Biorhythms - Life Cycles

Long before speed cameras were installed on the A583, my personal best driving time from my little house in Layton to my place of work in Preston was seventeen minutes. This was early morning, summertime and green traffic lights. I promise I kept to the speed limits until I was on open road, in that quiet window between the factory workers heading to British Aerospace or GEC setting off for Strand Road, and regular morning traffic building up. I liked to arrive at work for seven-forty-five. I liked to be one of the first in.

One morning I was thwarted by incidents beyond my control. A minor collision between a car and a van had occurred on the bend at Lea, blocking the road and putting traffic in both directions at a standstill for ages. This was in the old days, before reaching for a mobile phone was second nature. As time marched on and despite the soothing tone of Terry Wogan keeping me company on the radio, I began to feel stressed. Out of three key holders, I was the only one expected in work that day. The other two both lived in Blackpool and would have had the same problem as me, had they tried to get there. All I could do was wait. Eventually, things were moving and I managed to fly up Riversway, lucky green lights, all the way to work and a car park full of patiently waiting staff. I gave apologies and explained the situation, which they were aware of as someone had heard a traffic report on local radio.

“Bad biorhythms day, love?” A colleague offered sympathy when we were inside the building, unlocking doors and switching off the alarm. She made me laugh, if nothing else. Biorhythms had become popular at that time, mid-eighties. I remember someone having a book about it and learning how to work out biorhythm cycles. I just thought it was a fad, I still do. I believe that my thoughts and feelings are all to do with how I might deal with something, be it stressful or otherwise, and not where I might be up to on a biorhythm cycle. Of course, I might have it all wrong.

From Wikipedia – “The biorhythm theory is the pseudoscientific idea that our daily lives are significantly affected by rhythmic cycles with periods of exactly 23, 28 and 33 days, typically a 23 day physical cycle, a 28 day emotional cycle and a 33 day intellectual cycle. The idea was developed by Wilhelm Fliess in the late 19^th century and was popularised in the United States in late 1970s. The proposal has been independently tested and consistently no validity for it has been found.”

There it is. The cynical side of me is amused that a man decided to refer to the 28 day cycle as ‘emotional’.  

Biorhythm readings, predictions, whatever is the best description, are available online. On the strength of nothing more than my date of birth, this reading came back in a nanosecond: ‘Physical’ – Efficiency is high. Use it. ‘Emotional’ – There will be light at the end of the tunnel. Sitting in your shell is not much fun. ‘Intellectual’ – Getting better with intellectual skills, if work needs concentration, it’s good to do it within the next ten days.

Actually, I’m having lots of fun sitting in my shell, being efficient and doing my own thing, be it intellectual or not. Everyone who shares my date of birth will have the same reading, just like a horoscope.

A bad biorhythms day as suggested by my colleague all those years ago means nothing. Sat in a traffic jam, concerned about staff, unable to let them know and feeling tense because of it is all there was to it.

My haiku:

Tell me if it’s true,

All this biorhythm stuff,

I don’t believe it.

 

Don’t bother checking,

Nothing more than horoscope.

Take life as it comes.

 

PMW 2021

Thanks for reading, take care, Pam x

 

Read More

Class - Upstairs or Downstairs?

I’ve spent the last month or so re-reading my collection of ‘Upstairs, Downstairs’ books. These slim paper-backs tell the story of the popular TV series about the ‘upstairs’ Bellamy family of 165, Eaton Place, Belgravia, and their ‘downstairs’ servants. The drama series began in 1971 and taught me more about social class and modern history than any amount of school lessons. The books followed the TV programmes series by series and each chapter is an episode, written by the same screen-writer.  They work quite well as novels. Fading, falling apart and with tiny print that made me wonder how I was managing without my hands-free magnifying glass, these are part of my ‘most treasured possessions’. For back up, I have the complete set of DVDs.

History was, and still is, a big interest to me. Unfortunately, the history master at school failed to ignite any passion in the subject, standing at the front of the class non-stop talking about one of the wars like he was presenting All Our Yesterdays. The boys drew Spitfires, us girls yawned. Instead, I learned social, economic and political history from the events going on in Upstairs, Downstairs. At the time, 1971 onwards, class distinction was mostly lost on me. I loved the servants, Mr Hudson the butler, all his staff and everything they got up to and I equally loved the members of the well-to-do Bellamy family. There was just one thing that grated on me and opened my eyes to class differences of the time. In an episode where Lord Bellamy’s brother is briefly staying at Eaton Place, Hudson’s brother and family are also visiting from abroad, staying in London, and unintentionally, they are all lunching in the same restaurant. This is a regular place for Richard Bellamy to be eating out, but Hudson has had to borrow money from cook, Mrs Bridges, to fund the outing. Bellamy and Hudson seeing each other in the restaurant causes embarrassment for Hudson, who, in an attempt to big himself up a bit for the benefit of his brother  now feels that he is aping his betters. Later, he offers his immediate resignation. Bellamy won’t hear of it and tells Hudson he was pleased to meet his family and that sadly, he, Bellamy, will not be seeing his own brother again. I was glad of the happy outcome, but it made me wonder why being in the same place should be a problem. Surely the butler could go wherever he likes on his time off, and how he funds it is his own business?

I have followed Downton Abbey, Belgravia and others, but nothing captured the essence of the time period quite like Upstairs, Downstairs. I couldn’t decide where I belong, up or down, or somewhere else entirely.

Re-reading it reminded me of a time at work, not where I am now. We had coffee mugs for ourselves, but there were cups and saucers for visiting senior staff and directors. When I brewed up, I gave everyone mugs and no one said anything. Sometimes, we used cups and saucers in our office. No reason not to.

Growing up in pubs, we had domestic staff. I called them ‘Auntie’ or ‘Mr’ and they were very much part of the family from my point of view, particularly our housekeeper ‘Auntie Kathy’ who I adored and was close to, and ‘Mr Joe’ who came with the pub and was like another grandad. I was brought up to treat everyone with respect and kindness. We are all the same.

Is that the time? I’d better ring for tea – or go and make it.

Here's John Betjeman:

How to Get On in Society

Phone for the fish-knives, Norman

As cook is a little unnerved;

You kiddies have crumpled the serviettes

And I must have things daintily served.

Are the requistites all in the toilet?

The frills round the cutlets can wait

'Till the girl has replenished the cruets

And switched on the logs in the grate.

It's ever so close in the lounge, dear,

But the vestibule's comfy for tea

And Howard is out riding on horseback

So do come and take some with me.

Now here is a fork for your pastries

And do use the couch for your feet;

I know what I wanted to ask you -

Is trifle sufficient for sweet?

Milk and then just as it comes dear?

I'm afraid the preserve's full of stones;

Beg pardon, I'm soiling the doilies

With afternoon tea-cakes and scones.

John Betjeman  (1906 - 1984)
 

             
Frost Report Social Class sketch: click here to play

Thanks for reading, keep well, Pam x

Read More