Rural life is displaying its wind-blown charms on a daily basis. The rhythm of life is unsurprisingly very much slower here, and, in my experience thus far, the stronger the local accent, the slower the life.
I completely confused the guy at a local car repair and MOT garage this morning by telephoning to ask where they are located (there was a 10 mile conflict between two online sources). When I finally realised I should get to the point and book my MOT, the conversation switched to a more comfortable one, but also a great deal slower:
ME: “I’d like to book an MOT for my car”
GARAGE: “MOT? <long pause> When do you want that done, then?”
ME: “Sometime next week would be ideal.”
GARAGE: (exhale, likely at the urgent need to book within a few days, not weeks) “How about… <very long pause> next Wednesday?”
ME: “That will be fine.”
We exchange details of car and contact info.
GARAGE: “Will you leave the car with us?”
ME: (slightly puzzled as surely they need the car to MOT it) “Yes, no problem.”
GARAGE: ”We can drop you back if you need it.”
ME: “It’s only 3 miles, good excuse to get the bicycle out.”
GARAGE: ”Yes, lovely if the weather holds.” (in a bemused tone I can only assume was exasperation at the mention of those newfangled bicycle contraptions).
Cheerful, helpful
Such an unfamiliar experience to have people, strangers at that, engage you in cheerful, friendly conversation in shops. People wait rather than barge past in shop aisles. I don’t think I’ve heard a car horn used in frustration, anger, or anything other than followed by smiles and waving at someone the driver recognised nearby.
To a jaded South-Easterner, accustomed to the frenzied, tensioned lifestyle of the home counties, it comes as something of a puzzle to be greeted by several friendly welcomes and smiles from staff when entering a great little café in Launceston yesterday.
I hope I never get accustomed to this environment so I can always appreciate it.
I wrote about my recent hospital experience back in March ( A Slice of Hospital Life ). This week brought the final follow-up appointment with the surgery team to check that all was well.
Not to complicate matters, I opted not to change my hospital details following our move to Cornwall. So Monday’s final hospital appointment came saddled with a drive to and from Slough – that’s over four hours each way. It also meant a timely opportunity to deal with some previous apartment details, but that’s another story.
The title of this post suggests that the result of the surgery was a success – so I’m not going to have you read to the end to find out. Yes, a complete success. Not only did it fix the hernia, but it also solved a much longer term problem that was making day to day live increasingly cumbersome.
A kink in the system
For perhaps eight or ten years – the onset was so gradual, it is tough to pin down – I had been experiencing intermittent intestinal pain. Every now and then, without warning, my digestive system would some to a halt. More than mere constipation, this was a point of pain that rendered me incapable of doing pretty much anything for between four and six hours, usually during the night.
The problem was intermittent, but gradually increased in frequency, and predictability. Certain foods and eating patterns arose that triggered the increasingly severe problem. If I did not drink enough water in a day, then ate a heavy evening meal (breads, potatoes, and the like), I would almost certainly suffer the problem. If not, then I would experience a more sluggish metabolism with several days of general discomfort.
Last year, after one particularly bad episode, I discovered a lump in my abdomen, centrally located, just above my navel. The best decision I made was to have it examined by a doctor without hesitation.
A string of appointments and tests later and a hernia was confirmed. A small section of the gut had protruded – just a little, it was not visible – so that it intermittently constricted the flow of food through my system. Thus the general sluggish digestive system and in cases of “heavy load” everything came to a grinding halt.
All better
At no time was there a clear indication that the digestive problem was directly related to the hernia. Doctors were deliberately vague if I suggested it, opting a “let’s see” attitude. I was not convinced they were related, but it seemed logical. Until I reached recovery after surgery, there was no way to know for sure.
Life now is something akin to those first few minutes after a fit of hiccups. I eat and no longer experience the sensations I became accustomed to – what I now experience is simply normal. I can eat normally again. Not only that, but my improved digestive system as a whole has lost me noticeable inches of girth.
When I first found the lump, I was understandably concerned. Thoughts turned to how serious a problem it might prove to be and whether I might discover something life threatening. But knowing what it was, and having the chance to deal with a specific problem, was a far more attractive proposition to me than living life under an increasingly large question mark. Diagnosis is a scary path, however, and I am grateful my problem proved to be relatively straightforward.
Digital cameras are like automatic transmission cars: convenient and practical, but make me feel much less involved. So, right now, I’m going through a little traditional film phase.
I recently picked up a FED4b 35mm film, rangefinder camera (see inset image). It is built like a Russian shot-putter, and you don’t half know its weight when you must carry it around for a couple of hours. My very first SLR was a Russian built Zenit E, so this is not my first experience with such chunky beasts. The FED4b models were made from 1969-76.
Yesterday was the first chance to fire a few frames using this camera entirely manual camera. Having used digital almost exclusively for several years now, this was a strange experience.
Doing everything
Sure, the camera has a built-in light-meter, but all it does is indicate light levels and help you decide the most appropriate exposure for the scene. You must still set aperture and shutter speed. Oddly, with the FED’s (as well as several other models of similar Russian cameras), shutter speed cannot be set until you have wound on the film. Forgetting this, apparently, can damage the shutter release mechanism beyond repair!
Long gone are the days when I was able to make a close approximation of the required exposure purely by eye. But yesterday’s light remained fairly stable, so there was not too much fiddling with the controls.
Did it take the shot?
The instant gratification of a digital camera’s screen preview is, of course, missing. It was the oddest experience hearing the click (or, rather, clonk) of the shutter, then… silence. The clonk itself is less gratifying than an SLR because a rangefinder camera needs not to move a mirror out of the way in order to expose the film. “Now what?” I found myself thinking. Then remembered those past days of agony and tightly crossed fingers for the film to return from the processor. With the luxury of instant digital preview, I like this aspect of film even less than before.
The joy of depth of field
This is the one element I loathe about modern digital and DSLR cameras (or at least their lenses): they tend not to sport depth of field indicators.
If you are not learned in the basics of depth of field, here’s a quick explanation (feel free to skip it if you know all about it)…
When you focus your lens on an object, other objects both before and behind that focus point will also be in focus. The distance between the closest in-focus object and the farthest, depends on the focal length of your lens (i.e. 50mm, 200mm, etc), and the aperture setting for the exposure. The larger the lens focal length, the shorter the depth of field it is able to provide. The higher the aperture value, the wider the depth of field. The effect is simply the nature of lens optics, but is a powerful tool for a photographer.
Street and landscape photographers have for many years used a specific depth of field technique called Hyper-focal Distance. Every lens has a hyper-focal point, where everything from a specific distance, all the way to infinity, will be within focus.
The image on the right is the FED4′s lens, and demonstrates the usefulness of depth of field indicators to find hyper-focal distance. The topmost numbers are the aperture stops, currently set to f8. Below that are the depth of field indicators for the lens, which are an identical range of numbers to the aperture stops. Below those are the focus distance indicators, marked in metres.
In this shot, the lens is focused at around 8 feet. At F8 aperture, the depth of field indicators show that everything between 4 metres and infinity. (As you can see, if I switched to f5.6, only objects between around 5 metres and just over 20 metres will be in focus.)
This means that as I wander around snapping images, so long as I ensure I am at least 4 metres from my subject, I will not need to worry about focusing! You can likely understand the benefits of this, particularly for rapid-fire, candid and street photography, where the time taken to focus exactly could easily mean a missed opportunity.
Interestingly, if I set the standard 50mm lens on my Canon 350D to f8, its hyper-focal distance is 16.5m. This translates as only objects from 8.24m (double the near-focus point of the FED4′s lens) to infinity will be in focus. Much less flexible than the FED4′s lens. If I try to replicate the aperture and focus of the FED4′s lens as in the image above, I get a paltry total depth of field of 0.72m, which translates to only objects between 2.13m and 2.85m will be in focus. Zoom lenses tend to be even less flexible with depth of field. (I should mention that the standard 50mm Canon lens is not an expensive model – better lenses generally provide better performance and flexibility – but that lens is far more expensive to buy on its own, than the FED4.)
Film or Digital?
My frustration with depth of field of consumer DSLR lenses (I have not had experience of expensive DSLR lenses so cannot comment), will remain for now and I doubt I will use film as anything more than an enjoyable curiosity. Not being able to post the FED4′s images with this post is a typical reason for sticking mainly with digital.
But there remains an appeal for film, and particularly the pleasure of using an older camera. We have a new (to us) Yashica 635 Twin Lens Reflex (TLR) camera to play with, too (TLR cameras as a particular favourite of mine). Plus older, far more basic, box cameras, such as an excellent, original Ensign Ful-Vue (the older, box design), which has a fixed shutter and aperture – an original point-and-click!
Urban life has its advantages. Convenience and accessibility are surely near the top of anyone’s list. So a move to a more wild and windy land demands some careful day-to-day adjustments.
Petrol was my first concern. Even in our preliminary visits, we hunted out the nearest petrol station. Not using the car often, sometimes not for a week or two, I landed in the routine of not filling up unless absolutely necessary. After all, 24 hour petrol stations were no more than a mile or two away from home.
Here, the nearest 24 hour supply is 20 minutes’ drive away. Though the nearest physical petrol station is around three or four miles, I have yet to find any indication as to which brand of petrol it stocks!
Rural Rule #1: If the petrol tank falls below half-full, fill up!
The car is not the only fuel we must pay attention to here. With no gas supply in this area, we rely on Kerosene from our big, friendly, green storage tank, for heating fuel. If we allow it to run dry, we not only get rather cold, but, apparently, we ruin the entire heating system.
Researching into Kerosene supply proved more confusing than searching for car insurance. No-one wants to commit to a price estimate online. After quite some searching, I found somewhere that was prepared to quote just under 50 pence per litre, based on buying 500 litres. Now then, hands up who knows how much our big, friendly, green Kerosene tank holds? (I have no idea.)
Rural Rule #2: Keep a close eye on the fuel tank level monitor.
Cash. Remember that stuff? The general urban routine is to use plastic of one form or another and grab some cash only as required. You retrieve just enough cash for a purpose, after which you return to the plastic. But when your nearest cash machine is 20 minutes away by car and there is, shall we say, lower saturation of plastic acceptance, you are forced to dust off those forgotten cash-level monitoring skills.
Rural Rule #3: Maintain more cash in wallet than receipts.
These, of course, are minor disadvantages and nothing a little attitude adjustment will not cure. Nevertheless, I have an emergency petrol canister on my shopping list for the weekend…
The week of house moving hell is over. Though pockets of boxed chaos remain, we are mostly settled-in to the new home. But it is proving a strange experience.
I remember many years ago toying with the notion of moving to a more rural location; Exmoor in that case. Having experienced a rural childhood, it seemed natural to live in such an environment. Now, we have actually done it: we live in Cornwall. To be precise, the spectacular North coast of Cornwall.
This is an area in which I have vacationed several times. An area rich in character, both natural and man-made. A mecca for surfers and walkers, and, it seems now, cyclists. It’s a place many can only conceive of as a holiday destination. Yet, here we now live, within sight of the sea, and within walking distance of the shore and the spectacular South West Coastal footpath. Little more than fields and sheep out the back, and an infrequently travelled road out the front.
It feels strange living in this new environment but with the familiar chattels of the previous ones. Familiar objects are in new locations. It will take me months to re-learn where everything lives in the kitchen.
We talk a lot about how things feel here, but that is the key to this move. The timing feels right, the location feels right, the house feels right. But there are equally significant practical elements to this move. More space, better organised space, more efficient space; in surroundings that both relax and inspire.
Are we just lucky?
Here’s how I see it: we have decided to live our lives in a particular way that has offered the opportunity to do this. Our jobs are geographically independent – the most important factor in our case – and we are comfortable being more isolated. We no longer need to be near London, and we have certainly become worn down by the frenzied lifestyle of near-London living. Simply, we want a better quality of life.
Moving here comes as a result of the recent life decisions we have made and, most critically, the drive to kick complacency firmly in the rear and make the move. In a few weeks the stress and disruption of the move itself will be long forgotten and we can settle in to complaining about the noise of the seagulls.
Back to the old routine
Today, it is back to work after just over a week off making the move happen. Back to emails and discussions, to bug reports, technical solutions, and organising the same old stuff. Nothing will have changed there, yet it will all take place in these new surroundings. We will just have to see what the week brings.
