Looking back over your life, if you could change one thing - and only one - would you, and if so, what would it be?
For me, when I was 18, for long reasons I won't bother with I got a telegram from the BBC asking me to go the next day to London for a job interview. And I couldn't be bothered, being a callow and immature youth.
Have to admit I've often wondered if that would have been a life changer. I've learned my lesson though, I'll not ignore the next telegram I get.
How about you?
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>> How about you?
>>
My only real regret is I have not indulged in any Motorsport and it is a passion of mine. As a child my step-father raced in various local type things, inc Modsports in the 70's (in a series 3 E-Type) and at that sort of level, I feel I could have kept a few of the others honest (I'm under no illusions I would have been good enough for much more).
Trouble is, that would have kept me poorish and I wouldn't have what I have now...so it's an unrealistic dream....so would I go back and change it....probably not. You can't have it all.
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>>My only real regret is I have not indulged in any Motorsport
It can be done on a budget Wp. Take a look at this in your neck of the woods, I believe, this weekend: www.themotorcyclingclub.org.uk/events/landsend_spectate.htm
It's the more extreme end of the sport, but there's plenty of local club events on less challenging territory.
I used a fifty quid Kia Pride for five years without breaking anything. You've probably got something suitable now. I seem to recall a Fiesta that's hanging around, doing nothing, for a while? ;>)
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He's NOT using that:)
Pat
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Not a thing, not one damn thing.
(all with the value of hindsight tho it has to be said)
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....only joking...:-) :-)
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Too late now...it would be nice to see two 80+ years old, mother fixated, perverted Knights of the Realm with their bellies up against a charge office counter !
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>>Too many to list!
ditto.
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Wouldn't have had kids.
The concept is over rated.
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>>Wouldn't have had kids. The concept is over rated.
That's a shame, I'm so glad I had mine.
The only thing I would change is that frequently in my life I didn't realise how good something was at the time I was doing it.
I don't wish that I had done more of anything, less of anything or even anything different. Just wish I'd done a bit more pausing and looking around to see how good it each different thing was / is.
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>>Just wish I'd done a bit more pausing and looking around to see
>> how good it each different thing was / is.
Yeah - without wanting to get too woo-woo, we were walking last weekend in a sunny field, Mrs C was doing what she loves best, chasing after butterflies and looking at flowers, and I just thought, "This is it. This is just fantastic". So I gave her a hug and we went home for tea.
Simple as it could be and I can imagine the buckets out, but there, I like to share. :)
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>>"This is it. This is just fantastic".
Many years ago I was working in (and I mean "in") the Amazon Forest. Really tough job, really tough living and working conditions, and many miles from anywhere civilised.
After a particular difficult issue which caused an all-nighter, everything finally went right about 4:30am as I recall.
So I was sat outside, having a cigarette and a coffee, sat on a pile of pallets, in a [finally] relieved and cheerful mood and watching the sun come up through the mist hanging over the forest.
That was a moment when I realised how lovely that particular place all was and how lucky I was to be living there.
Like Crankcase said, fill your buckets, I don't care, I'm sharing.
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Just wish I'd done a bit more pausing and looking around to see
>> how good it each different thing was / is.
>>
>>
Leisure
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
William Henry Davies
I think I first heard this when I was 9
It was a particularly pretty little girl's party piece
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It's beautiful Neil, and now in my poetry folder which I sit and read when the world goes pear shaped!
Pat
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Not related to leisure, this is one of my favourites...
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
By Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
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We should start a poetry thread. One contribution per member only.
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The boy stood on the burning deck...............................
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Usually quoted in our house when the children were getting ready for school as:
A poor life this, if full of care,
We haven't time to brush our hair!
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This is one of my favourites and anyone who has flown an aircraft will relate to this:
High Flight
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long delirious, burning blue,
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untresspassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.
Pilot Officer Gillespie Magee
No 412 squadron, RCAF
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>> High Flight
>>
>>
Almost always promotes a tear.
Reagan quoted this after the Challenger disaster.
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>>High Flight
Not heard that before, but I like it.
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Actually, I'd rather have never been born, I'm not going to go into detail as I'm orf to fix neighbs 10 year old Husqvarna lawn mower and, I'm 'doin' okay in all honesty, it's just I'd rather not be in this world so, that's the one thing I would change if I could.
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OK, but you might just have still been someone else.
Now there's a spiritual thought.
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Changing something isn't the same option as regretting a decision.
One is waving a magic wand, the other is simply to have chosen a different path.
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>> I'm 'doin' okay in all honesty, it's just I'd rather not be in this world so, that's the one thing I would change if I could.
Not sure I believe you Perro, unless you know of another preferable world. You don't seem a despairing miseryguts to me. Naturally I hope everything's still going well in rainy Carnwall.
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I regret -on mature reflection - being so immature when I was 19/20.
My life would have been very different.
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>>but you might just have still been someone else
Or, as Marko says " wish I'd done a bit more pausing and looking around to see how good it each different thing was / is"
>>I hope everything's still going well in rainy Carnwall
My trouble is I think too much, I'm also far too sensitive too, for a man, I probably could do with an absorbing hobby like train spotting or something, but ya know, I'd only have to analyse and think about why it is exactly that I'm doing it.
:o}
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I'd change the order my parents died which was mother 24 years ago, father 2 years ago
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Lots of things I would change, but its easy with hindsight.
I guess I wish I had pushed myself more when in my late teens / early twenties. Happy to do a dull job and have just enough money to get drunk every Friday / Saturday, when I should have really aspired to more. Not doing bad now, but think things could be better
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OK: I wish I could ave been born into serious money, so I never HAD to work.
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I've been working in the greenhouse all day planting hanging baskets and tubs, listening to the birds and the water falling into the pond, with just a couple of cats for company:)
...and I've been thinking about this thread.
I've come to the conclusion that I wouldn't change anything at all. (in hindsight)
All the experiences I've had have moulded me into the person I am today. Not all of them have been good and life hasn't always been easy, but right now I'm happy with who I am today and the values I hold.
Without those good and bad decisions I would never have got here.
...I do know some of you won't agree with that!
Pat
Last edited by: Pat on Wed 16 Apr 14 at 17:15
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>>
>>
>> All the experiences I've had have moulded me into the person I am today. Not
>> all of them have been good and life hasn't always been easy, but right now
>> I'm happy with who I am today and the values I hold.
>>
>> Without those good and bad decisions I would never have got here.
>>
>> ...I do know some of you won't agree with that!
>>
>> Pat
>>
>>
I agree absolutely.
Perhaps that's the secret of happiness?
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With hindsight I'd have changed my lottery numbers.
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Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning: silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
I did, on Sunday morning, not pass by - about 8.30am, and in the sun glorious it was too - though I doubt there is anything that remains recognisable from September 3 1802.
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You absolute horror MM. That is exactly the poem I was on the verge of posting earlier this afternoon. It's excellent. There are some nice versions of it on Spotify too if one is in the mood for a listen.
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>>Lots of things I would change, but its easy with hindsight.>>
But in your teens, life seems never ending, so it's a natural train of thought to enjoy yourself to the maximum....
Just wish I knew then what I know now...!!!
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>>
>> Just wish I knew then what I know now...!!!
>>
I'm glad I didn't. It would have been depressing and confusing, there's a lot to be said for blissful ignorance.
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>> I'm glad I didn't. It would have been depressing and confusing
Heh heh... quite RO'R. Knowing that some girls quite want you to put your hand in their pants is one thing. Knowing that life, society and so on are a doomed, sinister balls-up is another.
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What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
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In my late twenties, having been one of youngest in my grade five years earlier, my immediate manager considered I was nearly ready for another step up. His boss, a relatively newly appointed unit manager, persuaded me I could 'close the deal' in terms of getting in front of a board by taking on a challenging post in another bit of his empire.
Turned out to be a poisoned chalice. Firstly lots of technical stuff keeping two aged accounts packages going and trying to make the kit do what my public facing colleagues actually needed it to do. Secondly managing a group of thirty of thirty staff half of whom had been encouraged to thin OK was exceptional and rest comprised too many overpromoted/stuck in ways/generally awkward bods. I could deal with the staff or the kit but not do a proper job of both; I chose keeping kit on the road. Meanwhile the Unit Manager turned out to be not that interested in getting the real job done and more concerned in politicking his rivals. I've described him elsewhere as an office psychopath.
End result was four years going backwards and a near nervous breakdown before managing a job swap into the public facing area with the promotion hill still to be climded. My successor, somebody whose subsequent achievements I greatly admire, lasted a month.
I wish I'd had the sense to 'walk' that soon before I was 'damaged goods'.
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I have the Henry V on CD with Olivier giving it large..............I'll raise you a Betjeman.....
Gaily into Ruislip Gardens
Runs the red electric train,
With a thousand Ta's and Pardon's
Daintily alights Elaine;
Hurries down the concrete station
With a frown of concentration,
Out into the outskirt's edges
Where a few surviving hedges
Keep alive our lost Elysium - rural Middlesex again.
Well cut Windsmoor flapping lightly,
Jacqmar scarf of mauve and green
Hiding hair which, Friday nightly,
Delicately drowns in Drene;
Fair Elaine the bobby-soxer,
Fresh-complexioned with Innoxa,
Gains the garden - father's hobby -
Hangs her Windsmoor in the lobby,
Settles down to sandwich supper and the television screen.
Gentle Brent, I used to know you
Wandering Wembley-wards at will,
Now what change your waters show you
In the meadowlands you fill!
Recollect the elm-trees misty
And the footpaths climbing twisty
Under cedar-shaded palings,
Low laburnum-leaned-on railings
Out of Northolt on and upward to the heights of Harrow hill.
Parish of enormous hayfields
Perivale stood all alone,
And from Greenford scent of mayfields
Most enticingly was blown
Over market gardens tidy,
Taverns for the bona fide,
Cockney singers, cockney shooters,
Murray Poshes, Lupin Pooters,
Long in Kensal Green and Highgate silent under soot and stone.
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Whilst in no way criticisng other people's preferences, I have to say that for me both "Leisure" and "Woods on a Snowy Evening" are more the length of poem I feel comfortable with.
I like a poem where I can hold a simple idea in my head.
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Am I missing something? Because I don't understand why Pig's note got a scowly face.
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From a Frogophile, possibly.
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>> I'm glad I didn't. It would have been depressing and confusing, there's a lot to be said for blissful ignorance.>>
Oh I don't know about that...:-) :-)
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BT you've just brought back some memories for me!
I used to have an old A30 van and as I didn't drink then, I was tasked with driving the darts team to away matches and that was always sung:0
Along with this one
www.hmhhh.com/index.php?log=s_andthehair.con
Pat
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I tend to think what I can change now rather than thinking what I could have done :-)
I believe whatever happened in my life, nothing else could have happened.
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>> I tend to think what I can change now rather than thinking what I could
>> have done :-)
>>
>> I believe whatever happened in my life, nothing else could have happened.
>>
If you believe it was all pre-destined, then surely you won't be able to change anything now either?
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>>The boy stood on the burning deck...............................<<
Not a fan of Oscar Wilde then?
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Oscar was a wily bird..............................
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Thread drift better than the thread sometimes. Try this:
For a child dead in wartime
Where on the hill the western wind goes sighing,
Not without love your laughing dust is laid,
Touched only by the easy pain of dying,
Unending light in everlasting shade.
Sleep well, my child: no more for you the danger
Of heart made empty or of hopes made vain.
You will remain eternally a stranger
To hate's corroding stain.
It may be that this aching loss is only,
While the wide world lies waste, a tiny thing,
An islet in a continent of pain:
That for a little you will not be lonely.
This much at least is sure, no other Spring
Shall flower for you nor in my heart again.
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Written by Mrs. Felicia Dorothea Hemans.
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>> Mrs. Felicia Dorothea Hemans.
Who she, Mrs Meldrew?
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The lady who wrote "The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck" it was NOT Oscar Wilde!
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IF I could change one thing it would be which one of my children died
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That's just sent a cold shiver down my spine Meldrew, and I would never want to go there.
Pat
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Yes, he's a nasty sour character, or posing as such. And he can't tell the difference between doggerel and poetry.
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The one thing I'd change would be never to have lit my first cigarette. I enjoyed every single one of them and no longer smoke but I wish I'd never started.
I once worked out that I must have smoked over a quarter of a million of the damn things.
Had they all been at today's money that's over £100,000 worth of leaves I've set fire to.
Last edited by: Runfer D'Hills on Thu 17 Apr 14 at 17:02
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>>The one thing I'd change would be never to have lit my first cigarette
I know what you mean, but I did *very* much enjoy smoking, for many years.
Now £8.00 packet.
I smoked from 15 -> 42, = 27 years
I smoked 60 per day for many years, but lets average that at 40 since I smoked less in my teens / early 20s.
£8.00 * 27yrs *365 days * 2 packs per day = £157,680.
That's more than a bit.
Last edited by: No FM2R on Thu 17 Apr 14 at 17:43
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>> I smoked 60 per day for many years,
Hell's bells that's some going! I used to think 20+ was high, 40 is the most I've heard of anyone smoke per day.
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60 was a normal day. A stressful or extra long day could be more.
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Untrue, plus I have made no comment of any sort about the poetry, other than identifying the author of the "Burning Deck" piece.
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>> IF I could change one thing it would be which one of my children died
>>
Have I misunderstood something? Are you saying you'd choose the one that lived?
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May I just point out that, in the version of The Boy Stood On The Burning Deck that I and others know Oscar Wilde was the subject, not, of course, the author.
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Mike, what on earth has Oscar Wilde got to do with that dull piece of verse? Is it a satirical schoolboy version?
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Following on from my smoking calculations, you know what's a depressing calculation?
Money in over the last 35 years - current cash & assets = money dwindled.
Ok, I know "dwindled" includes such things as food, living, survival, growth and fun, but even so........
Last edited by: No FM2R on Thu 17 Apr 14 at 23:52
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>> Following on from my smoking calculations, you know what's a depressing calculation?
>>
>> Money in over the last 35 years - current cash & assets = money dwindled.
>>
>> Ok, I know "dwindled" includes such things as food, living, survival, growth and fun, but
>> even so........
>>
Although I've 'only' been working for 21.5 (!) years, a similar rough calculation of gross income minus net income over the period gives an equally depressing tax paid number. Though of course that excludes VAT, duty on fuel/alcohol and flights :(
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No - I tried to make a short point and have been given earache by AC for some reason. I have a son who is an unqualified waster, drug user, in and out of prison and/or tagged. Sectioned under the mental Health Act from time to time and an unemployed waster. I had another son who was a a pleasant person, clever and well quallified, advenrturous and a wry sense of humour. He commited suicide. I know which one I would have around me in my old age if I had had a "Choice"
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>> I know which one I would have around me in my old age if I
>> had had a "Choice"
Fair enough, thanks for explaining.
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>> I tried to make a short point and have been given earache by AC
Apologies Meldrew. I was affronted, wrongly perhaps, by yr very cryptic post on that poem, and was of course unaware of the tragic events in your family. It's always a mistake to react emotionally to what people put here, and I have just made it again.
I suppose I should risk coming clean here. The poem is by my father, the subject my younger (by less than a year) brother who managed to poison himself at the age of two, being an enterprising child. My parents blamed themselves subsequently. I think the poem is moving. It may not be absolutely perfect in form, but very few poems are. I'm sure you can understand that its attribution to a lady doggerel writer could have caused irritation.
The old man was a far better poet than I am. Another of his verses elicited a flood of letters from the parents of missing pilots during the battle of Britain and after it.
I don't really understand why N_C has chosen to put the boot in. I thought I was OK with him despite our ongoing squabble about yaw stability.
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Return apologies too! Perhaps I misread some of the poems. I said that The Boy stood on the Burning Deck was written by Mrs. Felicia Dorothea Hemans. We are at cross purposes or my information is incorrect. My post at 1520 was in reply to Mike Hannon's of 1052. My information was "The poem 'Casabianca' was written by Mrs. Felicia Dorothea Hemans. It starts out with the well known line, "the boy stood on the burning deck".
I was making not denigrating any poem you had posted and I am sorry if you got that impression, wrongly.
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"was not denigrating" - late edit!
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Flippin' eck Meldrew.
The "flippin 'eck" was in respect of Meldrew's much earlier post about his son.
Last edited by: R.P. on Fri 18 Apr 14 at 15:39
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>> have been given earache by AC for some reason
It's a problem. His comments don't make the prospect of posting anything on this site appealing.
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Any particular reason why?
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If you could change one thing - Westpig
