Puzzle mania

I think I have a head for puzzles. In my sick leave from work I’ve been pounding through the Kakuro and killer sudoku puzzles like no-one’s business, and I’ve also been doing a little bit of local history. Where shall the twain meet, you cry? Well they’re essentially the same thing – find a piece here, fit it to another there, link it in and add it up.

So, you can work out in kakuro that, say, fitting 7 into three spaces can only have the combination 1-2-4, or permutations thereof. So, we fit it into the puzzle and where it intersects with a row demanding 34 out of five spaces, we know the junction must be 4. 36 only fits into five spaces with 9-8-7-6-4. You follow?

So where does genealogy research into one of Tottenham’s great families fit in? Well, we have Luke Howard, FRS, the “namer of clouds” at number seven Bruce Grove, then his son, John Eliot Howard at Lordship Lane. Four or five of JEH’s children married Lloyds, from Birmingham. There’s Lloyds, Howards, Eliots, and assorted hangers-on like Braithwaites, Westons, Braithwaites, Crewdsons and the like. They all connect: it’s just like fitting the pieces into one big sudoku. Quite satisfying, not to mention the various accomplishments and interests of the family and its various branches:

• Meteorologists friendly with Goethe
• Chemists who introduce quinine to the general population
• Tottenham’s first MP
• Samuel Lloyd as in, Lloyd’s of London
• Diarists
• Quaker luminaries
• Prison reformers

I’m still on the look out for one Nora Giddings to have been housemaid or something to the Howards: that would put me in the tree. The Ultimate Sudoku/Genealogy Fusion Accomplishment, if you will.

Wood Greeny

I might have known that as soon as I wrote that I’d probably be cutting out blogging, I’d be tempted to write again. This is fairly typical of me. The occasion was that I noticed I had a blog again: the Big Green Bookshop in Wood Green has (finally) its own website, and Simon and Tim have very kindly listed me in their links section as someone who’s interested in N22. Well, I suppose that’s right – that’s me, Community Simone. (On a related note, hi Rachella - I saw you in the Haringey Independent the other day).

Anyway, I suppose I have been a bit community-minded of late. I’m still here, I’m still in Noel Park, in fact more than ever: breaking one’s hip tends to restrict trips out somewhat. I calculated the furthest trip I’ve been on – it was to the Harvester at Ponders End. So I’ve been noticing my local shops a bit, and really, it’s all quite nice. Up til now my local food shopping was at TFC on Lordship Lane, and while good, I’ve recently converted to the similar-but-less-surly Sirwan up the way. There’s also the newsagents which extends miles back into a labyrinth of plastic tubs and cleaning supplies; the computer bits shop; two friendly chemists, one with wool; and a whole pile of others that I’ve not had reason to enter (E&B Fashions seems to be mostly princess outfits; I’ve not needed anything from Lordship Furnishings). My favourite new discovery is the Crystal Cafe on the corner of Lordship and Boreham Road: lovely grills and a nice cool decking area, very pleasant.

So, I’m a Wood Greeny for sure at the moment, and plan to remain that way.

Back to work

How am I going to cope come Thursday? I have to give up a daily dose of Becker, I have to do some work, I have to go right into town. Boo. Ah well. Maybe my blogging will pick up a bit, though I doubt it. Controversially, I’m considering transferring to paper and pen: it so happens that I’ve ended up reading several diaries of late (Pepys bought from a charity shop in Muswell Hill; Peter Briggins while researching some local Tottenham history) and it’s kind of nice. We’ll see how that works out. So, little blogging for a while, I suspect, but you never know: I’ll have things to talk about soon.

Tings

Tomorrow will mark six weeks since my accident. That’s a remarkably long time for a blogger to go just seven posts, but there you go: I suppose I can count one a week for Charity Shop Tourism as well. As it turns out, spending six weeks mostly sitting down at home is not nearly as boring as you might imagine: rather than the tedious, murder-spotting bed-rest one might imagine from Rear Window, I’ve actually had a lovely time, indulging in plenty of lovely spring things like sitting in the park with a flask of coffee; feeling like Edmund Hillary for walking to Wood Green and back; coffee on the outside seats of a cafe in Highgate; and so on. It’s also been remarkably productive, by my standards: not only have I got some reading, film-watching and study done, yesterday I managed to list about 50 things on Amazon Marketplace ( if you want to buy anything of mine, go to my Amazon store, there’s some good stuff) as well as write a first draft of my personal statement for my application to a Masters, and so on.

Tomorrow I’ll see the doctor at the Whittington hospital for an x-ray and general look-over. I’ll find out how long I need to keep using my crutches; how much weight I can put on my bad leg now; and most pertinently, when I’ll have to go back to work. It’ll be six weeks tomorrow since I last set foot in the office, and I’m really not in the mood to go back. I imagined that by the end of these six weeks I’d be gagging to get back – not the case. I want to stay at home and do more at home stuff. I want to watch Frasier every morning and Becker every lunchtime; I want to break up my productive spells with bursts of Civilization; I want to keep on going to the caf for lunch.

Thankfully (in a funny way) I don’t really feel ready to go back – I still get plenty of yowches when I turn too quickly, or land on my left foot. I still haven’t tried a bus yet, let alone a tube, which are the two alternatives to get to the office (either a 90 minute ride on the 243, or a slog to Turnpike Lane to sit, hopefully, on a crowded train). Given that the physiotherapists had me walking just a few hours after my operation I’m really not sure what the answer will be tomorrow, but fingers crossed eh?

Whee!

Trust kottke to come up with something truly ace for a Monday: the first recorded bike tricks, recorded no later than 1899 by one Thomas Edison.

Via kottke.org

Lists

When I first recovered from the general bemusement of an injury that left me with 6 weeks off work I was pretty much excited: I’ll be able to read a pile of those books that I’ve not had time to read, watch all those DVDs I’ve picked up for cheap, and so on. I had a remarkably cultured convalescence planned. This has mostly been interrupted by The Wire and sudoku (then killer sudoku, then kakuro). So much so, that I’ve done little of what I planned. Never mind. Here’s a list of what I’ve read:

• Vertigo, Broileau & Narcejac
• The Napoleon of Notting Hill, GK Chesterton
• London: The Biography, Peter Ackroyd (finished – it’s been in the bathroom a looong time)
• The Dialogues, Luciano de Crescenzo
• The Complete Polysyllabic Spree, Nick Hornby
• Dead Souls, Nikolai Gogol (half of)
• Mason & Dixon, Thomas Pynchon (ongoing)
• Penguin Atlas of World History (ongoing)

Disappointingly slender for four weeks, I’m sure you’ll agree. There may have been more than this, but not many. Here’s what I’ve watched

• Vertigo
• The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada
• Babel
• The Black Dahlia
• Psycho
• The Wire Season 1
• The Wire Season 2
• The Wire Season 3
• The Wire Season 4
• The Wire Season 5

You’ll spot a theme towards the end there. Here’s some things I’ve done:

• Frequented the Crystal Cafe on Lordship Lane
• Sat in the park reading and drinking coffee from a flask
• Rearranged the bookshelf
• Created a pile of books for the charity shop and CDs for eBay (ongoing)
• Braved Walthamstow market on a wet Saturday
• Lunch at The Navigation, the Harvester in Ponders End
• Fixed a virus-laden laptop to use at home
• Written an article about Weezer

Here’s some things I’ve still got to do:

• Write my personal statement for my Masters application
• Sort out some more CDs for eBay
• Order some jiffy bags and maybe some new Converse
• Probably lots of other things

A record of achievement

As little different happens day to day here, this blog is likely to be a record of achievements for the most part. So, in the last day or so I’ve walked from the house to Lordship Lane and back, a new record. Today I was kindly taken for a swanky lunch at the Harvester at Ponders End. Alright, maybe swanky’s not the best word but I was happy: a full salad bowl, a barbeque selection with sticky sauce… what more could a gentleman want, except perhaps to eat at the table for the first time in three weeks: check. And after that, a trip to Aldi to do the shop, another first since the accident.

So good going me: tonight I’m off to TFC to purchase condensed milk to make millionaire’s shortbread, then watching more of The Wire. A slower one, season two, but it all feels very tense like something big is going to happen any minute. All good stuff.

O, Indeed

The Wire ended, and appropriately enough I’m showing withdrawal symptoms including speaking like Omar, speculating about the next series and considering buying the box new, from a shop so we get it sooner. In my charity shop mindset this is almost unheard of, so well done The Wire.

Life progresses as per usual for the cripple. This morning I put a pile of clothes away which meant wandering around the room and hanging stuff up which sounds uninteresting, but when one has been unable to lift much with the left arm for nearly three weeks, and barely able to walk, it’s quite the accomplishment. Today I plan to walk to Lordship Lane, in training: on Wednesday I’ll be walking to the surgery (all of 0.3 miles), so I need to toughen up. Go me, I’ll be on the marathon soon.

A thin line between heaven and here.

You would think that with six weeks off work and limited mobility I’d be blogging like crazy, but it’s really not been like that. My computer is upstairs for one thing, but that doesn’t really make any difference as I’ve as much access to a laptop as I need. Actually my time has been pretty much filled up with stuff: as most ordinary things take ten times as long, that looks after a bit of it, but still: I’ve been catching up on Cheers, Frasier and, um, Becker, and watching some films for the first time in ages. Best of all, I’ve been finally catching up with what the internets already knows, i.e. watching series one of The Wire.

Good gracious, where have I been. Lately, my consumption of American cop shows has been based around Diagnosis Murder and Monk, but The Wire is an entirely different beast. I’m only four episodes in and already I catch myself thinking in a West Baltimore accent, a’ight. The dialogue is fantastic (I refer you to “the king stay the king“) and the characters are believable and well acted: I like how they’re being introduced slowly, the latest being Lester Freeman and his pager tapping, Louis 14 Armoire fixing ways. It’s good stuff.

Yesterday I was at the hospital to have my staples out, which hurt, thanks nurse. I didn’t believe it when I was first told it, but they literally are small office staples, and it’s basically an office staple remover that they use to take them out. Upshot is, I’m confirmed off work for at least four more weeks, which will place me firmly out of the way of a whole heap of dull work in the office. I’m being replaced with two temps at the moment, which is gratifying, although the comments in my get well card from work ranged from cheery, to slightly desperate, to unsubtle be-back-as-soon-as-you-can tact. Couldn’t care less!

Keeping up

I’ve been exercising, carefully, and resting, plenty, and I’m making progress. The human body is an amazing thing. At the moment I’m wombling around the house on my crutches up and down stairs; I’ve had a go at some very light washing up, making the tea sort of jobs, and went out for a jaunt yesterday, to the nurse and then for coffee. (In a car, of course…)

All going well then, and have watched many, many sitcoms. I’ve also been reading plenty and have got through GK Chesterton’s (albeit slim) The Napoleon of Notting Hill in about a day. Lots of fun, bit Wilde-y which is always nice, and I’m always happy to read of people in coats and hats. This one takes a turn for the absurd as blood runs through the streets of West London, but it’s all a slight, enjoyable read. A bit of French psychological drama now: Vertigo, or as it was originally published, The Living and the Dead by Boileau and Narcejac. Do French writers often go in pairs like this? I can’t help but be reminded of Goscinny & Uderzo.