"20th anniversary reunion of folk-rock band Shave the Monkey"

Well, it was five years to the day that Shave last played at Hitchin Folk Club. On 30th November we had a superb night - full hall and a chance to catch up with friends from far and near.

Despite a few hiccups with the PA, the evening went well and it was great to sing and play the old numbers (and a new one too) again.

On 13th December we had the opportunity to play our second 20th Anniversary concert at Bridgwater Arts Centre. Yes - 20 years since Shave the Monkey first started! The Arts Centre gig was great - the PA was superb and we had a lovely stage and lighting and the audience were feisty!

There's photos from Hitchin and Bridgwater on my flickr page.

The journey home from Bridgwater was a chilly one - freezing fog, flooded fields, sheep dong the breast stroke and roads turned to rivers! But we made good time home.

Story time with a difference

"We find Fang"

On 6th November Bryan, Penni and I went down to Archway Library. No, not an overdue book from Bryan's childhood in North London - we were going to see Fang, a musician we had played with many years ago (see Aardvark & No Money) and had lost touch with for over 25 years. Through the wonders of the internet we had been told he would be performing at the Library.

So, the three of us arranged a floor spot to this one off event and travelled down. We saw Fang outside the library, still the same in many ways - a mass of hair and beard (but white now instead of red) and wearing camos, that remained unchanged. He looked much older (well, we all are) and has health problems, but he was unmistakable. I'm not sure if he recognised us at first - let's face it Bryan has a lot less hair and I have a lot more weight since the last time he saw us.

We went in and the library was open - people browsing books, on the internet. But 'Story Time' corner, the children's section, was cleared of tables and chairs and, on its raised dias, was a small PA system - two mics and speakers. The area in front of the Story Time section was cleared of tables and rows of bright yellow plastic chairs were lined up expectantly.

We were met by Ruth who had told us how to find Fang and had done a 'performance art' piece with him previously. There were other musicians there and soon the Story Time crew were ready for performance! Our drummer from many years ago was also there - we had caught up with Tony for the first time in years at the Thriplow Daffodil Festival a while back (isn't it funny where you run into people?). He'd brought his 16 year old son to watch the show too.

As the time came for the show to start, someone yelled 'Bryan, can you go on first?' and Bryan, Penni and I performed a song and a tune. Penni sang a traditional Highland song in Gaelic and Bryan played some fast tunes. I accompanied on bass and a bit of backing vocals, and the audience seemed to enjoy.

We were followed by a young trio. An extremely enthusiastic electric guitar playing American girl, a young guy on acoustic guitar and a chap on bongos. He didn't realise bongos go between the legs and they kept slipping off his lap! They were 100% enthusiastic, even if tuning and timing weren't their strong points.

They were followed by two women (one guitar, the other played recorder and both sang) who did a Manfred Man song and another equally pleasant, well performed (and calm) song. Then came a man who had stood quietly a the edge all evening, dressed in great coat and scarf.

He took off his scarf and coat to reveal a gold suit and bow tie! He looked very 'London Palladium'. He asked for two volunteers from the audience to sing backing vocals and two young ladies came and obliged. He then launched into Abba's song about falling in love with a Star Ship Trooper but did advise us first that he had never actually heard the song as he went deaf in 1975.

He then proceeded to amuse us highly - he could not really sing nor play the guitar well (I guess due to his deafness) but he certainly knew how to entertain! And the girls were also naturals at comic timing. It was such fun - the whole audience laughed and enjoyed his performance terrifically. He enjoyed himself too - we were laughing with him, not at him.

The Librarian Herself came up afterwards and sang some traditional songs and then, at last, Fang came on to perform. He creaked up the little step to Story Time, overseen by The Very Hungry Caterpillar and Charlie's Cat etc (huge colourful murals) and sat carefully down. He took out his instrument - ukelele - and started to sing A Black Sabbath song. He followed this with 'Anarchy in the UK' to the tune of 'Constant Craving'. Highly successfully of course! As soon as he sang, the 'old' Fang reappeared. He was still there. An extremely talented musician and wonderful singer (and songwriter).

And that was it. 9.15 and it was all over. The event wasn't excactly organised - no running order or MC - but Fang said 'I want to see more of them' and pointed at us. We obliged of course, but insisted Fang sing with us. The Librarian, two girl singers and enthusiastic American joined us too - (the latter on bongos on the floor where they could not slip and slide). The three girls stood at the back and provided extra vocals and 'dance', whilst Penni and Fang sang, with Bryan and I accompanying. We did a further three songs (you can see a snippet on Youtube - poor quality though).

After we had finished another of the Librarian's got up and sang a soul song, unaccompanied. It had been a real mix - but it had been good to see Fang again. Sad to see him in poor health, but everything changes. Nothing remains the same. Sometimes it may be better to keep the old memories and not go looking to dig them up, at other times looking at the past can be good, especially in light of how things change.

I don't want to 'go back' or turn back the clock (though I'd love to lose a few stone, that's quite possible without the aid of a time machine). But I am very glad we saw Fang again, I heard his wonderful voice again, and to think back on some of the very good times we had 'in the old days'. Hmm... perhaps I should be sitting up in that Story Time place now, a book in hand, children at my knee... but then again

The Wedding Player

"Hired for a night"

The other night I played with the Brookfield Band at a wedding. The Wedding of Tamara and Rob (nope, no idea who they were). But Tamara looked stunning. Slender and with a most fabulous dress. Not the best for barn dancing in, but she did her best, along with many others in high heels (mostly the girls).

Whilst we set up, a pianist entertained on a grand piano. He played some nice stuff, no music, just playing lots of tunes form memory. We were nearly set up when he started playing Eine Kleine Nacht Music. Rachel, our violin player, started to join in, so did I on bass, and then Wendy on whistle. It sounded great! Very impromptu and the audience (busy eating their desserts) applauded.

Mind you - we arrived at the venue at 6.45 and we didn't start playing till nearly 9pm. We finished at 11.30 but they danced non-stop - high heels lined on the edge of our low stage.

I really enjoyed playing that night (and I got paid, even better!).

Lost in Loughton

"We play at a new venue in Essex"

Keith, the guy from the pub in Loughton, asked me to play at a gig at the Murray Hall in Debden near Loughton. Shani came round at 6.30 and we headed south - down the A10 into Essex Land. Unfortunately, Shani forgot the map and we spent half an hour driving round and round. Everyone we asked sent us different directions, and by the time we arrived at the gig it had already started.

There were some of the folks from the other gig in Loughton (Danny actually plays piano brilliantly as well as singing fantastically). The hall was an amazing building - big, great acoustics, arched roof. The audience were a mixture, locals mostly.

Shani and I played a lively set and it went down very well. The funny thing was, that at the end of the evening the main host passed round leaflets asking if we'd like to attend the next 'rally'. Unbeknownst to us we'd just played at a political fund-raiser!

Well, thank goodness it wasn't something drastically off our own (mixed) political views!

What, no murder?

"Bryan and I take a trip on the Orient Express"

At a trade exhibition in April, I stuck my business card in one of the many pots saying 'win...' and amazingly, I did win! I won lunch for two on the Orient Express. And this month we actually managed to find the time to go.

Although it's October, the sun was pouring through the windows on our train from home to King's Cross. We took the underground to Victoria and there we checked in a the Pullman Lounge. Straight out of the 1930s, dark wood, plush and full of the grey haired brigade!

!We boarded the train right near the front on a car named 'Vera'. Rescued in the 1980s, it had been a garden room for many years. We left Victoria and headed into the Garden of England - Kent. The carriage was amazing - it was like walking straight into a set from an Agatha Christie story. The sun continued to pour through the windows and we spent four hours enjoying excellent food, comfort, quality service and the beauty of the English countryside.

I took a wander through the train - each carriage was decorated differently, with amazing marquetry. We reached home again at 6pm, having left at 9.45 that morning. It was a lovely day - relaxed, comfortable and a real insight into the past. The one thing we did avoid, however, was Murder on the Orient Express

From Sweaty Badgers to WWII

Four very different gigs!

I decided that I am going to 'get out there' and play more. After all, I'm a musician! So on Thursday night, I went to the Doctor's Tonic in Welwyn Garden City and played at their acoustic evening open mic night. I went with Ted, my friend from Denmark, and because we hadn't booked him a spot, we shared. But we were on late - before us came...

The two lads singing songs about a Spaniel in Calipers, My Mutant Wedding, The Sweaty Badger... they were not great performers but highly entertaining!

Then came some lads with loud guitars, voices, and no sense of tune or rhythm but hey, they were up there and doing it! There was a lad with a guitar who sang very sensitively and played well, then there was a lovely young lady who sang two unaccompanied Alicia Keys songs beautifully. It was a diverse evening indeed - she was followed by this bloke (50s I'd say) who got up on the stage as if he owned it! He could play, he could sing, but his songs were rubbish and his attitude put me right off. He was joined by a strange man with wild hair, a very colourful stripy jumper and a velvet jacket. He sang in a weird way and with such volume and emotion that at one point he looked like Violet Elizabeth, stamping her feet and clenched fists.

I went to the 'green room' behind the stage to get my guitar in tune at this point. There were three lads, waiting to go on next. I thought perhaps they could play. They were confident, cheerful (a little drunk) and one lad had the most beautiful hair! I discovered that the young lad with the lovely hair was a bass player too. When his enthusiasm for bass playing showed his mates said 'Are you hitting on the lady?' - my, the look of horror on the poor lad's face. Made me laugh.

Anyway, whilst we were chatting backstage the strange man was singing louder and louder, stamping his little booties and yelling 'Car ... Crash...' with great emotion. I think actually it was probably a great performance, just wrong time and wrong place perhaps?

When I went on stage to play, not many people were left. Well, let's face it, most of the audience probably had school the next day. I played a couple of songs, they listened. One of the people left in the audience was a frantic scribbler. All night he had been drawing, but I never saw what. The interesting thing was that he drew whilst looking at his subjects, never at the paper. Ted said 'yeah, but have you seen how much chalk he's got on his trousers?'.

Ted joined me on stage for two more numbers of his, and they seemed to go down well. Backstage afterwards, one of the guys involved in the running of the place came to see us. He's keen to run a folk night sometime. Well, Mungo, why not!

That was my Thursday evening - on the Friday I went to the Red Lion folk night with Ted and my pal from work, Dan, plus Mel and her mate Rosie. It was a fun evening, lots of people and very relaxed.

Saturday night we played at one of the Rougham Airfield events - with Penni, Bryan, Baz and myself. Ted joined in too on the bodhran. We had a really fun evening. The tent was flapping like a bird's wing on the motorway and the rain was aiming to get in any angle it could. But we played loud, mad, and extemporising all over the place (well, it could be cleaned up in the morning). The audience comprised stall holders from the air show - and participants who had remained in costume. That included both German and British uniforms.

Sunday night I played at an acoustic stage in Loughton. When Ted and I had arrived Keith, the organiser, was asleep in the corner! keith started the night off playing guitar and singing. I'd volunteered to go on early - having never played there before. I sang one of my few speedy songs, then thought 'oh what the hell' and sang a traditional folk song. The audience listened, and were appreciative, though what went down really well that night was the sing along stuff performed by the regulars. One lad sange some Johnny Cash songs, whilst others did stuff like Oasis, Paul Weller, Beatles etc. Keith's son, Rob, sang. He was about 22 and had the most amazing voice! Another lad called Danny also sang, he had a lovely voice too. Keith accompanied them on guitar, competently playing anything they wanted.

It was different - not like a folk club at all - but really nice. Very different to the acoustic club in Welwyn Garden City, different from the Red Lion and different from playing in a tent in the middle of Suffolk in the pouring rain.

The Awake

An unexpected performance

For quite a few weeks now Penni had told us of a party for her mother. Her mother has severe cancer, the prognosis is not good. So she decided to have a party. Why have all the fun when she's dead and can't be there? Was the idea. So instead of a wake, we went to an 'awake'.

What I didn't realise is that we were expected to play, so after arriving in the small but picturesque village of Braughing, I had to drive back home again and pick up my bass (Bryan had his mandolin, smart man).

We played for about 45 minutes and the audience, including Penni's mum, seemed to enjoy us (we got booked for the local Rotary, so can't have been too bad).

A short post, but not the last post. Though I've tons more to write on Spain (swimmin wiv da fishes, the Arab Baths and all sorts)... I just don't seem to have the concentration to write up my wonderful holiday in a suitably consumable format. The above pic is me in Palma, enjoying a vino tinto and a lot of sun! Ah well, never mind. Just know that I had fun and so did the rest of us. And in case you were wondering, the journey back was pretty rough for Mel too, but we didn't need an ambulance this time - just lots of sick bags!

The Village of Barking Dogs

"Part I - we enter Spain Illegally"


Butter wouldn't melt, eh? Yeah, my daughter is drop dead gorgeous, I know - but she is not a good flier! In fact on our flight to Spain she was very nervous, in fact she was so anxious that she had a mild panic attack when the plane landed. She was in such a state that the stewardesses called an ambulance for her. She had stomach cramps, difficulty breathing and was very distressed. Not the best way to start a holiday! Shall I start at the very beginning? (Don't burst into strains of 'Do Re Me' please! - just agree with me, because it is a 'very good place to start'.)

We were travelling as a foursome - Mel (my daughter), her best friend Rosie, my best friend Cathy - and me. Cathy had come over from Ireland on Saturday so that we could all travel together on Sunday to visit my mother in her house just outside Palma, Mallorca. It was a 'girls only' holiday, planned months ago and long-awaited.

Four days before our flight there was a major air crash in Madrid. Over 150 people died. It was widely covered in the news and no matter how many statistics you can quote about how safe flying is, you can probably imagine how my nervous flying companions felt. Cathy, Mel and Rosie are all inexperienced fliers. Cathy had to fly over from Ireland on her own (a first) and then fly on to Spain with people she didn't know that well (apart from me).

Back to the flight and Mel's panic attack. She tried very hard to keep it together, she was so good, but when the pain in her belly started she was very distressed. (Mind you, even so she still managed to acquire the email address of a handsome young Spanish lad sitting next to her.) The air crew called us a paramedic and this lovely looking Spanish doctor (yes, I know, I was paying attention to my daughter but I coulnd't help noticing that he was rather handsome). Mel and I left the airplane by a side door on the disembarcation ramp and went straight onto the tarmac and to the waiting ambulance. We'll meet you by passport control I said to Cathy - and then went off with Mel and the medics.

We were driven to the emergency room where the doc and his nurse gave Mel a thorough examination. She would be fine, no problems realy, but he helped calm her down and reassure her. But ... I realised ... our passports were still in Cathy's bag! No worries, he said. After taking her blood pressure, pulse and checking her over, she was given a clean bill of health and we were taken through to the departure lounge - the Spanish side of passport control!

Palma airport is huge and to travel from one end to the other can take 20 minutes walking. Mel and I had cheated - we'd taken the ambulance! In the time it took us Even though we had got Mel examined, discharged and delivered, we managed to beat Cathy and Rosie to passport control. In fact we arrived at around the same time and, amazingly, we begun our holiday at last in good spirits.



Part II - we finally see some summer sun

My mother, Sally, lives in an old, old house in the village of Genova, just to the west of Palma. It was described to her once by a disentfranchised ex-resident as 'The Village of Barking Dogs' (which indeed it is!). Opposite is a small dog, next door are three dogs, and every morning dogs are walked which set the others off in a cascading cacophony of barking that echoes round the whole village.

But it is a beautiful place - peaceful and bathed in history. The casa (house) is several hundred years old and filled with books and miscellaneous items collected by my late stepfather, Orlando. It is somewhat primitive in its facilities and not a huge house - Cathy, Sally and I all slept in one room and the two girls in Sally's double bed. Though tired from the journey, a day at the beach was planned and the weather did not disappoint!

This is still in progress ... lots more to come.

New business launched

"The baby has arrived, let's hope it grows up to be a beauty!"

Oh my - after months of preparation work, hours of figuring stuff out, working with web designers and trainers and ... and ... well, the new business has launched. Now totally separate from where I used to work, I am running the whole show more or less on my own. Well, actually, not really - I have an 18 year old assistant for a few weeks. And she's brilliant!

What next? Well, there's all the marketing to get people to visit my site, and hopefully BUY something, and then the tweaking, refining, adding more products and generally doing everything I can to get us higher in the search engine listings. That's a challenge!

But one I am looking forward to, really looking forward to. What is this wonder site? The Complete Trainer - a site to sell stuff to trainers. Wish me luck, I need it! Timing is not great, we are hitting a bona fide recession and training is usually one of the first things to go (but then, saving money, perhaps in house trainers will buy my stuff instead of going to agencies - who knows!)

The Great British Summer

"We take a UK holiday in mid-August"

The picture may not be that clear so I will describe - it is the window of our holiday cottage in beautiful North Norfolk, showing the streaming rain running down the glass. Yes, we picked mid-August for a UK holiday and, of course, though the week previous was very hot, our week was wet and windy. Not as bad as our Yorkshire trip a few years back (we came home after just three days - everywhere was flooded), but still wet.

However, undaunted, we explored the locale. We stayed in Cley (pronounced clay) in a neat little cottage opposite the 'smoke-house'. The smoke house sold all sorts of smoked fish and meats - lovely! Except I'm the only one who likes them so I never bought any.

Cley is right on the North Norfolk coast and the view from our window was amazing - the windmill and the reed beds. There is a beautiful coastal path from Cley to Blakeney (and beyond too) which we walked a few times. 2 3/4 miles amongst the reeds with the marshy fields either side and inlets with small sailing boats and, just a bit further out, the sea. It was a nice walk and we managed it a few times without being rained on, though it regularly threatened.

Walking and beach visiting were how we spent most of the time - the children are too old now for visits to the zoo or adventure parks but we did revisit the Sea Life Centre at Hunstanton (Alex had his 5th birthday party there 12 years ago). We visited beaches such as Holkham and Cromer (you can clearly see the rain coming in from the sea on this picture of Cromer beach) and enjoyed driving down country lanes and visiting local pubs. Midweek we swapped our son for Jack (Melody's boyfriend). Wells beach was a late discovery with wide open sands and channels with slow flowing water. The beaches were, on the whole, huge expanses of sand or pebbles. The only beach we never actually made it to was Cley's own.

One afternoon I was indulged and went off to the nearby nature reserve to birdwatch. The reed beds and mud flats are perfect for waders of all kinds. In my brief visit I saw avocet, dunlin, ruff, plovers, marsh harriers and, to my great delight, a spoonbill. If you are not familiar with birds, these are the oddest looking creatures. I was very content to sit and watch the world and the birds. Other visitors to the reserve were friendly too. One man showed me a photo he'd taken of a bittern - a rare bird known to be in the marshes but as yet unseen. The others in the hides had cameras and binoculars, some with huge lenses, but the immediate cameraderie was comfortable and not competitive.

On our last day we visited Holkham Hall - not the hall itself but the grounds. We walked round the lake and enjoyed a brief hint of sunshine (well, the absence of rain to be more accurate) and managed to spend an hour on the beach before the rain arrived. This tree trunk struck me as rather beautiful.

Thursday night the storms hit. Lightning, thunder and fluctuating power too. The streets were awash with rain water and the little house made its own set of sounds as the wind and rain battered it. Morning came and the rain still fell but we were due to leave for home. As we headed inland and South, the rain slowly abated and were were home in time to watch the opening ceremony of the Beijing Olympics.

I have one more holiday planned this year - a trip to Spain with my daughter, her friend Rosie, and my friend Cathy. I hope - oh how I hope! - that we don't experience mad Spanish storms. I could really do with seeing the sun.

En Vaccances!

"No, I can't spell in French but I can order drink and food, so what else matters?"

A few days in France at the Centreparc just south of Rouen. A rest? A holiday? Well, a break, certainly! I haven't cycled so much, played tennis or done such generally sporting things for years.

We took the ferry from Newhaven to Dieppe on Friday morning: a 3am start. The journey was long and slow (though my son and I slept nearly the whole ferry trip) and we got lost in Dieppe and then Rouen, but we arrived at the Parc in time to have a couple of games bowling (I won the first, Alex the second) and a meal (over priced, not very nice, but hey ho).

When Alex and I collected our bikes the heavens opened - we were drenched in seconds. Still, it didn't matter. Thankfully Saturday morning the sun shone and for the rest of the weekend the weather was lovely.

I could list our activities per day - including tennis, swimming, walking, cycling, shopping, drinking, eating and golf (you know, I didn't miss the ball once on the driving range? What's all this swiping with the stick thing? The ball doesn't move for goodness' sake... it just sits there. Hit it!). But listing what we did on what day might get a little tedious for the casual reader - so here's some highlights.

We played a round of mini-golf that took us so long we abandoned it at the 15th hole. The most entertaining part of the game was a young lad of about four years old with his plastic club and plastic ball so intently lining up each shot and trying very hard. He was most engaging, patient and good natured (how many four year olds do you know would wait 10-15 minutes before 'their turn'?) and then he'd take the ball, put it next to the hole and tumble it in.

I played quite a bit of tennis with Mel - something I'd not done for years. She is young and agile, so I had to run around quite a bit, but after about three turns I managed to start hitting the ball with the centre of the racket instead of the edge, the handle, my leg... (I'm much happier when the ball stays still).

Bryan hadn't cycled in years but - well - it's just like riding a bicycle, isn't it? No one fell off, no accidents, nothing but good fun, exercise and lovely French cider.

The small apartment we stayed in was, like the rest of them, surrounded by trees. I identified birch, oak and pine and saw a tree creeper (cute little bark hopping bird). The lake, a central feature of all Centerparcs, was perfect for the paddle boats. When we went out in ours I just lay back and the kids did all the paddling. A lovely way to while away half an hour in the sun.

We packed a lot into our two full days there. We had to leave at the start of the Monday morning to catch a mid-day ferry home. We left at 9.00am and got home just about 8pm. A long day! The ferry journey was smooth again and though this time I didn't sleep the trip seemed very long. Mel and I went for a sunbathe and got told we were on a forbidden part of the ship! Well - no signs, what did they expect? On the way we caught a puncture too, it wasn't much fun unloading the car and having to change a tyre in the ferry port UK end.

Home at last we were tired and ready for a rest. The neighbour had fed the cat, the grass had grown at least six inches, but the sun was still shining and we were happy after our exhausting but enjoyable break.

Folkin' About

"I learn to pass at juggling and look at lots of old tractors, amongst other things"

Ah, the day of the annual Red Lion Free Folk Festival finally arrived. And with it - of course - torrential rain. At 8am that morning the skies were slate-grey and emptying the entire contents of lakes onto the earth it seemed. By 10am, however, I could walk down town to the bank in just a shirt as it was so warm and sunny!

The annual festival is a free event run by the regulars at a folk club near Cambridge. They save up all year with raffles and other fund-raising events and put on a completely free festival with singarounds, open mic, sessions, workshops, a concert with a guest band (Isambarde) and a barn dance in the evening. The dance is performed by local band Swindlers and Gentry who do it for free as many of them go to the club.

It started at 12 and though the skies were still cloudy, there was blue in between and no rain. However, the earlier downpour seemed to have an effect on the crowds who were somewhat absent to start.

The open mic in the marquee started with Bryan (my husband) and Penni. Later I played with my music partner, Shani. Though we'd rehearsed two of her songs and one of mine, we ended up doing four of her songs. I had tonsilitis and my singing voice was pretty shot. But we did ok despite the humid atmosphere wreaking its havoc on tuning.

My friend Carol came too, and bought me a plate of chips for my lunch. Earlier I put them on the table with Bryan and some others, and by the time I'd gone all the way back to the pub for ketchup and a fork... well, when I returned the plate was pretty well clean. I managed a few chips, but didn't really mind as singing (even though I was only doing harmonies) on a full stomach is not a good idea.

Baz, the drummer Penni, Bryan and I play with when doing the airshows (see previous posts) joined us too on snare drum. He'd never even heard Shani and I, let alone played with us, but did a grand job. My friend Steve, who I'd sent a CD so he could learn our final number and join in on harmonica, ended up stuck in traffic and arrived just after we'd finished our spot. Next time perhaps.

I'd been doing some publicity for the festival (not as successfully as I'd like given the low numbers) and also invited a few people. My boss and her mother came, along with a trainer called Kate. They seemed to enjoy our performance and after watching the morris dancers, came and joined us with Baz. He had another, vitally important role at the festival. Baz was the circus act. We joined Baz and I learned to pass at juggling, we did something odd with balls in socks - called poi I think (I managed to hit myself on the nose, the legs, the back... not a natural talent I fear) and even tried the hula hoop. I don't think that I'd been any good at that as a kid either.

Bryan meanwhile had been put on the sound desk in the marquee where the open mic was, so he didn't get to see me embarassing myself with the poi or see that I could actually use stilts! Even though they were only very little ones.

Though the festival was due to continue to late in the evening, and Bryan was playing in the dance band (and I do like barn dances), I had to go home. My daughter wasn't well and needed a bit of TLC so I bought her a fast food meal (and some for myself too) and drove home to her, leaving Bryan, Shani, Nickie and the now growing crowds to the rest of the day.

When I got home my daughter was in a sorry state, but pleased to see the food. So was her friend, who was with her still, so they shared what I'd brought. I made myself a cheese sandwich. It seemed the fates were steering me away from chips at every turn!

I couldn't go back to the festival because I had a gig too. I was playing bass with The Brookfield Band at a birthday party in a small village near Ware. The sun was still shining and when I arrived at 6.30pm, there was a huge hog roast being set up, a bar so laden with drink that it looked like it would collapse, a bouncy castle, and the most huge Union Jack I have ever seen. It must have been about 30 feet wide and created the backdrop to our tiny stage. I was first and set up, so whilst waiting for the others I went for a little walk round the farm who's barn we were playing in. Yes, a barn dance in a real (tin) barn for a change.

The farmer was a collector. There were about 25 tractors and lots of other ancient farm machinery of all kinds. The tractors were mostly Fordson and International (not a New Holland or John Deere in sight) and in various states of dilapidation or restoration. There was one weird machine from a company called Brampton of Uttoxeter and for the life of me I couldn't figure what it did. Two huge rollers, a funnel to pour something in and then two routes - one directly down to the rollers, and another to some weird enclosed section. I was curious, I have to say. It was too small to sort vegetables, and surely grain would have just gone all down the one chute? I couldn't work it out. I guess I'll never know, but I'll survive not knowing.

The crowd danced and danced - it was good fun playing with so many people dancing and having such fun themselves. Later we took a break to enjoy the food and I ate so much hog roast that I couldn't manage any desert. Ah well, good thing I'd not filled up on chips earlier.

When I got home at around 12.45am, I was only minutes ahead of Bryan. His gig finished earlier, but they had to clear up their stage (his seven piece band has a lot more equipment than the little four piece I play with) and help clear up from the day's events. We did catch up though, for what seemed like the first time that day. It had been rush for him from the moment he got up to go and get stuff for the festival, till the time he came home after having helped shut down at the festival (as well as having started the session, played with Penni, run the PA for a while and then played in the dance band).

We had a cup of tea and a chat, comparing notes on dance bands and how the day had gone. We aren't sure if they will have a festival next year as the pub are intending to build an 80-bedroom hotel on the land where we put the marquee up. We shall see.

Now it's Sunday morning and Bryan has gone back to the festival to help with the final clear up. I shall finish this blog, wake my children and then go for a swim.

How well read are you?

The US list of the top 100 books - those I've read are in bold, those I want to read italics, and those I love in square brackets.

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5 [To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee]
6 The Bible
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13 Catch-22 - Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare (I read lots of 'em, but not all!)
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19 The Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald - does audio book count?
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25 [The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams]
26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29 Alice's Adventures in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34 Emma - Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37 [The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini]
38 Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40 Winnie-the-Pooh - AA Milne
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan
51 MISSING - missing? Is that a book??
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59 [The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon]
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
69 Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby-Dick - Herman Melville
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce
76 The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession - A. S. Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte's Web - EB White
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89 [Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle]
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

Want to join in a game of 'tag'?

You are supposed to:
Look at the list and:
1) Bold those you have read.
2) Italicise those you intend to read.
3) [Bracket] the books you LOVE.
4) Reprint this list on your own blog.

I'll 'tag' Nick because he introduced me to it. You can see his top 100 read, not read etc (he's read more than me).

London Eye

"Going up! And round - and down..."

Saturday I took my 14 year old daughter and her boyfriend to London for the day. It was a surprise for his birthday. We drove to Cockfosters and then took the tube into Waterloo. Then began the queuing!! The London Eye is a huge wheel with 'pods' all round it. You have to jump on while it's still moving and then, over the course of around 40 minutes, you do a 'circuit'. One turn of the wheel.

OK, so queuing 45 minutes to go on a 40 minute trip in a glass bubble stuck on a wheel might sound a bit odd, but in fact it was terrific. Although my younger companions were perhaps slightly phobic of heights, in fact everyone was fine in the pod. You just looked out and there was a terrific view across London. St Paul's, the 'Gherkin', Canary Wharf, the Houses of Parliament... all could be seen. The higher we went, the more amazing the view. And close up there were strange sights too - in a central courtyard (which you could not see at ground level) was a weird octagonal building that looked like some weird secret headquarters.

When we reached the top, my daughter gave her boyfriend his birthday present - an engraved silver bracelet. Sounds girly, but it wasn't - it was very cool and he was very pleased indeed.

After our trip we headed into town for a pizza - but there was a problem with the trains. The Central Line was closed (body on the line...) and thus the trains were absolutely packed. My daughter and her boyfriend are both slightly claustrophobic so it wasn't the most comfortable of tube journeys. What made it worse was one fellow getting his head shut in the train doors. No serious injury, thankfully.

After pizza we did a quick bit of shopping. I took them into Selfridges but we couldn't stay in long - it was so hot! The shop was so warm we felt unwell. And then we went back into the underground and got squished and boiled even further.

By the time we got home it was gone 7pm and I sat down, exhausted but happy. We'd all had a good day. The phone rang. "Where are you?" came the cry - from a band expecting me to be there playing bass with them! My pal Cathy had mentioned the gig, I'd told her I was free but never heard anything more.

The worlds quickest change and loading of the car and I was off again. We were playing at a wedding in Harpenden and, as often happens, the speeches had overrun. So by the time the guests turned up for dancing I was nicely settled on stage, plugged in and ready to play.

They danced, we played, Adrian called the dances. At the break we looked at the remains of the buffet. Lots of things 'on sticks'. Prawns, reformed meat of some kind and a few other odd things like mini sausages. No salad, no cheese or stuff like that. Adrian looked crestfallen, being vegetarian. No problem! I was his official taster and found that some of the stick things were actually vegetables, and the odd looking ball things were onion bahjees.

We finished the dance and I drove home very tired, but quite happy. From up the in the sky on a huge wheel in the afternoon to playing at a very happy couple's wedding in the evening. Sunday would be a day to take things easy!

(In fact on I swam 24 lengths, went for a walk on the heath and did the ironing. I also tried an experiment with dinner - chicken stuffed with cheese and wrapped in bacon. A success, thankfully.)

New directions

"A new venture for an old hack"

I've been in marketing for ... oh, far too many years for me to mention here... and in training (in the industry, not 'in training' - you know what I mean!) for more than four years.

So my new venture is at a tangent to training - it's publishing training materials. I'm 'in charge' (though of course I report to the two big bosses - big as important, I don't want to be had up for libel here ladies!) and one of the things I've done is set up a 'partner' web site whilst waiting for my all-singing, all-dancing e-commerce site to be complete.

So - take a look and let me know what you think! www.trainersworld.co.uk. I built it using the totally free Microsoft (TM) Office Live system. It's pretty darn good for small businesses (though not suitable for my e-commerce project).

I'm enjoyin gthe responsibility and the freedom to get on with my own work, but the quantity of work is daunting. I am hiring freelance trainers to help with editing and even have a summer-time assistant.

It's keeping me busy, happy, paid and - in due course - I hope it will be a great success and a real money making enterprise. Darn, shame about the recession (what recession? Yeah yeah, I know - don't talk it into existence, but we can't pretend it ain't here). Never mind, I think I have a good niche market going here, so I'll keep you posted.

NLP

"Learn about mind control..."

Yeah yeah! Well, actually, I like NLP a lot, but 'mind control' it isn't. What it is I'm not sure anyone quite agrees on (what works, why it works, you know - same sort of arguments that you can apply to homeopathy), but I like it.

A good CD I found is called The NLP Secret. Worth a look if you want to know more. There's also the company I did my training with, Free NLP.

Advert blog? Not really, just want to get some interest in this subject, I wish I had more time to spend on it.

One Smart Frog

This handsome gentleman (or lady, I'm sorry I can't tell) deserves a post all his own!

Frog Blog!

"Come take a walk with me in the garden - and let's watch the pond very carefully..."

It's June, and we've had the first really warm couple of days for about a month. There's been so much rain that everything is growing like crazy, and now the sun is out, the garden is blooming. Blooming hard work!

Up in the tree is a goldfinch. There's been a pair of them chittering away in the tree all afternoon. Of course, I can't get near enough to take a decent photo with my little old digital camera, but they are very pretty birds.

By the pond is a very pretty lobelia. But in the pond itself, that's where the fun is! The water is peppered with duck weed and water skaters skim the surface and pause to battle and dive.

I hear they bite, but I've never had occasion to be nipped by one of them. They are so small! Could they really? Well, they do get quite violent with each other (is that territorial or mating? I have no idea).

There's a cheeky little greenfinch who loves to sit on a wayward branch of next door's conifer. The picture is perfect! His form outlined perfectly against a clear blue sky. I creep up with my camera, listening to his 'tweeep'. I lift the camera and... he's away! Every time. Aha! But I do catch him, and this time I don't mind if he flies off quickly. I don't want him to 'bless' my washing.

There's a wonderful swath of nigella in one of the borders. Though they do tend to take over a little, I love them. 'Love in a mist' - what a charming name for such a delicate and complex flower.


There's one frog who is convinced I cannot see him. He is hiding in the foiliage at the back of the pond. One of the frogs has a blue throat. We have a family of frogs with blue throats, he's the first one I've seen this season: though he has a patterned back, unlike his relatives who were a greeny black.

I haven't been well the last few days, so sitting in my garden frog watching was very restful. I'm not a particular frog fan, but they are amusing and quite entrancing. The colours on their backs, the glistening of their bright eyes... oh, alright, perhaps I am a bit of a frog fan after all.

Cambridge by night

"In which I acquire a new friend and an umbrella"

I met Mark on Myspace - we have mutual friends (live ones, not cyber ones) in Brighton Morris. We had chatted on line a bit about mutual interests - music and training - and then Mark contacted me to say he was coming to Cambridge.

We arranged to meet up one night - originally my husband was going to come too but he was unwell. But it was OK, Mark had also invited another Myspace contact to meet up, and he (Richard) was also a friend of mine.

So, at half past eight on a very rainy Thursday night, I drove into Cambridge for drinks with a man I met on the internet. Chaperoned, of course, by Richard. We met up and moved pubs immediately (The Eagle was heaving, yet two doors up the Bath House had space to sit).

We sat and talked for a couple of hours, easily, comfortably, the three of us discussing music, mutual acquaintances and friends, and training (Mark's current job, a return to training after a five year gap, sounds quite a challenge to say the least). When eventually we got up to leave, we were the only ones left in the pub. The rain was still darkening the pavements of this ancient city, and all I had was my jacket.

The barmaid, hearing our discussion on the rain (Richard was amply prepared and looked not unlike the Old Man of the Sea in his raincoat and hat) offered us left over umbrellas. She gave me a most wonderful rain defender - multicoloured inside, dark on the outside with a soft, solid foam handle. A truly wondrous affair! With appropriate gratitude I accepted, and we made our way out into the dark rainy night.

Richard led the way and we took Mark on a speedy, night-time tour of the city. Up past King's, along Trinity Street, past the Round Church, and then back down to Lion Yard where my two gentlemen companions insisted on accompanying me all the way back to my car. We told Mark various Cambridge stories - describing Hobson's Choice and pointing out the conduit (an underground stream that flows through the city) and pointing out various other interesting quirks of the city. We could, of course, have spent hours wandering the city, but late on a rainy Thursday night, with work the following morning, it wasn't an option this time.

We parted at the car park after a very pleasant evening. What luck that Mark's first training job was a post in Cambridge. Perhaps next time I'm in Brighton, he can show me the sights of that wonderful seaside town. Brighton Pier, perhaps?

Leaving Ireland

"Where the beaches are patrolled by black and white cats"

On my last morning in Ireland, Cathy drove me out to Cranfield, a lovely beach just down the coast from the 'Point. We walked along the empty sand - the lighthouse in the distance out in the slightly misty bay.

It was warm, a thin sun shining in the May sky, and the birds were diving and dancing across the rocks and into the salt-smelling seaweed. We walked, and talked, and picked up rocks (I found a huge stripy one that would fly home with me to join my 'international brigade' around the fish pond). We sat on some rocks and pied wagtails and sparrows hopped along the beach, snatching sandflies and leaving tiny prints.

While we sat talking, the wide empty beach before us, a few people walked past, and all bid us good morning. At one point a woman walked past, 'Come along now!' she called to her pet, and trailing behind her for her morning constitutional, was her (quite large) blakd and white cat. Unusual, to say the least!

It was a calm morning, relaxed and pleasant, an excellent way to spend my last day in Ireland. Later in the afternoon they took me back to the airport. A planned cafe stop misfired as, when we reached it, it was closed. Instead the whole family (Patrick came too - but not Dexter) piled in to the airport for a burger meal. At least I wouldn't have the long wait to depart that I'd had on leaving England.

At last it was time for them to leave me to my airport vigil, and Patrick gave me a big hug goodbye. After our farewells, I walked off towards the departure lounge - but Patrick rushed back to give me one final hug before I left. A wonderful start to my homeward journey.

On the plane it was fairly empty, and the flight seemed very quick indeed. I had a book to read, but I was too tired. The taste of salt air still in my lungs. I do want to live by the sea one day.

Book of Kells - for starters!

"In which we do Dublin"

Saturday morning, bright and (reasonably) early, and went down to a cafe for breakfast. Another fry? Nope - I went for a bacon sandwich and... my.. that pecan slice looks nice...

We caught a train to Dublin from Newry but it was very full. I had to stand for a part of the journey, but even so the trip went quickly. During the troubles going from North to South would mean border guards, passports, train searches maybe - now, the only thing that told me I was over the border was the change in mobile phone service!

We struggled from the station to the hotel, being directed by the friendly natives, then (after a quick drink at the bar and checking in), we hit the town. First stop, the Book of Kells at Trinity College. The exhibition was good, but the books (not just the Book of Kells, but some other ancient manuscripts too) were amazing. The colours so vibrant, the illustrations so detailed. The gold as rich and shining as it must have looked hundreds of years ago.

Continuing on our culture-fest, we then headed for the National Museum of Ireland, the archaeology department. And there - we had a wonderful time looking at dead bodies. Yep! Dead bodies. Not Egyptian mummies, but the peat-bog bodies. The detail was amazing and the colour of the preserved skin, a wonderful, deep leathery looking gold and brown. There was one that was just a torso and some arms... I think Cathy rather fancied a handbag out of that. However, we'd got there late in the afternoon and only saw a very small part of the amazing exhibits on show.

Well, that about summed it up for the culture part of the day. We headed for Temple Bar, walking all round the lively pedestrian centre listening to the tired strains of 'Dirty old town' and the like from competent but tourist-weary musicians. We ended up (after a quick Chinese in the Express restaurant) in a bar by the Liffy. Sitting quietly, just drinking a beer (cider for me, remember?) and then this couple started talking to us as we looked at our map.

Enter Sharon and Pete. Two characters to add to our dramatis personae for the evening. Both English, they were over for a realaxing time after Sharon had done some work in Ireland. We hit it off instantly - and it turned out that we think Sharon's sister bought our house off us about 22 years ago. And, if not off us, off our neighbour. Small world! We also discovered that Pete's brother was the same age as my old man and that they nearly (oh, clutching at straws here) went to the same school in Camden.

Cathy disappered to the 'little girls room' which turned out to be a very little room for girls. Complaining on her return, she said the cubicles were so small you could hardly move your elbows enough to drop your trousers. Pete, however, said the gents loos were 'wonderful'. Pub loos? Wonderful? That was it. Proof was needed. Cathy and Pete headed off to the toilets again. He showed her his, she showed him hers. I think the boys loo won, but not by a lot. I guess men have different standards for what's grand in a pub toilet.

Sharon and Pete mentioned a bar called the Brazen Head - the oldest pub in Ireland (it is claimed). We'd all had a few bevvies, but that was no reason to stop. Sharon had drunk whisky earlier in the day, though she didn't like it. The reason was the Jamieson distillery tour they'd been on. She'd been picked as a taster and had an 'official taster' certificate. Then she mixed it with Baileys... ewwww....

We headed out the bar we'd met in towards the Brazen Head and Pete pointed out the Millennium Bridge, known as the 'Quiver on the River'. It's supposed to wobble. Well, Sharon and Cathy were not keen to traverse it, so Pete and I went across it - jumped up and down and ran from side to side but, alas, it neither wobbled nor quivered. We crossed back over at the next bridge and caught up with the others.

At the Brazen Head we sat outside opposite a table full of English girls on a hen or birthday weekend. All dressed smartly, glitzy even, and with wobbly head dresses on. And guess what? They were too quiet! I'd never seen such a well behaved hen party in my life. The group next to us were much more fun, Bob and his wife, his sister and brother in law, from Ohio. It wasn't long before we were all one huge chattering group. I stopped drinking, the brandy and cider mix was starting to make me feel a little too light headed, so it was on to the diet coke. The others were made of sterner stuff, but I did notice Sharon switching to the cranberry juice. Wonder what else she had in it?

Though Sharon and Pete were ready to party all night, Cathy and I headed back to the hotel about half past midnight. Tired after all our culture, walking, and - perhaps - the beer. We had a twin room and one of us snored. Loudly!

I woke early next morning, and so did Cathy. We headed out for the nearby Writers Museum, but it didn't open until 11. So we walked round the little rememberance park first. Unlike many rememberance parks it didn't have a dedication to the fallen, the sacrifice or the voilence of achieving freedom, but the vision of those who sought it. We wandered round in the morning sunshine. At peace.

The writers museum was interesting. The audio guide made the whole thing far more engaging than just looking at displays and the odd old typewriter. Having had our cultural fix for the morning, we headed back into town but were hungry for more - so we revisited the National Museum of Ireland. We managed to see the Egyptian exhibits this time - including mummies - only the displays were really dark and you could't see the descriptions or what the items were very clearly. The rest of the museum was great though. Some fantastic golden torcs and other stuff from Viking and Roman times.

We noticed the time and instead of walking back to our hotel and then to the station, we had to hail a cab. Back on the train again, past wide open beaches and green countryside, we both had seats this time. Lunch was some rather sad pastry affair from the buffet car and we eventually reached Newry again just after six.

That evening we thought, briefly, about heading out on the town again, but a good night's sleep (sans snoring) was the preferred option instead.

Monday, the following day, was the last chance we'd have to spend a bit of time together before I had to fly back to GB. Some interesting things happened even then, but that's for my next post. Which, at this rate, I might write up within the next fortnight or so...

In Dublin's Fair City....

"We hit the town"

After getting settled in the hotel, we thought we'd take a look at the city and see the sights before coming back to change and go out for the evening. We never made it back to change...

We wandered down the main drag and, with our trusty tourist map in hand, found Trinity College and went in to view the Book of Kells. The display was well set out - enormous reproductions of pages all back-lit with interesting explanations and the history of the book and its contemporaries. When you actually get to see the book itself though, none of the reproductions can really do it justice. The gold and the colours are so vibrant. An incredible piece of history, and an amazing testament to the patience of the scribes (probably four they say) who created it.

We then headed for the National Museum of Ireland - the archaeology department in Kildare Street. Though we only had an hour before closing time, we did get a chance to wander round the main exhibits and in particular the section on the mummified bodies found in the peat bogs. Broth gross and fascinating at the same time, Cathy particularly noticed the amazing colour of the 'leather'. I reckon she fancied a handbag out of one of them. We weren't in there that long and only got to see about half the exhibits. Lunch (yes, it was nearly six) was in order. We found a super little Thai/Chinese style 'express' (read 'Chinese McDonalds) restaurant and ate. A quick beer before going back to the hotel seemed like a good idea too. We found a strange bar on the banks of the Liffy. The bars in the pedestrianised Temple Bar area were all noisy, packed and - to be honest - filled with 18-25 year olds. Our bar, however, was quiet, dingy, and had the smallest toilets you could imagine.

Down South

"In which I return to Northern Ireland and make a foray south of the border too"

A long weekend! A short break planned so I could catch up with my writing buddy, Cathy. I had taken the Friday off work and my pal Shani took me to the airport bright and early (6.30 am) so I could catch the 8.35 to Belfast. Only... they cancelled it. I was, however, lucky enough to get onto the next flight at 11.50. OK... a few hours to kill at the airport. That's enough about that part of my adventure - it was BORING!

When I arrived, Paul and Cathy were there to meet me and the first thing we did was drive to a cafe for an 'Ulster Fry'. Breakfast! (It was nearly 1pm, but it was breakfast.) We headed down to the 'Point and visited Cathy's parents. I'd not met her dad on my previous trip but he was awake and about this time. Marie showed me her latest embroidery, a patchwork of bunnies and hearts.

As the afternoon was pleasant, we headed up the nearest mountain (as you do) which is called Cloughmore. At the summit is a huge stone. This is said to have been thrown by a giant who is on the Mourne mountains on the other side of the estuary (and in fact in Southern Ireland). It was lovely - wonderful woods and below us the ... well, not sure what exactly because, as if on cue (same as my last visit), the mountains were clothed in mist and so was the bay so we couldn't see too much.

We headed for home, and after Pizza and a beer or two (well, actually I drank cider but from hereon 'a beer' means beer for Cathy, cider for me, alright?).

We went out for the evening quite late - 9.30pm - but that was usual. The 'craic' doesn't start early. We went to a small pub in Rostrevor where I'd gone last time with Penni (see A trip to Ireland) and had a good time playing along on my little travel guitar and singing a few songs. They were a warm crowd and we had a few beers (and ciders, remember?). It was Gerry's birthday (the guy who hosted the session) and at the end of the evening they ended with 'Wild Mountain Thyme' - asked to take the last verse, I promptly forgot it! Oh well, we still all sang and had a good time.

Saturday morning, after another cooked breakfast (this time at a small cafe in the 'Point), Cathy's mum took us to the station and we caught the train to Dublin. After only a few miles we were over the border (no passport, no visible border - so different to how it was a few years ago with guards and police and army) and chugging down the coast. We arrived in the city and lugged our bags to the hotel. Stopping to read directions, a passer by instantly asked if he could help and directed us. The hotel was smart, and we had a quick beer in the bar while we waited for the room to be ready (are you detecting a theme here yet? Yes! I had cider, I did say, didn't I?....)

What happened next? Mmmm... I'll save that for the next post I think.

I'm off to Ireland again

A couple of weeks and I will go to Ireland to visit my pals in Warrenpoint. We have a plan - a cunning plan! I arrive, they pick me up, we get to their house, open a beer or two.

We get Chinese takeaway.

We go out, we open a beer or two.

Sometime... the next day... we take a train to Dublin.

We go out. We get Chinese. We open a beer or four. Stumble into hotel.

We wake up (hopefully still in hotel and not on floor of bar) and ... open a beer or two to get rid of headache.

Look round Dublin.

Train back to Warrenpoint. Open a beer or two...

Back to the airport, fly home.

As you can see, a stunning cultural itinerary!

Well - watch this space, see what 'really' happens!

Time Traveller

An unscheduled party and some old times revisited

In the late 1970's B and I played in a folk trio with a chap called Ted. We played quite a few clubs and got bookings, and built up a good repertoire. Things changed, Ted moved away, and eventually left the country. We moved on to Aardvark & No Money (when will we ever choose SENSIBLE band names?!).

But here we are, 30 years later, and Ted is in our front room singing those same songs with me and B, and it's like it was yesterday! The occasion was an impromptu party, decided the previous night at around quarter to midnight.

But, to start at the beginning (which is out of character for me, I know, but may help in this instance). Ted contacted us by phone about two years ago, and came over one Christmas to visit his family and fit in a flying visit with us. This time, he came over for a longer visit and though his family were stricken by a sad bereavement, he reached us eventually for the Friday night.

Friday we went to the folk club, the Red Lion, and played together the old songs that we'd sung 30 years ago. It was - it was the same. Yes, we are all older of course, but the music, the naturalness of playing together was simple, comfortable.

Following the folk club, the 'gang' went to the petrol station and had late night coffee - this is when the party plan was hatched.

Ted came and stayed with us, and he and B stayed up till 2 talking (I can't do late nights, which is pretty useless for a musician I know) and the following morning it was food preparation time for me whilst B and Ted spent the day recording Ted's songs.

About 20 people (including us) plus two toddlers turned up. It was a lovely evening - talking, eating, drinking (no body drunk, just all relaxed) and playing music together or listening to each other. A highlight of the party was Mr & Mrs Potato Head, brought by the parents of one of the toddlers. It entertained the adults equally as much as the children.

But having Ted with us was like having a time traveller in our midst - here he was 30 years on and it was like it was yesterday. Maybe we were the time travellers?

The party was deemed a success though (they ate all the food which I take as a good sign) and everyone seemed happy. Ted stayed over again, recorded a couple more songs in the morning, then went to take a coach to visit more friends, this time in Birmingham.

They say 'you can't go back' - and yes, that's true, but you can keep some of the good bits from the past, and they can still work in the present and maybe even in the future. Nostalgia seems to be in the air at the moment (hence the new site for a band that has been disbanded for over 20 years). We even bumped into the drummer from Aardvark last weekend (first time in 20 years).

A touch of grace

Reminded of the important things in life

I was late home from work - the exhibition stand man was an hour late in arriving to show us how to put up the stand for Monday, computers had been going wrong all week (the bit - the ONLY bit - that I am responsible for) and on the way home the traffic was awful.

I got home and was greeted with a 'computer crisis' - the Xbox was not talking to our internet connection, our computer would not talk to Xbox websites, and I had an unhappy son and a stressed husband.

I had a quick look, but a tecchie friend phoned and offered some advice. No resolution found. By now, quarter past six, I was late for karate. Very late. I rushed out with a quick 'have a good concert' to the old man (off to see Jethro Tull - my, are they still alive, and playing?) and got to the hall. I looked for my cheque book - couldn't find it! I knew I'd had it on Sunday... eventually remembered it was in my training kit bag, not my handbag. Relief. I got into the hall and the lesson half way through. With no seniors training (not just grown ups, but of a certain level - belt colour), it would finish in 20 minutes. Ho hum - too late to train, but at least I did manage to pick up my new gi. Why I didn't have one is another story - but I purchased my nice bright white karate suit and left the hall, leaving small people doing small karate, but with big ambition.

The main hall we do karate in (our dojo) is divided into three and two other martial arts groups train the same night as our club. I paused to look through at the next group (I knew a few of the guys, karate black belts who were now trying something new) and a small girl, standing there with her father said "Hello."

She had an engaging smile. She looked slightly different, something about her facial proportion, her manner, her stance, and she had a lovely smile. Her father, standing by, smiled down at his daughter. "What's your name?" she asked me. We had a five minute, and very pleasant, exchange. She is 8 years old, has an older sister (who was doing choi kwan do in the furthest part of the hall). She liked doing drawings of flowers today, and she likes magnets. She and her father were watching the other groups, the dad said he was considering starting karate. What about your daughter? She's old enough to join, I said. He said she had balance problems, part of her condition.

She asked me where I lived, I said in the town - I knew where she probably lived from the name on her school jumper. She was a sweet child. I looked at the father, and the child. I shook her hand and said how nice it was to meet her, and went on my way.

Her name was Grace.

St Patrick's Night

"I sing the same song three times"

Not in a row, of course, but over the course of a night we sang 'Fields of Athenry' at least three times, 'Wild Rover' twice, and numerous other Irish standards.

What was I doing - an English lass - singing Irish songs on St Patrick's Night? Well... sometimes you just get offers you can't refuse. Richard phoned up and said he wasn't well, but had to do a gig, could I help him out? Of course. Why did he call me? Because every other musician, and most certainly all those who play Irish music, was already booked! OK, I may be bottom of the barrel, but I still said yes.

We played in a corner of a busy bar that was part of a posh hotel in Cambridge. The bar was teeming with Guinness-drinking punters - some Irish, some Spanish, some American and ... well, I didn't go round and ask every single one where they were from, but Cambridge being the multi-cultural city it is, they came from all over.

I played bass and sang a couple of my songs, but most of the night it was Irish standards. Richard also sang some U2 and van Morrison songs and I have to say he did a sterling job. He worked hard, singing in a rough and harsh voice (not his normal style, the poor man was really ill) and sounded, I have to say, perfect for the occassion.

One young Irish lass asked if she could sing, I said sure, join in. But she took that to mean join us on stage. She grabbed Richard's mike and sang loudly, and rather out of tune, and in a very odd time, but to the great delight of her friends.

There were some daft promotional hats, lots of green teeshirts and a very enthusiastic irish gentleman in a three piece suit with a striped green shirt. The two young American lads I talked to wore baseball caps - the type with no strap at the back that you wear back to front. One, Sean, was a guitar player. He was visiting his friend who was at one of the Cambridge colleges. He, however, was in real estate in Massachussets. We had an interesting conversation about architecture, in one of the brief breaks we had. Ohh... if I'd be 20 years younger and single! ... well, 25 years younger? Hmmm... ok. Never mind, back to the music.

Richard continued to sing though his voice got rougher and he was looking rather ill. His wife Bridget played bodhran and sang a couple, but on the whole it was Richard, with accompaniment by me, who carried off the night.

Next year? Well, I don't have any gigs booked for St Parick's night... so if a bass playing English girly who can sing 'Fields of Athenry' and actually like the song, you know where to find me... (that is, if you have a fistfull of cash and some HUGE bouncers ready to haul out the over-enthusiastic, Guinness- and Magners-fuelled madly spinning, dancing, singing, grinning drunken idiots who get just that bit TOO close to the band....)

The Writers Circle

"I think I've landed in the script for the Vicar of Dibley..."

OK, that's perhaps an exaggeration, but there was something very Dibley Parish Council about my very first visit to the local writers circle. I guess choosing the day before Easter Good Friday means that turnout was likely to be low, but it was just me and four men. (The 'vicar' - chairman, was unable to attend this month.)

I did enjoy myself though (hey, not like that! They are all much older than me, and we were there to write, OK?).

We were set the task of writing a letter - we could choose either a letter that could have changed history, or goodbye to a loved one. We all chose the former. One guy did a letter from Philip Marlow persuading Shakespear not to come to London, one from the Military to Prince Harry saying he couldn't go on active service, one on if his parents had not been allowed to pursue their romance, and one was a witty love letter from Ron Reagan to Maggie Thatcher. It was quite hard to write a letter for 40 minutes - letter writing not being a strong point of mine (or indeed of much of society these days).

Mine? Well, here it is. I make no claims to historical accuracy whatsoever, this is fiction:

Dear Klara

I write with great concern, once again, regarding your son's behaviour. I know we have spoken on may occasions, and you and your husband are well aware of the issues which concern me, as his teacher and your friend.

I do feel, though, that I ought to raise the subject of his behaviour once again. Last Thursday you will have noticed that he came home bruised (or perhaps not, sons are often shy in showing their mothers an injury so received). This bruising to his behind was acquired through a beating he received from the older boys. Why then, you may ask, am I reporting your son's behaviour? Well, the beating he received was earned. Not justified (no, I can never condone such violence), but earned nonetheless.

He taunted the boys about a very private matter, one which I cannot bring myself to commit to paper, but needless to say, was a matter so inflammatory as to result in your son behind held and beaten with a shoe upon his buttocks.

Yes, Klara, I do assure you that I have reprimanded the perpetrators most severely with punishment in kind from my cane, yet still it is your son who causes me the most concern.

Upon confronting him in the hall after this event I found his attitude most distressing. He was sullen and withdrawn, but also extremely rude to myself and other teachers. As you know, this is not an isolated incident. He has caused trouble many times and, quite often, expertly extricated himself from consequence.

But, hopefully, I am the harbinger of good news. I have been recommended a most excellent doctor for your son. This Swiss doctor is an expert in maladies of the mind for, as we know, the issues of your son's physical health are to be addressed separately.

May I recommend, as teacher to your son and friend to your family, that you send your son to see Dr Jung? I can send with him a letter of referral. Indeed, some of the many issues that trouble your son, and us as his spiritual and mental guardians, may in some way be assuaged. Perhaps we can offer some light to this dark anger within him, and lead him into brighter pastures.

I know the boy is young but he is clever. He is, I have to say, particularly able to manipulate the younger boys. It is his manner with those older, and of any persuasion different to his mind, that causes such touble for both him and the school. I am sure you will wish to talk to your husband about this matter but, be assured, I have already mentioned the troubles your son causes to Alois last time we met at the alehouse.

I know, perhaps, in these troubled times that sending your son away may seem like an extreme measure, but he is a talented boy and carries a great deal of potential within that dark head of his.

I appeal to you Klara, let your son visit Dr Jung and see if easing the ills of his mind may ease the troubles of his soul. For all our good, it may be the making of the boy. Should you require to know more of this doctor, I am assured that Dr Karl Jung is destined for greatness and, I would most sincerely hope that he can help young Adoplh in the pursuit of a happy life and a fulfiling role in society.

Please do advise, Klara, so that we may expedite his visit to Switzerland as soon as possible.

Sincerely.........


Be kind - this was a straight write-away exercise, no editing, or revision (and I've put it up 99% verbatim here).