Author Archives: Tim Lenton

Never trust a man who reads his poetry aloud. There is no telling what else he may be capable of.

I did not say that. Someone else did, but I have not been able to recall who it was, and my research has failed to uncover it. But it seems to me a fair point.

So there is no telling what I may be capable of, because I do read my poetry aloud – mainly in Suffolk.

I know that my home city, Norwich, is a UNESCO city of literature and has a proud heritage. But it is Suffolk poetry groups that have mainly invited me to read, and last week I found myself in Walpole Old Chapel, near Halesworth, doing just that.

In Suffolk I have read in various places: a café and a library in Halesworth, a theatre in Lowestoft and the John Peel Centre in Stowmarket. I have also read in Bantry, Ireland, and several venues – mainly large houses and the odd church – in Norfolk. But Suffolk seems to be the centre at the moment, and Walpole Old Chapel is the kind of bizarre event that you could not make up.

Each year large numbers of mainly Suffolk poets are invited to Walpole on a summer Sunday afternoon to read their “three finest poems” – a euphemistic phrase employed by the admirable organiser (and fine poet) Mike Bannister.

This year we could tell by the number of cars parked down a grassy lane opposite that many poets had flocked to the scene. This was good and bad. The bad was that with a large number of poets all reading three poems, it did not take a genius to work out that it would be a long session.

And I was on last.

The building is a poem in itself: an early nonconformist chapel preserved with all its idiosyncratic gated stalls and most of the original dust; two pulpits (of which the higher was considered too dangerous); and a gallery with creaking stairs.

The event started at just after 5pm and lasted (with a break for refreshments) until well after 8.30, with dusk turning rapidly into night. Someone found an electric light, and the last three of us managed to complete the performance. But not before a bird flew into the building and could not find its way out: so there was a counter-attraction as it flew swiftly and anxiously from one end of the ceiling to the other.

Still, despite the chill in the air and the wearying limbs, it was a privilege to be there. The bird was eventually freed to fly, and so were we. I shall undoubtedly be back in Suffolk soon. Trust me.

Since turning 70, I have been giving some thought to my lifestyle, and particularly to things that I feel are unnecessary in my sphere of existence. I am starting to make a list of things which I could definitely do without and, at the risk of upsetting people with different views, I have decided to share it with you.

I will undoubtedly add to it in the course of the next few days or weeks; so if you keep popping back you can get more and more annoyed at me. Hence the last item. Anyway, here we go. Things I would rather do without:

Entropy
Speed limits, speed cameras and speed bumps
Dogs
Caravans
Tents
Impotence
Soaps on TV or radio
Reality shows
Strictly Come Dancing
Silly sponsored events
Fun for all the family
Coathangers
Opera
Allergies
Cyclists wearing Lycra of any kind
Airports
Queues
Activists
Computer problems
Humourless advertising
Punctuation and spelling errors on signs
Unnecessary road closures
Ticket barriers
Righteous indignation
Hold-ups on the M25
Lemon curd
Liver and kidneys (to eat, that is)

There are undoubtedly more. Now here’s a list of things you could all do without, and probably will in the not too distant future:

Tim Lenton

Now that I am 70 I shall not wear purple, partly because I am not a bishop. Not yet, anyway.

However, I feel that as a first step I am now permitted to move diagonally and am hoping that this will make a significant difference to my life.

There are certain restrictions in moving diagonally, of course, in that you have to stay on the same colour squares. This does not worry me. I know my squares, and they know me.  But I shall be able to sweep backwards and forwards from one corner of the board to another, and I am excited about that, while slightly concerned about speed cameras.

While staying on squares of one colour, I shall of course pass very close to squares (not to mention horses) of a different colour, and I am hoping this will be an exhilarating experience. Blue days, black knights, for instance.

I would however like to take the opportunity to confess that I have been using drugs, and this has made quite a difference to my performance in the last few years. At one point (in hospital) I was using morphine, but I came off this after I had a nightmare in which I found myself in King’s Lynn. Now I stick to occasional paracetamol, with a dash of perindopril and amlodipine when I need them. Which, my doctor tells me, is every morning.

Obviously I cannot tell you everything, but I do take something else as well. If I reach 80, I may have to confess what it is. Some people feel that I should have random drug tests, but I am resisting this, as I believe it may affect my poetry, and this would not necessarily be a good thing.

My diagonal travels will take me from left to right and vice versa, and I am hoping this will not confuse people too much, as I have already spent time on both sides of the board, often simultaneously, though this is difficult. Some people find it impossible. Some people find me impossible, but that is a different matter.

Anyway, I shall continue to play the game and try hard to concentrate. Please tap me on the shoulder if I drift off.

Some say the Church of England lacks mystery, and that compared with religions like Buddhism, it seems much too straightforward.

The first thing to say in response to such allegations, of course, is that the Church of England is not a religion. It is an organisation designed to promote faith. You may say it is designed rather badly for this purpose, but I couldn’t possibly comment.

Recently, however, I became involved in the welcoming of a new vicar to our parish, and I became even more aware than usual that the Church of England is much more mysterious than the casual observer might think.

Evidence: we were welcoming a vicar, but we didn’t say that. No, he was being instituted and inducted. These are hard words to remember. When explaining what was happening in the days beforehand I kept catching myself saying that he was being installed or even, occasionally, committed or enthroned.

Technically – and there is a lot of technical stuff in the Church of England – he was instituted by the Bishop, who is Right Reverend, and inducted by the Archdeacon, who is merely Venerable. I say “merely”, but I may be doing her a disservice. I don’t know.

She has the power to place the incumbent in his stall. I am not making this up: this happened towards the end of the service. It was called a stall, but it looked more like a chair to me.

Who is the incumbent? I hear you ask. It is the vicar again, and he is actually the incumbent of the benefice. At the same time he is the parish priest, though not a rector. If it were a self-supporting church, he would be a rector, but as it is supported by the diocese, he is a vicar. I hope you’re following this.

I suppose I should mention the episcopal seal and the Oath of Canonical Obedience. The former is an endangered species often seen off the North Norfolk coast, and the latter is what you say when faced with superior firepower.

That may not be quite right, but you get the idea. In the Church of England it doesn’t matter if you don’t know exactly what’s happening as long as you’re prepared to go along with it. This tends to attract the right kind of people.

Efficiency and productivity in my business have never been very strong – mainly because I don’t have a business. This has not deterred one company, through the magic of the Internet, from suggesting a better way of managing my vehicles.

It kind of assumes that these vehicles are driven by my employees. Sadly I do not employ anyone either, but this does not seem to have been a factor in their calculations.

Apparently I need vehicle trackers – small devices that enable me to know where my vehicles are at all times. I already have an app that tells me where my wife is, but of course, as I live in Norfolk, this hardly ever works.

But let us leave aside the problem of whether vehicle trackers would function properly in Norfolk and ask how vehicle trackers might affect the morale of my employees.

Apparently, they will enable me to “specifically target those who waste fuel and speed”. Great. Now my employees will not only have to worry about so-called “safety” cameras, they will also have me snooping on them from a distance – and not even painted yellow.

They will also have to concern themselves with how much fuel they’re using – which means that as well as trying to drive safely, they have to carry out complex calculations involving schedules, speed and optimal fuel usage.

The vehicle tracking company also tells me that I will be able to keep pin down “unauthorised use of breaks and overtime”. So my drivers must also factor in how long they can afford to spend in the loo or purchasing a Kentucky Fried Chicken.

I can’t help feeling that, despite the stated advantages of vehicle tracking (less paperwork, fewer breakdowns are two suggestions), my employees would get so depressed at my interference that they would be functioning well below their best and quickly be looking for another, less cutting-edge company to work for.

Employees are not parts of a machine. They work best when the employer trusts what they are doing and allows them to get on with it. Still, I have no doubt that company vehicle tracking will catch on. It’s the kind of thing that’s irresistible to bad managers, and there are plenty of them around.

Happily, I don’t have to worry. I have no employees. I have a wife, but I don’t know where she is.

Today we complete our publication of the revealing Houseago Diaries, only recently unearthed and restored from oblivion. Throwing what one academic has described as “light” on the critical years when Henry (Fred) “Shrimp” Houseago fought almost singlehandedly against a consortium of great crested newts and other sinister threats to the Norfolk way of life, they end tantalisingly with the word “Hindolveston”. Scholars are even now researching the meaning of this word, and the reason the diaries cease so abruptly. Some have suggested that it refers to a long-forgotten Norfolk village, but this seems far-fetched. Others hint that Houseago may have stumbled on a secret so iconoclastic in its implications that he had to be eliminated. Rest assured that any further discoveries will be published on this site. 

June 15, 1998

Concerned to read that pressure groups are proliferating in central Norfolk: WeB2 (We’re Boring Too) and BOOOM (Bored Out Of Our Minds) have just been formed to promote high boredom factor of Norfolk towns, which most people find relaxing. Commendable in its way, but would prefer it if people joined fight against newts. Need to get priorities right.

June 24, 1998

Scheinlich came round last night, and we developed some new computer software.

June 26, 1998

Decided to call new software Houseago 99. Kicked Scheinlich off project because he is too interested in Hingham. Also wanted software to be called Scheinlich/Houseago 99, which is obviously ridiculous. Who would buy something called Scheinlich/Houseago 99? Obviously many blips in software, but will sell it first, then repair it, if can find bits.

June 27, 1998

Told EDP new software “would make Windows 98 look like chestnut bunting”. Cunning reference to bird which landed up in Salthouse while travelling from South-East Asia to Siberia, which seems easy mistake to make. Probably planned journey on Internet. But of course Houseago software knows where it’s going. Big advantage is it cannot be used by great crested newts under any circumstances. Idiot on paper asked if software had web browser. Told him was not interested in spiders, but software probably had bugs.

July 6, 1998

Heard that group of journalists was planning walk over Halvergate marshes; so dropped them note warning of great crested newt activity in the area. Going on general principles really. If there are marshes, there must be newts. Will work that into book, when I start it again. Felt sure I saw Dorothea going into Travelodge near Norwich, but no sign of Hardy. Perhaps he was inside. Beginning to get very annoying.

July 25, 1998

No inquiries yet for Houseago 99, suprisingly. Probably good thing, because only have two copies.

July 26, 1998

Disaster. Newts have persuaded environment minister Angela Eagle that their homes are under threat. Never heard such nonsense. Have done personal census of newt homes (ie ponds), and there are just as many as ever. Told EDP: “There is something fishy about this. I know for a fact there are the same number of ponds now as there were in 1990. And these newts are expanding all over the place.” Not impressed by information that research was carried out by something called Pond Life. Obviously biased, like most research. Said frogbit also threatened, whatever that is. Pointed out: “Frogbit is either a cross between a frog and a rabbit, which means it will take over the country in a fortnight, or possibly something eaten in France, in which case it doesn’t matter.” Researchers always trying to cloud issue. You have to watch them.

August 8, 1998

Melton Constable was getting a bit samey, so have moved to friend’s house at Norton Subcourse, which is even quieter. Don’t care what Dorothea is doing with Len “Kissme” Hardy, alleged wholefood chef of Hindolveston. She doesn’t know when she is well off.

August 9, 1998

Made strong protest at foolish move by Eastern Electricity to turn sub-stations into wildlife havens. Well know that newts want power, and this is just asking for trouble. Company seems to be welcoming them with open arms – outrageous. Told reporter it would not be long before smooth newts began cold-calling and offering cheaper electricity. Added: “They want absolute power.”

Dorothea, who was on rare visit, having tracked me down at Norton Subcourse, said this wasn’t funny. Would have thought anything was funny after Hindolveston. Wherever that is.

August 23, 1998

At last Dorothea has seen which side her bread is buttered. Following a suggestion of hers, have made scientific breakthrough. We have formed company to market wonder drug which will make Viagra look like – well, like chestnut bunting. We have called drug Goodo, after Dorothea (Goodchild). Have announced that we will be making it available for fee which will have to take into account difficulty of obtaining vital elements, which include samphire, various E-numbers and substance derived from great crested newts. Possibly blood. Has so many advantages. Dorothea over moon, or even higher. Hardy out of picture.

September 6, 1998

Excellent fortnight came to an end with inquiry from EDP about what they claim is my “long engagement” to Dorothea. Apparently a reader had asked whether parental disapproval had held us back. Absurd. Told reporter to make something up in reply. Added that engagement was not long at all, and I would not marry until great crested newt menace eradicated from Norfolk.

September 7, 1998

See from paper that Dorothea described my remark as “typical”. Wonder if she is serious about newts. No need for her to speak to newspaper at all. Should be tight-lipped. But they didn’t mention Hindolveston.

This is the tenth and possibly penultimate episode of the Houseago Diaries, confirmed by the University of East Anglia’s School of Penguins, Chess and Road Surfacing as the most significant papers to come out of the late 20th century, especially on a Tuesday. Recently unearthed, they give never-before-seen background information about items that appeared in the Eastern Daily Press in the late 20th century concerning the struggles of Henry (Fred) “Shrimp” Houseago to maintain a normal Norfolk way of life in the face of  the devious devices of a consortium of great crested newts, among other things.

April 4, 1998

Reporter from EDP rang to say gnomes were being inserted in gardens in Great Yarmouth, and would I like to comment. Retorted that I was not gnome, and Yarmouth deserved everything that was coming to it. Bit over the top, but I was still in bed. Dislike people telephoning while I am in bed, even if lunchtime. In the end relented and said it was obvious newt plot. Wanton gnome insertion was “typically newt”, and no good would come of it. Suggested better idea would be to remove newts from as many gardens as possible, even in Yarmouth.

April 6, 1998

Comment from official spokesman in paper that no good had come of gnome insertion, but feeling of delight and vindication rapidly dispersed when saw Hardy described in another story as “expert on comets and alternative nutrition”. Rather spoiled the effect by adding that he often used “pieces of rounded flint in my dumplings, and they go down a treat”. Also went on about seaweed, sand pies and grass from his garden being typical Norfolk recipes. Man is insane. What has he been doing with Dorothea? Obviously he has not been cooking. And how does he get quoted in paper so often? Have reporters no other people to quote? Sometimes I wonder what our local press is up to. It’s almost as if it were being run by…. no, probably not. Would be going too far.

April 18, 1998

Too tired to do much. For a moment tried to write a bit more of my book, but was overcome by burst of exhaustion. While recovering, switched TV on accidentally and watched two or three hours. No idea what it was about. Felt peaky. So bored, I told EDP exploding cormorant population on the Wensum was linked to exploding rabbits on Beccles Common and hoped great crested newts would be next in line.

April 20, 1998

Line about “puffed up newts” published in EDP. Sometimes think they would publish anything.

May 4, 1998

This time they have gone too far. Totally spurious story appeared in paper about my resignation as manager of Newt Cannon Fodder Club, saying inability to field full team had hampered my ambitions. Also said season was blighted by injury to my deputy Dorothea Goodchild, 104, and this clearly not true. Wish she did have injury: would not keep vanishing for days on end in North Norfolk. At least, I suspect North Norfolk. Probably Hindolveston. Would try to halt her raging affair with Len “Kissme” Hardy, but cannot find Hindolveston. Not many people can.

May 14, 1998

Decided to take holiday. Chose Melton Constable, as no-one else would go there. Rented holiday cottage for £2.35 a week. Feel fairly secure. Left phone number with EDP.

May 16, 1998

Alarm and dismay in Swanton Morley (apparently) following shocking item in local organ, reading “FOUND, newted tabby male cat”. Do not quite understand what this means, but it sounds disturbingly like “nuked”. Surely newts not attempting genetic modification? Swore to tackle expansionist newts in this new area. Said: “They could see they were losing the PR battle; so they had a go at a harmless tabby. What will it be next? Canaries?” (Was trying to make point about recent spoof story, but reporter asked if canaries had already been got at. Very witty. I said it could explain a lot of things. Reporter laughed. Sometimes they are quite human.)

May 28, 1998

Have uncovered great crested newt plan to pass themselves off as smooth newts and obtain jobs in PR agencies. Held press conference at Swanton Novers and said: “They have had plenty of practice at being smooth. But we mustn’t let them get away with it. Once they get into PR agencies they could sway public opinion instantly. Or make it up. It would be a disaster.”

June 1, 1998

Noticed EDP left out line about “Or make it up”. Must be PR decision. But included my suggestion for questionnaire to screen PR job applicants and pick out newts almost instantly. Suggested questions: “Are you a great crested newt?” and “Would you like to expand?” That should sort them out.

Was not taken in by smooth newts spokesamphibian who said I was “remarkably astute and intelligent person, and good looking too”. True enough, of course. Wish Dorothea realised it instead of spending so much time in Hindolveston. Where is Hindolveston?

Scheinlich has re-emerged to comment on story about Scout Hut in Hingham Republic disappearing. Apparently no-one noticed, because building immediately replaced by one looking exactly the same, but now called the old girls’ school. Sometimes think Scheinlich has disappeared and been replaced by something exactly the same but even madder. Hingham now under investigation by La Fédération Poohstix d’Europe, which had been planning to hold European Poohsticks finals there. Apparently worried about height of bridges, speed of water and time-space instability in area. Don’t know why they picked it in first place. Everyone know Hingham trouble spot. May have to send in Nato.

Continuing the earth-shaking revelations from the recently uncovered diaries of Norfolk hero Henry (Fred) “Shrimp” Houseago, whose battles against attempts by great crested newts to destroy the Norfolk way of life were originally chronicled in the Eastern Daily Press.

January 12, 1998

Worrying trend at start of new year: man taken to court for damaging breeding site of great crested newts. Fined £600. Cheaper to hit policeman. More expensive to squash newt, though: discovered squasher could be fined up to £5000. What is wrong with our legal system? Apparently man in court had been sent warning letter, but could not read or write. Typical newt trick. Pick on people who can’t sue back. Told journalist I could read and write (though not both at once). Thought should make it clear, in case. Said Parliament should introduce law to make it illegal to squash people. May already be one. Not sure. Still, you can’t have too many laws, can you?

Dorothea says you can.

January 31, 1998

Very strange and quiet month. Perhaps newts really are hibernating, though doubt if they are that subtle. Went with Dorothea to stay with Mrs Hicks, my aunt, at Erpingham – named after gunfighter Wyatt Earp, who many believe came from Norfolk. Some connection with village school. Well earned rest. Nothing ever happens in Erpingham.

February 9, 1998

Scarcely roused by obviously unbelievable story in EDP about a newt writing in to complain about a national newspaper. Newts almost never do this. Can’t remember what it was about. No news of wholefood chef, and Scheinlich probably stuck in Hingham.

February 21, 1998

Lull before storm. Might have guessed. No sooner had I thought I was getting over Christmas when newts hit front page – well, page nine, technically – with shock demands for huge numbers of new homes in Norfolk. Consortium of newts predicts 50,000 newt homes needed in region by next Thursday. Outrageous! Just the sort of thing newts would get up to. Demand is so ridiculous that everyone believes it. People have capacity to believe anything, the more bizarre the better. If someone discovered part of previously unknown lower jawbone they would probably claim it revealed that five million years ago some fish or other took a look at the land and thought it would make a better place for parties; so grew legs.

Newt claim just as absurd, but claim figure has been arrived at scientifically; so of course everyone accepts it, especially as there was some market research involved.

Dorothea says I get too het up over this sort of thing, but very frustrating. What wrong with intuition and common sense?

Thought showed great restraint in describing newt estimate as “on the high side”. Satire often very useful. Still, just to make sure everyone got it, added: “It’s well known that most of the large pond construction companies are owned by newts. Before we know where we are, East Anglian towns will be nothing but a series of huge ponds. People will be forced out into the country. They will be totally lost.”

Obviously don’t want town people in country. Not only will they be lost, they will get in the way.

February 23, 1998

Brilliant plan. Will construct network of tunnels under site of one of ponds and refuse to come out until newt plans rejected. Dorothea says idiotic idea, but am determined. Will recruit Hardy and Scheinlich as supply team.

March 8, 1998

Am in tunnel. Quite dark, really. Hardy packed me picnic basket of wholefood, but it has odd taste. Also, he is out there with Dorothea. Suspect his motives. Scheinlich provided crate of German beer, but said he thought my tunnel could be wormhole. Man is obsessed. Spent my birthday underground. No cake, except possibly wholefood one. Hard to tell. Torch battery not very bright. Still, have struck firm blow in battle against newts. Will stay down here till they give in.

March 9, 1998

How will I know if they’ve given in?

March 10, 1998

No news. Wholefood smells awful. At least, think it’s wholefood.

March 12, 1998

Surely newts have given in. No word from Dorothea. Or Hardy.

March 13, 1998

Tried to find tunnel exit. Not much wholefood left.

March 14, 1998

Struggled out of tunnel exit, prepared to raise arms in triumph. No-one there. Had bath in pond. No sign of newts, or building work. Or Hardy. Or Dorothea. No doubt Scheinlich back in Hingham. Caught bus home – extraordinary stroke of luck, as only runs twice a week. Dorothea proudly showed me EDP for March 9, with news of my tunnel protest. Also said newts had agreed to divert building work to brownfield sites. Why did no-one tell me? Story said attempts to reach me unsuccessful. Did not notice any attempts. Dorothea strangely vague about it. Hardy came round looking cocky, and then, if I’m not mistaken, a touch disappointed to see me there.

Was not entirely happy with Dorothea’s quote that I “had a habit of going too far”. She has never complained about this before.

March 15, 1998

Have suggested to Hardy he spends more time in Hindolveston, cooking. After all, is supposed to be chef. When is he cooking? Who for?

March 23, 1998

Yet another preposterous claim from newts. This time allege that newts discovered gravity. Ha! If newts had discovered gravity, wouldn’t have known what to do with it. Well known fact that Isaac “Apple” Newton discovered gravity when fruit fell from tree. Newts claim that Newt-on really newt, and story got garbled. Might have had more chance of being believed if had not added that natterjack toad and not apple fell from tree. Toads do not climb trees, and certainly don’t fall on newts’ heads. Only person likely to fall for this is Scheinlich, and then only if it happened in Hingham. Even Dorothea said nothing. She has been very quiet.

Told journalist that to suggest toad fell out of tree “at the precise moment a great crested newt passed underneath is about as likely as pronouncing Happisburgh correctly by chance”. Made point, I think.

March 23, 1998

Had long talk with Dorothea about Hardy. She denied everything and said I had been underground too long. Too long for what? Very suspicious.