’s Wealth
When my grandmother moved to the Fair City of Perth, she believed that she’d arrived in some great metropolis. Any reader who knows Perth in Scotland will be puzzled by this statement, as they will know that we are speaking about a very small city. However, you must understand that my grandmother came from a small croft in the Highlands, near to the town of Bonar Bridge, about forty miles north of Inverness.
The bustling life of Perth was quite befuddling for her.
Her first shopping trip to the High Street, with her wicker basket over her arm, ended with some purchases from the butcher’s shop. When she emerged onto the pavement, she spent thirty minutes waving at passing buses. The drivers either ignored her, waved back, or gave her a thumbs-up and a wide smile.
Eventually, the butcher, who had been puzzled by her strange actions, left his shop ad approached her.
“Excuse me, Madam. Are you trying to catch a bus?”
“Yes. But none of them will stop for me.”
“That’s because you have to stand at a bus stop.”
“I don’t know what you mean. What is a bus . . . stop?”
He pointed. “Those poles over there. And you have to be standing at the correct one.”
“How do I know which is the correct one?”
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
He smiled.
“Where do you live”
“33 Needless Road.”
“Ah! You need to be on the other side of the street. That middle bus stop is the one for you. When you see a number ten bus coming, just hold out your hand and it will stop for you. It goes up Glasgow Road. Tell the driver that you want to get off at the top of Needless Road. He’ll let you know when you reach your stop.”
My gran was worried.
“Won’t he take me down to my house.”
The jolly butcher laughed. “No! He has to stick to his route.”
“But I’ve got a heavy basket of shopping. Where I come from, the bus driver, who is also the postman, would take me home if I had a heavy basket of shopping.”
“That doesn’t happen here in Perth, I’m afraid,” chuckled the butcher.
The point that I am trying to make to you is that my gran was an incredibly naïve woman. Despite this, she was also an incredibly insightful woman. There was a day when she inspired me with one of the wisest pieces of wisdom that I have ever heard. She imparted the true meaning and origin of the word ‘wealth.’
It was on a day when I was bemoaning the unfairness of who much wealthier some people were than others. She was unimpressed by my undisguised envy.
“Do you know the real meaning of the word, ‘wealth’?”
“Yes. Of course! A wealthy person is one who has many expensive possessions and lots of money.”
“No, Lance. You couldn’t be more wrong. The word is a combination of ‘well-being’ and ‘good health.’ If you are not healthy and you aren’t happy with your life, it doesn’t matter how much money you have or how many possessions you own, you cannot be wealthy.”
When you think about it. This is very true.
My gran had hardly any money. She had the same carpet on her sitting room floor for forty years. Yet she was probably the wealthiest woman I ever knew. And, in my humble opinion, she was definitely the loveliest woman who ever walked this Earth.
I will always love my very wealthy grandmother.
