Good

 

Shockingly, they assassinated Renee Good In Minneapolis yesterday. She was unarmed and probably in a panic when she tried to drive away from ICE agents approaching her vehicle. They carried guns but did not display identification numbers or names. They hid their faces behind black masks.

You have probably seen the video footage which proves that she did not run over or even clip any ICE agents before they shot her like an enemy soldier in a war. It is outrageous and typical that the US Secretary of Homeland Security, the odious Kristi Noem justified the murder of Renee Good by saying that she had been the perpetrator of 'an act of domestic terrorism'. Utter rubbish.

Far from being a domestic terrorist, Renee Good was a mother, a daughter, a sister and a friend. She was also very much into the written word. In 2020, while studying creative writing at Old Dominion University in Norfolk, Virginia , Renee was awarded the school’s undergraduate poetry prize for her poem, "On Learning to Dissect Fetal Pigs". Here it is:-

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On Learning to Dissect Fetal Pigs
by Renée Nicole Macklin (Good)

i want back my rocking chairs,

solipsist sunsets,

& coastal jungle sounds that are tercets from cicadas and pentameter from the hairy legs of

cockroaches.

i’ve donated bibles to thrift stores

(mashed them in plastic trash bags with an acidic himalayan salt lamp—

the post-baptism bibles, the ones plucked from street corners from the meaty hands of zealots, the

dumbed-down, easy-to-read, parasitic kind):

remember more the slick rubber smell of high gloss biology textbook pictures; they burned the hairs

inside my nostrils,

& salt & ink that rubbed off on my palms.

under clippings of the moon at two forty five AM I study&repeat

    ribosome

    endoplasmic—

    lactic acid

    stamen

at the IHOP on the corner of powers and stetson hills—

i repeated & scribbled until it picked its way & stagnated somewhere i can’t point to anymore, maybe

my gut—

maybe there in-between my pancreas & large intestine is the piddly brook of my soul.

it’s the ruler by which i reduce all things now; hard-edged & splintering from knowledge that

used to sit, a cloth against fevered forehead.

can i let them both be? this fickle faith and this college science that heckles from the back of the

classroom

now i can’t believe—

that the bible and qur’an and bhagavad gita are sliding long hairs behind my ear like mom

used to & exhaling from their mouths “make room for wonder”—

all my understanding dribbles down the chin onto the chest & is summarized as:

life is merely

    to ovum and sperm

    and where those two meet

    and how often and how well

    and what dies there.

The IHOP (International House of Pancakes)

@ Powers & Stetson Hills junction, Colorado Springs

This what the poetry contest judges said of Renee Good's poem:-

"In “On Learning to Dissect Fetal Pigs” the eye of the poet moves in and out of memory through association that compounds layer after layer, or more appropriately strand after strand. Braiding THE existential question through a zuihitsu form, rumination on object, human body, and wonder all biologize that which defies simple science. What is the origin story of “want;” the urgency of belief and nonbelief? the first line the poet asks. Through specificity of image and associative leaps from piece to piece emerges a text that in itself becomes a sacred text, a meditation that leads the reader into the unknown."

To tell you the truth, that poem would not be my personal cup of tea but that does not matter. Renee Good was a creator, a poet. I wonder how many poems Kristi Noem has ever put out into the world and what about the currently hitherto unnamed ICE agent who, sanctioned by the US president, murdered Renee Good in her own neighbourhood. Why didn't he shoot at the SUV's tyres instead of his unarmed victim's head? Why did he shoot at all and how much is he being paid to create terror on the streets?

There were cuddly toys in Renee Good's glove compartment.

Wheeee!

 

Not just WHEEEE! But SPLAT! too!

We have a colourful expression in Yorkshire that is reserved for those times when adults fall down without meaning to and that is "arse over tit".  Clowns do it all the time and that is what happened to me this morning. I fell down - arse over tit on the pavement in front of our house.

Unbeknownst to me, there was black ice on the pavement even though the outside temperature was 3°C. I was about to drive out to Stanage Edge for another walk in winter sunshine. I had my orange "Mammot" anorak on and I was holding a green "Waitrose" bag in one hand and my camera bag in the other.

The pavement just looked damp and there was certainly no sign of white frostiness. When I stepped off the block paving  in front of our house onto the tarmacked pavement, I had no choice in the matter. My feet went from under me and I slammed to the ground, landing mostly on my left side and back.

For a moment or two, I just lay there hoping that I had not injured myself and wondering how I was going to get up from the black ice without hurting either of my knees. It is my habit to be very protective of my knees and kneeling down usually involves the use of a thick foam pad or a cushion.

Fortunately, Shirley had been up in the little bedroom. She had seen me going out to the car and then when she looked again I was not there. I was supine on the pavement like a clown who has just tossed some custard pies.

She rushed out of the house but stayed on the block paving, not wishing to venture on to the treacherous pavement. She scooted back into the house to grab a cushion but before she got back I was up again, slightly worried about my shoulder. 

In situations like that the adrenaline rush can often mask pain and injury and it's only later that you realise what you have done to yourself. We will see how my shoulder is later today but at the moment I appear to have got away with it.

For twenty years, Shirley was a nurse in the Accident & Emergency Department  of  The Royal Hallamshire Hospital. Of course she saw many things there - some hideously tragic and some pretty funny but she always remembers icy winter mornings when the waiting room would be filled with people who had fallen down on slippery pavements. Often they had instinctively thrust out their hands to save themselves - only to end up breaking their wrists.

Jacqueline, a good neighbour of ours, also fell down this morning and badly bruised her thigh. I think there will have been many similar falls in Sheffield this morning thanks to the lethal combination of our hills and the black ice.

In fact, this is what was reported in our local paper this afternoon: 

A Sheffield hospital unit has closed after being overwhelmed with the number of people injured on black ice in the city today.

The Minor Injuries Unit at the Royal Hallamshire Hospital has seen “unprecedented numbers” due to falls on black ice that blanketed the city overnight.

Black ice outside our house this morning

Breathless

Breathless? Other possible one word titles for this particular blogpost might have been "Frenetic" or "Frantic" or "Frenzied".

I am referring to the film I went to see at The Showroom Cinema at lunchtime today. It was "Marty Supreme" starring Timothée Chalamet as table tennis champion Marty Mauser.

Set mostly in New York in the nineteen fifties, "Marty Supreme"  is a visual masterpiece as it rolls along at an energetic, breathless pace that mirrors the very character of Marty himself. He never stops and it is as if his brain is constantly in overdrive.

The last time I saw Timothée Chalamet in a leading role was when he played Bob Dylan in "A Complete Unknown". I reviewed that film a year ago right here. Whereas that film rolled like a benign sea, this one is more like a raging tempest.

The best filmstars like Tom Hanks, Meryl Streep, Dustin Hoffman and Cate Blanchett can genuinely act, taking on a range of different roles with true conviction. I think that Timothée Chalamet may be in the process of joining their illustrious ranks.

You do not have to be a table tennis fan to enjoy "Marty Supreme". In a sense, the table tennis is almost incidental. More interesting is the frantic and yes, frenetic way in which Marty uses other people to achieve his ambitions.

It is as if every other human he encounters is just there to be used - be it the fading filmstar Kay Stone played by Gwynneth Paltrow or his best buddy Wally the taxi driver played by Tyler Okonma. Marty seems to have no moral compass as he powers his life ever onward.

There's lots of humour in the film - some of it quite dark such as the plan that Marty's reluctant sponsor Milton Rockwell hatches that Marty should kiss a pig that is brought on stage when he loses a match with the Japanese champion - Koto Endo played by Koto Kawaguchi.

Directed by Josh Safdie, "Marty Supreme" is very loosely based on the life of American table tennis star Marty Reisman. Normally, I tend to go for calmer, more literary and more contemplative film dramas but it's nice to mix it up and not remain in one's familiar furrow. I am so glad that I went to see "Marty Supreme" this afternoon. "The Guardian" newspaper film reviewer gave it five stars and referred to it as a "spectacular screwball ping-pong nightmare". I get that.

Monday

We looked after Phoebe today. There was a teacher training day at her primary school. 

She asked me what happens at a teacher training day and I replied, "Well the teachers all gather in the school hall and pretend that they are trains as they sing, 'I'm a choo-choo train'. This is why they call it training".

For a moment, she seemed to believe me and then the realisation dawned, "You're just kidding Grandpa!"

She wanted to go swimming at Dronfield Leisure Centre where Shirley took her many times before she was obliged to climb aboard the conveyor belt of formal schooling.

We drove up to Totley and had lunch in "The Cross Scythes" before travelling on to Dronfield. It was a wintry day and there was a dusting of snow on the hills and roads - but nothing too problematic.

When Shirley and Phoebe went in the leisure centre, I ventured out for a stroll around Dronfield and I also popped into a couple of charity shops. In one of them, I found a ceramic plant holder in which I estimated I could place one of my young busy lizzie plants. I wanted to give it to Frances as a late Christmas present as she had shown interest when I told her about the strain of impatiens I have nurtured for forty five years - from cutting to cutting and from year to year.

My estimation ability  with regard to sizing things up is pretty well-tuned and sure enough, when I got home, the designated plant pot fitted into the silver-coloured plant holder perfectly.

In the churchyard of St John the Baptist, I spotted a very old cross. I often see old stone crosses in churchyards. Usually, they have been moved there in past times because of road developments. The crosses, originally in prominent locations, frequently got in the way.

The cross in Dronfield churchyard

The cross in this particular churchyard is probably Anglo-Saxon - making it around 1250 years old. In fact, it is older than the oldest parts of the parish church that date back to 1135.

Crosses were sometimes erected for pagan or early Christian reasons but in addition they might have been boundary markers or market crosses given legal permission by which ever king or queen happened to be on the throne at the time.

They are a feature of the historical landscape of England and more than two thousand of them remain. We live in a suburb of Sheffield called Banner Cross but our old stone cross disappeared many, many years ago. Few people seem to give these precious time travelling structures much thought as they walk on by but I wish that the crosses could speak. They would have such tales to tell.

The Hall - Early eighteenth century townhouse in Dronfield

Monty

Yesterday, I showed you a picture of our Phoebe's precious Monty. Today I am showing you a drawing  of Monty that I created just yesterday when Shirley was working at our local Age Concern charity shop. I am pretty happy with this ink and pencil drawing though I know that if I attempted a few more versions I could come up with an even better image. But this one will do. 

I am going to get it framed as a fifth birthday gift. Of course I am very conscious that my picture will surely outlive me so that when Phoebe is a woman, she may look at it sometimes and think, "My Grandpa drew that. He loved me and I loved him. He was always kidding and I remember him fondly". That is the only kind of immortality I can hope for...

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In other news...You may recall that on New Year's Eve I ventured out to trial my new camera while also undertaking a familiar three mile circular walk for exercise.

It is my habit on walks like these to unlock the car boot upon my return. Then I take off my walking boots and put my shoes on. At this time the boots are meant to end up in the boot but that did not happen on Wednesday afternoon.

Today (Sunday) I was about to head out for another long walk  when I discovered that my faithful boots were not in the car boot space and they were also not in our house. Then the possibility dawned on me that I had not actually put the boots in the back of the car.

That was four days ago and as I drove back to the deadend road that is Shorts Lane, I had a very slim hope that I would find my boots close to where the car had been parked.

But there they were! Some kind fellow human being had carefully placed the boots on the adjacent drystone wall. They were upside down and bathing in winter sunshine. Fortunately, there had been no precipitation during the past four days.

Such moments restore one's faith in humanity. There are a lot of good people out there who do kind and thoughtful things. I wish I could hug the person who put my boots on the wall and thank them profusely.

Photos

Some of you may recall that at the very end of 2025 I treated myself to a new camera - a Panasonic Lumix FZ82D. It is a simple enough bridge camera but to understand all of the functions described in the manual you would, I am sure, need to enrol on a special university course.

Anyway, I went out with the camera on New Year's Eve just to test it out as I undertook my usual circular walk on the edge of the city. The camera boasts a 60X zoom facility. Standing on the exact same spot I took two pictures in mid-afternoon just to demonstrate the  zoom range - with no need for the addition of a separate zoom lens. I am looking at a residential block for senior citizens to the south of the suburb of Dore. It is about half a mile distant:-

And here's that same block with the camera's  zoom facility used to almost its fullest extent:-

Obviously not the best picture I have ever taken but I am pleased with the result. The definition has not lost much in spite of the distance.

And below here's one of the last photos I took with my old Sony bridge camera. This is a picture of Phoebe's most favoured cuddly toy - a sloth called Monty. She sleeps with him every night.You can see the persistent dark mark caused by a tiny amount of plastic debris behind the lens.  It is between his right arm and right leg

Now why would I be taking a picture of Monty? Well let me give you a clue: Phoebe will be five years old in two weeks. More about this tomorrow.

Finally, here's a photo I took of "The Cricket Inn" at Totley Bents on New Year's Eve with the new camera. Over the years I have taken many pictures of that photogenic pub. It seems that whenever I walk by it I just have to say "Cheese!" to the old place:-

Commended

Taylor Swift at The Laughing Horse Awards Evening

"Well, I am speechless, and more than a little stunned. Thank you so 

much. I tread in far more worthy footsteps." - Janice Cooke (Jan 2nd 2026)

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Typically modest of Janice - but The Laughing Horse Awards Committee were unanimous in selecting their Blogger of the Year for 2025.

In their citation they noted, "Mrs Cooke's productivity and the range of subjects she taps into". At one level there is the domestic front in which she alludes with much affection to her large family and her beloved pet animals. On a different wavelength, she shows "immense curiosity" as she reflects on whatever has popped up in her brain that day "from travel to books and from ancient traditions to medical matters. There is pretty much no area that is out of bounds for her".

Janice responds politely to her visitors' comments and this innate trait is also present in her own comments on other people's blogs. "Jabblog" has been chugging along since February 2009, attracting over 2.6 million page views so she has certainly earned her recognition.

Congratulations Janice!

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At yesterday's ceremony, hostess Taylor Swift announced the creators of four blogs that have earned special commendations for their performances during the past twelve months. All four of them have permission to display the widgets they have achieved.

FOR GOOD HUMOUR & BRIGHTNESS

Bruce Taylor for "ODDBALL OBSERVATIONS"

His "Friday Funnies" posts are now legendary - reminding 

us all that it is good to chuckle and lighten up sometimes. He

also reveals his passion for baking and his wife Judy - sometimes 

referred to as SWMBO (She Who Must Be Obeyed).

FOR SIMPLE KINDNESS AND GOODWILL

Kylie Tai for "ECLECTICA"

In the actual content of her blog, Kylie has almost accidentally 

revealed  what a naturally kind human being she is but she also 

shows this in the way that she comments on other people's blogs. And 

Lord knows - we need more kindness in the world right now.

FOR PERSISTENCE IN ADVERSITY

Tasker Dunham for "A YORKSHIRE MEMOIR"

Tasker is an intelligent man with many interests and talents but 

instead of fully enjoying the happy, healthy retirement he deserved,

he is instead battling with lung cancer. By the way, he was never 

a smoker. His blog demonstrates his intellect, his memory and his inquisitiveness. Sometimes even reaching the point where he can 

press, "Publish" has proved a great physical trial.

FOR REPRESENTING SWEDEN SO PLEASANTLY

Monica in Borås for "Beyond the Lone Islands"

Like Janice Cooke, Monica is a productive blogger. She finds 

something to blog about nearly every day of the year and like

 our friend Meike Riley in Germany, Monica shows an amazing 

grasp of the English language that would put many native 

English speakers or writers to shame. Monica notices changes in the 

world around her, takes some very good photographs and gives 

visitorsfrom the rest of the world honest  insights into life 

in central Sweden.