More Cycle Paths in Scotland

On 28th June 2018, Scotland recorded its hottest ever temperature of 33.2 degrees celsius in Motherwell, Lanarkshire. 

One of the good things about the climate changing is that if we can expect warmer sunnier mediterranean weather in Scotland this means better days for cycling.

But according to this article, Scotland only has 1036 km of traffic-free cycle track, compared with 32,187 km in Holland. So Scotland only had 3.2% the amount of cycle paths Holland has.

Cycling, which has been hailed as one of the most efficient forms of transport, seems to be the way forward for this country and the world, if we want to continue living on this planet. These velomobile things look pretty cool too, but who's going to fork out for one of these?

By Bluevelo, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1052954

So, it might seem to make sense that to encourage more people to cycle to destinations under 10 miles away for example, we would need a better traffic-free cycle network, the benefits of which would be many, and not just for cyclists:

• Less traffic on the roads

• Less cyclists on the roads for cars to overtake

• Healthier citizens -> less strain on NHS. According to this article a link has been found between cycling to work and cancer and heart disease. "During the course of the study, regular cycling cut the risk of death from any cause by 41%, the incidence of cancer by 45% and heart disease by 46%."

• Less risk of car accidents for cyclists -> less strain on NHS. According to this 2017 article, which has a lot of information about cycling death and injury in the UK, about 100 cyclists die each year in the UK and more than 3000 are seriously injured. There are even a few shocking stories of motorists purposefully injuring cyclists.

• Less hazardous exhaust fumes for cyclists to inhale

• Better cycling tourism -> Better for the economy.

• Better local air quality -> Better for childrens' health -> reduction in asthma.

• Less national CO2 production. According to this report, in 2016 transport became the largest contributor to national CO2 at 26%.

Two American solar cars in Canada

How much could we save?

Let's take a look at the effects of 45% less cancer and heart disease on the NHS.

According to this article, "Last year the costs of cancer diagnosis and treatment across the UK NHS, private and voluntary sector were estimated by the report at £9.4 billion. This is equivalent to an average of £30,000 per person with cancer. "

45% of £9.4 billion is £4.23 billion.  

How much will it cost? 

This blog has some useful information about costs. Sustrans and TFL estimate it to cost anywhere between £100k and £900k per km of proper cycle track. Let's say an average of £500k per km of cycle track.

Scotland has 55,000 km of roads, but not all of these would, could or should be cycle-pathed. According to this report 1% is motorway, leaving 54,450 km. Let's calculate the costs to cycle path the roads up to Holland standards.

This would result in costs on average of £500,000 x 32,000km = £16 billion.

But we could estimate that we save £4.23 billions worth of health care in cancer prevention.

This alone could pay for 4,230,000,000/500,000 = 8,460 km of cycle track.

Imagine what another 8,460km of cycle track in the central belt could achieve in terms of health, cleaner air, less congested traffic, and reduction in CO2 production.

The Dutch Solaroad

Or Poland's solar powered bike path

According to this article, "The average distance commuters ride in a single trip within Scotland is 9.4 km." which would take about 6 miles. This would take about 36 minutes by bike.

Source : https://www.transport.gov.scot/media/33814/sct01171871341.pdf

So that's it. In this blog post I've hopefully outlined why more cycle paths in Scotland would be beneficial to our health, our country's finances and our planet's climate change crisis.

What's the next step? Email our MPs, contact our local councils, sign this petition : https://www.ipetitions.com/petition/more-cycle-paths-in-scotland

Thanks for reading.

We're back! (On Google)

I'm very pleased to announce our return to the Google search engine.

On the 20th June I realised that this blog had vanished off the face of Google, while still being visible on Bing. There was a message on the Google search page saying that some results may be filtered due to the new GDPR Privacy laws, and I wondered if perhaps that was what had happened to this blog. Maybe another Chris Young (we are many) had mistakenly thought I was calling them a knucklehead. 

So I fired off a message to the team at Google using the privacy form explaining my predicament, and today received a very nice reply confirming my fears and resolving the situation forthwith. 

No apology, but you can't have everything.

Hey, have you bought my book yet? The Old Mice Killer. It's really good.

Confessions of a Knucklehead

Well, it's been about a month since my last confession, so I thought I'd drop in again and exercise the old writing muscles. "Use it or lose it!" they say, but at the moment I'm actually trying to lose the repetitive strain injury of my right wrist. I still remember the time when I first got this RSI - ironically editing a short film called "Last Hand" (now deleted and lost forever) using nothing but the track pad on my mac when I was living in Japan around 2006. That's 12 years. So yesterday I got a wrist support tube and some Deep Heat to see if that'll help.

Knucklehead Noir

I've just submitted a longish short story of mine (that I wrote in Japan around 2009) called 'Thick as Thieves' to an anthology published by Coffin Hop, on a friend's advice, as the brief is :

Tales of dimwitted criminals and unlucky twits on the wrong side of the law. Nimrods, numbskulls and rejects. Bumbling sidekicks and idiots-gone-wrong. 

I wrote the story just for my own amusement, and enjoyed having it workshopped at West Lothian Writers a few months ago where I got and implemented some good advice, so we'll see if it bears fruit.

Funny how I found myself slightly reticent on submitting a short story again after all these years, even though due to luck the brief happens to be quite appropriate to the story, but this alone of course does not necessarily guarantee success. They say before submitting stories you should be familiar with the publication to know what kind of content and style they're used to, but I have no choice as the story is already written and the deadline is the end of the month, so here I go.

But it again seemed to reinforce the sensation that I'm not afraid of failure - I'm more afraid of success. I'm sure fear of success is not an uncommon stumbling block. Failure is easy. Anyone can do it with very little effort on their part. It's something I have lots of experience with and I'm quite comfortable staying in the shadows being an undiscovered underachiever with limitless untapped potential, than someone who can actually succeed at something and then set themselves up for a public fall.

Did you know goldfish were actually artificially bred from black fish, and are always psychologically uncomfortable standing out so much all the time? The things you learn teaching English as a foreign language.

Time to Face up to Facebook

On 25th May FB gave me (and most other people) an ultimatum: Read and accept their new terms and conditions, or be deleted forever. And you know, the second choice is actually quite tempting. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm sure there are lots of good things about Facebook, for example for people who are separated, isolated or incarcerated. I am interested in the lives of my friends and family, but there's something about the social media site that leaves me with an itch I just can't scratch. You see, I prefer the old fashioned human - human interaction, where you get to see the person's face, hear their voice, enjoy their smile, things like that. It's a much more intimate one-to-one connection, rather than the cheap one-to-many proclamation of the Facebook wall, which is better suited for a town crier ringing a bell shouting, "Hear ye, hear ye, three o'clock and all's well!", or announcements such as "Hey, we're getting married," or "Sadly someone has passed away," or "Happily such and such was born weighing 3 pounds and whatever," which was traditionally the job of newspapers. But it's too easy, and for someone like me who regrets almost every second thing I ever say or do, that's not necessarily a good thing. 

So at the moment I'm in Facebook limbo. I have neither been deleted nor agreed to the new terms and conditions. 

I am become the Unsociable.

One thing I have noticed though, is that my relationships with people I meet face to face now seem to be better - less overshadowed by stupid things I may have typed, misunderstood jokes, or posts I may or may not have reacted to. 

Dropping Eaves

I was sitting in a cafe the other day and happened to overhear a couple of job interviews taking place. I was trying not to listen but short of stuffing cotton wool in my ears and dipping my head in a basin of jelly there wasn't much else I could do. 

As each interview went on, I found myself reacting (inwardly) to things they were saying, such as, "Ooh dear, that doesn't sound good. I wouldn't employ them if I were you," or "Why are you telling them proudly that you will supply their uniform, branding their souls with your logo forever as if that's such a great gift?" 

But in the end both got hired for the positions - people I wouldn't have employed for an employer I wouldn't have wanted to work for - and everybody was satisfied. 

And they will probably go on to earn a decent wage, build up a pension, get annual holidays, enjoy job security, get off benefits and pay taxes. So well done all.

None of my business really.

Conformity 

The other day I put up a shelf (using a spirit level) in my shed (which is squint), and looking at it now I finally understand about the rules of conformity and non-conformity. Even if you are RIGHT, you still look WRONG.

21st May 1942

Yesterday was my father's birthday. He would have been 76. Born in 1942.

Here he is in a picture that I now keep in my passport, probably taken by my mother when they went out on their many scooter rides together back in the black and white days. He's doing a Fonz impression, hands out palm up with a cigarette, shrugging with a smile. He's probably in his twenties as there don't seem to be any babies in the picture on a scooter side-car or such, meaning this photo must have been taken more than 50 years ago. 

Last night I raised a glass for him. Though we didn't see eye to eye much of the time growing up I had been looking forward to spending mellower times ahead with him, but that sadly wasn't to be, as cancer took him in March of 2012.

So the last lesson he taught me was this: 

Sometimes late is not better than never. Sometimes it's the same.

Hug your loved ones. Live life. Do it today.

Spiderman And The Battle Of The Bulge

My great uncle Ben 
is a prizewinning baker.

He says it's because 
he's a great flour maker.

But he doesn't take 
his creations too lightly.

He takes it real serious, 
often baking all nightly.

He shoots in each morning 
on his scooter mobility

"With great flour," he says, 
"comes great responsibility."

Jam donuts, yum yums,
danishes and such,
Caught in the act, he growls,
"Don't eat too much!"

"Don't eat this, don't eat that!" 
Drives me up the wall.
Had I not sticky fingers
From his cakes I might fall.

"But I'm fit as a fiddle 
I say with a grin
A fruit scone or two 
won't do me in."

"Fit as a cello's more like it," 
he grumbles and moans.
"On top form you ain't. 
Pushing pencils and phones.

Since starting your desk job
and your big promotion
you just don't have the puff
to deal with commotion.

"Your job's to catch bad guys,
To wait and then pounce.
But your web might snap
And then you might bounce!"

"I don't care if my muscles should bruise,
My bones should crack and my back should ache
Cos I'd rather die
than not eat this cake."

"You can't fit in your suit
You can't face the Green Goblin
With three double chins
and spare tyres wobblin'."

I'll show him,
I'll shift this weight
Just soon as I've scoffed
a cream donut or eight.

© Chris Young 2018 

Photo credit : https://www.flickr.com/photos/emiline220/4273700175

Notes From The Multiverse

I'm very pleased to announce that not one but two of the short stories I wrote while voluntarily exiled to Japan are planned to be published along with a host of other great pieces from some excellent writers in the third West Lothian Writers anthology, "Notes From The Multiverse".

Mine are One Last Tale and Multiversal.

One Last Tale (2007) is a short story born (as many surely are) from the frustrations of not knowing what to write. It's set in the distant future when all the good stories have already been told (several times) and there really is nothing new under the sun. It begins with a publisher lamenting to an old friend that he has nothing truly original to publish any more. He refuses to hire the services of professional time-traveling heavies whose job is to go into the future and bring back original stories from authors not yet born, as they've been doing for centuries. But his friend has a surprise in store.

With all the sequels, prequels, remakes and origin movies around these days it's beginning to feel like this story is becoming a little prophetic.

Illustration © Miyuki Young 2018 

My wife, Miyuki Young, has drawn a scene from One Last Tale and hopefully this illustration will also find a place in the anthology.

Multiversal (2007) , as I've mentioned before on this blog, is about what happens when Bob reads in a science magazine that the multiverse theory has actually been agreed to be true by many notable and respected scientists. This is very loosely based on truth as it is inspired by what I actually felt and wanted to do upon reading the exact same article. But because I couldn't do it (or wasn't brave enough) I instead explored the possible chaotic and amusing ramifications of what might happen if I did, and made it into a short story.

I'm especially excited and honoured for Multiversal to be spearheading the theme of the anthology, and am very grateful to be picked up.

The book, expected to be about £5 or £6, will contain roughly two dozen pieces - short stories, poems and novel excerpts - and will no doubt be a very readable variety of genres, styles and imaginings from active writers in the West Lothian area.

Out soon!



© Chris Young 2018

Modest Trumpeter Gets Fired

Ultimately we had to ask George to leave the brass band. He was just too modest. He hated to blow his own trumpet. The conversation went like this:

“I'm sorry George, you're really good, but you have to leave.”

“Why?”

“Because you don't do anything. Don't get me wrong, you're really the best player we've ever had, but you just sit there doing nothing, missing your parts and taking up a chair.”

“Well, I don't like to blow my own trumpet.”

“But you have to.”

“I don't want to.”

“Then why do you come here then?”

“I love music, it's a part of my life. I love playing the trumpet. It's like breathing. Out.”

“Yes, you're a real musician. We've never heard a better trumpeter.”

“Thanks. You're too kind, but it's really nothing.”

“But there's no point you being here if you don't play in the concerts. We need a trumpeter to play your parts.”

“But I don't like blowing my own trumpet.”

“I understand that.”

“Can I blow Tom's trumpet?”

“No, you can't. Tom blows his own trumpet. He needs his own trumpet for his parts.

“Can I play the clarinet?”

“But you're shit at the clarinet. Mary is much better than you at the clarinet.”

“I just have a problem blowing my own trumpet. Seems wrong somehow.”

“Have you taken it to a trumpet repair shop to have a look at it?”

“It's not that.”

“What is it then?”

“I think my trumpet may be haunted.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Every time I blow into it, I – I feel out of breath somehow. A strange stiffness in my joints. Especially the knuckles of my right hand. I hear voices.”

“Voices? What do they say?”

“They say 'Ooooooh, Ooooooh, Rrumpety pumpty pump.”

“Those are the noises a trumpet makes.”

“My trumpet used to belong to my great uncle Arthur, who died playing it one winter's day.”

“How did he die?”

“He got his tongue stuck. Maybe I could be the conductor?”

“That's my job. Look, I know you don't like to brag about it, but there's a time and a place where we have no choice other than to blow our own trumpet. Especially if you're a trumpet player and you're in a brass band.”

“How about the triangle?”

© Chris Young 2018

Image Credit : https://www.goodfreephotos.com