Poole, into London

A close friend called, asked if I could meet him in London today on a personal matter.  Of course, anything, let me get the train in.  I pick up a flower and a some fizzy water before heading out.

I’d planned a day along the beach, long overdue.  A storm surf would have been wonderful, white foam and booming breaks, but the early morning was placid along the harbor and the beachfront.  Still, lovely to walk the sands and share the morning with the couples and dog-walkers.

    

Right.  9 am: hit the roads north.  On arriving in Basingstoke, though, there were a few adjustments.  There is no more cruel word in Dutch than snelbus. The British equivalent is Replacement Bus, evident only after I’d paid for parking.  When track works are on, the transit times double.

 

In this case, the delays start with waiting for an onwards bus, and end with further 45 minute waits for a train in Woking.  Still, it’s a chance to see the place, and, in my case, to find the landing spots for Wells' Martians.  They are well remembered in the city: a landing spot near the mall, the mechanical tripod striding along the thoroughfares.

  

All in all, five hours to London, car, bus, and train.  And there will be an equal measure back for the evening.  Still, the visit with the family in St. Thomas meant a lot for all of us.  Between conversations, there were moments free for walks along Southbank.  A small food fair, a burst of rain, a lot of tourists to study.

     

‘not a terrible trade for the day on the beach.

Back online

‘sorry to have been missing the past few weeks: it’s been a busy travel interval mingled with a couple of technical failures and a brief illness.  Things are progressing with the products, though, and life has generally been good.  My sincere thanks to the folks who have asked how things are going, I apologize for worrying you.

A friend pointed out that if I’m going to focus my attention on a limited number of social media channels, then I need to be both vocal and visible on them.  For me, that would be narrative on this blog and images on Instagram.  I will be more diligent on both.

Another friend reminded me of my resolution in leaving Facebook: The people who want to find me know where to look.  A fair number have actually sent emails, but I’ve been unforgivably slow in replying.  In my defense, work emails haven’t fared much better in recent weeks.  But I take the point that waiting until I find the time to write a proper letter, or to finally settling circumstances once and for all, has meant that I don’t make any timely reply.  That, too, will change.

I’ll do a bit of backfill here and I’ll try to be more regular in writing ideas and in sharing pictures going forward.  And you should always know  that a koffie or bierje is on offer for those with time to spare among the Maas cafés or walking the Poole beaches.

‘just drop me a line or a text.

Picking up the Pen

“If I waited till I felt like writing, I’d never write at all.” — Anne Tyler

It’s been a couple of months since I last wrote a note or posted a picture.  Thank you to the friends and followers who wrote asking if everything was okay: It is.

There has been a lot going on since April 22, milestones and changes, good times and difficult intervals.  And the further I fell behind in sharing it all, the more difficult it became to start again. 

Still, I made notes to myself, collected pictures and bookmarked articles, banking content for the future.

So, pen to paper and back to it.

I’ll likely backfill a bit, certainly look forward, and update on the many changes in life as time allows.  Some of the constants are still there: I can be found in the same haunts in Poole and Maastricht, for now.  My w.wezen and my medtech /entrepreneurial dreams remain my passions.  I remain somewhat FOMO’d on weekends and occasionally tortuous under questioning.

But life is generally good, even if transitioning yet again.

Over pints in Henley-on-Thames

‘taking a bit of a quiet Sunday, lying in reading, then a shared coffee toast and poached egg breakfast.  The New York Times has been making the case for breakfast all week, with emails and recipes. There are lots of good ideas for new things to try, variations on eggs and spreads for muffins look particularly appealing. But the main m4essage is that breakfast is ‘home’: familiar food in a comfort setting, part of a cozy family routine.

I was always one for making eggs, fried, then scrambled (loose for the British and firm for the Americans), finally poached over toast.  I went through a period of boy scout pancakes, then artistic shapes for the kids, finally fluffy Western-style flapjacks early in Europe.  Sausage and potatoes likewise have given way to grilled peppers and onions, cereal and fruit to yogurt-muesli-coulis mixtures.

I’m experimenting improving my coffee and preserves.  Jams are best from the farm shops, but better coffee required an online search and some ordering.  ‘Combined with an Aero press, I can get a pretty decent cup when I make a project out of it.  But my Sicilian housemates sniff that my morning brew will never rise above ‘coffee-scented tea’ unless I concentrate it into syrupy espresso using a Bialetti Moka stovetop device.

‘Over to the Anchor pub in Henley-on-Thames, then, for a riverside walk together, sharing news articles over G&T and local bitters. 

   

We drift into talking about the Oscars and the films we haven’t seen this year (or last).  I send a link about the Fashion on to my family.  There’s a laugh over the Guardian’s commentary, and I get a bit rapturous over Jenny Beavan, who won an Oscar for costume design.  She was wholly herself when it came to dressing up (although she says it was Mad Max inspired).  There were some lovely pictures of looks that she got from the audience as she accepted her award, and conspiracy theories as to why.

I try to get a few good pictures of a lovely antique roadster outside, playing off  of the plant and the cracked window.  Depth of focus fails me: I resolve to go back to the photography course.

It’s all comfortably domestic, fitting with the weekend theme. Yet, what is ‘home’ for a nomad like me?  Less a place, than:
  - Where I unpack everything into it’s place
  - Where my things have a safe place to rest
   - Where I cook for myself
   - Where my 13 boxes of things are kept
   - Where my souvenirs are arrayed along the bookshelves

No, it’s most assuredly where I know that am most loved and welcomed, and where I give the same in return.

‘been a bit busy…

The past two weeks, as faithfully logged by my tablet.  It’s a sprawl, from Poole to Nottingham, clusters in London, Sharnbrook, Reading, Cambridge, Braintree.

‘and every one a story.

The push is product: innovation  headed to market later this year.  It’s been a long time developing, organizing, fundraising, and testing: ‘wonderful to finally see it all coming to fruition.

It has meant that I am on the road and off-line most days, consequently falling behind on emails and phone messages.  I don’t know that I’ve been more than three nights in any one place since New Year’s.  I joked that my definition of ‘home’ has become ‘anywhere that I unpack a suitcase on entry’.

I’ve also left Facebook for a bit: it’s become a toxic swamp of petty cruelty that gives little happiness.  I remain active on Instagram, but have let close friends know that it’s better to look for me on email than Messenger.

The major business activity has been the establishment of manufacture at Colworth for CamStent. 

   

We have our dip-coating apparatus and ovens for drying, and are in the process of wrapping a process and documentation around it.  An ‘ISO13485-compliant Quality System’, the evolving facility will be able to product around 10,000 units of coated product each year: enough to prove the concept, provide commercial samples, and generate revenue before year’s end.  We have our first audit by the regulators on March 3, so it’s a race to get all 22 procedures (SOPs) and around 100 forms complete in two months with five people.

It’s ironic: I was always known for resisting the structure and strictures of formal Quality, yet here I am creating one.  It’s alternately exhilarating and soul-deadening.  We are doing something in weeks that took years in my prior experience.  But the attention to detail and consistency in the paperwork takes focus away from product and customers, my natural home.

 

Arcane arguments about the difference between Documents and Records, near-religious arguments about the meaning of passages in the Standards, debates about whether a Form or Procedure is fit for purpose, scaled to fit, wear me down.

But it’s genuinely exciting to see the very polished Finished Goods coming off the line, lovely to share the pride that people have in the visible successes resulting from their work.

Still chugging along…

‘dark along the country roads headed north, my tablet resting on my knee and calling out waypoints to the A34.  It may be the shortest route, perhaps the fastest, but at 6:30 am it’s a winding challenge through sleeping forests and villages.  I brushed the screen without looking down, reaching to shift: the tablet obligingly took a photo.

‘good morning, England.

It’s been a busy month, ‘lots to catch up with here in the coming week but generally everything going fine.  The travel schedule has been hectic, and while I am getting lots of time to think, I get all too little to write.  It leaves me feeling stretched and dissipated, and I know that I need to get back to more regular writing (and walking and reading and sleeping).

The businesses are doing well, both still on-track towards product release later this year.  The Notified Body, regulators who approve our products for sale, are coming to audit our facilities in March, and we have a lot of work to do to get ready.  We’re still pressing on with product and business development, investor and supplier meetings.  These always end up happening at their offices instead of mine, but it gives assures that they do happen.  There are, as always, a few procedural backsteps and recalcitrant people, but I’ve learned to put a smile on, head down, and press on.
There’s  been turnover in Poole, Peter the retiree (UK) gone and Jo-Jo and Chiara (Italian) arriving to join Claudia (Romania) and Robert / Christa (Hungary).  I’m getting my wintering container gardens back into the sunlight and fed, easing back to a regular exercise schedule at the Leisure Centre.  I can do my HIIT routines again, but still have a bit of the holidays to knock off my waist.  I should start getting back onto the 5-2 plan as well.
The weather has been horrid, turning bitter cold and stormy wwith gale winds along the shore and flurries in the forecast.  I’m ready: my camera came back from Lewis after 4 weeks away to swap out a lens. My overhead-storage airline bag finally fell to pieces after a Ryanair flight.  It felt momentarily symbolic, but I made a stop in Amsterdam for a new flexible roller at de Bijenkorf that I am really liking.  I’m unfortunately missing Carnival this year, sacrificed to tight schedules.  But, instead, I am looking forward to going to my first Opera this week – a performance of Tosca near London.  And I’ve been gathering notes, pictures, half-finished essays to backfill some of the last month’s gap.

I’ll plan to be more regular in these pages going forward: the hardest part of writing is just getting started.

Too long away

Back in Bournemouth, I’m getting back into ‘normalcy’ after three weeks of living out of a suitcase. My wash is tumbling, my to-do lists are getting sorted, and I’m mourning my chili plant (two winters in a row that they’ve succumbed). 

The latest issue of Dorset Magazine lies, unopened, on my desk; the Hungarians have begun curing meats in the garage during my absence.  Dorset house is taking on it’s winter ambience: fewer guests and older guests.  Peter, a retiree from the NHS, is a recent arrival, keeping to himself except to exchange observations about world crises while microwaving dinner.

 

Andre Rieu has started his Advent Calendar, his traditional mix of schmaltz and glitter that I honestly do look forward to (my w.wezen sensibly prefers Fortnum’s). . Dutch friends are preparing for Dag Sinterklaas this weekend, the traditional day for giving gifts to the children (and putting the controversy of Zwarte Piet aside for the remainder of the season).

I’m a bit worn through from all of the travel though.  I’ve done a bit of Christmas prep, but have mainly been trying to catch up with work and correspondence, get back onto a healthier lifestyle, and land a decent night’s (dreamless) sleep. 

Past sins need correcting: I can’t travel to the US without diving into beef dinners (especially in Chicago), but now that it’s bad for both my weight and cholesterol. 

So I compensate on returning by resuming the twice weekly fast days, exercising again, and eating more lentils and soups to stay near 12 stone.  I gave myself a hand puree set for the holiday, so am enjoying testing new recipes and making the most of autumn’s root vegetables.

 

I have a lot of pictures, articles, and stories to catch up with in these pages, so will be doing the usual backfill for the next week.  ‘Take time to thumb back through earlier blog pages as the month progresses: essays and photos have are being inserted that were started on the road, but that needed quiet time to finish and publish.