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).

Bagels!

Chatting to friends, I mentioned I'd never made bagels before. "I have," said my friend Nadine. "I made them with a young boy once." Odd... I thought you used flour and water and stuff. Oh well!

I had a go this weekend. Ahem. Well... I do like baking and I make OK cakes and bread. I've made choux pastry successfully, even puff pastry in the past. But bagels? Er... I guess the picture tells the story. They tasted OK though - once I'd finally managed to pick all the baking paper off.

Great Aunt Barbara

"Driving down the A10, I hit a diversion... memory lane!"

I have no idea why, when driving to pick up my daughter from riding today, I thought of my Great Aunt Barbara. Sounds good, doesn't it? Can you imagine a tall, stately, grey haired, beautifully spoken English lady? Well, you'd be spot on.


Great Aunt Barbara was my mothers aunt, so not from the acting side of the family and not as well 'documented'. And it's a great shame, for I remember her quite clearly and had I known her when I was an adult, I think there's lots I'd have liked to ask her about.

She lived through two world wars, for a start. Yeah, sure, so did loads of people... but there was something about GAB (do you mind? It's shorter, and you know who I mean) had a sort of dignity about her that kind of made you feel perhaps she was one of those no-nonsense nurses, white apron, white hat... or a military driver, ushering Generals about. But, in truth, I have no idea. She could have been a genteel lady, sitting in her London apartment, or hiding in her country retreat.

Enough imaginings! I did know GAB when I was a child, and this is what I remember most clearly about her - her house and her friend. Barbara lived with her friend Elizabeth, and I can see Elizabeth's face and hear her voice more clearly than GABs, in my memory. Perhaps she was a more forthright character, I can't remember clearly enough.

But the house - a lovely house in Ashstead in Surrey, in Skinners Lane. By chance I have met two people since who live in that same road, but I have no idea if her old bungalow (Little Orchard) is still there. It was, to a small child, a magnificent house. No upstairs! An enormous (remember, I was small) kitchen with the sink in the middle of the room (bizarre to me, I assure you) and doors that linked through rooms so that, with a teasing big brother, you could run round and round the house until yelled at to stop by fretting parents and amazingly patient ancient ladies.

The house was probably full of antiques and two young and vigorous children tearing around the place was probably not healthy - for the antiques or the living occupants. But in the garden was something I remember even more clearly - a mulberry tree. Huge and green, with ripe, bublous mulberrys. We obviously went when the tree was in fruit for I remember their rich, full taste, and the staining red juice that my mother despaired of me getting on my clothes. Certainly, it was hard enough to get off my fingers.

I don't think I've ever seen a mulberry tree since. Two old women living together in a country cottage, surrounded by nice gardens and a magnificient tree. I wonder what else she did with her life? I will have to see what mother knows.

We always ask too late.

It's a funny world

You know, sometimes the simplest of things can seem hugely funny. Like whispering 'Do you want any marmalade?'. OK, doesn't seem funny to you (or to me, to be sure) but it had my friend in tears of laughter last night.

Humour - a very personal thing don't you think? But, then again, humour is not always jokes, or situations, or events, but just looking at something with the right frame of mind.

A couple of weekends ago some of the guys I know went to Belgium to play at a festival. On the way back Kevin texted Guido 'On the train now'. Well, Guido was four cars behind him in the queue, so he knew he wasn't. When challenged, Kevin said 'Well, I'd have been on the train by the time you received the text. It's called predictive texting.'

That, I would call wit. But there's some really cringe-worthy stuff I've been thinking about too - mostly to do with 'Mother'. My mother is not the most tactful of ladies (and, darn it, I've inherited some of that 'speak first, think later' attitude, I regret). For example!

Mother: "Are your family all large too?"

Friend: .... amazingly, she was not rude in reply!

Mother - on seeing one of our friends for first time in years, first thing she says is: "You are on Thorazine too?"

Mother, when sitting next to my gay friend: "I've... never sat next to someone... from Israel before." (PHEW!)

Mother (to me): "You were so skinny as a child. I never thought you'd turn out f.."

Children come out with the most amazing wit too, sometimes intentionally and sometimes not. When my son was very small, I saw him jumping up and down in the garden. "I can't reach it!" he said, frustrated. "What?" said I, concerned mother. "The sky."

And a friend's child, watching me breastfeed my daughter many years ago, asked what I was doing: "giving the baby milk," I explained. She looked serious. "What's in the other one?"

Ah, the things kids say and do. But best of all is the faux pas... but maybe I'll save them for another post.

The Port of Felixstowe

"A work trip with a difference"

On Friday I visited one of my employer's clients to help me write up a report we are doing - a joint entry for a training award.

Duncan, the man I went to visit, also wanted to show me round the port. Now, I guess a lot of folks aren't going to be excited by rubber tyred gantries, big ships and containers - but to see the Port in full flow was fascinating. Something like 15 million containers are moved through the UK every year (it's growing every year too) and Felixstowe handles around a third of these - thats a lot of 20 foot metal boxes! Seeing them stacked, seeing them lifted on and off 'tugs' (the internal transports that shuffle the containers around) and then up onto the ships was amazing. The scale - the sheer scale of everything was impressive.

Duncan took me in a port car up to the edge of the quay, so I could see closely how it all worked. He took me round Landguard, the older quayside which has a shallower draft (around 11 metres for those interested) where smaller ships still come in (I say small - still looked huge to me!) and eventually to the original dock which was the very first place ships (old sailing cargo ships) would have come in. It looked so small compared to the rest of the port. Soon they are going to fill it in, turn that whole area into a massive new quayside - but it was amazing to think that ships - from tall sailing ships, through steamers to modern ships - had probably come in there over the last couple of hundred years.

Bringing spice from the Indies, fruit from Africa, silk from Samarkand, timber and minerals from the Americas... and Christmas decorations (on the largest container ship ever to dock in the UK) from China. The older images are more romantic, eh?

Yeah, I guess to be accurate I should go look up my maritime history, but the port today is crucial to both the local and national economy. They have rail, ship and lorry (external hauliers, internal tugs) to coordinate, thousands upon thousands of containers (and they know where any one is at any time) and ships coming in and out all day, every day (except Christmas day and Boxing day). There's about 3000 people working at the port, yet one of those huge great ships only needs 12 people to operate it. Amazing.

The scale of things is what impressed me most - the gantries are huge, the stacks of containers make the final scene of 'Raiders of the Lost Arc' look unimpressive - and the number of 'moves' - each time a container is shifted - incredible.

It takes quite an operation to run all this, which is why I was visiting Duncan (we trained some of his Operations Staff) and unlike manufacturing, for example, there are so many variables to account for - weather, for one. No matter how much you computerise systems, you still have to account for people, weather and other unpredicatables.

I enjoyed the visit, and was impressed by Duncan's obvious enthusiasm for his job too. I learned a lot and I got my report written with far more insight than if I hadn't visited.

Will I get a song out of it? Not sure - too many darn good sailing songs out there already (mind you, I might finish my "Mary Rose" one eventually).

Here's some further information about the planned expansions, with a bit of history too: www.dft.gov.uk

And here's a more detailed page with historical info: www.portoffelixstowe.co.uk

Indian School

"A piece of American history I never knew"

On my last full day in the US we visited the Heard Museum in Phoenix. The museum was set in a Spanish colonial style building and comprised collections of Indian artifacts including basketwork, pottery and the intriguing Katsinca 'dolls' - intricate models that were used for teaching the children about Indian religion. The exhibits showed how the different peoples lived, from the farming Pueblo nations to the nomadic tribes and also how they live today.

The exhibit that I found most extraordinary though, was the Indian Schools. The picture above shows a Navajo called 'Tom Torlino' - doesn't sound very Indian, does it? The picture on the left is how Tom was when he arrived at the school, on the right after he'd been there a while. Now, as you can see, Tom was a young man not a child. But children were sent - forcibly taken from their homes and sent - to the Indian Boarding schools from as young as five years old.

You see, 'taming the savage' by sending him to school and turning him into a little American was one way of 'solving the Indian problem'. Indian problem? Oh, the fact that they were occupying land that ... well, I guess historically I have to say 'we' (being of Anglo/Norman descent) wanted. Take George Washington, that paragon of liberation who freed the US from the Brits... he said “…(They) were wolves and beasts who deserved nothing from the whites but 'total ruin.” Um... guess they aren't going to use that quote often in modern history teaching?

The exhibit at the Heard was moving - the schools only closed as recently as the 1930s I think. This is quite a good site: "http://historyday.crf-usa.org/1712/introduction.html" with a basic introduction if you want to learn more.

So I wanderd round the exhibit with Nadine - looking at black and white photos of Indian children clutching each other in panic and pain, lined up like little Edwardian children, dressed in European style clothes, and the hair of the men shorn and neatly parted. To most Indian tibes, the cutting off of hair indicated that a man was a coward. So, these kids - perhaps as young as five, perhaps as old as 16, were taken from their homes, shaven, their clothes taken from them, the names taken from them, and then taught basic skills and 'how to be American'. This was one 'solution' to the Indian problem. Beats what Mr Jefferson wanted to do: “…(The US should) “pursue [Indians] to extermination, or drive them to new seats beyond our reach."

And hey - didn't it just work out fine? Didn't they get just what they wanted? A completely assimilated race who just fit neatly into the American model of a perfect citizen? Well, I guess not. No matter how many cultures try to overtake another - be it Japan invading China, Germany invading Poland or England invading India... it never works. Cultures that have been in existence for thousands of years cannot be wiped out through forced assimilation.

I have no idea what we as people have learned from this throughout history - I have a nasty feeling that this desire to conquer and convert (culturally, religiously or even in appearance if you want to look at celebrity 'worship') is such an ingrained part of human nature that, as a species, we won't ever really stop or change. We may intellectually examine the options, and decide what is morally right or wrong, but when it comes to the 'crunch' (and the next one on the calendar is probably not going to be world war three but global warming in my humble opinion), we will revert to our most basic of instincts.

I never met or spoke to any Native Americans (apart from one shop assistant who sold me a great hat) when I visited the US, but I did learn a lot from my visit to the Heard. I asked Nadine if she had any cultural attachment - any sense of belonging - to the Native Americans? She said no, she felt her cultural history was that of the settlers in her history who came over to the US from Scotland and Ireland.

I thought about it. My personal family history is easy to trace (on my father's side). I have two massive family history volumes with pictures, photographs, family trees going back centuries. But my family came over with the Normans. Do I feel culturally part of the UK, which - I guess if you go far back enough - is Anglo Saxon and Celtic? I don't know. More to the point, I don't feel the importance of being 'English' in that way; as a Norman or a Celt. I'm just English. I love my heritage - this country and it's rich cultural variation. I also love going to other places and exploring and finding out about other cultures. I understand that as an 'imported' race, the whites in the US have as many and varied cultures as the Indians have tribes, so I understand that Nadine's 'emotional' attachment to the Native Americans is perhaps best described as one of shame at what our ancestors did. Much as I feel when I read about the many atrocities the English committed in countries all round the world in the name of 'Empire' and - oh yeah! - civilisation. We tried quite a bit of that 'taming the savage' stuff across the world, not just in the US. Don't think it's all in the dim and distant past either - there is some awful stuff we have done as a nation that is very much in living memory.

I understand that unless I set aside another lifetime for studying, I could never begin to grasp all the implications of the effects the Indian Schools had on the indiginous race and culture. So much must have been lost in that time, snatched from childhood. But much survives. And you can't crush spirit - and spirit seems to outlive every atrocity that mankind heaps upon mankind somehow.

I found more pictures on this site: www.nativeamericans.com but if you have a site you think may be of interest to anyone that this story has stirred some interest in, please post a comment or let me know.

See what a trip to a museum can bring? (By the way, my myspace site now has a song I wrote about the Indian School - http://www.myspace.com/98749481

Gambling bear

"We teach Paddington to gamble"

On our way back from the Grand Canyon we stopped for supper at the Cliff Castle Casino. This is an Indian casino run by the Yavapai-Apache Nation and is on the hills by Montezuma's Castle. We tried to see the castle on the way out but the signposts weren't clear, so we missed that particular tourist hot spot.

But at 9pm, when we arrived back at the Casino after our trip, we entered for some supper. The main room, an atrium almost, was full of slot machines going 'bing bing bing' and people literally plugged in to them. Not feeding coins or notes in one by one, but plugged in with credit card type inputs that were attached to the players by long coiled cords. It had a rather eerie feeling - sort of 'Matrix'. Every pull of the handle, money disappeared.

I had a go just to say I'd done it. I put in a five dollar bill, pulled the handle a few times - no jingle of winnings, no flashing lights - actually, absolutely no attraction whatsoever! We played the money out to the last 25 cents which I then received a little printed slip for. OK, I could have cashed it but the truth is we saved it as a souvenir. A 25 cent souvenir that cost me $5.... so, you telling me that this isn't a mug's game?

Rooms to the side had poker players huddled round tables, but the whole thing was rather... how can I put it? Like anything you see on TV and then visit in 'real life', it was kind of tame. I'm sure the players were having 'fun' - but it didn't appeal to me (and I have to say I am a useless poker player, just ask Alex!).

We wanted to eat, but the burger bar next to the bowling alley (all part of the casino) was closed. Well, got to keep the kids busy whilst you pour their inheritance down the drain, eh?

We went into the main restaurant and I had Indian fry bread with refried beans, chilli, cheese... oh, loads of stuff on it! Delicious. So, I sort of had an Indian meal, but I'm so confused with the cultures (Indian, Mexican, American) that I'm not sure I'd say it was 'authentic'. Whatever, it was very nice and very filling.

After we'd eaten it was time to hit the road, but we wanted a photo of Paddington Bear to send to Cathy. Paddington was our 'Cathy substitute' for the week, so we took pictures of him in all sorts of situations. Now, taking photos in a Casino is not really on, but we asked nicely and the Head of Security, a chap called Dave (and not a Native American, incidentally) cleared it with 'management' and took a photo of us with Paddington at some slot machines.

Poor little bear - we put him in the snow, dragged him round a museum, dropped him in the Botanic Garden (but speedily retrieved) and had him photographed by security... he'd have a few tales to tell if he could talk that's for sure.

Grand Canyon

"Words and pictures cannot do it justice"

I'd asked to visit the Grand Canyon - after all it's in Arizona and it would have been a shame not to see it. So, Sunday we had planned as a family day out. Tomas and Charley, Nadine and I were due to go to the Grand Canyon. But... Tomas had homework and Charley said he should stay home (well, actually, there were two football matches on).

So, once again Nadine and I were off on a (mini) road trip. We'd only got back from California the day before, but a further 200 miles didn't seem to bother her. This time we took the Jeep.

The scenery was once again amazing. This time instead of heading due west (for California) we headed due north, over two mountain ranges. Phoenix to Flagstaff, then Williams and North to the rim of the Canyon.

We'd started off in sunny Phoenix, but headed up to over 7,000 feet altitude, so it was colder and snowy. The snow was a pristine white, the roads however (despite four foot of snow either side) were clear and ice free. I loved it! We stopped for shopping (of course) and also stopped quite simply to play in the snow.

We reached the canyon at about 3pm and the sun coloured the scenery with deep reds and gold. The air was freezing, the skies amazing. Nothing I can say and no pictures I took can do it justice - it is one of the most wondrous natural sights that, if you can, you really should see. I would have loved to visit for longer, maybe fly or balloon - but not this time. I've seen it, it touched me. Nature astounds.

I drove the jeep a small way, enjoying the experience of driving a new vehicle in a new country. I enjoyed making snow angels and watching the changing scenery. All the way there, all the way back, new experiences for my senses - the smell, the sights, the sounds. The birds, the mountains, the roads and the towns... everything new and I drank it all in.

My road companion was patient and kind, and even smoked less in my company!

What can I say? I want to go back. I want to see more of that amazing canyon, of the countryside, of the cities and towns. So much to see and do, so little time! But I had a ball - oh yeah, I had a ball.

Holiday of a lifetime

My trip to America

A long flight from Heathrow to Chicago, then another flight from Chicago to Phoenix, plus a delay from Chicago meant that my travelling time from home to Phoenix was around 24 hours. But it didn't matter! Every moment of travel was worth it!

When I finally arrived at Phoenix airport at around 10pm local time, Nadine was there to meet me. Now, it may seem odd to some, but I had travelled half way round the world to go and visit someone I had never met. Nadine and I are 'internet buddes' - we've known each other for nearly two years via a writing circle we both belong to.

So when I first saw Nadine 'in the flesh' I wondered what she would be like, and wondered what she would make of me. The first thing I noticed was that - hey not really a surprise - she was a lot shorter than me. Or I was a lot taller than her, whichever way you look at it. But meeting her was easy - we found each other's company as easy in person as we did on line. So - now that I'd made it to the US, met Nadine (and her family), there was only one thing left to do... HAVE FUN!

Day one Mait, Nadine's middle son, made us pancakes. Amazing! Nothing like my flat and flaccid offerings. Delicious. We took an easy start to the day and then headed to the Botanic Garden, finishing with a dark climb up the Papago hill. An owl atop the hill hooted and did his impression firstly of a tourist, and then of a coyote, but the 'hoo hoooo, hoo' kind of convinced me that the shadowy outline really was a great horned owl.

More pictures: PictureTrail

Thelma and Louise!

"Road trip!"

no one in the US seems bothered by long drives - perhaps because the country is so big, but more I guess because the roads are good. To travel from Phoenix to Seal Beach in a day (about 350 miles each way) is not a problem; with long straight roads it is easy (we took Route 10 then went down into Seal Beach, South of Los Angeles). But the traffic! Five lanes of road each way and you still sit bumper to bumper (or should that be fender to fender?).

Along the way we saw a real change in the desert scenery, from the cactus laden rocky Arizona desert to the sandy and scrubby bush covered desert of California. I saw some amazing hawks and as we came into Los Angeles County - the haze of the pollution was thick and tainted the air. But the mountain scenery was amazing, and when we eventually hit Seal Beach (we took plenty of stops along the way - no hurry) the sun was almost ready to set.

We checked in at the Paradise Inn (neat little hotel) and headed straight for the beach.

We watched the sun creep towards the horizon then dip down as if it had suddenly made up its mind to set. We wandered round the town briefly then had a meal at a fish restaurant. We were served by the same waitress who had served Nadine and her family three years before! The fish was nice, the potato was cold, but the wine was excellent.

Back to the hotel and a good sleep, but my - Nadine snores! Hey, so do I. I only know she snored as I played a bit of guitar and she promptly fell asleep. I have that effect on people!

The next day we went back down to the beach and I got to dip my toes in the Pacific. It was cold! A bright day, sunny but not warm enough to swim. The surfers wore wet suits, and the fishermen on the pier were wearing coats not just tee shirts. It wasn't cold by UK standards, but this was winter in California.

I talked to some fisherman - they catch 'anything'. Flatfish? I said I used to catch mackeral. 'Yeah, we catch Spanish mackeral, use them as bait.' Spanish mackeral? Do they have an accent? Another fisherman we talked to told us how early in the morning the dolphins swim past, on their way down to Huntingdon beach to feed, then come back in the evening. Out past Catalina island (which was hidden by a sea haze) you can see blue whales.

We did some more shopping, including a trip to a candy store and a book store, then finished a lazy day with dinner at Ruby's diner on the end of the pier. Lots of bright red and a burger, fries and salad that was ample for the two of us to share. Good food, amazing views over the sea, and polite and friendly service.

We ended up the day with a drink in O'Malleys Irish bar. Heaving - barely enough room to stand so it was one drink each, a wander round the shops (they were open late) and then back to the hotel again for another good sleep.

The following morning we headed back to Arizona, but not until we'd done some ... shopping! I went into a music shop but as it seemed to specialise in ukeleles, I didn't make any purchases.

My visit to California was an amazing drive through the countryside and a very relaxed couple of days at Seal Beach 'off season'. I liked it. Yeah - I could go back there again.

More photos: Flickr.com

Learning the American Way

"Baseball in the dark!"

On my last evening (after wonderfully grilled steaks prepared by Charley, Nadine's husband) I asked Tomas, her youngest son, how I should throw an American Football. I'd bought one to take back to my son Alex, so I wanted to show him how to throw it.

"Come outside into the yard.." and out in the yard, the front of the house with the concrete entrance by the drive and the obligatory basektball hoop, Tomas tried to teach me to throw - fingers on the stitches, get it to spin, let go just so...

I sort of got it. We then decided to try baseball (I'd also bought Alex a catcher's mitt and ball) so out came everyone's mitts, a couple of baseball bats and a ball. Now, a yard is not large enough for playing baseball and there are lots of car windows around and - did I mention? - it was dark. Nearly 10pm. Sean (Nadine's oldest son) appeared having been to the store to get supplies to make S'mores. Mmmmm! Graham crackers (a sweetened cracker), marshmallows and Hershey's chocolate.

Sean joined in the games - standing there in the dark in his pale pants (trousers!), hawaiian shirt and trilby hat, swinging a baseball bat. It got sort of surreal at this point so we went in to eat the s'mores.

Melted the marshmallows over an open fire (yes, an open fire in Arizona), put on the crackers with chocolate. All melted together ... wonderful! No calories, of course. Sean was extremely lively and cheerful, enjoying his s'mores and very chatty. Which, considering he'd been awake for nearly 30 hours (with only an hour nap) was quite amazing. I'll never understand their hours...

A day at the botanic garden

"Hummingbirds and cottontails"

The first morning, and I awoke at 5.30am with Sean's alarm beeping madly. By the time I had oriented myself and found the light switch, it had stopped. I went back to sleep and woke at 8am when the dustmen came and emptied the dumpsters.

The trip for the day was the Botanic Gardens. It was beautiful - amazing cacti (barrel, cholla, all sorts!), I saw my first Joshua Tree, and hummingbirds! Wonderful creatures.

I saw cactus wren and many other coloured birds too - but the fun in the evening, at the end of our lovely day at the gardens, was climbing the Papago Hills in the dark and hearing the ghostly hoot of a horned owl!

That night I met Sean's friend Mike - and I played a bit of guitar and sang - very self-conciously!

American dreams

"Time travelling"

My trip to the US arrived! I started from home at 7am on Tuesday morning, then arrived in Chicago, was delayed and eventually arrived in Arizona 24 hours later. However, due to time zones it was still only 10pm Tuesday. I'm a time traveller!

I did write a bit on the plane, but the whole trip from US to UK I sat next to a very quiet Mexican - no conversation whatsoever. My, that was a looooong flight!

At Chicago I needed to buy some supplies, so I found a small Hudson's stand and bought the required item (why now! Not fair, not due for another week...). The tall gentleman at the checkout (see? I'm learning American!) said 'Hey, do I detect an accent? Where are you from?' I answered 'London' and he was charming. 'Have a great time, come back soon' and it actually sounded genuine. Now the security man who saw me through to airside at Chicago said 'Here you go sir' without looking up. Bah. Charmed and insulted in Chicago! Oh yeah, it was rainy too - not windy.

The flight was delayed though so instead of a two hour wait I had a three and a half hour wait. I had one drink at the bar and then just sat and waited. And waited. By the time I got on the flight I was really not with it at all. The plane was cold so I only managed about an hour out of the three to get any sleep. One hour out of 24 - not my usual quotient.

As I flew over the US I noticed that everything was straight lines and so well lit. Empty lots, long empty roads - everything lit up like Christmas. And some buildings too as we came in over Phoenix - outlined in lights to make them look like escapees from a badly drawn cartoon.

When I eventually arrived in Phoenix, more than a little tired, I saw Nadine immediately. She was exactly as I expected. Her smile was wide, her arms too. We hugged like we'd known each other lifetimes, not just 18 months and over the net.

She drove me to her home in her black convertible Mustang (Alex, you'd love this car!) through the city and out into Glendale. Sean, her eldest son, was waiting up for us. We stopped at a Safeway to buy some bread and fruit.

We sat and had a glass (or two) of wine and talked for another two hours. I have no idea if I made any sense whatsoever. Nor if they understood me. But I knew I had arrived. My goodness, I was really in America! Wow, Bryan, I'm here. I'm really here. When I got to bed, I slept well. Very well indeed.

Goodbye 2007

And hello 2008.... very soon.

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

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

Published at last!

"The ghost sniffer took its time..."

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

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

Want to buy a copy?!!

Coming to America!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Take five minutes...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Learning about EFT

Turning on the 'tap'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Standing for Tom

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe I can!

I take class for the first time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love

Oh gawd - what is she on about now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My new job as a lift attendant

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just good friends

Seven monkeys are reunited

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

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

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

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

EFT - Extremely Freaky Therapy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is the world coming to?

I am disconcerted by a three year old

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

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