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.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Goin' dahn the 'Nidge
Where I meet a famous Jazz Musician's Daughter and am Rescued by an Heroic Knight!
The Nidge? Well, first time I heard that 'term' for the Hertfordshire town of Stevenage was yesterday - but it fits perfectly! Stevenage is also known as 'Chavtown' - which, if you are a Brit, makes sense. If you are from Stevenage, don't be offended! This is what I am told by those who are younger (much younger) than me... these are not monikers I have personally attached to Stevenage New Town (well, it was new about 40 years ago).
So, Saturday morning, and Bryan gets up at sparrow's crack to drive off to a gig in Somerset - about 175 miles away. That's the last I'll see of him till at least Midnight I reckon. The girls (Mel and her pal Rosie) arose at about 9, and by 11 the three of us were ready to drive the 20 miles to Nidge. (Alex didn't want to come with us for some reason). I knew it was called Nidge because Carol (a good friend who I thoroughly thrashed at Scrabble on the Friday Night) told me she was going too. Great! We'd meet up.
We drove down and - for the first time in weeks - it wasn't raining! I took the girls into lots of shops and the most beautiful dress was purchased for the 'Leavers Disco'. Mel leaves her middle school at the end of this term - she's going to look fantastic. Even though I'm chair of the PTA I'm not allowed to help that night - no parents of kids at the disco are allowed.
We met up with Carol and her friend Yvonne in Primark and then we three ladies went to ... er.... well, a bar actually, and the girls wandered off to shop some more. None of us drank alcohol, but we had a nice natter and - most delightfully! - in a smoke free pub. The difference was amazing. I don't know Yvonne well, but have met her a couple of times before. We got on fine (albeit for but an hour), and talked of many things including the local newspaper. Carol's girls are members of the (internationally) award winning "Electralites" dance troupe and are often in the papers. This week it was my boy's turn. There he was, in the local rag, with all his mates, dressed up to the nines standing next to a stretch hummer. The school 'Prom' managed to fill the town with limos and various other inventive means of transport including an ice cream van, and so the lads managed to get themselves in the paper.
On another page of the paper was an article on my friend Hayley (see I'd rather be dancing) with her band 'The Jivettez'. She's only 14 but a talented dancer and singer and bass player (oh yeah, and she's pretty too). Our town isn't that big, not as huge as Nidge, but most people know each other through one contact or another. It's an easy thing to talk about. We also talked about Carol and my planned trip to Egypt in 2010. We have a while to go, but we are saving up now. After a drink and a packet of crisps, we headed back into town.
As we were walking back through the town, we heard music in the town square. Imagine our surprise - there's the Jive Aces (swing band) and dancing away (unselfconciously) with one of the band's friends is Hayley. Yes, in Chavtown square, with loads of folks around - and she's there dancing as if it's a private function. Gotta love the girl's confidence (but I'm glad I'm not her mother).
Carol and Yvonne stayed to watch for a bit, Mel and Rosie went off shopping (again) and I stayed to watch. I stood with Hayley's friend, and chatted briefly to a woman standing next to me (who turned out to have a strong American accent). I watched the friend's bag so she could join in the dancing too - there were crowds of youngsters watching at first, then they started to 'boogie' around carelessly, then... as they watched the others (Hayley, the band's friend and a couple of others who joined in purposefully) the crowd of youngsters started to fall into line - dancing the same as the others, a sort of jazzy line dancing. It was great to watch - the 'Nidge yoof' dancing to a live swing band. There's hope for the planet yet!
Mind you, having said that, Mel told me how - as she was walking through the town - an old woman put out her foot and deliberately tripped her up. "Why'd you do that?" Mel had asked, but the old woman just laughed at her. So, old folks can be nasty too. You hear a lot about it - about gangs of old folks going round town centres frightening teenagers...
Carol and Yvonne departed, and I spoke to Hayley. "You going to sing?" With some cajoling - yes, she would. The band (who she knew through her mother's dancing) had invited her to, after all. The Jive Aces are the Number One Swing Band in the UK (I know, it says so on a big banner behind them....a banner which also said 'Say no to drugs' and 'Sponsored by the Curch of Scientology'. Hmmm, have I mentioned that my step-grandmother was one of the founding members of that organisation, but she left because she fell out with Mr Hubbard? Probably not, and now is maybe not the place to tell that story just yet I think). Meanwhile hayleys' mother Debbie and her husband and dance partner Paul had turned up and did some real professional Lindy Hop dancing. More peole joined in.
During a break Debbie formally introduced me to some of the band - "This is Carolyn, she's mad too..." how's that for an intro? Oh yes, and she plays the bass and sings as well. Debbie then introduced me to the American woman, who turned out to be Toni Prima, the daughter of world famous jazz musician, Louis Prima and Keely Smith,. I persuaded Rosie and Mel to stay so I could watch Hayley perform. She did, and she sang and played the bass with the band very well. The Nidge was in awe... including one senior gentleman who decided that he was going to forget the shopping for now and sit in the sun and watch. We fell into brief, casual conversation. Music does that - brings people together.
Eventually the girls and I left, waving goodbye to Debbie, Paul and Hayley and crew. None of them had known the Jive Aces would be in Nidge, and hand't known we'd be there either. It had all just 'fallen into place' as these odd things do.
On the way home the girls were happy, chatty. Mel said thanks at least three times for her dress (and it does look good, have I mentioned that?) and her shoes and her new jeans. My bank manager won't thank me though (oh yeah - and I got some new boots. Mine have holes in).
Just as we approached the home stretch, the car (which has been a bit 'wobbly') made a very odd noise. Rear tyre burst! Got round the roundabout and into the car park of the Little Chef (incidentally we passed the Little Chef one day a year or so back and it said in huge red and white letters 'LTITLE CHEF' - they'd cleaned the sign and put the letters back in the wrong order). We were nearly home so the girls decided to walk whilst I changed the tyre. (This is my third tyre changing story, am I jinxed or what?).
I got out the tyre, and the jack. Er, it was a funny one, I was fiddling with it - trying to work out how it worked when a voice behind me said 'Can I give you a hand?'. I looked up at a young man, and said 'I can't work out how to use this.' Which was the truth - my jack isn't like the one on the other car. He showed me how it worked, and changed the tyre for me in record time - in just a few minutes! "Thank you very much," I said, grateful. He hadn't been parked in the car park, he'd pulled over just to help me. "I do this a lot." he said. "You'll need a new tyre; go into Kwik Fit, tell them you know Rob, you may even get a discount." I thanked Rob again for his kindness. See? Chivalry is not dead!
I drove back towards home and picked up the girls - they'd not got far. Yes - I did tell them about the young man. "Was he fit?" Well, too young for me, too old for them, but yes, he was ... he was Kwik Fit!
The Nidge? Well, first time I heard that 'term' for the Hertfordshire town of Stevenage was yesterday - but it fits perfectly! Stevenage is also known as 'Chavtown' - which, if you are a Brit, makes sense. If you are from Stevenage, don't be offended! This is what I am told by those who are younger (much younger) than me... these are not monikers I have personally attached to Stevenage New Town (well, it was new about 40 years ago).
So, Saturday morning, and Bryan gets up at sparrow's crack to drive off to a gig in Somerset - about 175 miles away. That's the last I'll see of him till at least Midnight I reckon. The girls (Mel and her pal Rosie) arose at about 9, and by 11 the three of us were ready to drive the 20 miles to Nidge. (Alex didn't want to come with us for some reason). I knew it was called Nidge because Carol (a good friend who I thoroughly thrashed at Scrabble on the Friday Night) told me she was going too. Great! We'd meet up.
We drove down and - for the first time in weeks - it wasn't raining! I took the girls into lots of shops and the most beautiful dress was purchased for the 'Leavers Disco'. Mel leaves her middle school at the end of this term - she's going to look fantastic. Even though I'm chair of the PTA I'm not allowed to help that night - no parents of kids at the disco are allowed.
We met up with Carol and her friend Yvonne in Primark and then we three ladies went to ... er.... well, a bar actually, and the girls wandered off to shop some more. None of us drank alcohol, but we had a nice natter and - most delightfully! - in a smoke free pub. The difference was amazing. I don't know Yvonne well, but have met her a couple of times before. We got on fine (albeit for but an hour), and talked of many things including the local newspaper. Carol's girls are members of the (internationally) award winning "Electralites" dance troupe and are often in the papers. This week it was my boy's turn. There he was, in the local rag, with all his mates, dressed up to the nines standing next to a stretch hummer. The school 'Prom' managed to fill the town with limos and various other inventive means of transport including an ice cream van, and so the lads managed to get themselves in the paper.
On another page of the paper was an article on my friend Hayley (see I'd rather be dancing) with her band 'The Jivettez'. She's only 14 but a talented dancer and singer and bass player (oh yeah, and she's pretty too). Our town isn't that big, not as huge as Nidge, but most people know each other through one contact or another. It's an easy thing to talk about. We also talked about Carol and my planned trip to Egypt in 2010. We have a while to go, but we are saving up now. After a drink and a packet of crisps, we headed back into town.
As we were walking back through the town, we heard music in the town square. Imagine our surprise - there's the Jive Aces (swing band) and dancing away (unselfconciously) with one of the band's friends is Hayley. Yes, in Chavtown square, with loads of folks around - and she's there dancing as if it's a private function. Gotta love the girl's confidence (but I'm glad I'm not her mother).
Carol and Yvonne stayed to watch for a bit, Mel and Rosie went off shopping (again) and I stayed to watch. I stood with Hayley's friend, and chatted briefly to a woman standing next to me (who turned out to have a strong American accent). I watched the friend's bag so she could join in the dancing too - there were crowds of youngsters watching at first, then they started to 'boogie' around carelessly, then... as they watched the others (Hayley, the band's friend and a couple of others who joined in purposefully) the crowd of youngsters started to fall into line - dancing the same as the others, a sort of jazzy line dancing. It was great to watch - the 'Nidge yoof' dancing to a live swing band. There's hope for the planet yet!
Mind you, having said that, Mel told me how - as she was walking through the town - an old woman put out her foot and deliberately tripped her up. "Why'd you do that?" Mel had asked, but the old woman just laughed at her. So, old folks can be nasty too. You hear a lot about it - about gangs of old folks going round town centres frightening teenagers...
Carol and Yvonne departed, and I spoke to Hayley. "You going to sing?" With some cajoling - yes, she would. The band (who she knew through her mother's dancing) had invited her to, after all. The Jive Aces are the Number One Swing Band in the UK (I know, it says so on a big banner behind them....a banner which also said 'Say no to drugs' and 'Sponsored by the Curch of Scientology'. Hmmm, have I mentioned that my step-grandmother was one of the founding members of that organisation, but she left because she fell out with Mr Hubbard? Probably not, and now is maybe not the place to tell that story just yet I think). Meanwhile hayleys' mother Debbie and her husband and dance partner Paul had turned up and did some real professional Lindy Hop dancing. More peole joined in.
During a break Debbie formally introduced me to some of the band - "This is Carolyn, she's mad too..." how's that for an intro? Oh yes, and she plays the bass and sings as well. Debbie then introduced me to the American woman, who turned out to be Toni Prima, the daughter of world famous jazz musician, Louis Prima and Keely Smith,. I persuaded Rosie and Mel to stay so I could watch Hayley perform. She did, and she sang and played the bass with the band very well. The Nidge was in awe... including one senior gentleman who decided that he was going to forget the shopping for now and sit in the sun and watch. We fell into brief, casual conversation. Music does that - brings people together.
Eventually the girls and I left, waving goodbye to Debbie, Paul and Hayley and crew. None of them had known the Jive Aces would be in Nidge, and hand't known we'd be there either. It had all just 'fallen into place' as these odd things do.
On the way home the girls were happy, chatty. Mel said thanks at least three times for her dress (and it does look good, have I mentioned that?) and her shoes and her new jeans. My bank manager won't thank me though (oh yeah - and I got some new boots. Mine have holes in).
Just as we approached the home stretch, the car (which has been a bit 'wobbly') made a very odd noise. Rear tyre burst! Got round the roundabout and into the car park of the Little Chef (incidentally we passed the Little Chef one day a year or so back and it said in huge red and white letters 'LTITLE CHEF' - they'd cleaned the sign and put the letters back in the wrong order). We were nearly home so the girls decided to walk whilst I changed the tyre. (This is my third tyre changing story, am I jinxed or what?).
I got out the tyre, and the jack. Er, it was a funny one, I was fiddling with it - trying to work out how it worked when a voice behind me said 'Can I give you a hand?'. I looked up at a young man, and said 'I can't work out how to use this.' Which was the truth - my jack isn't like the one on the other car. He showed me how it worked, and changed the tyre for me in record time - in just a few minutes! "Thank you very much," I said, grateful. He hadn't been parked in the car park, he'd pulled over just to help me. "I do this a lot." he said. "You'll need a new tyre; go into Kwik Fit, tell them you know Rob, you may even get a discount." I thanked Rob again for his kindness. See? Chivalry is not dead!
I drove back towards home and picked up the girls - they'd not got far. Yes - I did tell them about the young man. "Was he fit?" Well, too young for me, too old for them, but yes, he was ... he was Kwik Fit!
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
You ain't nothin' but a....
Monday 2nd July. Summer! English summer.... yep! Rain... rain... rain. But no worries! Boss (Heather) had a BBQ planned and, of course, that included cover. Monday was 'team day' but after work we all trooped out of the office to her pad, just a few miles away in nearby Harlow. I took Nickie (as we'd driven in together) and as we drove down the rain-sodden A414 a miracle happened... the sun came out! That was one of its many, but short appearances that night. "She's been on the phone to God," I said.
I stopped for petrol so we eventually arrived about 5.45 and most of the 'crew' were there - about 25 staff and associates. The BBQ was fired up by two smart young men in trendy black and multi-colour chefs 'whites' (er... don't think I can call them whites can I?) and the smell of barbecueing sea bass, mackeral, chicken, sausage, steak and lamb permeated the damp air.
There was a selection of salads, jacket potatoes and new potatoes and jugs and jugs of Pimms (tastes like cough medicine to me, I went for the 'exotic fruit juice). The crowd was relaxed in gentle chatter - gathered round tables, sat in wicker chairs, protected from the vagaries of the indecisive weather by the gazebo (which is not, I am now pleased to reveal, a cross between a gazelle, zebra and a bonobo, but some kind of tent covering. I must admit -I was worried about this before arriving, it would have had to have been a huge animal for us to shelter beneath its warm furry belly). Shani didn't arrive until nearly 7 - it took her hours to come up from one of our clients in South London and the traffic definitely didn't want to play.
The chat was informal, comfortable, good to catch up with colleagues and people we'd not seen in a while and also to natter with colleagues you'd maybe spent the day with, but not had a chance to gossip with. So - what's the gossip? Daine asked. "Well," I said. "You know about the office affair, not much has happened since then." His eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"Office affair?"
"Oh, you didn't know! I thought everyone did!" I looked embarassed, and Suzanne and Jackie looked at me as if to say 'now you've blown it!'. Well, there is no office affair, but unless Daine reads this, I bet he's still wondering. With everyone playing along, he spent the next hour tyring to guess who with who... I do like a little wind up, I do I do.
The weather was on and off bright then mildly rainy, chilly then warm, but none of this fazed Rocky. Rocky is a large grey Weimariner (gawd how'd you spell that?!) and had been kept upstairs for most of the proceedings. Still, there were leftovers to be had, and all those people to meet and lick and sniff and run round and grin at doggily and ... and... (I'm sure his long tongue took a swipe at that cheesecake.)
Suzanne had been away on holiday the previous week and at one point I was told 'Ask Suzanne about the bat.' The bat? Tell us the story, Suzanne! Do tell... She had been to Longleat (ah! my family home!... but that's another story) and on entering the bat enclosure was more than surprised to find them flying free around her. "Don't scream." said the keeper. Suzanne put her hands over her mouth and started to run through to get out the other side. "They won't come near you, they are fruit bats!" the keeper said. "Yes," replied a muffled Suzanne, "and I've got strawberry lip gloss on."
The food was delicious and the weather didn't really fail until nearly 9pm. Then - those of us left (the stalworts! the stayers!) crept into the warmth of the house. It was now reasonably late and Shani and I kind of figured we'd 'got away' with not pulling the guitars out their cases (though I had volunteered! The previous week I'd said to Heather 'Want us to bring our instruments?' and she'd said yes. But... not Jeremy's trombone please!)
We played in the front room with the die-hards (the BBQ had started at 5pm) and played a specially rehearsed number for our colleagues (it seems to get played on their radio with unfailing regularity). The song was "Nine to Five" - Dolly Parton. Our version was a little, er, haphazard? But the crew sang along loudly and lustily. However, it got off to a rather dodgy start. Rocky - probably never heard live bass and guitar before in his little doggy life, bless him - decided that he could sing! We started three times, and each time Rocky joined in, drowining us out. He howled, barked and generally found his voice (and in time too, which was amazing). Poor fellow was ejected to the upstairs again for a while.
What followed was basically 'human juke box'. We had a 'standards' song book and various material was chosen from it and Shani and I played (at varying levels of ability according to our knowledge of the song) whatever was asked of us. This included American Pie with full actions supplied by Daine (never mind sales, the man is a comic genius), and a 'heavy metal headbanging' from Keeley to ... something or other. I was laughing so much I'm not sure I can remember what we sang or played but I know it included Elvis, Tracy Chapman, Indigo Girls... darn, what happened to good old fashioned folk music?
Whilst they passed the book round and chose a new song for us, Shani and I managed to play a couple of our own songs. Two of hers, two of mine. I played 'dance to love' whilst Rocky (who was now accustomed to our howling and allowed back in to the room) sat and chewed a dried pigs ear, drooling and crunching. Never played to an audience quite like it.... but, though talk was going on, one colleague was obviously listening, and I heard her clear tones joining in on the chorus of my song. I was complimented, pleased. I don't expect people in pubs or at parties to listen to 'original' music - they want 'singalong' stuff. That's fine, it's expected, so to have someone listen and appreciate our music (Shani's songs also got fine rounds of applause) was great.
At the end of the evening (just past ten I'd say) there were only a few of us left, so - tired and still laughing - time to hit the road. We were amongst the last to go (though I gather Neil and Lauren stayed till midnight) and as I left, bass guitar on my back, I very nearly destroyed the hall light with it.
An enjoyable evening. Perhaps if we hadn't started to play they'd have had an evening of stimulating intellectual conversation.... but seeing Daine 'dance', Keeley 'head bang' and hearing everyone join in with the roughest version of Nine to Five ever - well, it was worth it to me. Sod conversation, that's what the internet is for. Er, isn't it?
I stopped for petrol so we eventually arrived about 5.45 and most of the 'crew' were there - about 25 staff and associates. The BBQ was fired up by two smart young men in trendy black and multi-colour chefs 'whites' (er... don't think I can call them whites can I?) and the smell of barbecueing sea bass, mackeral, chicken, sausage, steak and lamb permeated the damp air.
There was a selection of salads, jacket potatoes and new potatoes and jugs and jugs of Pimms (tastes like cough medicine to me, I went for the 'exotic fruit juice). The crowd was relaxed in gentle chatter - gathered round tables, sat in wicker chairs, protected from the vagaries of the indecisive weather by the gazebo (which is not, I am now pleased to reveal, a cross between a gazelle, zebra and a bonobo, but some kind of tent covering. I must admit -I was worried about this before arriving, it would have had to have been a huge animal for us to shelter beneath its warm furry belly). Shani didn't arrive until nearly 7 - it took her hours to come up from one of our clients in South London and the traffic definitely didn't want to play.
The chat was informal, comfortable, good to catch up with colleagues and people we'd not seen in a while and also to natter with colleagues you'd maybe spent the day with, but not had a chance to gossip with. So - what's the gossip? Daine asked. "Well," I said. "You know about the office affair, not much has happened since then." His eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"Office affair?"
"Oh, you didn't know! I thought everyone did!" I looked embarassed, and Suzanne and Jackie looked at me as if to say 'now you've blown it!'. Well, there is no office affair, but unless Daine reads this, I bet he's still wondering. With everyone playing along, he spent the next hour tyring to guess who with who... I do like a little wind up, I do I do.
The weather was on and off bright then mildly rainy, chilly then warm, but none of this fazed Rocky. Rocky is a large grey Weimariner (gawd how'd you spell that?!) and had been kept upstairs for most of the proceedings. Still, there were leftovers to be had, and all those people to meet and lick and sniff and run round and grin at doggily and ... and... (I'm sure his long tongue took a swipe at that cheesecake.)
Suzanne had been away on holiday the previous week and at one point I was told 'Ask Suzanne about the bat.' The bat? Tell us the story, Suzanne! Do tell... She had been to Longleat (ah! my family home!... but that's another story) and on entering the bat enclosure was more than surprised to find them flying free around her. "Don't scream." said the keeper. Suzanne put her hands over her mouth and started to run through to get out the other side. "They won't come near you, they are fruit bats!" the keeper said. "Yes," replied a muffled Suzanne, "and I've got strawberry lip gloss on."
The food was delicious and the weather didn't really fail until nearly 9pm. Then - those of us left (the stalworts! the stayers!) crept into the warmth of the house. It was now reasonably late and Shani and I kind of figured we'd 'got away' with not pulling the guitars out their cases (though I had volunteered! The previous week I'd said to Heather 'Want us to bring our instruments?' and she'd said yes. But... not Jeremy's trombone please!)
We played in the front room with the die-hards (the BBQ had started at 5pm) and played a specially rehearsed number for our colleagues (it seems to get played on their radio with unfailing regularity). The song was "Nine to Five" - Dolly Parton. Our version was a little, er, haphazard? But the crew sang along loudly and lustily. However, it got off to a rather dodgy start. Rocky - probably never heard live bass and guitar before in his little doggy life, bless him - decided that he could sing! We started three times, and each time Rocky joined in, drowining us out. He howled, barked and generally found his voice (and in time too, which was amazing). Poor fellow was ejected to the upstairs again for a while.
What followed was basically 'human juke box'. We had a 'standards' song book and various material was chosen from it and Shani and I played (at varying levels of ability according to our knowledge of the song) whatever was asked of us. This included American Pie with full actions supplied by Daine (never mind sales, the man is a comic genius), and a 'heavy metal headbanging' from Keeley to ... something or other. I was laughing so much I'm not sure I can remember what we sang or played but I know it included Elvis, Tracy Chapman, Indigo Girls... darn, what happened to good old fashioned folk music?
Whilst they passed the book round and chose a new song for us, Shani and I managed to play a couple of our own songs. Two of hers, two of mine. I played 'dance to love' whilst Rocky (who was now accustomed to our howling and allowed back in to the room) sat and chewed a dried pigs ear, drooling and crunching. Never played to an audience quite like it.... but, though talk was going on, one colleague was obviously listening, and I heard her clear tones joining in on the chorus of my song. I was complimented, pleased. I don't expect people in pubs or at parties to listen to 'original' music - they want 'singalong' stuff. That's fine, it's expected, so to have someone listen and appreciate our music (Shani's songs also got fine rounds of applause) was great.
At the end of the evening (just past ten I'd say) there were only a few of us left, so - tired and still laughing - time to hit the road. We were amongst the last to go (though I gather Neil and Lauren stayed till midnight) and as I left, bass guitar on my back, I very nearly destroyed the hall light with it.
An enjoyable evening. Perhaps if we hadn't started to play they'd have had an evening of stimulating intellectual conversation.... but seeing Daine 'dance', Keeley 'head bang' and hearing everyone join in with the roughest version of Nine to Five ever - well, it was worth it to me. Sod conversation, that's what the internet is for. Er, isn't it?
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