Monday, December 31, 2007

Goodbye 2007


And hello 2008.... very soon.

There's lots I'm glad to see the back of in 2007, but so much more I'm happy to have been through. Time for a reflective? Goodness no! Far too much fun in store still!

Happy New Year to you all. For those of you who have suffered, may the forthcoming year bring you happiness. For those of you who have had a great year, may 2008 be even better!

Sunday, December 30, 2007

Published at last!


"The ghost sniffer took its time..."

Back in March I did the recording for my first ever properly published work, "The Ghost Sniffer and other stories" - a collection of short ghost stories. The publisher is a small independent with fingers in many other pies, but the books arrived at last!

So now I have to market them - set up my website properly, add a shopping cart, send out promo copies and really push it. It's the start, I hope, of me getting writing properly.

Want to buy a copy?!!






Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Coming to America!


"By the time I get to Phoenix..."

The last few years my old man has bought me some pretty fantastic Christmas presents: flying a Tiger Moth, Gliding and - last year - wind tunnel flying. This year he has completely blown me away: I am going to America!

On 8th January I will be flying from Heathrow to Chicago and then on to Phoenix. Now, why (you may ask) am I going there? Because my very good friend, Nadine, lives in Glendale. We've been friends for over a year (via our writing circle. Nadine, Cathy and I are all moderators on the forum and have become firm friends over the last year. I have managed to meet up with Cathy in Ireland a couple of times (see 'A trip to Ireland' and 'oop North') but the thought of managing to meet Nadine, well ... it wasn't on the cards.

So - my husband has been liaising with Nadine over the internet and arranged that I am going to visit for a week. He has also arranged time off at work with my boss and obviously has all the bases covered for my planned absence. He also bought me the National Geographic traveler guide to Arizona... and I am SOOOOO excited!

Grand Canyon, Indian reservations, cities, desert.... so much to see and .. and.. I have no idea what we will fit in over just one week, but maybe even cross the border to California.

Now, almost everyone seemed to know about this present (my neighbours, my friends, my colleagues and, of course, my family) and Nadine (yeah, and Cathy) of course. When I opened my present and saw the tickets and book - I have to say I was speechless.

Now all I have to do is be PATIENT!.... (fat chance) and plan what to pack, what to wear, what to ... aargh! I'm going to America! I've never been outside Europe before, this is going to be soooooo cool.

What can I say? Well, I could mention what I bought Bryan for Xmas, but it's going to pale into insignificance, isn't it?

A shirt.
A board game.
A coffee maker
and
A black, bat shaped electric bouzouki.

He's drunk so much coffee he must be jizzed out his skin, and he hasn't stopped playing his new instrument. He's going to wear his shirt today and I'm sure we'll play the board game soon.

Just remains for me to say Merry Christmas to one and all. And yeah, you bet I'm going to have some new stories for my blog over the next few weeks!

Sunday, December 23, 2007

Take five minutes...


The other day I went down town to take some books to the charity store. I had meant to do a car boot one day... but ... cold mornings and too much effort.

So I parked, bought a ticket (50p for one hour) and unloaded the boxes of books into the shop and they were appreciative.

As this only took me 10 minutes, I had a good few pence worth left on my parking ticket so I wandered round town briefly. No particular aim in mind, I went up our small market town high street and looked in a few shop windows. We have one shop, a tailor, owned by Colin Creevey. I do wonder if JK Rowling ever visited our little town.

I looked in the window of the jewellers, and then turned round to face the street. I just stood. Doing nothing, thinking nothing almost. No urge to move.

Then I heard my name called, and I turned and saw a friend I had not seen for nearly four years.

If I had left town, or gone into a shop, or done anything other than stood stock still for those few moments outside the jewellers, I'd have missed her.

We walked together to the bakers, then back to her car (in a hurry, off to a fancy dress works party in Stratford Upon Avon). We spent 12 or so minutes together very companionably.

The following week I went shopping in Milton Keynes. I followed signs to the 'Park and Ride', parked the car then crossed the road and got on the bus. Only one other passenger, a tall man with a big coat (it was mighty cold) and a violin case on the seat next to him.

The bus pulled off and he turned to me and said 'Good idea this, isn't it?'. Park and ride. I agreed. We then entered into a brief conversation but in that time we discovered we were both singers. He played violin for fun, but sang in a choir.

When he told me he was a 'lay clerk' at a cathedral, it kind of fit. He had - if such a thing is possible - 'that look' about him.

It was a lovely five minute ride to the shopping centre, talking with him, and when I left the bus I had a big grin on my face. There are nice people in the world, and sometimes we are lucky enough to meet them and share a few moments with them.

I met one man for five mintues, I met an old friend for 12; those were precious moments. Each one brought a smile to my life.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Learning about EFT

Turning on the 'tap'

My weekend started on Friday evening, with the works Xmas 'do' - a great meal in a lovely hotel, plenty of drink (not too much, I was sensible) and the unusual sight of Zoe dancing on crutches. Saturday was spent quietly, doing some shopping, house stuff, things like that. Sunday, however, I went to London.

Planned for some time, this was a day I was spending completely selfishly. I went to meet Alison Munro and learn about EFT and how to do it (see Extremely Freaky..). It's taken me a few months to coordinate my diary and actually have a free day to go on her programme, so I was really pleased that she could fit me in. As it happened, it was the smallest class she'd ever taken - only two of us.

Normally classes were about 10 people, so Debbie (the other delgate) and I had some real quality one to one teaching. Alison told us about the history of EFT (in its current form it has only been around for 14 years) and how successful it is. We saw videos of wonderfully emotional Americans loving every minute... yeah, I was midly sceptical, except... except I've seen it work.

Alison showed us how to do it, the series of tapping your finger on meridian points around the hand and head, the language you use for 'set up' statements to get the messages right, and how you need to listen and adapt what you say and look for the emotional source of the issue you are tackling. It's odd, I have to say, but it does work.

Alison tapped on each of us, we tapped on each other (but we didn't tap on Alison). It can be used to help with all sorts of things from emotional pain to pyhsical pain, from habit breaking to confidence building. The best way to describe it, she said, was 'Like acupuncture, without the needles'. Folks can relate to that better than the weird meridian point and energy stuff.

Anyway, it was a good day. I enjoyed the programme immensely, found it very beneficial and it gives me a little extra weapon in my armoury for tackling self-confidence issues, nail biting (three weeks now and I've still not bitten them, since my original EFT encounter back in November) and anything else that comes along to challenge me.

Crutch? Supersition? Placebo? Does it matter? If it works - and for me it does - then rock on, I'm on side!

Standing for Tom

Last night we went to Alex's school to celebrate their achievements - lots of students came to receive their GCSE and AS and A Level certificates.

Many of them had come back from their first term at university, many from their first term of college (most of whom seemed to be at the school's own 6th form).

As well as receiving their certificates, there were also special awards for each subject in each year.

Alex had to be dragged - almost literally - to the event. "Nothing special" was his attitude. He was reluctant to shed jeans and wear trousers and a reasonably smart shirt. But we are glad we went - because he won an award for Media studies.

He got a little whoop of encouragement from classmates when he went up to collect his, a nice sign of the cameraderie in his group of friends. Many of those we saw collecting awards we knew, some since primary all those years ago.

The Head did a reasonable job of hosting; though no game show host, he did passably well. The guest speaker, a professor who is transferring all of Newton's works onto the web (some 8 million words?!), gave a slightly too long but interesting talk too.

The moment that got me though - above even watching my son receive his award - was when the kids 'stood for Tom'.

Nearly three weeks ago a young man called Tom, just 19, was killed on the rail crossing in our town. I didn't know him, but I knew people who did, and all were unanimous is their sadness at the loss of this young man.

At the celebration evening, Tom's parents attended to collect his A level certificates. What courage it took them to stand there in front of hundreds of people, every one knowing their loss. The applause was amazing - but the kids, his friends, showed us all what to do. They stood for Tom. The teachers followed, and then everyone else in the room.

Other parents that I knew were in front of us, and at one point turned to us and said 'So what's Alex going as to the party, then?' Party? What party? 'Oh,' she said. 'There's a party on Friday and the invitation says 'Fancy dress, and this means you too Alex'!

He has declared he is going as an elf. But it's a good thing she mentioned it - he had forgotten and we hand't a clue it was on. And elf! That'll be the day.

Saturday, December 08, 2007

Maybe I can!

I take class for the first time

Hey! Not many at training today, so I got to take 'warm up' and take everyone through basics. Haven't done it before... even though I'm brown belt in shotokan karate, this was the first time I'd been asked to do the session start.

So - there's 3 beginners, 4 middle and a couple of seniors plus Sensei. After warm up (which I only missed one bit out, but I improvised) I took them through basics: punching, kicks, blocks... stuff I've done for years! Oh yeah, I got it wrong! It's like the first time on stage - you know every word of the song but as soon as the microphone goes live, you dry up.

But I did OK, with a bit of prompting from Sensei, of course. Then we split the class up and I took three through some kumite (partner fighting but to a strict routine) and then kata (series of moves in a specific pattern). They did ok. One young girl (I suppose she is about 12) got quite confused, but I think in the end she managed it OK. It's remembering hand, foot, body, fist, shouder positions... all those things at once. One cheeky lad told me we were doing the kata wrong, but what had happened is he'd mixed two up. He was convinced he was right! Er, sorry mate, listen to the higher grade - for once she is right!

After a while I was transferred to the beginners. Boy, did they need help! They managed to confuse me to start, but I really enjoyed watching the slow but definite progress they made.

At the end of the class Sensei thanked me, said he liked how I teach, thinks I have a 'nice way'. Good. It was so nice to have some positive feedback on something, and something I particularly enjoy.

I like our karate class - the mix of ages and abilities works well. The previous Sunday where we just do kata, I watched 15 year old Nadeem help 50-ish year old Alan train. The respect given by young to old and old to young is based around ability, and it's fantastic to watch.

I like karate. Just don't catch me on a bad day, OK?

Thursday, December 06, 2007

Love

Oh gawd - what is she on about now?

Well, you see - I'm British. Therefore Love is a four letter word. From childhood, love was not something discussed. Certainly no hugging! Well, maybe, but I just can't remember that clearly to be honest. As a wheezy, scabby, unhealthy wraith of a child, I guess hugging me might not have been that attractive a proposition.

So, Love. But let's start with hugging: my friend Penni used to say hugging me was like 'hugging a concrete pillar'. Fun, eh? I did not know how to respond to tactile people. Never mind I have two kids, a long and happy marriage - other people touching me? Goodness! What a thought.

Now, husbands and kids notwithstanding, there's a lot of people who I know and love, but would never have dreamed of telling them - using the four letter word! It just isn't done, you know. Or ... well, that's what I thought.

But I use it with my kids - I tell them I love them, they use it with us as parents, with their friends and with granny. It's good - it's nice. I've even used it in passing conversation with one or two of my friends, daring eh?

And, I've started to hug people too - have for about the last year, and - you know what? I like it! I like human contact, being told without words that I matter, that I am acceptable, that touching me is not something to be avoided.

And, I've learned to accept and use the 'love' concept a little more broadly too. Tree hugging? No, not yet (though I believe the Silver Birch is especially grateful for such interactions), but I can now - thanks to two particular friends (you know who you are! Bint and Paddington...) - understand and share love on a different level.

I love my friends! I love them in a very different way to the way I love my husband or my kids or even my mother (well, you've got to love mothers haven't you?). But it is very rewarding.

I can't believe that at nearly half a century, I have not understood or experienced or shared this kind of friendship before.

Love is ok, isn't it? I am allowed, aren't I? Other people can love me too?

In overcoming some of my self-esteem issues, the acceptance of love is quite a big one for me. Yes, my husband loves me - it's his duty after all! Maybe people take what their partner says with a pinch of salt, because it is expected and may assume that it is not objective. It's a settled love, a comfortable love, a living love.

I have found that loving my friends has opened me up to being a more loving person altogether. I need more human touch. I need more because I want to give more.

So, have I gone weird, or am I just a latent human being? I don't know. But I did want to write it down. Because without my friends, I think I'd still be a rather isolated, cold and - as I have been told - slightly intimidating character.

Sod it. I'm just mush now... walk all over me!

Friday, November 30, 2007

Going up! and down.... and up! and down....


My new job as a lift attendant

My company often runs evening events in London for clients where my boss does her 'Michael Parkinson' impersonation and interviews a panel of experts for an invited audience. This week, she was chairing a panel at a Japanese bank, discussing the 'power and the pitfalls of mentoring'.

The conference facility where we were holding court was on the 9th floor of this grand old London edifice. The conference area was brand new, amazing wood panels and really comfy chairs!

But being on the 9th floor we had to shepherd guests (around 140) from the reception up to the conference rooms and through to our event. With colleagues stationed at various points to register, direct and socialise, it was my task to greet them in reception and get them to the 9th floor without getting lost.

I think I went up and down in the lift about ten times or more... it was fun! I texted Bryan at home "going up and down in lift. Whee." He really does wonder what I do for a job sometimes.

Once we'd got them all safely herded in (a herd of bankers.... is that the right collective noun do you think?) and they'd finished nibbling biscuits, drinking tea and orange juice, they all sat down in the main room with my boss and the four panellists on stage. It looked really cool - and apart from some odd squeaks on the PA, it went extremely well.

The four speakers were all very different, and good in their own ways, but one said his greatest mentor was his mother (yes, the audience went 'aahhh'). I liked him. Unassuming, but probably a great force for good in his world.

After the main event, it was 'networking time'. Now, I know you are probably highly envious of me - after a full day at work, driving into London, spending time going up and down in a lift and then having to network and chat to as many people as I could! But, actually, it wasn't as bad as it may seem. One lady and I had a great conversation about kick boxing, and for the first time in ages I felt comfortable and able to do this in a relaxed and easy manner. I didn't feel I was in 'my zone' but at least I didn't feel as out of place as I have done in the past.

After the event we drove back to the office - I say 'we' as there were seven of our team there and three of us went down together; Keeley driving and talking to her sat nav as if it was a person, calling it names when it made decisions she disagreed with, and calling it names when she didn't follow its directions.

I got home around 11, tired but pleased that the event had been a great success. Getting enough delegates there had been quite a marketing challenge, but we'd done it. Getting the logistics in place had been an interesting exercise too.

Either way, it had its ups and downs, as they say.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Just good friends


Seven monkeys are reunited

I may have mentioned a band I used to play in - Shave the Monkey". The band broke up in 2003 and since then we have not got together, all of us... until now. All seven of us (including Steve who left the band in 2000 and was replaced by Fran) got together round Guido's house for a meal and, it has to be said, a jolly good nostlagia trip.

We had an excellent meal after which Nicole (Guido's wife, and Ellen, Kevin's wife - both non-members) made a discreet exit. We talked of the good times, of silly things that had happened, remembering peculiar gigs and funny people we had met.

It was a relaxed and pleasant afternoon, and just for the hell of it we took some pictures afterwards to show all seven of us had been together, at the same time!

Now before anyone jumps to the conclusion that this means Shave are reforming, it was just lunch! We are just good friends!

Saturday, November 24, 2007

EFT - Extremely Freaky Therapy

Or emotional freedom therapy - to give it its proper name.

I heard a comedian the other day rant humourously about his wife being into all sorts of 'weird spirit stuff - because her real life is so shit'. Made me smile. I know lots of people who are 'into' odd things - whether it's Tarot, Angel Readings, Past Life Regression... you name it. There's lots of stuff out there and a lot of people are interested - mostly because I guess a lot of life is shit.

Take the news - murder, war, economic depression: not a lot to cheer you up there, is there? Even the 'and finally' segments seem to have disappeared, no short pieces on dogs who can play the harmonica or lost geese who travel 30,000 miles hiding in a Chrismtas hamper ... you know the sort of thing I mean. There's no 'good news'. And with religion being the source of many of the world's problems - in my perception - I can understand why some people are completley turned off by it, whilst others take great solace and comfort from it. It's not for me, for sure (me and god had an argument a long while back; we're still not talking).

So what is EFT? Emotional Freedom Technique. And why the hell am I interested? Well, not because my life is shit (though on occassions parts of it are, as with anyone), but because I am intrigued, and want to help people. (Oh my gawd I hear you say - she's going to say the Miss America 'and world peace' any moment now!). Well, put your cynicism aside - I really do want to help!

It kind of started when Sensei (Mr Deacon to those who've never seen him dressed in white and chopping a pile of roof tiles with his bare hands) did some reflexology on my foot - to help my bad shoulder. It worked! OK, so HOW does it work? No idea - and not going to go into that in depth, after all there's lots of resources on the web that will tell you loads more than I can. But - it works. Different things work for different people. This may well be the 'placebo effect' - but does it matter, if it works? You can scientifically disprove any medical effect whatsoever from homeopathic remedies, but they work (even if not for everybody).

One of our associate trainers, Kate, talked to me some while back about EFT. It was interesting, because it linked up with the pressure points we do in karate. I can see the logic there. And she also told me about 'energy medicine' - completely over my head this one! But with all those complementary therapies out there, and some working for some folks, but maybe not all, then there has to be something in it somewhere. Chakra, energy fields, auras - all a bit esoteric for me. So, I plumped for one that made most sense to me.

Also, I have seen the results of this particular therapy - EFT - on a friend. Now, wether it worked because she 'believed' or just 'needed' it to work or not I don't know - what I know is it worked. I could visibly see the difference before and after.

So, what is it? EFT is a mix of pressure point technique and NLP (NLP - neuro lingustic programming)in my view - two subjects I have an understanding of. By tapping on key points and using affirmative message construction, you help the individual you are working with to address an issue - whether it's weight loss, low self-esteem or any other emotional or even physical problem.

Is it going to work? I don't know. My first experience directly with it was yesterday. It certainly gave me pause for thought, and I am going to work on a couple of particular issues (nail biting for one - what a disgusting habit!).

My next step is to be trained in 'how to', and that I'm going to do in December. Watch this space!

Friday, November 02, 2007

What is the world coming to?


I am disconcerted by a three year old

Driving to work after going to the doctors (rotator cuff injury - painful but seemingly fast healing thankfully), I stopped at the crossing as two parents and their small three year old daughter sat in her pushchair (I say three, it was just a guess). The parents talked while below, in her chair, the daughter clutched her prized toy... a full size replica AK47!!

What is the world coming to? I have no idea! My only guess is that daddy is a soldier (we live near a barracks) and she wanted one like daddy's...

Sunday, October 28, 2007

From letches to leeches




In which I spend a week in Mallorca and spend quite a bit of time up a ladder

I had promised my daughter a trip ito Spain with her friend Laura, so we booked a few days (starting just before half term to save on air fares) to visit my mother in Mallorca.

She lives in a lovely old casa - but it is fairly primitive. No mains water (a well) and no mains sewerage (pose negro - the cess pit lies under the house) but nonetheless it is a lovely place. In the small village of Genova, in the hills above Palma, the house is a white-fronted single-storey building stuffed full of my step-father's collections - books, books and more books (plus some armour, a few old weapons and some weird and wonderful pictures and carvings).

We flew out late on a Wednesday night. The flight was fine - though Mel (nervous of flying) wasn't sitting next to me. I sat next to an artist and his wife. He showed me (briefly, we didn't really chat till near the end of the flight) some of his work. Modern, but I liked it! Check him out, I had a nice talk with him and his wife. They come from Bogotá, Colombia. I knew they were speaking Spanish, but it was very different sounding.

We arrived early Thursday morning and once the taxi had taken us to the casa, it was a case of heads down. The taxi driver told me there had been awful rains during the day (which Sally confirmed), but we were in Spain!! No fair - an English summer of rain and now...

The Thursday morning, however, the sun shone brightly, and did so all the way up until the final Wednesday. I even caught some sun! That's good for me, I don't usually do anything except go pink and peel or just stay plain white. As it is, I'm a darker shade of pasty than usual.

Thursday we did very little, spent time on the beach and just relaxed. The locals were worried that Laura and Mel would be 'frigio' in their shorts and skimpy tops, but no - this was warm for us! Mind you, their long legs nearly caused a few accidents as young men driving by looked at them instead of the stationery traffic ahead of them.

We travelled by bus, using the 'bono bus' discount cards. One trip was on a 'bendy bus' and we stood in the bend - a bit like the inside of an accordion I reckon. Though we spent a lot of time at the beach, I also helped out with some chores at the casa. I trimmed the palm tree, which means ascending via a ladder and then using shears to cut down the brown leaves and pull down the dead husks - and every one was full of that gritty black dirt that remains once the seeds or fruits (not sure what kind of palm it is) are dead and decayed. The smaller of the two palms was easer (and a variety of date, I'm sure), but even so I was showered in gritty black dust. I wore sunglasses and a hat as protection, but that didn't keep it out of my clothing (all the way down to my underwear!).

One day we went to Marineland down the coast a bit. We watched parrots do the things that parrots do not do, and seals do the things seals do not do, and dolphins do the things that dolphins do not do - in the wild. Is it right? To train these creatures, even though they are in captivity, to perform for us? I don't know. I know the centre does great rescue work on turtles and other marine life, but... it didn't sit right with me. I would not applaud the performance of a parrot 'dancing'. I saw it's clipped wings, it's eagerness to receive the food titbit as reward for its bizarre behaviour.


One day I took the girls into Palma to go shopping - yes! Watch out girls about! But, the Palma fashions were not to their taste (funnily enough it looked a bit English Country Aristocracy!) and 'It's cheaper in Primark' was the trademark comment. But we did find Alex a great jumper, and in a subsequent trip to Porto Pi (the nearest 'mall' equivalent) we did find them two nice jumpers too. Mind you, Laura left hers at the doughnut stand. We returned to Porto Pi though, and the girl on the doughnut stand produced Laura's bag and her jumper so it was worth the return trip.

We never drink the water from the taps at the casa because it comes from the well, then into a tank, then down ancient pipes into the house. "There's black bits in the water" Sally said. "Run the tap first for a bit." I ran the tap and the black bits 'wiggled'. There were leeches in the well! Only tiny ones, but even so. I went down to the shop and talked to the proprietor, Carmen. "Aminales en mi agua" I explained, and was understood. She produced a yellow bottle of stuff to throw down the well, showed me how much we needed to use.

So, well disinfected, I then had to climb on the roof and clean out the main water tank - no leeches actually in the tank, and hopefully no more now we'd put the stuff down the well. I didn't mention it to the girls.


I also painted the front lintel of the casa - back up the ladder again! 12 or 15 feet up, I was very careful to ensure the ladder was well seated, that I had a proper hook for the paint so I was stable and safe. I fixed the gutter too and trimmed the bougainvilla. I enjoyed it! Actually, it was more fun that lying on the beach, but the beach time was what the girls wanted. They did paint the well though. And the beach time did give me time to write - every day I did a 'diary' (far too long for the blog) so I have a record of the week.

We ate at Can Pedro's, a nice restaurant with traditional Mallorcan food. The first night we ate at Pedro I and the waiter added an extra drink and a non-existent dish to our bill which I challenged! Immediately rectified (and not reassuring at all, this had always been such a good restaurant). The second time we at at Pedro II (a second restaurant in the same time with the same owner) and this was much better. The girls looked great and turned heads yet again. Only 13 and looking (according to a 30 year old chap on the beach) "21, like Cameron Diaz". Very flattering, but maybe just a little scary too. The girls don't realise just how adult they look, how they may be mistaken for older girlst. I worry, but what can you do? Just watch, warn, and hope.

So, by the end of the week I had a tan, an understanding of how to kill well leeches, a paint-covered tee shirt and a throbbing finger where it was stabbed by the prickle from a palm leaf. The flight back was easy, the three of us sitting together this time. The man in the seats (he was alone in the row) had his headphones on and the 'chingkachingka' sound was starting to drive me crazy, but we got home in good time.

The jasmine smelled good at the casa, the sun was warm, and the sea (though I did not go in) a welcome sound. It was good to see my mother, to watch the girls playing bat and ball on the beach and to practice my awful Spanish, but it was good to get home - to Bryan, Alex, and hot and cold running (leech-free) water.

Sunday, October 07, 2007

Lunch is served!


We meet Stewkey, the singing greyhound

Our friends Sam and Charlie (the former is female) invited us round for a roast lamb lunch. Sounded good, though Bryan insisted on salad (and his diet is going very well thank you) with his. Though a little crowded round the table, their two dogs - Ted the Terrier and Stewkey the Greyhound - sat patiently on the sofa behind us as we ate. Stewkey could smell the meat and his jowels quivered at the succulent aroma.

We were served wine with a strawberry in each glass (class or what!) and enjoyed a meal with good chat, good company and good food. Stewkey and Ted are a matching pair - how can a greyhound and something a litle like a Jack Russell be a pair? Their coats are the same, white with mottled brown and black. So one looks like a 'mini-me' of the other. But Stewkey regaled us with a hitherto unknown talent - he could sing!

"Come on Stewkey" said Sam, and he sang. He put his slender snout into the air and howled most musically. Ted, on the other hand, could do nothing but yap - a poor comparison.

After lunch we were given a demonstration of the Wii - an electronic gaming console that was quite fun. Bryan tried tennis and golf and I tried the boxing game. It didn't react fast enough for me (I guess all that karate has given me a decent speed punch) but it was fun. Dominic, their hyperactive son, was of course the expert.

Return to Rougham



In which I meet a man with a horse and play with my husband

Previous posts describe some of my past gigs at Rougham airfield - that little patch of England that is fighting off the compulsory purchase orders from the Council through the relentless efforts of the land-owner.

By running public events on the airfield, which was one of the many small airfields used by US troops during World War II, the Council can not purchase the land and build houses all over it. It would be a shame to lose this small airfield, and the events that it plays host to are many and varied. I have stood on that field and watched WWII planes fly over the heads of medieval knights doing battle.

We have played to pirates and knights, strippers and goats ... so a return to Rougham would, of course, provide fodder for my blog.

The gig was, as per usual, to entertain the stall holders and entertainers from the day. This event was 'Ploughs to Propellers' so the day had included airplanes, model airplanes and - of course - the medieveal re-enactment group, Swords of Chivalry. This was also the first gig that Bryan and I had played together for months and months. Now we play in our own separate bands, we very rarely play together. So - were we well rehearsed? Goodness no! We didn't need it - Penni and Bryan play together often enough and Baz and I just do our thing behind them. Ah - musically that is!

Bryan and I drove onto the airfield in the dark and we could see the shadow of tanks (yes, tanks - which are niether ploughs nor propellors, but then again nor are medieval knights). We arrived at the tent and set up on the small stage, Baz on drums in the middle, me on Baz's left, Bryan far right and Penni sort of in the middle.

The bar in the tent had real ale and ... delight! ... real cider. Only the one and at 7% it was powerful stuff, but tasty (not too bitter like some high alcohol content ciders). Once we had set up we started to play - our usual mix of folk and Penni's own material. I played my wonderful stand up bass all evening and had a terrific time. Playing, singing backing vocals, sparking off Baz and Bryan we we picked different rhythms and accents - as naturally as if we had been well rehearsed. The audience (which were on side) had a ball too.

We played from 8 till about 11 but didn't have time to eat. Some kind soul brought us a plate with two sausage rolls, four jam tarts and about six fruit scones. Alys (Penni's daughter) took one sausage roll to Bryan, whilst I scoffed some scones (did Penni eat any? No idea). The second sausage roll was consumed by Baz - by playing the bass percussively with one hand I managed to feed him the sausage roll with the other - so neither of us stopped playing whilst we ate. Live on stage! Feed the drummer...

Tall Tom (I guess he's about six foot six) was wearing a long black 'Sherlock Holmes' type coat, black leather trousers and a black teeshirt with little silver wings printed on the back. He is a good looking fella (and knows it) but always a laugh. He's one of the knights, and alon with the others they are people I have got to know over the last couple of years. It's a bit different since Penni left her partner who is one of the group, but all friendly.

In one of our brief intervals Tall Tom and I switched coats - my long leather coat looked too good on him, and I looked like a waif in his (it weighed a ton too). In our first interval a good Suffolk chap came and said he liked our 'pop music' though it wasn't usually his thing. He told me he had brought his shire horse for the ploughing, with his home-made harrow that he'd fashioned from chains. His shire horse is black with three white legs. He'd bought him to ride originally. I tried to imagine this portly, flat-capped man on the horse. He was wearing an old coat, a dirty jumper and I notied his nails were short and his hands blackened through work (probably handling the acoutrements that go with ploughing I guess). He talked in a broad Suffolk accent and obviously loved his horse, describing the old boy's excitement (the horse is 25) at the event.

Old Tom (as opposed to Tall Tom) is another Suffolk lad and a regular at the events, marshalling. He's very shy, very quiet, but a lovely man. He greeted me with a kiss on the cheek which I took as a great compliment. The last time I saw him Penni told me that I was honoured that he talked to me - he's that shy and reticent.

The landowner and host of the event (John) was there too - it was good to see him again. I'd missed visiting the shows this summer (though every event up till then had been rained upon heavily) and consequently missed the medieval crew, John and the general madness that these events engender.

Not quite as crazy as some events we've played at - but I did wonder why those dressed as SS Officers and German Tank Crew had not changed out of their costumes, and why one woman was dressed as a cowgirl (including six shooter at her hip).

The best bit was the playing (though the cider was good - did I mention the cider?!) - the natural ease with which we play together is so enjoyable. I love playing with Baz, and such a nice change to play with Bryan (and Penni) too. I enjoyed my return to Rougham. Would be good to play there again next year.

Friday, October 05, 2007

A visit to the Clothmakers


In which I meet a man without a finger and am gifted a teasel

I joined the 'Telegraph Business Club' - a simple on-line business networking group. One day they sent me an invitation to a seminar on 'building your brand' and I thought, hey - that sounds good. So I booked.

It started at 8.15 am in London at the Clothmakers Hall, and that meant a 5.30am rise for me. Ohhh... I don't do 'early' (or 'late') that well. But hey ho, I caught the 6.23 train to Kings Cross and made it to Aldwych in good time. The London rush hour - what fun!

A bit of early networking was engaged upon, but what interested me was the building. The Clothworkers Hall... this was the 6th one! Due to many a disaster (the last being the 2nd world war) the buildings had been demolished or changed until here we stood in building number six. The place looked authentic - lots of wood panelling, a wonderful plaster ceiling, and some interesting historical momentoes in glass cases in the atrium. I saw the melted remains of a champagne bottle from the 5th hall, bombed in the 1940s, and an indenture form from the 18th Century of some young man apprenticed to the trade. The old guilds survive, in their fashion, and its always an interesting slice of history when we get to visit such places.

The seminar itself was great, the speaker from a major computing company the most interesting in my opinion. One part of the seminar was a case study, and as a table we discussed options on how to promote a web business. The opinion on the table was that the proposition wasn't really a flyer, but we still had some good ideas to share. Each table (about 15, plus chairs at the back - a packed house) had a spokesman to deliver their prognosis: ours was a young man called Damien, an Australian. I noticed, as he talked, that he only had three fingers on his left hand. I wondered what story lay behind that.

On the way out (having eaten lunch and done some appropriate networking), I stopped and said to the concierge how I had enjoyed visiting the hall. He handed me a teasel head - the prickly seed head of a common british weed I suppose. But in the display cabinets I had seen the teasels bound together to form a brush, an original way of 'teasing' the cloth to give it 'fluff'. I don't know the technicalities - but now I have my own teasel head to remember this visit by.

Sunday, September 30, 2007

Great Aunty Betty

Betsy Sheppard (C) Please do not copy without permission
We take the briefest sojourn into my extensive family history

Great, isn't she? That's 'Betsy Sheppard' - no, I never actually knew her (and can't quite work out where she fits in the family tree either) but wow, what a picture!

I have a very interesting family tree - and I also have two humungous leather bound tomes that contain the family history right back to Charlemagne I think (yep, I'm a Norman!). I really should spend some time looking at it and interpreting some of the hand-written stories that Elizabeth Sheppard (no, not Bestsy, this one was around 1873 I think - must go check!) had so carefully written.

The books are amazing - about 20" high, 10" wide and 3" deep and they contain Sheppard Family History, Coxe Family History and links to Royalty, Scallywags (no doubt) and Chamberlaynes. They are also loaded with amazing pictures; photographs and watercolours. Great Grandfather was a good watercolourist and I have many of his paintings framed and on our walls. In the Histories are pictures of the Old Mill at Bathwick, Marlborough Gardens in Bath, and our original 'family seat', Gatcombe Park.

One of my most prized posessions though is his sketchbook - full of little pictures depicting Georgian life; parlour games, visits to the countryside, parties... all intimate and sometimes scribled out or amended. Real. A wonderful insight into a history that now seems so remote. But, with these pictures in my hands, and items from the sketches (such as a silver samovar) still residing in my house, it's a tangible history.

Shiny awards, stimulating conversation

Thames Barges at Maldon (C)Please do not copy without permission
In which we get to dress up and meet a Norfolk Pirate

On the 27th September I had a date - a date with Jeremy. He was dressed up to the nines, dinner suit, bow tie, cummerbund - well smart. I had to dress up too (but I wore a dress, don't have a dinner suit). We were off to an Awards Ceremony. Yes, genuine deal - stage, celebrity presenter (the athlete Colin Jackson) and bits of shiny steel to be presented to those lucky enough to have qualified for the National Training Awards.

I'm 'back office' - so how come it was me with Jeremy (award winning trainer!) at the awards? Denise (the client) and I that spent hours collating information and putting together the entry for the award. So it was only fair that we went to the award ceremony (Denise brought her team, her husband and a delegate from the course too - from a primary school in Essex).

Jeremy took me home from work and changed at our house; "you both look gorgeous" Melody said as she took a photo of us in the kitched. "Straight on" I said to Jeremy, directing him to the Guildhall in Cambridge. And he turned left. EH??!!! We went round the roundabout and back again. We arrived at the Guildhall and made conversation ("I hate networking" Jeremy said, but I made him do it anyway). I talked to a young man from Essex, an electrical engineer. He was there purely as partner to one of the award nominees. A nice lad, very excited that his partner was four months pregnant. We talked about cycling and fibre optic cable production techniques. Our colleagues from the client that we partnered for the award arrived, so we had 'friends' in the crowd who we were sharing a table with.

We won a Regional Award which is pretty special in our business, so we were very pleased. The PR game now begins! We can put on our headed paper that we're winners, so its a really good endorsement of our company. Yeah, I know we're good, now I can put something in our marketing materials that says other people know we are good too!

It takes something to get me into a dress, but it was worth it. We had a superb meal and went through all the 'pre announcement nerves' as anticipated (but no bursting into tears or anything so melodramatic). It was a good evening, Jeremy and the clients with whom we partnered to win the award, were good company too. We texted our colleagues and many replied to wish us congratulations (hey, they won it too) but our boss phoned from Morocco to say well done. Cool.

That was the Thursday. On Saturday Shani, Nickie and I went out to dinner with another colleague (also a trainer like Jeremy), Sue. She lives in Maldon, on the Blackwater Estuary in Essex. Well, as Shani an Nic have been known to be a little late on occasion, and this was a long journey, I scheduled in plenty of time. We arrived early and went down to the quay to while away some time before arriving at our host's. It was Regatta Day - the quay was littered with huge Thames Barges (I don't know, maybe they are always there?) and we looked over the estuary as the sun went down amidst a clutter of masts. Amazing things - many over 100 years old - huge, broad and shallow drafted. We walked slowly along the quay away from the hubbub of the Regatta. Two men walked behind us. We stopped, turned to photograph the sun behind the church. One of the men stopped too. "Well, come on then, if you want to take a photo of me!" So we did, in good humour, and exchanged a few words. He spoke with a Norfolk accent but, for some reason, in the manner of a pirate! Aharrr me hearties... we wuz by the sea after all.

We spent an extremely pleasant evening with Sue, enjoying good food, good company and many interesting subjects of conversation. We talked of politics, religion, the world, music, people... not about work at all. Shani and I sang some songs too, relaxed, quiet, pleasant. Sue sang along whilst Nickie tried to stay awake (two LARGE whiskies...) and Shani and I enjoyed an impromptu practice.

The journey home was long, late but pleasant. Again interesting conversation - kept me awake too. We also started singing a bit, which caused Nickie (in the back) to hunker down and wish she was actually asleep.

Home at 2.30am. A long night, but well worth it. Tall masts, stimulating conversation, Essex sunset, and a good long run in my new car.

PS: I will get some pictures on these posts soon!

Saturday, September 22, 2007

To the gentle sound of Formula One...

The courtyard outside the training room
In which 'the team' plays away from home and we sing 'Fiddler on the Roof' (badly)

My employers arrange an annual 'away weekend' which focuses on company strategy, some training and - importantly - some quality 'bonding' time (bonding, not bondage! OK?).

This year we travelled to a massive hotel and conference facility complex near to Silverstone race track - the hotel had displays of really fascinating things like... photos of racing drivers and (yaaaawwwnnnn...) well, I forget what else.

Our first event of the day (having negotiated traffic to the accompaniment of Israeli rock music on the CD player and enjoyed a welcome bacon sandwich) was a training 'demonstration' by two actors. They do a 'scene' and then welcome feedback from the audience - for example they do a difficult appraisal, and one of the two 'characters' will ask for feedback on what should happen next or what was wrong/right in the action. This is called forum theatre and does not involve role play by the audience - a factor which puts many people off participating in any kind of training like this. But, I have to say, it was extremely successful and generated lively debate. The 'late appearance' of two of the team was due to a Sat Nav... (hate the things! Maps and a brain is all you need!). "Not the sat nav," my colleague said.... "my fat fingers typing in the wrong postcode!".

The noise from the racetrack was audible when we opened the windows in the hot training room. "Can we shut that noise up?" the boss asked. No - it's Silverstone Race Track. Usually she gets her own way, but this once she conceded that perhaps sending someone out to ask them to be quiet may be a lost cause.

After lunch we had a session on communication followed by planning for the future through time-lining. At the end of this each department had to present on their areas and periods (in other words, Marketing had to do three presentations, on the last quarter of this year, 2008 and 2009). With my newly acquired colleague, Lucy, we'd done lots of work and had all sorts of plans in place, but it made sense for mem to present. Had to be short, sharp and meaningful. I have absolutely no idea why I did it - but I presented the first and last sections in rhyme! Poor Lucy - she'd only met me once at a lunch, and now she had spent an afternoon with me and the team and I'd 'rapped up' marketing in a rather unusual fashion. We packed up pretty promptly so folks could enjoy the spa and swimming pool and generally chill before supper. I managed to do none of that - I had a nice bath and sat and played guitar quietly in my room.

We had a brief champagne reception with the bosses, then down to supper where we had the usual 'three around three' (which is not only the name of a traditional UK folk dance, but also how we shift ourselves round in between each course so that you get to sit next to different people and 'mix'. It works very well - with us - because of the kind of team we are. I had some interesting conversations and some nice food. Then (after copious amounts of wine had been consumed and I have to say, for a change, not by me!) it was suggested that Shani and I fetch our instruments. Let the fun and games commence!

Shani and I do not play standards, we play our own brand of acoustic rock/folk/indie schmindie heaven knows what! But, at a gathering like this - they want sing-a-long. We started with one of our own songs to 'wake up' the audience and then we went full tilt into .... well, into a melee. As the wine consumption increased, so did the audience participation. This was no way a 'performance' by us - it was a 'facilitation'. We 'facilitated' the performance of some interesting vocal duets including 'American Pie' and 'Summer Loving' (very noisy, enthusiastic and almost unbelivably hysterical) and some interesting solos too. Shani and I just played along with whatever was requested to the best of our ability (including Hava Nagila, which I could play, amazingly, having not even sung it for over 30 years). I have to say, though, the highlight was a version of 'I am the Music Man' which included impersonations of staff members. Highly non-PC, but extremely funny. One thing I did notice was Lucy's face - she's not even started with the company officially yet - and she's been 'baptised by fire' (or by whatever means you can use to describe our extreme story telling/song singing/camerarderie based culture).

As we played we realised that we desperately needed a different song book - the few songs we could play along with (The Boxer, Toucha-Toucha-Touch Me, and some other highly non-memorable stuff) we realised that what we needed was not fully within our grasp - a book of show stoppers and musical hits... yes, not what we intend to do with our musical careers, but for occasions like this, certainly what we need.

As the singing degenerated (my audience split into two part harmonies failed miserably) we packed up at 11 and left the room - and drifting from the room we had departed came three part harmonies of Mustang Sally!

That was about it for me - some folks had gone off to play cards, and some went to bed early whilst some stayed up till 3 am drinking! (no way, with training in the morning!?) The morning session featured a culture audit - and one thing is evident, our people like each other. The anaysis was an interesting exercise and the expected different perspectives from different groups within the organisation emerged, but overall the feeling is still that the company I work for has a strong supportive culture.

The next few months are going to be very interesting for Lucy and I. Lots of changes ahead, lots to achieve, and lots and lots of fun. But I promise, no more rhyming presentations!

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Return to Lloyds

The Lutine Bell at Lloyds
Or, 'at least this time I didn't look like an overweight Pocahontas though I did see the 1907 Loss Book...'

The reason I visited Lloyds before (see Fish out of Water) was in preparation for an event - an event which took place last night. Our MD speaks at these high falutin' events for women's development (the whole idea is we get names for our database, of course!) and I have to say it was a terrific success.

My previous observations on the Lloyds building were not that complimentary, but - I have to say - the place grew on me. We were in the Old Library downstairs - oak panels, carvings, and a most severe looking Founder of Lloyds peering at us from the alcove, in his preserved, oil-painted state. We had around 100 young women (and three men too) from the Insurance industry ready to listen to the 'great and the good'. The content was pitched just right for the audience and my boss made a superb interview/host/facilitator. And how she handled the support staff too (yes, there were a few problems of course!) was admirable.

But me - I'd set the whole thing up and I must confess I'd missed a trick or two. Drinks on arrival? For some reason I had it firmly in my head we'd decided against it. So when my boss asked for welcoming drinks, I said no, we hand't arranged it. But, after three askings (and she used my colleague to ask me - perhaps my unusual stubborness was more than a little out of character so I wasn't in a very receptive mood) I thought 'well, it's what she wants, it makes sense, do it!'. And I got the drinks sorted (just in time) and the guests were happy and tra la laa... it all went swimmingly.

Mind you - not completely. PA. Dread PA. 'Dave' tested everything for me first off - four lapel mics, three hand-helds. Four clip ons for the panel, hand held for the host (my boss) and two for questions from the floor. All worked fine. Comes to wiring up the panel and zero, zilch! One of the lapel mics went on strike. "I always do this" the speaker said. Aha! One of those people who carry their own electrical field round, specifically to flummox sound engineers and hapless marketing managers who think they can handle these things! One speaker used a hand-held.

My boss was instructed exactly how far to hold the mic from her mouth - 'boob height' she said, tucking her arm neatly below one side and maintaining perfect distance for optimum sound. However, as soon as she was up and talking (with a room full of people), that went out the window. She held the mic right near her mouth - and subsequently her volume was somewhat more prominent than the rest of the panel. Oh well!

After the discussion (great stuff about women being successful in insurance - it is possible!) there was the 'networking' bit. Now, in a room full of women from banking and finance, I have one major disadvantage. I know sod all about banking and finance! But hey ho - I was there to work, not to enjoy myself. I met one lady from a Middle Eastern bank and we chatted for quite a while. "Shame we can't see the trading floor..." she mentioned, as we talked with one of the Lloyds hosts.

Well, you got it! She and I got a sneak visit (no way they could take all the rest of the visitors up two flights of escalators and un-guided into the trading area). We saw the Lutine Bell, the Loss book for 2007 (they still write in it using quill and ink!) and the Loss book for 1907. They always have the book from 100 years ago next to the current year. They'd had an open day the previous afternoon and had the Titanic Register out (but that was locked back in some vault somewhere).

That's when I thought actually, this building ain't so bad. Despite looking like tin cans from the outside, the high interior and the open plan trading floor was actually quite restful. During the day a hive of activity, I'm sure, but despite the lights (everywhere - can you imagine trying to balance the environment in a building like that with a varying populace of anything form 600 to 2,000 people inside at any one time?) it was a welcoming, comfortable place of work.

I like these insights into places you may not ordinarily see. I like to see them when they are resting, as well as when they are busy. I liked talking to the catering manager (who had worked there for 13 years) and hearing about the Adam Room and the history (which he knew intimately) of the buildings. I enjoyed meeting different people, though I had virtually nothing in common with any of them other than our presence at this event.

The journey home (arrived by train) was with a colleague. She talked, I listened; I talked, she listened. We are very different people but we work well together. We have very different lives, but an understanding. At half past ten in the evening I got home. Tired, not exactly happy (why had I been so bloody stubborn about the drinks at the start of the evening?), but certainly pleased with the outcome of the event.

Next? Well, I probably won't be running the next event. My new 'Buzz Lightyear' colleague will be responsible(she's Buzz, I'm Woody). I will miss the visits to unusual places (for me) and meeting some intersting people, but not the hassle of - no matter how hard I try - never ever quite getting it right for my boss.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

The most unusual birthday present

In which I do not take up the habit....

One of my cyber friends is an ex-nun (and an ex-microbiologist too). But that's not why I thought of this... no. My two best friends on the internet are an ex-nun from America and an Irish Catholic (sort of links in with the 'habit' byline, eh?). Both of them smoke.

I, myself, personally that is, do not smoke. In fact, as my friends (cyber and non-cyber) will tell you, I do everything I can to persuade others not to smoke. And I stoop to baser tricks too - such as stealing lighters, squashing roll-ups, hiding tobacco and ensuring that any smoker who dares enter the portals of my house is sent firmly into the garden when they wish to light up.

Do I sound a bit extreme? Well, maybe.

So ... can you imagine my surprise when a 'friend' (ahem, someone not too far away, from a small island very close to England) sends me for my birthday the most wonderful sea wind chime (driftwood and shells) and ... a pack of 20 fags?!

I am told that they were bought at the same time as my delightful present and sent to me in error. I, however, believe that her inner self is succumbing to my persistent nagging to give up the wicked weed.

Unfortunately, being soft in the head, I am posting them back to her. But I just might include a set of 'How to Quit' guides that you can get free in the local chemist...

Monday, August 27, 2007

The Duck who Couldn't Quack

...and the skinny cow

Where we stayed in France the owner had some fowl: a goose, a duck and several chickens (plus one very self-important cockerel). The duck had been hatched by the goose, so consequently he thought he was a goose. Geese honk, ducks quack. This fellow (a muscovy, for the aficionados) tried very hard to emulate his 'mother' and, being a duck, achieved not a honk, nor a quack, but a 'hhhrrgggssss'. A duck who couldn't quack.

As we drove through the countryside admiring the 'spotty cows' (no, apart from Freisians and Charolet, I cannot identify the bovine of the world), one very, very thin Freisan caught my daughter's eye. "Look how skinny that cow is." she said. I explained, of course. "Probably one that gives low fat milk." And for a change, my children actually laughed.

Sunday, August 19, 2007

Vive la France! They had more sun than the UK...


In which we invent 'The Flying Taboulés' and I see a rare African visitor.

Our summer hols this year were a week in a Gite in Brittany. A lovely part of France with fantastic scenery and the most amazing beaches too. We took the ferry to Saint Malo - overnight. Sounds like a good idea, eh? Spending travelling time asleep? Well... it would have been... if we'd had a cabin or even been sleeping under the stairs.. but: we had booked reclining seats and I sat next to a man who could snore not just for England, but for Europe! Consequently I spent the night prowling the decks and not sleeping. Tempted as I was to murder this stranger, I managed to control myself. Observing those sleeping was, however, mildly entertaining. You don't often get a chance to look at other people asleep (unless you are really weird), but as I walked round the decks of the ship I saw people draped, sprawled and collapsed in a variety of positions. It was almost as if I was the lone Starship Captain who had beamed down onto the deck of some distant outpost to discover what had happened - and there were the victims of some unknown, alien attack - lying haphazard around the ship.

Meanwhile the family struggled on in the snore-zone - Bryan playing on his phone (emails and texts, listening to music, anything to drown out the snoring) and Melody (once I'd wrapped her in my coat to keep her warm), snoozing gently. Alex slept for some time, but the snoring (though not as close to him) definitely didn't give anyone in the family a good night's sleep.

As we approached France in the grey light of dawn, the hiss of the ship's air conditioning almost the only sound apart from the rustle and groan of shifting sleepers, the skies started to clear and there was a hint of sunshine promise in the air. We had booked a small 'gite' (a French farmhouse style accommodation) and would be in reach of both the sea and the countryside. The sun would be a welcome accompaniment to our week.

Alex and I went early to breakfast then he left me to find his dad and sister. As I sat at the table contemplating a week in the sun (sometimes I do have a stubborn streak of optimism) a woman said to me 'can I sit here?' indicating space at the table. Of course, I said. She had an interesting face, pinched but characterful, and she had quite a story to tell too. Not shy in speaking, as my demeanour had indicated friendliness I guess (despite being sleepless), she then told my why she hoped this holiday was a good one: how she'd had a dreadful time in Devon, the hotel had not had the facilities promised, how badly she'd been treated in Disneyland and embarassed by being told she was obese (to look at her I would have said that was extremely unlikely) and how she was publicly made to be weighed. Does this sound odd? Well, I've never been on holiday with someone in a wheelchair, and her experiences sounded quite awful - discrimination against disability and a seeming disregard for the person. She also told mem about her children, and how she had been 'blamed' for her son's deafness and apnoea; blamed because she was disabled. She talked of the incompetency of the doctors, and how hotels refused to let one person in a wheelchair in with two children (only one child allowed if you are disabled). All in all it was quite a sad story, and I hoped indeed for her and her children that the holiday was a good one. That I didn't say much wasn't at issue, she needed someone to listen and I did - but in that brief encounter I was only given her perspective and experiences as a disabled person and struggling disabled parent; I should have liked to know more about her, a bit more of the person than just the disability, but in a half hour conversation at 6.30 am on a Ferry in the English Channel, you don't expect to get to 'know' someone.

Once we docked we were far too early to go to our accommodation, so we headed out along to the coast to investigate the beaches. The first we found, St Lunaire, was a lovely (still asleep) picturesque little harbour, but as we sat the clouds descended and we were shrouded in mist. We moseyed further along the coast and, on studying the map, I directed us to Pont De Chevet, a nature reserve. It was a beautiful spot - sticking out into the sea (I wish I knew my coastal geography terms!), and the tide was on its way out. We wandered round and the sun crept out to greet us. I picked up stones and shells that caught my eye, the children walked and ran in the sand, and we walked along enjoying the fresh sea air tang.

I looked out to the sandy flats, greasy and grey, shiny and slippery as the sea retreated and the mud/sand mix revealed its delectations for the gulls and ... and what were those three white birds out there? Too big for gulls, too white for avocet or oystercatcher, too short for spoonbills (and indeed I hadn't a clue if they would ever come near here) - and they moved and looked very like white herons. If only I'd brought my binoculars, if only I could get further out on to the sand/mud to see... but not a chance. They looked liked egrets. Egrets - an African bird - that sometimes came to southern Europe, but surely not northern France?

We headed inland, through the city of Dinan, and to a supermarket where we stocked up on cider, wine, oh - and some food too.

Eventually we headed on to our Gite, in advance of 'admittance' time, but we met our hostess (Caroline) and she kindly said she'd get our gite ready next so we could come and sort our tired selves out sooner rather than later. We left our shopping and headed back out to inspect the port of Dinan.

This beatiful medieval town is, like many walled cities of the era, high on a hill with the river below. The small port was lined with wonderful buildings and plenty of places to eat. There were cruise boats for the tourists, and small boats you could hire, and fish in the water.

We ended up back at the gite and chilled - as was the pattern for each evening from then on - with a film on our laptop and a leisurely supper, interspersed with some bouncing on the trampoline (children, not adults) and table tennis in the large barn set in the grounds of this formidable farmhouse which had four gites attached. When it came to trampolines, our bed was pretty bouncy, which did not bode well for Bryan's back, unfortunately. Our room upstairs led through to the children's room so in effect we were all more or less in together - I do hope I didn't snore!

Caroline, who ran the gites, was an interesting person to talk to. We had a chance to chat on a couple of occassions (she brought me out her bird book and enabled me to confirm that my sighting had been, indeed, yes! egrets!), and she talked of farming in the region and the difficulties they had, much the same as in England. Though on the whole the farms are smaller than in the UK (her boyfriend owned a typical 100 acres, her uncle in the UK a typical 2000), and how the suicide rate was highest in the farming community. She had that ease of manner that is essential in a good accommodation host - she made you feel relaxed and welcome, and as if you had known her for a long time. We had some brief, but interesting conversations - not just the perhaps more usual trite 'pretty here, ain't it' stuff.

The following days we visited various beaches along the coast and spent some time in Dinan - from the old port there was a fantastic cobbled uphill road that led through a gate in the old city wall into the medieval town proper. The cobbles were great on dry days, but on one of the wet days (Mr Sunshine decided to play 'hide and seek' with us most of the week) it was a veritable death trap. At one point I slipped and Bryan tried to grab me to stop me from falling, but it sure felt like he pushed me! He promises he didn't, and I remained upright, so I guess it wasn't a murder attempt after all.

One evening Alex and I played table tennis. He always throws to my left when we play catch or he passes me a ball in cricket, because I catch better with my left hand (though I am, ostensibly, right handed). I tried, this time, to play table tennis with my left hand and I was equally as bad left handed as I was right. Playing left handed was hardly any different to me. Most odd.

One afternoon we visited some megaliths at Plesin-Trigavou - the whole of Britannity is littered with megaliths and menhirs, ancient stones from prehistoric times. These were a large 'bunch of stones' in a strange disarray. But the information board said they were white quartz, and down low (beneath the lichen and the thousands of years of weathering) you could see some white still. Imagine - 65 huge stones - when they were 'new' - bright white in the field or amongst the trees: how spectacular they must have looked.

We went to one particular beach more often than the others, called Port Chatenet. It was mostly desserted, and when the tide was out the boats lay on their sides or propped by poles and you could have walked a mile to get your feet wet. The smell was sometimes rather 'ripe', but it was very peaceful, and a nice little suntrap (one day we were there when it rained, the sun still seemed to shine on us). One day we visited brought a cacophony of sound - like a hundred ghostly tinkers hammering on tin; it was the slap of the ropes against the hollow masts, rattling and banging in the wind.

This is how we spent most of our days - beach, town, gite, relax. But on Thursday we headed 80 miles across to the west to Normandy, to visit our friend Fran. She and her family have a house there which we had long promised to visit: this time we were all in France at the same time so we made the effort to trek through the pouring rain (it bucketed down) and found their house in the quiet town of St Frimbault. Wednesday was Assumption Day - or the feast of assumption (I'm not good at Catholic stuff, so apologies if I get this wrong) and the country had a bank holiday (or were very kindly celebrating Alex's 16th birthday with us). They had a festival in St Frimbault on the Wednesday and Fran had translated for the English speakers - walking round the town with two radio DJs and entertaining the many visitors. We went the day after - and the town was 'relaxing' after its frenetic celebration. There were hardly any people around and the town was littered with half deconstructed stages and stalls.

Chris, Fran, Bryan and I left the children (Alex and Melody, plus Fran and Chris' Ben and Georgina) to mooch round the house. Their house was a combination of two cottages knocked together and had a lot of 'French Charm' - both in its contents (they had acquired most of the furniture from local auctions) and layout. The adults (plus one small dog called Raven) went for a walk round the local lake. Chris and I talked most of the way - though I've known him for around 8 years, this was probably the most I had talked with him and the most relaxed I had ever known him. Fran used to play in the band with us, but Chris I never knew quite so well. He talked of his job, of choices to be made, and the history of the lake and the danger of buying fish 'off some bloke in the pub' (and the consequent disaster diseased fish can cause). Whilst we walked the sun shone brightly, brilliantly, and it even stayed with us whilst we drank a cider or two. On returning to the house (for lunch) the skies darkened once again.

Bread, salmon, ham, cheese, grated carrot and taboulé (cous cous) were laid out and a 'free for all' ensued. Unfortunately for me, as I grabbed the taboulé packet it's sides caved in and the table received the gift of plentiful cous cous upon its shiny surface. I just scooped it up with my hands and threw it on my plate. Oh well! They all laughed (at me, of course!). "Flying taboulé" someone quipped, and we decided that 'The Flying Taboulés' would be a great name for a band. Yes, I had a few glasses of wine to chase the cider, I admit it! But not enough to start throwing food around wantonly, I swear the sides of the packet collapsed, honest!

We stayed a few hours, enjoying a small further blessed dose of sun in their garden, and then headed home. Friday - the last day - seemed to have arrived all too quickly.

The towns we visited and drove through were varied - some of the churches were dark and steepled, some had heavy slate rooves in an almost Strassbourgian style, others were square and brick-like, many mock-gothic. Every town had a church at its centre (one town we passed had an odd tower that was detatched from the main church, as if they'd had an argument and the tower was being stand-offish). The buildings were made of stone, most probably taken from the huge rockys in the cliffs around the coast, and apart from the ancient half-timbered affairs in places like Dinan, were uniformly grey/taupe and quite 'quaint'. We passed one or two magnificent buildings that were mini chateaux (and some real Chateaux too, but no chance to stop and visit) but on the whole there was a lovely relaxed feeling about the way the towns lay straggled along the roads, conjoined by farms and bisected by motorways.

Friday was our longest trek out - for a very special occassion. Thanks to Caroline, we had booked riding on the beach for Melody at a small beach near St Briuc. We drove there through familiar grey skies, but once we had dropped her off at the stables (and ourselves wandered down on to the beach itself) the sun appeared once again and shone brightly for the last of the evening. She had a wonderful time, starting with a hack through the woods, then cantering on the beach in a group. I'm sure the fact that she was accompanied by a very nice young French soldier (Nicholas) who spoke English, helped tremendously too. He wore a riding helmet with ears ... spotty ears, and his camouflage jacket. Whilst Melody rode, we walked the beach and I found more stones (a really pretty pink and black one too) and enjoyed the casual atmosphere of our last day in France. When we picked Mel up from the stables, the young soldier (the son of the stable owner) took us up to feed the foals - one of whom was very friendly indeed for a 3 month old. They were beautifully cared for and a joy to watch as they ran for their feed bucket and Tango, the friendly one, was quite happy to have his silky, sleek neck rubbed.

The ferry journey home on Saturday morning was long and very boring. This time we had a cabin, but the trip was extremely tiresome. Melody and I watched some of the entertainment, including the most bored looking duo I have ever seen. No doubt fine musicians, but entertainment quality was - er - well, missing. There was a very good magician, and later on a 'show' featuring badly re-written Disney songs and a ludicrous plot. But hey ho - the kids enjoyed it I'm sure. The best part was when they went off script, ably assisted by a young man who's carers really should have stayed with him and kept him off the stage at crucial moments.

We arrived in England to rain. And drove the long and weary road home, in the rain. And woke up today - Sunday - to rain. All week it rained here in England, so we were lucky with our weather. Every time we went out, the sun appeared for us, even briefly, and I actually caught enough to have been slightly burned (as per usual, red/peel - no brown in between).

A good holiday. But now it's back to 'reality', to a lot of washing and ironing, and back to work....

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

A quick trip 'ooop north'

In which I see a red kite and meet a robot

When my friend Cathy asked me if Rotherham was near where I lived, I had to honestly say no: it's about 140 miles away. But when she told me she and her husband were fying over and would be in Rotherham, well... then it was no distance at all! I don't get to see my friend often as she lives in Ireland, so this was an opportunity not to be missed.

Paul and Cathy flew over on the Friday night and on Saturday morning he had an operation on his knee: an arthroscopy. We arranged that I should come up Saturday evening and stay over, so we could spend some time doing what we like doing best of all (next to writing) - talking!

The Wednesday before I looked up the Isis hotel on the internet and it said they had no rooms available. Darn. So I phoned the hotel, and they said they did have a room - so I reserved it with a young lady called Liz. I'm amazed I managed to book the room as I was somewhat incoherent - I had tripped earlier over a cable earlier in the evening and (though I didn't realise it at the time) was suffering from concussion.

Anyway, room booked, Saturday came round and at just after 4 (after Bryan got back from a gig at 'Spanfest' where he played with Penni) I jumped into my little Corsa and headed north. The weather was fine - one of the first good days we'd had in weeks - weeks when towns were flooded, rainfall hit record levels and the average Brit had decided that summer was just not going to happen this year.

I started out heading for the motorway - the planned route was easy: M11, A1, M18, et voila! But for some reason I went the long way to the M11. I was delighted that I did though: just a few miles outside town and low over the road, distinctive fork tail a sharp contrast against the pale blue sky, a red kite (fantastic and reasonably rare) hawk flew in front of me then above the car. I was as excited as a kid with a new... kite! I grinned, punched the air and smiled for miles.

The journey only took just over two and a half hours, and it was sunny and easy driving all the way. Loud 80s compilation CD in the player, open roads... I was happy! I saw a buzzard on the way up too - broad wings gliding on the thermals, his fingertip primaries splayed into that distinctive pattern.

I arrived at the hotel about 20 minutes before Cathy and Paul returned from the hospital. When I'd checked in I'd been greeted by Liz and her colleague Lindsey and they were very polite, extremely friendly and welcoming. It was not a posh hotel, only just above basic, but the customer service made all the difference. Paul's op had gone well and even though he'd had a general anaesthetic, when we met for supper that evening he was incredibly chipper. Oh yeah, he was on crutches of course, and in some pain, but wide awake and ready for ... well, ready for Cathy and I to talk the night away I hoped.

The three of us ate and had a couple of ciders (Paul had opted for cider over pain killers for the evening), and then began the serious issue of talking! What did we talk about? I haven't a clue! But ... we talked until 3.30 am. At one point I noticed my mobile phone had a voice message from our friend Nadine in the US. I pushed the button to listen to the voice mail... "It sounds as if she's talking to us instead of the message" I said, and the voice mail message laughed. And then I got it... I had called her, not the voice mail. So, I thought I was listening to a message that was talking to a message and in fact I was talking to a person listening to a person who thought they were talking to a message... er... let's just say I felt, and no doubt sounded, very silly. No! I was not drunk! I didn't drink too much - just enough to relax me (stupidly enough I was still nervous going to meet my friends).

We spent some time in the small bijou bar downstairs. The hotel was full of people limping! Some on crutches, some just hobbling. The clinic that Paul had been to had taken 20 cases from Northern Ireland - and they were all staying in the hotel. The staff couldn't do enough for their guests - extra pillows for propping up legs, help carrying drinks from the bar... you name it, nothing was too much trouble. (We heard later that one patient arrived to find no room at the Inn, the clinic had cancelled it for some reason - so Lindsey drove the pair to a nearby hotel on her way home.) The barman, a nice young man called Adam, took great delight in sharing with us some exciting news: Lindsey was pregnant, 8 weeks! He was beaming, obviously delighted (though at 8 weeks, we were surprised she was letting him tell everyone ... or was it just guests? People who would come and go in his life in an instant, but share his moment of joy).

We sat in the bar for about two hours, with the cricket and then the darts in the background. Then we retired upstairs to talk some more.

At 3.30am - just as the conversation was getting interesting (of life in Northern Ireland), I was about ready to pass out from tiredness (I am useless at staying up late). A few goodnight messages on the old mobile, and then I went to bed and slept like the proverbial log. I set my alarm for 7.30am, but at woke at 7.00am (on a Sunday morning). A few minutes after I woke the phone buzzed - a message from Bryan. 'Good morning'! Well, good morning back. I could get up, go for a walk, wander round or.... I went back to bed and stayed in till 8.30am.

Just after 9 I called Cathy and we went down to breakfast. We wandered outside so Cathy could have a smoke and wandered round the hotel to the back, where we found one of the staff members having a quiet smoke on a bench (there was no seating out the front of the hotel and this part round the back was a bit of a sun trap). She asked us to join her and we had a brief, companionable chat about holidays.

We went back inside and Paul was still was awake and ready for the day. We asked reception where we could go this bright sunny Sunday and Lindsey suggested Rother Valley Park. Great. Showered, changed, ready for the trip, we got into the car. I parked outside the hotel door and went back inside - directions! Instead of a few hand wavings and general directions we got printed out maps, explicit instructions and a fail-safe route planned.

The park was only a few miles away, but there was an accident on the motorway roadworks and we sat in a long queue of traffic for a while - but it cleared and we were soon at the park. 'Party in the Park' today. Hey! Not just any old park, but a lake and live bands and sunshine. What more could you want? Can we park near? No... the young man said. The disabled parking was taken up by the stage as the field was flooded. Please? Oh, alright. We parked right next to the entrance, under a tree.

We wandered round slowly (Paul on his crutches of course) and watched a mountain bike demo, listened to some of the local bands, saw some falcons (that's what a buzzard looks like Cathy - nothing like a vulture!), and went into the craft workshop. A man was making pots and using leaves on the inside of a bowl to make a pattern - placing the leaves on the wet slip, then removing them when another colour had been applied and achieving the opposite of a stencil - the shape and veins of the leaves clearly marked in the clay. Paul asked how it was done, and the potter told him. Paul asked again, and the potter told him again. There seemed to be a communication problem, caused I think it was the difference in broad Yorkshire and Northern Irish accents.

Walking out in the sun we enjoyed a turn round the lake (lots of geese! birds everywhere, this was great!) and then when we came back to the main area round the old mill we saw the crowd gathered round 'Titan the Robot'. We had seen the name on the events schedule and I imagined some bloke in a fluffy robot suit ... I was very wrong!

Titan the robot was silver, 8 feet high, and used full animatronics for the head and hands. There was a massive sound system adding appropriate 'robotic' stomping noises as he paraded and 'sang' (Frank Sinatra songs) and 'tears' (water jets) sprang from his eyes. The kids were wowed, and I was pretty impressed too. Being from a costumier's family, I looked as carefully as I could and sussed that although the head and hands were mechanically operated, there was a man in the 'suit'. Very cleverly done - a panel on the front to see out, and crafty joints so the arms didn't look like they were operated by a person, but - thinking just on health and safety grounds - there had to be a body in there. Notwithstanding, he was highly entertaining. At one of the stalls Paul bought me some earrings, he insisted on playing 'hook a duck' and a darts game: two stuffed toys for his son duly acquired.

After a wander round it was time to go - not fair to keep Paul on his legs too long - and we drove back to the hotel. We had lunch in a pub next door - 'Buy one get one free' meals - amazing value, efficient service, noisy, busy and good food too. I stuffed myself with steak and chips.

The time went all too quickly - and before I knew it 4pm was round again and it was time for me to head home. Cathy came down to reception with me to say goodbye, and when I hugged her farewell it was quite poignant. This woman, who I'd only actually met twice before, I could count as a very good friend indeed. Our interests in writing brought us together, but we found the differences in each other as fascinating as any similarities. I want our families to meet - I know Cathy's family now (see trip to Ireland) and I'd love her to meet mine one day. Saying 'hi' over web cams and the internet is fun, though.

The Wednesday after my trip I went on line to chat to Cathy and my daughter Mel joined us - playing on the piano behind me. She started off singing, and I joined in (harmonising on the choruses), but then she started to extemporise - creating songs from words on the screen - my conversations - and about the room or anything that entered her head. She made up rhymes and tunes as she went along, then would stop to chat with 'Bobby D' (another internet writing friend) and then returned to her singing and joking. It was a delightful evening and when we went to audio on the instant messenger, Mel sang her song to Cathy who was laughing with us. (Bobby was too shy to go on to audio, bless!)

The internet has broadened my horizons as a writer, certainly, but it has also brought me friends that, now I have found them, I am sure will keep for life.

Thursday, July 26, 2007

The most unusual meeting

OK - since going on the image streaming training, I have been using the technique a lot: to relax, to get to sleep, to beat writer's block, to get some creative ideas going in a head that is constantly full of far too many images and sounds.

So, this morning, with a pounding headache and a sore knee, I was sat at my desk and the boss phoned. She rattled on for about 20 minutes about a new project that needs my input. The project relates to career management and outplacement (redundancy support). I needed some creative ideas on how to put the masses of information we have into a structured format, to think about the visual presentation and the 'layers' of support we can provide.

So. Sitting at the computer, my head still pounding, I thought 'sod this for a game of soldiers' and went up to the boardroom on my own to try a bit of image streaming and see if I could unlock the creative juices (and defeat the headache).

No one else in the boardroom. I've got a flip chart and pens. I visualise the members of a fictitious team around me - Mabel from the shop floor (complete physical description appears in my head), Keith from marketing, Steve (troublemaker - I can see it in the way he's sitting), the big chap from the union, a couple of 'suits' and Hazel from HR.

What ensued was a complete meeting - virtual - that I 'imagined'. My cast was highly interactive, and came up with ideas that I wrote down on the flipchart (yes, I know it was all coming from my head, but it was useful to look at a problem from their perspectives). Steve, my imagined troublemaker, got up and gave me all the issues, the difficulties, the worries. It was, I have to say, like watching a film or dreaming with my eyes open.

I've not come up with a complete answer for the problems in how to present our information, but I do have some more ideas and creative paths to follow. Unfortunately it did not get rid of the headache.

Conculsion? Don't call the men in white coats just yet - I know what's real and what is not. But as an exercise in building characters (for writing) or in looking at a problem from other perspectives, it was very interesting indeed.