Categories
Climate change Econonomy English Culture English History Environment HEALTH Nostalgia

Is it Possible to be Green and Clean?

People of my generation grew up in 1960s Britain. They will remember many things that were unique to their age group. I well remember the Saturday morning pictures at the local cinema, free milk at school during playtime, playing football in the street and the weekly ceremony known as “Bathnight.”

In many homes, this ritual was carried out on a Saturday evening, and lots of you will remember being ushered into the bathroom by Mothers or Fathers, where the white enamel bath would be a third full of steaming water. No bubble bath, no liquid soap.

I still remember the pungent smell of Wrights Coal Tar soap, and Vosene Anti Dandruff shampoo – with which my scalp was scrubbed, despite me not having the condition,

Sinking down into the hot water would be a relief from peeling off in the cold bathroom, and most of us would splash about, soap up, wash, dip their heads in the tub, and quickly shampoo and rinse. It was a process that would probably take less than 15 minutes.

A shivering, wet kid would then climb out of the bath, to be wrapped up in a towel that was as stiff and unyielding as a plank due to it being air-dried on the washing line.

A Typical Bathroom in the 1960s

A vigorous rub dry, followed by a dusting down with Yardley’s talcum powder and that was cleaning over and done with for a week, except of course for the normal wahing of hands after using the lavatory, or before eating.

Most of the older houses on the street where I grew up only had baths. Showers were seen by many as continental indulgences. Most of the kid’s growing up in the early 1960s experience of showers was limited to those that they used in the school changing rooms for use after sports, games and gymnastics.

School showers. Tepid water at best. Carbolic soap only. I hated these!

I seem to recall that the water from these feeble showers was only ever tepid, even in the deepest winters.

Coming back into the school after 90 minutes of playing rugby in the snow a hot shower would have been welcome.

OK for professionals – but only if there is HOT water after the game!

The world changes a lot in a few decades.

In 2014 a study conducted by the University of Manchester in the UK it was revealed that only 10% of Britons took a daily bath, 50% never used a bath, choosing only to shower, and 20% only showered or bathed every four days.

Using a bath as a means for achieving cleanliness has been replaced by using a shower.

Showers have been promoted as being far more economic and eco frindly, with claims that they use much less water and energy than that required for a bath and were quicker to use.

Many people regard bathing in a tub as a relaxing activity, enabling them to unwind, maybe read a book, maybe meditate with candles, or a peaceful respite to enjoy a glass of wine, and listen to music – all activites that can’t really be undertaken in a shower – unless you like watered down vino!

Now, lets look at the realities of this.

A recent study by Unilver which manufactures Radox and Dove personal hygeine products shows a different story.

Using dedicated high-tech shower-monitoring systems backed up by user surveys, the company analysed the bathing habits of 100 families over a ten day period. The sensors recorded when the showers were activated and for how long.

For a start, the average shower is about eight minutes long!

Eight minutes!!!!

I am in and out of the shower in about three and a half minutes. I favour the military style shower. Shower with hot water to get wet. Turn shower off and apply shampoo/body wash or soap (according to taste). Wash vigorously. Turn shower on and rinse off. Clean shower off, and dry myself with a towel. Dress, and ready to rock.

I have many fiends and family that stay with me who seem to prove the eight minute rule and in some cases double that, so this is no surprise to me.

The study reveals that an eight minute standard gravity-fed shower uses nearly as much energy and water as a bath. (62 litres or 13.64 gallons of water, compared with 80 litres – 17.6 gallons for a bath. This costs an average UK family of four about £416.00 per year (520 US $).

Ahh…. That’s more like it – with proper hot water too…

Using an electric power-shower for eight minutes uses up to 136 litres (30 gallons) of hot water almost the equivalent to TWO baths! This works out at £918.00 ($1147 US) per year for that happy UK average family of four.

So – this effectively demolishes the myth that showering is better for the environment than taking a bath.

The study also disproves the common argument that women and girls are unique in occupying the bathroom for long periods of time.

It appears that young males are the worst offenders for taking very long showers – with boys under the age of 12 taking around ten minutes on average to clean themselves up.

I wonder if this is a result of carrying frogs, toads, insects and other unspeakable items in their pockets?

If you assumed that it was teenage girls that hogged the bathroom, then you would be right.

Before they hit their teens, girls seem to be efficient shower-users, taking around six and a half minutes to wash.

The bad news is that by the time they metamorphose into teenagers, they will be taking nine and a half minutes in the shower – costing their parents £123.00 ($153.75 US) per year.

The ladies in our lives would appear to be the most efficient all rounders in the bathroom.

Whereas your typical bloke – me included, just showers for a sole purpose – washing, our ladies excel at multi-tasking (as usual), with many of them combining washing their hair, shaving and even cleaning their teeth!

Maybe its time to start taking shorter showers if we want to save energy?

You decide!

Go Well…

Categories
English Culture HEALTH Interview Living Organ Donation Organ Donor Organ Transplant Science

Giving the Ultimate Gift – The Gift of Life

A few years ago, SWMBO’s sister and her husband came to stay with us in rural Hampshire. They were taking a break from their round the world travels in their motorhome.

They had made their momentous decision to spend the rest of their lives travelling around the world, sampling local cultures and cusisines, scuba diving and backpacking – and all whilst doing this in a responsible and sustainable manner.

Trudy – Marianne and Chris’s home for their global trekking TREAD the Globe! Resting in my front garden.

This article isn’t intended to tell the story of their travels. That may be done by visiting their website Tread The Globe or visiting their YouTube channel here. I can say that they are definitley achieving what they set out to do.

Marianne and Chris Fisher – Now Wandering the World in Trudy. This is not how they normally dress….

This article is actually all about Marianne, my Sister-in-Law. (Sorry Chris!)

The word awesome is really overused these days. it seems that a nice meal is awesome. A film is awesome. Is this overkill?

When I use the term to describe Marianne Fisher, it’s actually well-deserved.

Why do I say this?

Well, Marianne took the astonishingly brave decision to become a living organ-donor, and gift one of her kidneys to a very seriously ill friend.

As she was staying with us, she was a legitimate (and captive) target for me and I used the opportunity to ask her a few questions about what was involved in her decision and with her permission to share it in an article on my website.

Marianne and SWMBO. Overlooking the river in Bridgnorth, Shropshire, UK

Now, I’m no Michael Parkinson or Jay Leno, but I think I managed to do a reasonable job…

A shaft of gloden sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the compact living area of Marianne Fisher’s Motorhome, bathing us both in a warm yellow glow. Looking round the small area, I was having trouble visualising Marianne and Chris giving up all of their possessions and travelling the world in such a small vehicle.

For goodness sake! – my postman drives a bigger van!

Leaning back into the small sofa, Marianne smiled impishly, and said: “You better crack on then!” so I duly obliged and ‘cracked on’.

The first thing that I really wanted to know was what led her to make the momentous decision to become a living organ donor?

A serious look flits across her face, as she don’t switch tenses explaining to me that her long-standing friend – let’s call her Jane, had suffered from serious health problems for almost all of the thirty years she had known her. 

In a quiet voice Marianne continued, telling me that Jane had been the recipient of a kidney and pancreas transplant some eighteen years previously, but two years ago, the transplant started failing.

This resulted in her becoming diabetic, needing permanent regular dialysis. She had been placed into a medically-induced coma to increase her chances of surviving a successful medical intervention should another replacement kidney be found.   

“That sounds very serious – what happened next?” I prompted.

Regarding me levelly over the rim of her mug, she continued, explaining that there was another important factor that needed to be considered.

Jane was dying.

She was in such a fragile state of health, that a deceased donor was no longer an option, and only an organ from a living individual could be used.

Whilst Jane had a sibling, he too was in a fragile state of health, and Jane’s parents, whilst willing, were considered too old for the procedure to conducted safely.

Jane also had a fifteenyearold daughter, who would be left an orphan if no-one could be found.

Marianne appeared to brace herself, and told me that her own Mother passed away when she was just six years old, and that she subsequently went through a dreadful period which evidently still affects her today.

“I couldn’t let her go through that,” she murmured. So, she asked the medical team at Guys Hospital whether she could offer one of her kidneys to Jane.

“How did Chris take that decision?” I asked.

“I didn’t tell him at that point,” she said. “I needed to have all of the information before I wanted to discuss it with him.”

She went on: “I did tell him once I had that knowledge, and could answer his questions and needless to say, he was very concerned – not only for my safety but also for our family’s welfare.”

“Were you worried as well?” I asked, taking another gulp of my coffee.

She laughed. “Not at that point, because I didn’t really think it would happen.”

“So, you weren’t frightened by the enormity of what you were offering to do?”

She absently pushed the opened packet of Rich Tea biscuits towards me, and I welcomed the brief distraction whilst she gathered her thoughts.

She carried on, explaining to me that the transplant team at Guys Hospital were, “absolutely fantastic”, and took the time to explain patiently every aspect of the surgery, and to reassure her continually that she was able to back out at any time.

Guys Hospital – Treating the sick since 1721. Not in this building though!

“What worried you most about the procedure?” I asked.

“My biggest fear was that I would end up having to wear a colostomy bag should the operation not go as planned, or that I would react unfavourably to the anaesthetic.” .

The sun had begun remorselessly advancing towards dusk, and the shadows were slowly moving across the small dining area, as I asked how she had prepared for the other issues, such as only having one kidney left to survive on.

Drawing her knees up under her chin, she told me that she had conducted a lot of personal research into organ donation, and had checked things including post-surgical survival rates, bacteriological infection rates, statistics for Guys Hospital, and probably most importantly, whether she be able to continue to enjoy her passion of Scuba diving.

She also discussed all of this with Chris, who, whilst worried, knew that he was dealing with an unstoppable force – so fully supported her decision, as did her sons.

“So,” she summarised, “My boys were off my hands, and living adult lives, my chances of living life as normal were very high, and Jane was dying. So, I was going to do it.”

That is what happened. Marianne underwent surgery in August 2017. After a short time recuperating in Hampshire, she was soon given the all-clear to Scuba dive, and flew to Borneo that autumn to swim with turtles.

And Jane? 

Well, Jane is off dialysis, and is now actively improving her health with physiotherapy, swimming and enjoying quality time with her daughter.

Marianne stood, as if to leave. “One last question?” I asked.

She raised an eyebrow, saying “Go on.”

“What would you say to anyone who is considering becoming a living organ donor?”

Laughing, she said: “That one is easy. Talk to someone who has done it, as it’s a huge decision, and they will need lots of love, guidance and support.”

I picked my notebook up, realising that I hadn’t written a thing in it, and shoved it back in my pocket as I stepped down from the camper van, and walked back into the early evening sunshine,

The word awesome is not one that I use often, but in this case, it sums this lovely lady up.

Marianne – You Rock!

Go Well…

You can follow Marianne and Chris’s travels by visiting treadtheglobe.com

Categories
Aircew Airport aviation English Culture Flight pilots Transport Travel Vehicles

A DEAD DONKEY AT 200 FEET – A MAY DAY SPECIAL

I met up with my friend Greg in the Cafe in the flying club. It was 0830 on a slightly overcast summer morning.

Sitting down with mugs of tea, and an egg and bacon sandwich each, we reviewed my proposed route. 

We would be flying from my home base of Redhill Aerodrome in Surrey (about 4.0 nautical miles NNE of London’s Gatwick Airport (EGKK), and about 20nm SE of Heathrow Airport EGLL) to Newquay Airport (EGHQ) to meet up with Neil, a fellow pilot and an Air Traffic Control Officer.

Dodging the Class A airspace between Gatwick and Heathrow

We finished our breakfast and pulled out the charts and the NOTAMs (Notices to Airmen) and a meteorological forecast. There was nothing in the NOTAMs to affect our flight, but a check of the Met showed scattered rain showers along our route, blowing in from the south west.

Knowing that Greg had far more hours than me, I asked his opinion, and he remarked that he would go, and see what it was like enroute, and if it looked to be deteriorating, then we could return – adding that as I was the aircraft commander (and the owner!) it was my decision.

I decided that we would go, making the Surrey city of Guildford my Go/No-Go waypoint. If it was poor weather by the time I got to Guildford, some twenty miles west of the field, I would make turn back.

We wandered out to Betty Boo, and did a quick yet thorough pre-flight inspection. 

Betty Boo in her home environment

I swiftly started the engine, called the tower for a radio check and traffic information, and was given permission to taxi for runway 26 Right. the shorter of the two grass runways. 

Copyright AFE Flight Equipment – Not to be used for Flight Planning or Navigation.

It was a quick taxy. There was nothing to hold us up – a midweek morning, and all the school aircraft were already either thrashing round the circuit, or had disappeared into the local area. I weaved my way across the grass, and joined Taxiway A to hold short at A2. 

Swinging the Super Cub into the wind, I conducted the vital actions checks, and completed a run up. Waggling the flight controls reassured me that everything was correctly attached, and after conducting a pre-departure briefing, I called the tower “Betty Boo ready for departure” Very unofficial RT procedures, but, hey, it was very quiet and the controller said it first!

“Betty Boo, cleared for take off Runway 26 Right, surface wind 250 at 5 kts”

I made the acknowledgment, and said to Greg “Ready to go mate?”

“Go for it” came back through my headset.

I eased the throttle open, and gently taxied onto the threshold, marked out on the grass with white paint.

“Betty Boo Rolling” I called, and received a terse “Roger” from the tower.

I held the stick forward, applied the power smoothly, correcting the swing with rudder. The tail came up quickly, and within a few seconds we were making the magical transition from ugly duckling to elegant swan, the engine purring smoothly as we climbed away.

Clearing the Aerodrome, I was directed to depart via west Reigate, and the Buckland Visual Reporting Point.

As we climbed to 1500 feet, and looked west, I must admit, that it didn’t look too promising; hazy with a light grey gauze draped across my intended route.

I had a plan, and I was going to stick to it, so we continued westwards, to pass to the south of Guildford. 

The weather goblins had other ideas. 

East of Guildford, I got the first lashings of rain, the water droplets hitting the windscreen, and then being bullied by the slipstream to rush in rivulets round the sides of the canopy. 

The Surrey City of Guildford – on a better weather day

I applied carburettor heat, and immediately made a 180 degree turn, saying to Greg “This is a fabric winged aircraft, I am recovering back to Redhill”

“Sound decision” came his nonchalant response.

I called Redhill, and explained that we were returning, to be told that a heavy shower was passing through, overhead the field, and that I should aim to re-join for runway 26 Left via the motorway junction.

Junction 7, The M25/M23 Interchange – VRP for the rejoin to Redhill Aerodrome.

Winding the airfield pressure into the altimeter, I ran through the descent checks, and suggested to Greg that we do a few circuits as it would be good practice.

He thought that was a good idea as well, so I called the tower and requested that we do a missed approach, followed by a touch and go, and then maybe some non-standard landings.

The tower quickly approved this, saying that there were no other aircraft currently in the circuit, and to call on final approach.

I brought the power back, and trimmed us for a nice steady 60 mph, planning to reduce to 50 mph on short final. I pegged the altimeter on 1300 feet as I didn’t want to run the risk of infringing class A airspace as I was flying in.

It all seemed to be working out. I was flying through clear air, but although the rain had stopped, looking west, it was still coming in. I calculated that I had about half an hour in the circuit – maybe three turns round the field.

The motorway junction was on the nose, and as I crossed it, I rolled South, roughly paralleling the M23 London to Brighton motorway.

A few minutes later, I banked right, bringing Betty Boo into line with the runway, calling on the radio that I was on final approach for a missed approach. 

Redhill Aerodrome, with the M23 in the foreground

Having received my clearance, I continued to descend, and at 200 feet, turned off the carburettor heat, and applied full power, climbing away back into the circuit. I progressively cleaned the airframe up, moving the flap lever in easy stages, and retrimming for straight and level. 

The downwind leg was uneventful, and I called the tower, requesting a touch and go.

“Call Finals” was the response from ATC, and so I started descending, putting on carburettor heat, and taking the flaps as before. At 200 feet, carburettor heat cold, ready for the go around.

I had nailed the airspeed at 55 mph, and came across the threshold at the correct height. 

Bleeding off the power, I gently pitched back into a three-point attitude, and she sank onto the grass. 

A couple of rumbles and some gentle bumping, holding her straight with rudder, I smoothly applied full power, and pitched back up into a best rate of climb attitude as required by the airfield regulations.

I had reached about 150 feet when the engine stuttered, popping and juddering, and the RPM was dropping rapidly backwards round the gauge!

I instantly shoved the nose forwards, my hands making the checks unbidden – Magnetos, Mixture, Fuel, Primer, Carb Heat.  Everything was correctly configured and where it should be.

The engine was now winding back, giving virtually no power, but I managed to ease another 100 feet out of her. 

“Mayday Mayday Mayday!” I yelled, “Betty Boo, Engine failure, Immediate landing required”

I slammed away the landing flap, and gently rolled right, hearing the controllers calm voice saying:

“Betty Boo, the field is yours, land wherever, Cessna Golf Charlie Whiskey hold in your current position, I’ll call you back”

My throat was dry, and I concentrated on not stalling, descending in a gentle right-hand turn. Airspeed…. must keep airspeed…  I couldn’t risk looking at the Air Speed Indicator – I was doing this by feel and sound.  Thank god for all the sailplane experience.

The runway was under the nose, so I rolled wings level, and deadsticked about halfway down the grass, leaving me another 400 metres if I had needed it.

I allowed the speed to wash off, not touching the brakes, and vacated off the runway so that it could still be used.

“Good landing mate”

I jumped. I had almost forgotten that Greg was sitting there in the back cockpit.

“Thanks” I responded. “Not quite how I saw today playing out, but I’m glad we are in one piece.”

We exited the cockpit, and waited for the Ops car to arrive.

The airfield manager duly arrived, and having reassured himself that we were safe, and that the aeroplane and airfield were undamaged, he asked us to push the aircraft further from the runway and secure it and park it and he would arrange for it to be towed to the hangar when the airfield closed.

He kindly gave us both a lift to the hangar.

The aftermath of this, is that I submitted a full report, with my conclusion – that I had been the victim of carburettor icing.

I subsequently discussed this with a very experienced Cub instructor pilot, and he suggested that the Continental engines fitted to this type were highly susceptible to icing. When he heard that a rain shower had passed through about half an hour prior to my touch and go, he was convinced that the short ground roll had ingested enough water to cause icing in the carburettor leading to loss of power and subsequent engine failure.

Now, I learned a BIG lesson from this.

When I was taught to fly, all of my instructors emphasised that carburettor heat should be selected during the approach to land, and should be switched to cold as part of the after landing checks. 

They also said that if a landing was baulked – a touch and go, the carburettor heat should be selected COLD, so as to ensure full power availability for the climb out.

Betty Boo’s sidewall. Note the Carb Heat, Cabin Heat and Magnetos all in a single panel…. What could possibly go wrong!

This is what I had done in the Super Cub. As soon as I had touched down, I selected COLD, and as a result, there was no warm air running through they system to protect me from the ice caused by the water ingestion.

As this happened a while ago, I decided to review my various checklists. They all state that the Carburettor Heat is selected HOT for the approach, and moved to cold for a baulked landing.

So – my first ever MAYDAY. A sphincter-clenching moment, but one that made me do a lot of introspection. Did I do the right thing?  

Looking back, maybe I made the wrong decision to risk a long-distance flight in a fabric-covered aircraft when rain and maybe marginal VFR was forecast?  Had I decided not to fly, then I would have never placed myself and my aeroplane into a risk situation – albeit a risk that I had not foreseen or even fully understood.

My aircraft handling skills were not wanting, and the drills that I had practiced so many times were virtually automatic. 

The aeroplane was undamaged. The crew were safe and uninjured. A successful outcome.

The following day I discovered that the engineers wanted to be absolutely sure there were no technical issues that could have caused the engine failure. They therefore stripped down the entire fuel system. They only found some minor contamination, so the verdict was that I had encountered engine icing.

What did I learn?

I learnt that an engine can ingest sufficient water from wet grass in a landing roll of 180 metres to fail the engine less than a minute later.

It’s a funny old world, this flying lark.

Go Well…

Categories
Driving English Culture English History Environment local economy Motorcycling Motoring Nostalgia Society Transport Travel Vehicles Veterans

A New Years Day With A Classic Touch

New Year’s Day 2019 was crisp and cold; the weak sun shone out of an impossibly bright blue sky – making it an ideal morning to investigate the Phoenix Green Annual Classic Vehicle meet.

At any other time of the year, Phoenix Green in Hampshire is more of a transit village than a destination. Lying astride the main A30 trunk road, two and a half miles north east of the town of Hook, its normally just another “A” road connecting Staines-upon-Thames with Basingstoke.

All of that changes on the first of January every year.

The main focal point of the village is the Phoenix Inn[1], a magnificent old building, dating back to the 1700s. 

The Phoenix Inn at Phoenix Green, Hartley Wintney, Hampshire

It is also the ancestral home of the Vintage Sports Car Club, which was founded at the Phoenix Green Garage, and is now a veritable mecca for classic and sports car enthusiasts and the vintage motorcycle fraternity.

Two British Classics, hiding in the Phoenix Inn’s Car Park.

 This is the opening event of the year for the south-east England classic vehicle community, and attracts all sorts of historic vehicles, from military trucks to vintage and veteran cars. There are normally contingents from owners’ clubs, intermingling with private owners and collectors.

The event is in no way formally organised, and exhibitors and participants just arrive in the village and find somewhere to park. There is absolutely no Police presence, and vehicles of all descriptions are parked on the hard shoulder, the central reservation and the verges, and it all appears to run safely and happily.

Vintage American Cars – Not so much parked as abandoned.

We arrived mid-morning, and already the pretty old village was packed with vehicles, and there was a relaxed party atmosphere, as villagers and visitors wandered up and down, admiring the beautifully restored cars and motorcycles. 

A joy to behold…

The Phoenix Pub is heavily involved in supporting the event, giving over their car park for restored cars and concours motorcycles to be displayed. They were also busy refuelling the spectators and drivers alike, providing mulled wine and hot food outside, in addition to serving meals and drinks inside the pub restaurant.

The Cosy Dining Room at the Phoenix Inn

Having walked up and down both sides of the road through the village, I was a little surprised to have counted five McLaren supercars, each with a price tag of at least £160,000, an absolutely pristine Aston Martin DB6 with a provenance that valued it in excess of £500,000, £60,000 worth of Series 1 Land Rover, a drool-inducing Chevrolet Corvette in searing red which would purge at least £40,000 from the bank balance, and a wonderfully restored Scammell military truck with a street value of about £25,000. 

Just a few McLarens…

 Add in about thirty classic vintage motorcycles, and variegated other marques and models spanning both the last seventy years and the Atlantic Ocean, and the investment parked up haphazardly along the main road was in excess of £1,950,000.

Probably one of the most elegant super cars ever built, except for the E Type Jaguar!

This event is well worth a visit – unless you happen to be a motor insurance underwriter, in which case it would be best to stay at home.

Just in case.

So, better make a note in your diary for next year!

Go Well…


[1] www.phoenixinn.co.uk

Categories
Climate change Corona Virus COVID 19 cruising Cycling Driving Ecological Electric Transport English Culture English Literature Environment HEALTH Motorcycling Motoring Society Trains Transport Travel Vehicles

If You Think Humanity Is Stupid Now, Keep Polluting and See What Happens…

Climate change.

We have been hearing about it in the news almost every day, until it was supplanted by other issues. The run-up to BREXIT, the general election, floods, and now the Coronavirus pandemic have made us all temporarily dump the issue and public attention is now fully occupied with the control of the global pandemic.

The mainstream media have highlighted the drop in climate-change gases – a direct link to a significant reduction in both travel and manufacturing following global lockdown.

From a planetary perspective, the drop is not highly significant and as soon as lockdown finishes, we will probably revert to our old ways very quickly. 

Having said that, I am hopeful that state governments will use the opportunity to consolidate some of the steps that have been taken to enable the use of alternative means of transport – making that small reductions permanent. 

We have seen cities around the world banning vehicular traffic from city streets, together with enhancing cycle lanes and pedestrian routes, making it easier and cleaner to travel.

Electric Bicycles – the best of both worlds – and you can take them on the train!

This is nowhere near enough, but at least it is showing that people can get around large cities safely without using a car or public transport.

All the media focus revolves primarily around the ever-increasing levels of air pollution that are triggering climate change, rising sea levels and rising temperature.

There is, however, an interesting health issue that lurks in the sidelines.

As a species, we rely on breathing air, from which we extract oxygen, and then exhale CO2, together with other gases such as Nitrogen and Methane, and some organic compounds.

In order for our bodies to function correctly we rely on our lungs to absorb oxygen and exhale the COin the correct ratios. 

The composition of the air that we breathe is 78% Nitrogen, 21% Oxygen, and 1% Argon. There are also traces of CO2, and rare gases such as Xenon, Neon, Helium, Methane.

As we increase the levels of CO2 in the air, our lungs will be unable to exhale the surplus and this will be absorbed into the body, which will have an effect.

According to a recent study conducted by the University of Colorado in Boulder, The Colorado School of Public Health, and the University of Pennsylvania, evidence suggests that future levels of CO2 may severely impair our cognitive ability.

The study based its research on two scenarios; one, a world where human society reduces the amount of CO2 it releases into the atmosphere, and the other where we don’t – “business as usual.”

Alarmingly, even when we do reduce the amount of carbon dioxide that we release into the ecosystem, by the year 2100, individuals would still be exposed to elevated levels (by today’s standards) of CO2 leading to a 25% decrease in cognitive abilities.

The reduction in mental ability is caused by an increase in CO2 in the brain, a condition called Hypercapnia. which leads to a reduction in brain/blood oxygen (Hypoxemia).

The result is a reduction in brain activity, decreased levels of arousal and excitability. On top of this, it induces sleepiness, and anxiety, the result of which is an impact on our cognitive functions such as learning, memory, strategising and crisis management.

Lost Concentration…? Foggy Brain…? Maybe thats Air Pollution for you…Photo by Oladimeji Ajegbile on Pexels.com

This is easily understood. Who hasn’t been in a lecture room, classroom or meeting room, where our concentration wanders, and we get tired and disengaged. The result of excess CO2 released by a lot of individuals. The solution is normally to open a window to let in some fresh air.

But what if the air outside was not really fresh at all? 

A report in 2001 (Robertson) argued that even slightly elevated levels of CO2 (720 parts per million) could cause lowered pH in the blood (acidosis) leading to restlessness, mild hypertension and ultimately confusion.

The report concluded that if we continue with “business as usual”, flagrantly releasing megatons of COinto the atmosphere, by 2100 we could see our cognitive functions reduced by as much as 50%.

Unless we build on this virally-induced reduction in CO2 and continue to decrease global pollution, we may survive this.

If not, we, as a race, are doomed to become the joint recipients of the last-ever Darwin Awards.

Charles Darwin, Author of The Origin of Species.

Go Well…

Categories
Aircew Airport aviation English Culture Flight Nostalgia Old Friends pilots Transport

It’s a Small World – Aviation

In September 2005 I decided that I needed a new flying challenge. I was stale. I completed my Instrument Rating a few years prior, together with my Multi Engine Rating, and Night Rating. I needed to rejuvenate my flying mojo. To do that I required a new challenge.

I was fortunate that I had been able to put some of the more interesting types of aeroplane into my logbook since getting my licence in 1989.

Through both training schools and friends, I had been privileged to sample the delights of many different aeroplanes. Reviewing my logbooks, I see many different types, from 1930s biplanes to Modern Hot ships.

Whilst I had flown a good number of tailwheel aircraft, and had handled them, I hadn’t completed formalised differences training which is required in the United Kingdom to fly one.

The necessary training was a short course consisting of a minimum of 5 hours flying time. Naturally, this was open-ended, and the number of hours required to complete the training is dependent upon flying ability and aptitude.

I flogged round the circuit at Redhill Airfield in G-BMKB, a Piper PA-18 Super Cub under the guidance of my instructor, Jim. Jim was a highly experienced tailwheel pilot, despite him being in his early twenties.

I hate heel brakes!

My general handling abilites seemed to be fine. Take offs were, shall we say, interesting in the early days, but with practice I could get the tail up and correct the swing nicely.

Landings however, were a different matter. My early attempt saw the little aeroplane leap back into the air like a startled Kangaroo, or slalom left and right as I wrestled with the rudder pedals to stop it chasing its own tail.

Jim normally sorted things out, and it wasn’t long before I could land the aircraft nicely in a three point attitude. I didn’t like wheeler landings – and still don’t, but I regarded them as a necessary evil.

I see that I completed my training in the minimum hours required, and have a nice sticker in my logbook proclaiming that I was comptent to fly more interesting types.

Towards the end of August in 2007, I decided that I would invest in a group-owned aircraft. A colleague at British Airways said that he wanted to get rid of his share in a Super Cub based at Redhill, and the price was right.

On a Sunny Saturday, I arranged to meet him and he would let me fly it prior to the sale.

I arrived at Redhill to find the aircraft sitting on the ramp outside the hangar.

Betty Boo…

I was walking towards the aircraft when I received a text message telling me that the seller was delayed by half an hour and that I should “Have a poke about and see what you think”

I did just that.

I opened the window and door, and had a good nose round the cockpit, which looked well kept, clean and tidy. It also had a radio and a VOR. Luxury!

VOR, Transponder and a Garmin GPS. Basic but fun. The only aircraft I have called two maydays in…

I unclipped the cowling, and took a dekko at the engine, and whilst I was peering intently into the void I heard a voice say “Good Morning, are you interested in buying a share in Betty Boo?”

“Betty Boo?”

He looking meaningfully at the registration – G-BTBU

“She’s known by everyone on the field as Betty Boo”

I guess he was in his early sixties, with a mop of grey hair, and oil on his hands.

After a bit of general chit chat, he finally cut to the chase, and asked me about my flying background.

“Are you a shareholder in the group?” I asked. I wasn’t about to give my background without good reason.

“Yes” he replied, “I am. Been in the group for years”

“Well, if you must know, I learned to fly as an Air Cadet about six miles from here at RAF Kenley, back in the seventies”

The Kirby Cadet Mk III – Would love to get my hands on one again…

He fixed me with a steady look, saying “I used to instruct at Kenley in the seventies.”

“What’s your name?” I asked

“I’m Stewart Rhodes.”

“Bloody Hell!” I exclaimed. “Dusty Rhodes! You sent me solo in 1976”

I shook his hand, but I could see that he was not convinced.

Anyway, I ended up buying a share in Betty Boo, and enjoyed flying her, after I had been checked out by Dusty Rhodes.

How weird. Small world?

Yes. The same man taught me in 1976 in a Kirby Cadet MkIII glider, and then sent me off again 31 years later in my own aeroplane.

How cool is that?

Go Well…

Types I have flown – In no particular order.

Eclipse 500 Twinjet, Slingsby T67 Firefly Aerobatic Trainer (as used by the Royal Air Force), De Havilland DHC-1 Chipmunk, Citabria, Grob 109 Vigilant T1, Grob G-103A Viking T1, Variants of Cessna C150, 152, 172, Variants of the venerable Piper PA-28 Cherokee (Warriors, Archers, Cadets, Arrows) Piper Commanche 6, Piper PA-44 Seminole, Piper PA-34 Seneca, Mooney M-20C, DH Tiger Moth, Piper J-3 Cub, Diamond DA20 Katana, PZL Wilga, Stolp Starduster Too, Bucker Jungmann, Cessna C-152 Texan (Tailwheel Conversion), Super Emeraude, Gyro-sport Gyro Copter, Piper J4 Cub, Varga Kachina Naval Trainer, Sleicher K-17 Sailplane, Blanik Sailplane, Sedburgh Sailplane, Sky Ranger, Ikarus C-42, Mainair Blade, Schweitzer Helicopter, Experimental Amphibian,

Categories
Councils Ecological English Culture English History English Literature Society

Bill and George? Who?

Today should, by rights, be a good day for me to write an article.

Maybe words to titillate the senses; maybe to educate, entertain or inform? Or maybe an opportunity for me to be self-indulgent.

Why does today augur such good omens?

Well, for a start, it just happens to be the birthday of William Shakespeare, or so the historians think. The actual date of the bard’s birth is not recorded or documented, but his baptism was, and he was christened on 26th April 1564. It was normal to have baptisms three days after the birth, so I guess its a reasonable assumption.

Weirdly, William Shakespeare died on the 23rd April 1616. This is documented, so either way you look at it, this should be a good day for a struggling penman to bash out a few words.

Now, flashback to the early 1970s.

Confounding my father’s prediction that I would be an imbecile for the rest of my life, I did pass my eleven-plus exam, and made the cut to get into Grammar School.

A typical 11+ exam from 1968… Could a ten year old do these now?

English lessons with Mr Dobbins were dreary and dull, but at least he taught me the fundamentals of grammar, and spelling.

Even at that age, I was a voracious reader. My bedroom bookshelves housed the complete works of Issac Asimov (all read, I add), but I recall that I also dabbled with H G Wells, Jules Verne, E E “Doc” Smith and Arthur C Clarke.

Just one of the reasons why I love Science Fiction

However, nothing prepared me for the sheer, unadulterated hell of classes in English Literature.

Miss Briggs, my English Mistress, was a true hippie, complete with an Alice headband, long dresses and mauve tights. I think she knitted her own shoes.

But she was a nice soul, generous with her praise, and gentle with her frustrations at dealing with a totally disengaged class.

The english literature syllabus back then required that students were able to understand the context of the books studied, and could explain the use of metaphores, and allegories.

This meant that the works of the great writers were dismantled, sentence by sentence, line by line, chapter by chapter.

And then the probing questions and tests to establish our understanding…

“Mark, what did Shakespeare mean by his obscure use of the word and in this sentence.

After two years of dissecting Macbeth and Richard the Second, I was put off Shakespeare’s works completely,. So whilst I could (and still can) recite several speeches and soliluquies, I ended up leaving school with a deep seated loathing for Shakespeare, and a not much better opinion of the mediaeval writer Geoffrey Chaucer. Maybe this was a reaction against learning The Millers Tale and the Nun’s Priest’s Tale in Middle English.

What the hell were our educators thinking???? My old school friends, with whom I still meet regularly, all left school with the same feelings.

It was many years before I came into contact with the Bard again; I was in my mid twenties, and had joined my local drama group. After gaining confidence and appearing on stage in a lot of very minor bit parts, I was finally being offered more principle or leading roles.

One winter evening, I went to a meeting of the players, to discover that the next play we were producing would be A Midsummer Night Dream.

Would you like to see my Bottom?

My heart sank. Not Shakespeare…

Please…

However, I soon discovered that when read and performed as the great man intended it to be, it was truly joyous, and is a great piece of literature.

I have never managed to read any of his works as a book. I have watched and genuinely enjoyed some excellent performances of his work, so the cultural damage inflicted upon me as a kid have been repaired, but it has taken over four decades!

If they had required that I study Science Fiction, I would have probably passed my English Lit exam with an A+ rather than a C-.

The other thing of note about today’s date, is that it is Saint George’s Day.

Saint George on his charger…

For those that aren’t familiar with Saint George, let me briefly explain. St. George is the patron Saint of England. Not Britain. England.

The true history of St. George is lost in the mists of time, but he did exist. It appears from several accounts that he was a serving officer in the Roman army around 300AD. Legend has it that he killed a dragon that was slaughtering the residents of a local town. He was offered a monetary reward from the King, but refused to accept it, and donated it to the poor of the town.

This made him worthy of Sainthood.

There are accounts from 12th Century Genovese books that refer to Saint George’s colours being a red cross on a white background.

Other accounts tell of him fighting alongside the English Knights Templar during the crusades of the 12th Century.

In 1348 King Edward III of England incorporated the Cross of St. George into the English Royal Standard, and by the end of the 14th Century, St George was adopted as the Patron Saint of England, and the Protector of the Royal Family.

The English Royal Standard, circa 1348

It has been this way for centuries.

Now, the English seem to have a reputation as a self effacing race. We don’t normally go in for self agrandisement, prefering understatement to get by. That and the much publicised “Stiff Upper Lip”.

So, it’s our Patron Saint’s day today. We are in lockdown. So none of our pubs will be open for the discounted English Ale, cheap Cider, roast beef sandwiches and pork pies . There will be no give-away straw hats, or plastic flags. No Public Holiday.

But then, we don’t do that anyway.

Go Well…

Categories
Councils Cycling Ecological English Culture Environment Exercise HEALTH Local Authorities local economy Society

COVID 19 – Lockdown and Walking with Nature

I’m sitting here in the early evening enjoying my back garden, listening to the birds as I mull over this article. My terrace is bathed in warm, golden sunlight, as Sol starts to dip majestically behind the trees lining the nature reserve.

I am so very fortunate. I have managed to make the right decisions – either by luck, intuititon, or skill, that have resulted in me living in a beautiful part of the UK. Or it could be SWMBO’s excellent judgement.

I don’t question SWMBO’s judgement – she is, after all, with me, so her decision making and judgement skills are refined.

I live in Hampshire which, like most of the UK, has a timeline of civilisation that extends 14,000 years into the past.

Roman Emperor Claudius invaded Britain in AD 43 and shortly thereafter (in the larger scale of things), Winchester became the County Town of Hampshire.

For those of you that are unfamiliar with the British concept of county towns – a county town was the ancient equivalent of of a capital city, but at county level. Traditionally, a county town is the most important or significant town in a county.

Winchester is not only the county town of Hampshire, but also a city in the truest sense of the definition.

In the UK, most people use the term “city” to describe any large town, but the status of a city was traditionally only given to towns that had a Cathedral – King Henry the Eighth establishing the first ones during his reign. To this day, the UK’s monarch has to grant city status to any town.

Winchester cathedral was consecrated in 1093, and is a wonderful old building, which seems to have history seeping out of its walls and emanating from its very fabric.

The opulence of Winchester Cathedral

Winchester is about 24 miles west of where I live. It is a beautiful old city. It is where the ancient English King, Alfred had his royal seat.

King Alfred the Great – Still watching for marauding Vikings…

The old part of the city, in which the ancient cathedral sits, is a maze of tiny cobbled streets and lanes.

Winchester City centre. Disney or Universal take note…

I digress.

The area in which I live is also historic. There has been a human settlement here at least since the 14th Century; the Roman army crossed the River Wey at Lindford, about 1 mile away, whilst en-route to battle in the west of the county in the early part of the the last millenium. The crossing over the local stream has been here since 1350, but the current bridge was refurbished in 2008.

So, we are in Lockdown.

According to Her Majesty’s Government (HMG), we are allowed to exercise once a day. So, this last Sunday, SWMBO and I decided that we would partake of some gentle exercise in the form a walk through the Deadwater Valley Nature Reserve.

It was a beautiful afternoon, with a light zephyr tousling the crowns of the trees as we left the house. A six minute walk up the hill took us to the entrance of the nature trail.

The trail is cool, the smell of damp sphagnum moss mixed with that wonderful, rich, loamy, peaty aroma. The sunlight pierced the canopy with spears of golden light, impaling the shy bluebells and forget-me-nots hiding on the floor of the woods.

Quiet – and with no risk of bears or vampires…

We continue wandering, sowly, drinking in the scents of the woodland. The information board informs me that this is a home to Stag Beetles, Slow Worms, Sparrowhawks, Red Admiral butterflies, Nuthatches and Goldfinches – together with the occassional Roe or Muncjac deer.

We plod on, hand in hand, humbled by the sheer abundance of plants, insects and wildlife.

The Deadwater Sream, slowly meandering its way towards the River Wey…

We see few people on the trail; those that we do are keen to ensure that we all comply with the two metre separation. Sometimes, we yield to walkers coming towards us, standing in the undergrowth so tha they may pass. Natural selection seems to ensure that next time we meet fellow walkers, they hold back for us to pass.

However, the social niceties are maintained, with many “good afternoons”. “please”, “thank you” and “have a good one” as we contine our walk.

The trail isn’t crowded by any means; we are in solitude for most of it – just us, walking, talking, laughing. Soaking up the atmosphere and enjoying nature.

Bluebells carpet the walk – just about everywhere. I love Spring – my favorite season

We continued on, walking generally north until we reached the exit point, where the new housing estate starts.

Not wanting to just return on the same route, we decide to wander through the small town suburbia and re-enter the reserve a little further down.

It’s a relief to leave the road once more, lined as it is, with high density housing, and populated with bus stops, garage blocks and parking bays.

We re-enter the reserve, skirting the sticky muddy morass near the stile, and test the waterproof capabilities of our footwear as we stride on through the silty puddles that surround the more glutinous mud.

Looking at the tracks in the earth, I immediately deduce that the trail is used by mountain bikers, hikers, walkers, children and dogs.

Eat your heart out Sherlock Holmes. Go back to your flat Hercule Poirot.

Whilst the nature reserve isn’t large, we have never visited before, so I was happy that I had a fully paid up account with the Ordnance Survey, and had access to excellent charts.

Using the app, we quickly planned how we would return to the end of the park nearest our home.

Our route back took us past a picturesque pond, which, according to the information board, was home to Toads, Frogs, Herons and Dragonflies.

The pond, basking in the sunshine, as it has done for over 100 years.

Sadly, we didn’t see any of them, but it has given me an excuse to come back again to check it out more regularly.

I would not necessarily have discovered this wonderful place if I hadn’t been on lockdown – so something good has come about as a result of COVID19.

My day today has been filled with catching up on various tasks around the house, so maybe tomorrow I will dig my bike out, and go and explore in a bit more detail.

A great way to do an hours exercise without having to go to the gym, which I find abhorrent at the best of times.

Go Well…

Categories
Charitable Agencies Charity Elderly English Culture International Aid Nostalgia Poverty Relief Religion Society

Giving back a little of what I’ve been given

On a sunny and bright January Sunday I escorted my elderly Mother to her local church.

A confirmed Christian, my dear old Mum has been attending the same church since I was a child.

I attended this very church until I started work; I was confirmed there when I was about thirteen. 

My Parents continued as paid-up practising Christians, but I lapsed over the years, perhaps because I came to realise that, in my own very humble opinion, most religions (with the exception of Buddhism) are possibly the root cause of most types of conflict – best summarised as “My God is better than your God, so I will persuade or force you to believe in My God”.

I reckon that over the centuries, this has probably caused more wars than everything else combined. So, I got heartily fed up with it and decided that whilst I do believe in a force of good and evil, I stopped subscribing to any belief system that punishes people for being human.

That’s not to say that I don’t believe in a supreme infinite being.

I do.

I don’t think for one moment, that the perfectly integrated natural world in which we live happened by some cosmic accident. That would be akin to me taking a 5000-piece jigsaw, and throwing the pieces into the air, and then have them all land in the form of a flawlessly completed puzzle.

Folks, that just ain’t gonna happen is it?

Somehow, I feel more connection these days to ancient paganism.  My Great-Grandfather was a Senior Druid. The limited amount of research I have conducted into both my Great Grandfather and Druidism shows them to be cognisant and respectful of the seasons – the natural flows and rhythms of the planet.  Living in harmony with nature, and looking for ways to co-exist with our fellow inhabitants of this lonely rock we call home.

Stonehenge – A Place of Beauty and Tranquility.

I don’t go to church that much these days, mainly family “duty” missions – hatchings, matchings and despatchings.

Having said that, whenever I visit my dear old Mum on a Sunday, I willingly take her to morning service, as I know it gives her great pleasure, and that in turn makes me happy too.

I normally combine this with a pleasant and relaxed drive through the beautiful Sussex countryside, through forests and heathland, traversing the undulating folds of this green and pleasant land, passing through villages that were already old when the Doomsday Book was still in draft form.

The High Weald of Mid Sussex Home to writers such as A.A. Milne, Rudyard Kipling, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and… Me!

The trip normally routes via a small farm where we stop, and collect a dozen fresh eggs from the tiny stall at the gate, leaving a couple of pounds in the honesty box.

The last port of call before home is normally into a pleasant country golf club that serves the best coffee for miles around according to Mater.

Nestled in a quiet valley of the Sussex Weald – the home of the best coffee in Mid Sussex – allegedly!

But back to the story…

Having attended Sunday school since I was old enough to walk, I have a relatively good understanding of the Christian faith and see that it gives a lot of comfort and support to a lot of people.

I, therefore, believe that I am not a total charlatan or hypocrite when I take my mother to her local church on a Sunday morning. In some respects, I find it quite cathartic.

So – coming back to 0830 on that January Sunday. 

It was a beautiful, crisp, clear morning, with azure blue skies; sporadic fluffy white clouds, and a cool wind, stirring the bushes as I walked the route to the church, over paths and roads that were etched into my memory over fifty years ago. 

However, the speed at which I walked them was considerably slower than way back then.  Echos of my childish laughter bounce back from the weathered brick walls and moss-clad fences.

I now meander, rather than stride. Mum is now much slower since her falls and as it’s a beautiful morning, I am content to wander next to her, as she regales me with an endless stream of chatter, telling me all that has happened in her busy week.

I greatly admire my Mother. My Father was her rock, and when he passed away 8 years ago, I thought that the strain and grief would kill her as well.  However, the old girl is made of much sterner stuff, and it wasn’t long before she bounced back. 

However, I know the amount of grit and strength this demanded of her.

She now enjoys an active social life, working part-time in the church cafe, attending various church groups – and up until recently, driving every week to meet up with her “old ladies” (all, of whom were younger than she was!) in one of the local towns, a short drive away.

She is now a regular bus rider and travels all over the counties of Sussex and Kent to visit different towns and shopping centres.  Far from becoming a hermit, I now almost have to make an appointment to see my own mother!

Where next?

So, it was on this lovely day that we sat down in the small Methodist chapel, resplendent in its gleaming white paint.

The modern contemporary Church. Light airy, and fresh…

I recognised many of the folk in the congregation. Some I knew from years ago; the parents of some of my contemporaries, now aged, stooped, wrinkled and infirm. Some were my age, in their late fifties or early sixties and at least one nodded to me and smiled a greeting.

I joined in the hymns – somewhat unenthusiastically I admit. I have never been a great fan of Charles Wesley, and this service merely reinforced my views that he should have been taken away and summarily pecked to death by ducks for writing such appalling dirges.

I have more affinity with the happy, loud hymns created at Gospel churches. They seem to know how to really enjoy their worship.

The service was officiated by the incumbent vicar. His sermon gave me the inspiration to write this article.

His lesson was actually quite interesting and contained one very important quote. He was referring to the offertory, and he made the statement “you are only giving back a tiny fraction of what the Lord gave you”

This fragment of his sermon stuck with me, and my thoughts kept returning to it, unbidden throughout the following weeks.

Yes, for the comparatively paltry amount of a fiver, which is what I furtively chucked into the collection plate, I have always been on the upside of the equation.  I am fortunate in so many areas of my life.

Giving a little back…

I am relatively fit and whilst I am no Einstein, I do have a reasonable level of intelligence and education. I hold down a good job, and as a result, I live in a nice house in a beautiful part of Southern England, surrounded by nature and enjoy a good standard of living.

I have been so privileged, that through my accident of birth, I was born into an age of good medicine and healthcare and into a temperate and civilised country.

In addition, the country in which I live, has a decent democratic society, with a generally compassionate and caring nature.

I could have so easily been born into poverty and disease, or a totalitarian society with brutal law enforcement, where there is no such thing as individual freedom or a free media and press.

What value could be placed on these fundamental privileges?

So, yes, the old padre was correct in his sermon.

My fiver, will hopefully go to aid those so desperately in need of it; medical relief in sub-Saharan Africa? a school in the slums of Brazil? clean water in the hinterlands of Tanzania?

It matters not where it goes.  I do know that it will be sent where it is needed most – and hopefully will make a difference to someone’s life.

Go Well…

Categories
Airport aviation Climate change Corona Virus Councils COVID 19 cruising Cycling Driving Ecological Econonomy Electric Transport English Culture Environment Financial Flight HEALTH internet Local Authorities local economy Motoring Movies Music Panic Buying Politics Science Society Technology Trains Transport Travel Vehicles Work

Coronavirus – The Catalyst for Global Change?

Unless you have been living on the Cook Islands for the last few months, you will have heard of Corona Virus, now known as COVID 19.

The virus is officially a global pandemic, and is now rampaging across every continent, leaving a trail of dead.

Here in the United Kingdom, we are in a state of national emergency, and state-sanctioned lockdown is in effect, with only absolutley essential journeys authorised. All retail shops except those selling essential supplies such as food, maedicines and perhaps bizzarely, alcohol are closed.

The London Underground has shut stations across its network, and passengers figures are plummeting.

Stations shut as a result of Coronavirus

Working at home has been the norm for many workers. As a result, the economy is in freefall, with the retail and hospitality sectors being worst hit. Clubs, pubs, cinemas, churches, sports centres, museums and public buildings are now all closed for the immediate future.

The aviation and maritime sectors have been quick to feel the impact of travel restrictions, and many airports are struggling as flights have become virtually non-existent, passenger traffic stagnated, and many airlines now trying to mitigate their losses by flying freight.

Flight Radar 24 – Screenshot showing flights in South East England. This was taken mid morning on the 13th April 2020. This airspace would normally be teeming with traffic, given that this is a Public Holiday in the UK.

Whilst the global shutdown is severely damaging both our manufacturing and financial economies, we are reaping some form of benefit; pollution levels have dropped across the planet, and air quality is improving.

Imagery from the Copernicus Programme’s Sentinel 5P satellite. The left hand image shows Nitrous Oxide pollution over France and Italy. Darker Red is higher levels of pollution. The right hand image shows how the levels and extent have reduced throughout the month of March 2020

It’s not just transport that contributes to atmospheric pollution – industrial and manufacturing activities have fallen across the UK and Europe as countries shutdown their economies to fight the coronavirus pandemic.

This shows that it is possible to stop climate change, but the societal costs are far too high to make this acceptable.

I do believe that when the virus is contained or burnt out, we will emerge from lockdown and social distancing as a changed society.

So, what may happen?

Many firms that up until recently were resistant to their employees working remotely will have seen that some of their “trust issues” have been proved to be unfounded and that staff have been as productive, if not more productive that when working at the office.

Bearing in mind the cost of office space, many companies may find the savings realised by using smaller premises make remote working desirable.

After a major pandemic such as this one, people may be far more cautious about personal hygeine, and become much more concerned to see that public areas are properly sanitised. This could have an effect on the practice of hot desking at work.

The travelling public will probably also need to see evidence that public transport is cleaned and sanitised far more regulalrly and effectively than currently.

The lack of public trust in the health security of public transport could trigger more car use, as people seek to protect themselves with more regularised self isolating. Even car sharing could become less popular as people choose not ot sit in close proximity with another individual on their commute.

Who can really say?

If thousands more people take up remote working, there may well be more economic pain ahead for public transport operators.

Railway and air journeys that used to be undertaken for business meetings may well now be conducted using video conferencing using internet platforms such as Skype for Business and Microsoft Teams.

Will our current level of communications network provision be sufficient to accommodate this?

Individuals that were reluctant to order shopping on-line, or use home delivery services prior to COVID 19 have now been using them out of necessity, and many of these people will now be sold on the advantages, leading to further decline of England’s high streets.

Individuals that were previously regular patrons of theatre and cinema will have become adept at streaming movies and watching “live” performances from the comfort of their own homes, using YouTube, Netflix or Amazon Prime.

The question is – will they return to the cinemas and thatres with quite the same degree of regularity as they did before?

It seems that the mainstream media have been focusing on the leisure and retail industries and whilst they do report on the struggle for our manufacturing industries, they do not highlight the underlying problems.

In the UK there is evidence that our contingency planning for a “Hard Brexit” triggered our government to closely examine our logisitcal supply chains with the involvement of the retail and distirbution industries, and this has surely helped ensure that truly essential items remained on the supermarket shelves, despite the media-induced panic buying.

The other aspect to this is the lack of resilience that our manufacturers have against supply chain failures.

Whilst numerous products are proudly made here in the UK, few are totally built here. Huge numbers of manufacturers import sub-assemblies, parts and components from overseas which are used to build their product.

The world’s biggest exporter, China, is, to all intents and purposes, the birthplace of COVID19, and also its primary exporter. The subsequent lockdown of the Chinese economy led to an abundance of British manufacturers struggling to obtain the raw materials, parts, components and sub-components needed to build and sell their own products..

This may result in a baseline realignment of our logisitical networks, and maybe re-initiate inward investment.

Who knows, we may see a slow transformation back into a manufacturing economy again.

This is a bit of a mixed bag then; at more localised levels the possible resulting drop in bus and train usage could lead to more cars on the road, each contributing to climate change. On the other hand, more people at home reduces traffic of any kind on the roads.

There are so many possible futures that could result from the aftermath of CV19, which only action at government level can establish.

This could be a great opportunity for each state to re-evaluate its’s strategies for handling pandemics, and may trigger new systems to increase the robustness of manufacturing bases.

Who knows, it may even give us the required impetus to design an improved model for society that will offer progress on controlling our nemesis of irreversible climate change.

Go Well…