For Philip

Hi Phil

Here it is - another letter into the ether with a vain hope that somewhere you are out there and able to read this.

It's been a strange time. Work is very, very busy and quite challenging. But I am learning a lot, and hopefully contributing too. I like working for a charity - it fits better with my personality I think to do a job with an altruistic purpose.

Oh, I like getting paid of course, but it's still very good to know at the end of the day it's not just the number of widgets you've sold  - that what I've done may, in some small way, be useful.

I'm not sure why I started writing to you tonight - I think I just need to chat to you. You are a great listener.

I've taken our great-great-great-grandfather out of storage and he's ready to put up somewhere in the house. Probably over the stairs, like he was an Athenaeum Road. It's an odd picture, not one really that you would like to sit and look at in the front room, but as he was part of our childhood I'd quite like him back up, standing there in all his regal gear and regarding us in his distant way. I think he's our great-great whatever, but maybe he isn't. I can't remember, can you?

I've got the family histories safe; not sure what to do with them. I'd like to transfer some of the contents onto the web. It's amazing who has contacted me from the Sheppard family blog. I should share more of that for them really. I keep meaning to visit the archivist at Longleat, and maybe contact Gatcombe Park too - but there's always something else to do.

And what does it all mean, really? You are the last of the Sheppards, on our side. Does it matter? I don't know. I think I'll see if there's a museum who want the family histories - I can't see my kids being interested in it really. Sad in a way, but it's just how things are these days. What was very personal to us, will be something anthropoligically interesting for someone else.

I'm in a reflective mood.

Well, I must get to sleep, busy day tomorrow once again. But the day should start well, we are having a 'bacon sandwich morning' (except Oli who is having a 'veggie sausage morning').

I hope you are well, I fear you are not, I wish you the best.

Big cats

Snow leopard (C) Carolyn Sheppard

This amazing animal is a snow leopard, one of the world's endangered big cats. "Snow Leopards are suspected to have declined by at least 20% over the past two generations (16 years) due to habitat and prey base loss, and poaching and persecution. Losses to poaching were most severe in the former Russian republics in the 1990s" (IUCN). So this amazing creature who certainly has a wonderful pelt, is now struggling for survival.


This guy though, didn't seem to be struggling. In fact, although he was in a smallish enclosure, he seemed happy and content. Like most animals bred in captivity, he doesn't know what he's missing I guess (eg being shot at and excoriated or simply starving to death).


I am not a great fan of captive big cats - the best place for these animals is in their natural habitat. But their habitat is receding, there is less and less food, and we could be amongst the last couple of generations to ever even stand a chance of seeing this animal in the wild.


So how did I get not only to see these magnificent animals, but also to hand-feed one (through the bars, not in the cage)? I visited the Cat Survival Trust (CST), which I was introduced to by a friend.  They are not a zoo and not a pet cat rehoming charity, but an organisation who, since 1976, have been working to help the world's rare big cats - especially those kept in captivity.


They have an amazing record of longevity for their cats, which Terry (the Director of CST) attributes to good food and, especially, purified water. He is obviously passionate about the work the charity does and his affection and admiration for the animals shines through.


As well as acting as a 'rescue' home for big cats - some who cannot stay at their zoo of origin or who are taken from unregistered or irresponsible private owners - CST also works in conservation and has purchased a tract of land in Argentina specifically to ensure that the cats in that area are protected. Managing a large reserve in Southern America is admirable, and going to visit animals in the wild would be challenging to say the least, but I was privileged to meet some of these amazing animals at CST in Hertfordshire.


Snow leopards are a particular success story, with a content breeding pair providing additional animals for zoos and collections around the world who are building up the population with a view to release back into the wild. Sounds easy, but my goodness, it isn't. One of the problems with captive breeding isn't just the animals' reluctance (as the Pandas in Scotland have demonstrated) or even enthusiasm, but gene pools and potential homes/relocation/care etc.


They say that a genetically stable group of any animal should have at least 200 individuals. Amur leopards (which you can also see at CST) have about 40 left in the wild. We don't have that many of some species in captivity, and many of them are related and you can't interbreed, or cross-breed, without causing more problems. 


Is captive breeding the answer? Long term, probably no, short term we have little option if we do not want to lose some species all together (which inevitably will happen).  We need to reduce the impact that humans have on wild habitats, change our own habits and reduce consumerism. That's not going to happen short or long-term I fear. Perhaps we can, with a concerted effort, create protected habitats where our endangered species can survive, but with the global pollution of air, sea and river - even there they won't be safe.


Still, as the starfish story goes, we can make a difference even to one, so I for one won't give up my commitment to conservation. 


More photos of my visit to CST here http://www.flickr.com/photos/8100559@N04/

This single life part three - a bit of psychology

I remember many years ago thinking how difficult it would be to split from your partner. How could you walk around knowing that someone else knew so much about you? All the intimate details you shared, the thoughts, hopes, desires and experiences. All those things, how could you cope, not being connected to that person, knowing they could tell those things to others and have no reason to keep faith with you, once you were split? It was just unthinkable to me at the time.

Little did I imagine then that I would be in that position one day. But interestingly, I now know what you do. Firstly, you don't (in my experience) want to share all those personal things and pollute those memories and experiences. They were your history, and yours to keep and treasure (or forget as appropriate).

And there is a way to protect yourself - at least this is how it's worked for me. You build new memories, experiences and thoughts, hopes, desires - that are not shared with that person. People (and especially the ex) only know what you care to share. It's like a shield, something you have that they do not have access to, cannot expose or share wantonly. I'm not saying that they would want to (though some of the splits I've heard about have been very bitter and cruel in some ways), but it's that re-building of self, of a self that is not totally shared with one person, that happens. And that's how you move on.

I'm learning to rebuild myself and to find a new identity. But I am not actually that different, it's just finding out how I can be me in a new context, a context that is not bound by a relationship. Maybe a tattoo (above) seems a daft self-assertion, but it's just one little thing that I chose to share now, and the decision was mine and the pleasure I take in it is very much mine.

The photo I have shown here is one taken at a make-over day I had with my gorgeous daughter. I enjoyed the day and in my mind I look very different to how the camera tells it (OMG, I'm soooo old!) but with a bit of tweaking (not telling exactly what) this photo came out OK.

Vulnerable still? I guess always. But better able to cope with it now.

Happy anniversary

On April 3rd 2006 I started my blog. And - amazingly - I'm still here. Still posting fairly regularly, still telling tales of odd gigs, nice nights out, my friends and pets and other odd adventures.

So it's time to question (why not?) - what is the purpose of my blog? Firstly it is very useful for me. I often have weird dreams, or enjoyable days out, and I want to remember them. I am no good at keeping a diary but I do like story telling.

Secondly I would like to share some of my life. Why? Well, pure ego of course, why else? But before you assume I am someone who thinks rather well of themselves and is perhaps a little smug, think about the word ego. According to one reputable psychology post, it's something in me that stops me murdering a bad driver. According to the dictionary, it is your conscious mind, the part of your identity that you consider your "self." 

There, that's two reasons, but the third is a desire to entertain. I do like to make people laugh, smile, and engage with other people in lots of ways. And a blog is not a bad way of doing it.

So, if you are visiting my blog today for the first time, or you have visited it before, please take a look through the history of posts, or use some of the labels to browse. I hope you will find something in here to touch, or amuse; I would hesitate to say enlighten, it ain't that kinda blog.

Oh, and there is another use I have for my blog. It's the only way I can write to my brother, who I lost touch with over 20 years ago. Hi Phil!

Losing a friend

Today I took my cat to the vet.  I knew what was going to happen, which is why I had delayed the visit in the first place. But she was thin - and though mostly she seemed content enough, she would not eat. She had renal failure, her kidneys were no longer working properly.

At 14 that's not unsurprising for a cat of her age. But today, I lost a friend. In the last few months of my life when I have started living a very different life, she was always there when I came home. I would call her as soon as I came in, and she would sleep on my bed and keep me company.

She didn't understand herself why she could not eat, and it was so sad to see her getting thinner and thinner; when she ate a little it was a small victory, but it really wasn't fair to keep her going in such a situation.

I took her to the vet who has always looked after our pets. Though retired, he still has a surgery next to his house.  After telling me what was wrong and what we should do - what I knew we should do - I held her and he injected her leg and she relaxed. Then he gave her the full dose and she fell into a deep coma. I put her back into the cat carrier and took her home.  She was deeply asleep - he thought she had already gone, but as I cradled her in my arms back at home, I knew she was still with me just for that last goodbye.

Her heartbeat was very, very faint. She gave a sort of purr, and then there was nothing. She was soft, warm, limp and so terribly thin. My poor lovely little Melissa - I shall miss you my friend. So will the children who have known you for a good portion of their lives. She and her sister Ace (who passed away a few years ago) brought us lots of happiness and companionship - and the odd dead mouse.

That's a cat's way. And we shall miss her very much.

I buried her at the bottom of the garden, and tomorrow I shall plant something above her grave as a lasting memory.

I keep thinking she will be there, on the top step, or on my bed, or in the kitchen round my legs. It will take a while for that feeling to pass I know.

She was only a cat, but she was my friend.

Mermaid's Tears

Broken Rock

This single life - part two

When I was working at Essex, I knew I had a fixed term post (maternity cover) and that after that... well, a whole undecided future lay ahead of me. I had, in theory, no home, no job and no idea where I was going or what I was going to do. The house sale was going through, the split was going ahead, and I was planning to live in temporary accommodation on my own until things were sorted.

One thing that kept nagging me was the desire to travel. I wouldn't be rolling in it from the house sale (alas finances mean that I can probably never be a house-owner again), but I would have sufficient cash to let me travel. I half had in my mind that at the end of my time in Essex I would up and travel.

The very rare Northern White Rhino

I have always wanted to visit the Amazon, I became fascinated by Africa whilst at the conservation charity, and I could, perhaps, at last visit some of the places that I'd been talking about as a conservationist.

So that was, broadly, my plan. Kids would live with dad, I would have no job and no fixed abode and just go off on an adventure.

Never works out how you think, does it?

By chance, I saw a job near Cambridge that more or less matched all of my experience and skills. And so - instead of trekking off into the broad wild world, I settled in a new job, found a new place to live, and resumed an orderly life. And I like it. I am, after all, someone who likes stability and knowing where I am going to be and what I am going to do.

I do still desire to travel though - and so I visit my friend in Arizona as often as I can. You can fit the UK into Arizona alone about six times, so there's plenty to see there (ok, no rhinos but I have seen amazing birdlife and even a wild coyote - which is like seeing a fox here, I guess).  But the lure of Africa still tickles my imagination (though looking at prices of tours, I won't be going in a hurry).

I am single - I can go on holidays I choose (as long as I can afford them) and don't have to worry about what anyone else wants to do. I can please myself. I like doing things that others may think mad, or just boring (what's wrong with sitting in a hut by a reed bed for three hours, in the small hope that you may see a bearded tit?).

Rhino photo credit: Fauna & Flora International

Converted at last

For many years I have disdained the harmonica - mostly because of asthma-attack impersonators with a harmonica strapped around their necks on a frame that looks like it is a leftover from either a Hammer horror or a particularly vindictive orthodontist.

Tim and Brendan - sorry couldn't find photographer credit

Seriously, there's nothing that grates my teeth more than that wheezy, tuneless, in-out-in-out attempt at accompanying guitar playing by puffing aimlessly and tunelessly into a strip of tin reeds...

OK, that's perhaps a bit harsh, but you can sense my strong definition between the above and, say, the playing of Stevie Wonder or Rick Davies (Supertramp). Well, Brendan Power definitely falls in the category of Stevie and Rick - playing his gob harp as an instrument of delight, not of torture. He was playing with Tim Edey at the Hitchin Folk Club, where I have been resident for many a year.

They came hotfoot from the BBC Folk Awards where they did indeed acquire an accolade or two I was host and support. So I got up there with my guitar and sang a few of my songs - which seemed to go down OK with the audience (nobody threw anything at me, in fact I even got three compliments).

It's unusual for me to be 'converted' by anyone, but hearing folk-beatbox-harmonica and guitar and squeezebox playing that just longs for a car door was wonderful. Yes - folk-beatbox (see Wriggle and Writhe link below if you don't believe me). A sneaky bit of loop technology as well and, with a couple of songs thrown in for good measure too, a thoroughly enjoyable evening. They deserved the Folk Awards, so do try and catch them if you can.

Links:

Tim Edey and Brendan Power's website
Listen to Wriggle & Writhe

The single life

I don't think I've ever been single before. Does that sound mad? Well, let me explain ... I married my first boyfriend.  From 16, I only ever had one man in my life. So from leaving home, I went straight to living with him (well, his parents actually); I've never lived on my own.

And until now, I'd never been single.

A heron at Fowlmere

So, what has being single brought me? Well, the usual things I guess. A lot more bed space for one, and the freedom to choose my meals, go birdwatching for a whole afternoon, and decide when I go out and when I stay in. I am still not living alone though, I have my beautiful daughter with me, and my son too when he's home from University. But neither of them need me around to feed and sort themselves out, so it's still the single life, even when they are around.

OK, the above are the advantages. What are the disadvantages? Well, no one to discuss important matters with for one. I mean - should I have painted that fourth wall cream instead of green? And no shoulder to cry on that you can then fall into bed with afterwards. Plenty of shoulders, plenty of hugs available, but I'm a little picky about who I flop into bed with.

Is that a disadvantage? Well, I've not been single that long, so right now, no. At the moment I am learning what it's like to have quite a lot of my own company. I did 'enjoy' that status for a while when I wasn't separated, but even so, this is different.

The main difference for me is I am out of the horrendous debt we were in. That was not nice. I don't own a house any more, but I do not lie awake at night worrying and fretting and getting depressed about financial issues. Oh no, plenty of other things to do that about now.

But, it doesn't matter. I actually feel more like myself than I have in a long time. And one thing I have started doing is so small, yet very important to me. I am now a Kiva donor. No, I'm not leaving some minuscule portion of my anatomy to medical research, I am supporting worthy causes throughout the world by making micro-loans. I've loaned a whole $75 so far!

Try it. It doesn't cost a lot, but it makes a huge difference. And if you want, you get your money back too.

Some nights I come home and I think 'oh, what shall I do now?' and I, like AA Milne's old sailor, have so many things that I want to do, I don't know where to begin. Other nights I set to with a determination of purpose - like painting the walls (three green, one cream), or ironing. Yeah, can't get away from ironing.

There's more to this single life, but I'll save some of my anecdotes for another post. Sloe gin and public houses, folk music and moving house. It's amazing how you can socialise...

Best and worst Christmas presents

The worst was a bug I picked up from somewhere. I'm sure it wasn't mean to be a present, but from about 27th December onwards I was ill - coughing, spluttering, wheezing and eventually so ill I couldn't work. Mind you - if I had rested instead of having to move house and add the wonderful ingredient 'dust' to my poor belaboured lungs, I might not have been ill for quite so long.

It's a month and I'm still not well. But worse things happen at sea, so I was always told when I was a child.

Christmas seems like such a long time ago now! We've cleared away all the decorations, even the sales (which are seemingly interminable) are coming to an end. The credit card bills have arrived, we made it past Blue Monday and now...

Well yes, what now? I moved house, and now live in a lovely place with a great neighbourhood. OK parking is a nightmare, but it could be worse. I only have a shower and no bath (which has drastically reduced my reading hours) and there's quite a bit to do, but it's a new year, a new start. Now I'm better, I should be able to get on and do a few more things. Tonight I am planning to change a tap washer.

And this is where my favourite Christmas present comes in! I have wanted one of these for years, and it is practical and sensible! I have been up ladders and dropped drills, put down a screwdriver and not been able to find it again whilst balancing bits of self-construct furniture... these days are gone! I now have my very own...

I am empowered! I don't lose the screws (though some of mine may be loose), and now I also have a brand new cordless drill, I am intending to have some very productive weekends.

It doesn't take a lot to make me happy, but a tool-belt did. 

The music weaver

Imagine in three dimensions, with texture and pulse

I often visualise sounds as shapes. I'm not sure I can explain it in words, but a certain tone of voice, or the sound of an instrument, will give me a sense of shape - like a flowing, fluid metal in a particular width and form. It's not sinesthesia (though I do sometimes dream where my perceptions confuse in this way, which is most peculiar), but more a way of feeling how the sound connects with me. Perhaps even with my very molecules.

Last night I went with friends to the chilly Fitzwilliam Museum. On a December evening, with the threat promised of snow hidden by the cold rain, we joined perhaps a hundred others in Gallery 3. Up the magnificent staircase, with the beautiful dome above us, the sumptuous surroundings were chill.

Once seated and settled, the crowd (mostly senior, but with an eclectic mix that is so typical of Cambridge), we applauded as the Granta Chorale entered and took their places, ready to regale us with Christmas music. Gaudete, with a smart percussion accompaniment from the conductress, lifted the room with its strident time signature and tight harmonies. A nice start to the evening.

Her hands now free of her small tambourine tabor, the conductress orchestrated the singers as they offered renditions of Christmas music new and old, English, European and American. She took the music as it spun from the singers and - her hands dancing and manipulating the sounds in the air - she wove it's complex patterns and then released it to us, moulded and melded.

If you can imagine someone teasing clouds with their fingers, taking those insubstantial wisps of sound and weaving them into complex and beautiful patterns, then you can perhaps imagine how it seemed to me. The singers provided the thread, and she took each colourful note and created the skein that we wrapped about our senses. Oh yes, one or two cords snagged, but on the whole we were draped in a beautiful blanket of sound.

I looked up to the angels above us - perhaps enjoying their names being sung in praise within their frigid home up in the rooftop. Cold marble, dusty and dry, eyes unseeing and unseeable. Around us the portraits seemed to smile, attentively, joining us as audience for the evening. Even the horseman in his bold red coat seemed to pause, and listen to us through the window of his gilt frame.

For one day, they stopped. Just one day.

Further entertainment was provided with two non-musical interludes - John Betjeman's poem Christmas - performed not just recited. And later in the evening, readings from the letters of servicemen from the 1914 Christmas truce. Tears in my eyes at the beauty of the words, simply said, written so long ago by men who had seen such horror, and yet could share such moments of humanity and move us still.

Join us and sing, Silent Night, in German and English. A single Carol, that had united two warring forces. For just a day. The audience raised it's voice to join the choir, and the conductress turned her skills upon us.

Light and careless almost, the last songs were mirthful and bright. Jingle bells adding that seasonal spice, like cinnamon.

At the end of the evening I had simply attended a rather nice concert, with a good choir, in a beautiful setting. But I had also seen a little bit of magic in a pair of hands.

Soundwaves image- borrowed from http://www.sonicmusicproduction.com/
WWI Photograph - found on the web, no original credit known

Charity begins...

I just heard on Radio 4 that the BBC appeal at Xmas last year, with St Martin's, raised more money than ever before. And Comic Relief raised record amounts - when we are in the midst of a very difficult economic period (with a further recession predicted).

So are people giving more, even though funds are tighter and the cost of living is rising in excess of most peoples' pay rises (if they are lucky enough to have one)?

I'm not sure. I think people are still giving, but giving more selectively. Third Sector magazine, which reports on the not for profit world, says that anecdotally that 'people are saying that things are getting tougher' (which is really no surprise). The UK's largest fundraising charity this year has reported a fall in voluntary income.   So how do we match record figures for appeals like Comic Relief against falling income for many charities?

In recent years we have had some awful international disasters - floods, famine, tsunamis... and the great British public has responded generously and speedily.  I personally think that people like to give to something they feel they can make a difference to now. Investing in medical research, conservation or third world development has tremendous long term impact, but it's the emotive 'quick fix' fundraising appeal that is giving people the feeling they want when they give. Our instant gratification society - something will happen, quickly, as a result of their gift:

My £2 a month will feed that dog. My £20 now will provide a tent and clean water for the refugees from the flood.  My £5 will buy a goat for a farmer in Africa.

So how does Comic Relief fit in? In this case, I feel it's about the ask being immediate. We are doing it 'once', and 'now', and responding to emotive issues within the context of entertainment and appeals from those who command our respect (well, so I understand celebrity appeal to be, though it's not what floats my boat).

Comic Relief is a 'quick fix' charity ask. The quickness being that it is a very time limited appeal (though fundraising goes on all year, it does have this one day annual highlight), and that the maximum interaction with donors and supporters is focused around a short time period.

So are people giving more, or not giving more? Are people cutting their charitable giving, or not?  In recent months charities have seen a decline in direct debit giving, probably a result of financial reviewing as times get harder.  Rather than have an automatic gift going out each month to one or more charities, individuals are giving as and when the appeal appeals to them. The 'now'.

The other main reason that some charities may actually be growing in income (the smaller ones are benefiting more than the larger ones), is association. Direct association with a cause will give you dedicated, long-term supporters who will continue to support your cause even during difficult times. Whether the association is through experience (for example, a disease or condition) or a passion (eg conservation or education), the stronger someone feels about something, the more likely they are to continue their support even when it is financially challenging.

So who is giving? Are the rich rallying round in these tough times and supporting charities more? Especially given the tax breaks that high earners get by donating to charity?

Interestingly, it is those with lower incomes who give the most (percentage wise) of what they earn to charities. These people are probably those who watch Comic Relief, and receive appeals from charities through the post on a regular basis.

The other area where charitable giving is getting stronger is through active and challenge fundraising. For example, doing a charity parachute jump, a walk, marathon or mountain climb. The strength of appeal in this area is that the individual gets something for their efforts (realisation of an ambition or meeting a personal challenge) and they can engage supporters around them to contribute without any further expectation from them. It's easy to donate to a friend doing an event - you just sponsor them, give them the money. You don't even have to engage with the charity that is being supported, just with your friend the fundraiser.  Given these hard times, I can see the logic for this mode of fundraising to be increasing in popularity. Everyone is a winner (in most cases!).

There are 161,669 charities registered in England. What do you support? Who do you support - a charity in your neighbourhood, or a cause you believe in? Something that you have a long term commitment to, or do you just respond as and when asked?

These are just my thoughts, from both working in the sector and as a donor myself.  I would like to know what you think.

Useful links:

Third Sector
Charities Commission
Comic Relief
The Big Give - make your donation to charity worth double
Charity Challenges (one of the many companies)
Chronicle of Philanthropy - what happens in the US usually follows on in the UK

Photograph courtesy of Alzheimer's Research UK

Squirrel!

The village where I work is not that huge, but there are some lovely houses. And around the houses, gardens, and in the gardens, trees.

In one garden is a huge sycamore - bare but for clusters of seeds at the end of thin twigs. I stood and watched half a dozen squirrels hopping about the lawn, diligently digging around in the leaf litter on a wet green lawn for winter snacks.

I could hear the sound of the seeds falling from the trees - and some of these spinning jennies hit me as I stood quietly watching these industrious little rodents. Cute simply by dint of a fluffy tail and their boldness (but otherwise no more than a pretty tree rat).

Enchanted as I was with this family of Sciuridae, I looked up to see the branches silhouetted against a dull grey sky. And saw that the seeds descending upon me were not victims of natural autumn fall, but rejects from more of the family, balanced acrobatically right above my head.  

AFter about five minutes of simply standing watching the squirrels, I decided to move on. A car had pulled up at the side of the road. 'Three squirrels' said one emerging occupant as she looked up at the tree to see what I had been watching. 'Eleven of them'. I added - for that's how many I'd counted on the ground and in the tree.

I may try some photographs tomorrow - they were posing so perfectly. And there's still a few seeds left on the tree.

Crocs in the Fens

The other night I helped out at a tasting evening at Johnsons of Old Hurst. Through a friend of a friend, I ended up manning a stall selling sloe gin, sloe whiskey, sloe vodka,sloe brandy, cherry brandy and damson brandy. Being a person of timeliness most of the time, I turned up early. Way too early. I fell asleep in the car in the late evening sunshine listening to Radio 4 and watching crows on the fence debating whether a toy tractor in the kids yard was a good place to poop or not.

I didn't snooze for long though, my phone woke me with a start. My friend C1 was not far away in Huntingdon. I had an hour and a half before my new-found colleague from Sloe Motion arrived, so she drove up to join me and we headed to the cafe for a hot chocolate. But there was a large modern barn, with a glass side, next to the cafe. And a sign that said 'to the crocodiles'. Who could resist? Sure enough, there were four crocs in or by the pool. You can see a video of them on Youtube.

The farm was in the middle of a building project, there were builders and farm workers running around everywhere. Though the cafe was actually closed, a nice young lady let us have our hot chocolates and I enquired whether the tasting event was to be held in the cafe that evening. No, she replied, she was preparing to feed all the builders. The tasting evening was taking place in the new build outside - which wasn't finished.

Amazingly enough, they did get the building finished enough to run the event. A horseshoe shaped series of barns linked together with exit into the farm shop (stocked with fresh meat, veg and a whole host of wonderful tasty delicatessen type goodies). My new colleague arrived and C1 waved farewell, wishing me luck.

After a thorough briefing on the making of sloe gin, the farm where it's grown and the history of  the drink, I was ready! Thankfully the barn was just about ready too, with a cardboard door to prevent egress without visiting the farm shop.

The farm staff were really friendly and helpful, and I think Sloe Motion were the only third party supplier there. As seven thirty approached, the queue began. And it was a huge queue! Steadily from 7.30 to 9.45 a non-stop stream of general public entered through one end of the barn and tasted their way down sausages, pork pies, multiple cheeses and fruit concoctions to eventually finish their session off with a quick slug of sloe gin (or whisky etc). Of the two hundred or more people who paraded through the tasting alley, I was amazed to bump into two people I knew. Yes, out there in the Fens, nowhere near my usual territory at all. One was the son of my ex next door neighbour, the other a nurse I had previously worked with. They both recognised me (not I them) 'by the earrings', Julie said. Hmm... I am known for my dangly earrings when I remember to wear them.

Generally the evening was a great success with the farm shop doing brisk business and lots of complimentary comments on the various comestibles. As the general public thinned and the tables were bare but for crumbs of their delicacies, we tidied up and chatted. The farmer and his family were very friendly and mostly wore US Western gear. I fit right in with my Arizona cowboy boots!

After I had packed up, I went into the shop and bought some lovely veg and was very kindly given a present of some sausages by the farmer. That was really kind! And, of course, they tasted delicious. They weren't crocodile sausages, but you will be able to buy crocodile meat from him soon.

Photo courtsey of National Geographic

Are celebrities ashamed?

I have worked in the charity sector for some time and often used this resource 'Look to the Stars' which tells you which charities celebrities support, and which charities are supported by which celebrities.  It's useful when you are researching someone to see if they support a charity like yours, or have a particular interest.  And also interesting if you just like finding out about celebrities.

Annie Lennox supports more
than 30 different charities

When I looked at education, cancer, environment and child related charities the numbers of celebrity supporters ranged from 85-115. Yes, a big charity with a wide emotive appeal may have more than a hundred celebrities who are prepared to put their name down next to that charity and offer support in whatever way they can. Sometimes it's just a name on a list or attending a function, sometimes it's full fledged fundraising or financial support. Most of the time it falls somewhere in between.

When you look on the site and find out how many celebrities have nailed their colours to the mast of Alzheimer's - you get ten. Just ten. Yet dementia is one of the most pressing issues in the western world. So my question 'are celebrities ashamed?' is a valid one.  Are they not willing to put their name to a charity that deals with addressing a challenge that very possibly faces us all? At least 50% of the UK population know or have a relative with dementia, and something like one in three over 65 will die with a dementia related illness over the next thirty years. So why aren't there more high profile individuals who support research and care for dementia?  I don't suppose any celebrities will pipe up and respond to my question.

My thoughts are - and these are just my personal thoughts - that they are if not ashamed, perhaps embarrassed. I think most people have a cautious reaction to dementia because the symptoms manifest in behaviour change. Dementia patients are very often fit and healthy - yet their behaviour and cognitive abilities make them 'difficult' to manage in a society where we have a culture that aspires to youth, health, beauty and (I think there is irony here) celebrity.

Sir Terry Pratchett

Yes there are celebrities who support dementia and they will have a tale to tell of close personal involvement and the distress that is unavoidable with this degenerative disease. Sir Terry Pratchett has been very active in his media awareness campaigns about Alzheimer's - understandably as his own health deteriorates with the rare version he has. Glen Campbell has openly told people he has the disease and is doing a last tour 'while he still can'. Actors Tony Robinson and Larry Hagman, entertainer Russell Grant and musician Sir Cliff Richard have lost loved ones to Alzheimer's. But with dementia affecting nearly a million people in the UK alone - surely they aren't the only ones?

But I am not laying the blame for lack of public understanding of dementia at the feet of celebrities or any one part of society. Every single one of us must look into our own hearts. There are very few of us who will not be coming into contact with it over the next thirty years.

Useful links:

Alzheimer's Research UK
Alzheimer's Society
Dementia statistics
Look to the Stars

Photographs - from Look to the Stars website

La Traviata

My good friends at the University of Essex gave me a fabulous farewell present - two tickets to La Traviata at the London Opera House.  Though I left Essex back in July, my tickets were not until October - last Saturday to be precise. And well worth waiting for!

La Traviata means 'the tramp'. Well, ok it translates as 'the fallen woman' but tramp kind of says it all. But in fact she is just a good time girl who is having a ball, makes the fatal mistake of falling in love and discovers she has consumption (tuberculosis). All set for a fun-filled evening?!

Yes! The singing was amazing, the set and costumes sumptuous as expected. And I managed to spot Philip - one of the chorus. Now why was I interested in spotting a member of the chorus? Because by mad chance, I had played bass for a celidh band for his 50th birthday the previous week in Lewisham. Small world, eh? Don't go to the opera for years, then bump into several of the cast of the next opera I am going to see within seven days.

I asked my friend to come with me so that we could have a good old 'girls night' on the town. She was due to arrive for lunch but the vagaries of a closed M11 delayed her arrival. Instead of duck and wild rice for lunch we had a couple of hasty but tasty duck sandwiches.

Anyway, back to the opera. We travelled on the train to Kings Cross, then to Covent Garden. Oh boy, I don't like those lifts at that station! We wandered round the market for a bit and had some supper (take away jacket potatoes) and a drink. Then to the opera house for our dose of culture!

But I'm getting ahead of myself, because on the train journey we met an interesting chap. Sitting in seats parallel to us were two young men, early 30s probably, with accompanying tins of cider  and shiny bomber jackets (and a Protestant tie). The one nearest me leaned over and, in a very broad Scots accent, asked if we minded him asking where we were going? Of course not, I replied, the opera.  What ensued may not be what you would typically expect. We then had a conversation about modern art, in particular Picasso. This young man and his colleague were on their way to Corby to an art exhibition. Don't go by appearances. The two lads departed at Stevenage and wished us well for our evening. We responded likewise, hoping they remained sober enough to reach their art exhibition.

We arrived at Kings Cross to refill our oyster cards and hit the underground. My friend queued up at the ticket windown and the young man serving her said 'any railcards, like senior citizens?' Standing nearby I could not help but hoot with laughter! My friend is many years off her senior citizens railcard! The ticket seller looked up and, as much as a gent with such lovely dark skin could, went as red as possible with embarassment. I perhaps shouldn't have put this, but it was terribly funny.

We did eventually reach the opera and, though sat high, we still had a reasonably good view and the show was fabulous. We enjoyed a wine in the wonderfully refurbished bar at the interval, and left (shamefully) before the final curtain calls so we could join the throng at the underground station before it became too like a cattle market.

The journey back was speedy and pleasant, with us both tired and relaxed after a full evening's culture. And I don't just mean the opera.

Photograph of the opera from the Guardian review. All copyright remains with the original publisher.

Jerry the knife, Colonel T and Bob

I met some interesting people in Arizona - and I'll tell you about three of them. Let's start with 'Jerry the knife'. No, that's not his name or his handle or street name or whatever, I just think it made a good title. But Jerry and knives do go together, as you will find out.

I met Jerry (and Colonel T and Bob) at a baseball game. They came with us and Sean, who had got us the tickets thanks to his Sergeant. I didn't get to meet the sergeant to say thanks, but I did see him at a distance and noticed he was one of the few individuals wearing a Pirates hat at a Diamondbacks game (their stadium, playing the Pirates).

Jerry is in his early twenties and looks like a young, beardless, blond Jack Black. He had that same enigmatic half smile, that hints at hidden wisdom (perhaps). After the game, we went to Sean's for a barbecue and I spent quite a bit of time talking with Jerry. He was very soft spoken, wore black and we had in depth talks about environment, food security and respect. A gentle soul, mostly I think. He is a computer nerd, and does some work for people fixing this and that. But the other way he earns money is demonstrating a high quality set of kitchen knives. I can imagine him being very good at it, with his soft spoken way and demonstrating how swiftly and effectively his cordon bleu kitchen weaponry can slice through even the soggiest tomato.

He didn't get a chance to demonstrate his knives to us, though he was quite persistent in bringing the subject up after the BBQ, especially as we gave him a lift back to his apartment. 'The knives are just in the house, I could bring them out quickly and show you...' No thank you Jerry.

He also told us that his brother lived in the next building. His brother is a twin, but likes to wear cowboy hats and walks with a silver topped cane. This caused the local supermarket checkout lady a lot of confusion until she finally twigged that there were two of 'him'.

So that was Jerry the knife - a nice guy, and not the sort of person I am likely to bump into all that often in the normal run of things.

But this BBQ also had Colonel T and Bob - as well as Sean, myself, Sandra (Sean's girlfriend), Les and Nadine. An odd assortment in many ways.

Bob and Colonel T are brothers. They are both in their late sixties I'd say, and both work with Sean doing 'serving'. Serving writs for lawyers - delivering papers to people who really don't want those papers. Bob is a retired fingerprint specialist who still does some consultancy. He was a big guy with a big personality, and a lot of tales to tell. The sort of crime scenes he was called to were probably not the type I wanted to hear detailed descriptions of, but he could certainly write an interesting book about the things he's done. He took my fingerprint and pressed it onto a business card. He always carries his little ink pad with him.

His brother, Colonel T, told us tales of his visit to Italy when he was younger. The family originally came from there, and he had visited a valley that suffered a famous flood in the early 60s. He'd got out of the valley just hours before the disaster. He was also quiet a lot of time, unless he was talking, because he was partially deaf. 'I was an artillery gunner for years, makes you deaf'.

These are not the sort of people I usually meet - and they are interesting and different and talking with them was an enriching experience. I may see some of them again (I have met Jerry once before, so am likely to meet him again), I may never see them again. Either way, they have given me something to write about.

Letters to my brother

Hi Phil

I still hold out some hope that you are out there and may, on occasion, do a bit of internet searching and find me. But even if you don't, it's still good to talk to you - in the only way I can.

I've just got back from a holiday in Arizona and had a fabulous time. I really enjoyed walking round the various environments - it's such a diverse state! I think you could probably fit GB inside Arizona about six times...

I go out there in particular to visit my friend Nadine, but also it's a place I really like. Lots of interesting birds, wildlife and architecture. (See my visit to Ramsey Canyon, amazing!)

At the moment I'm living just with Mel - it's weird! Number one son is away at Uni again, and husband is living with his partner the other side of Cambridge. So I am learning to be single. Weird feeling - having never actually lived on my own. Well, OK, I'm living with Mel so I'm not 'on my own', but she's nearly 18 and not exactly living in my pocket.  It is nice to come home when she's in though.

Do you like the picture I posted? It's our dad's half-brother, Peter, in 1925 on the boat out to Australia. He was just 16 when he was shipped off to Oz. I found out all about him from his granddaughter, who is some kind of cousin to us I guess. Her great grand-mother (Elsa) was our grandmother. I know dad always wanted to know what happened to him, so it's kind of cool to find out now.

I have a new job which is really enjoyable and hugely challenging - I'm learning lots of new stuff and really stretching my brain. But it's very worthwhile and with a subject like dementia, something that's going to affect us all at some point I guess.

But mum's ok, she's not got any signs of dementia any more than the usual forgetfulness that we all experience. The difference between being forgetful and dementia or Alzheimer's has been explained to me really simply: "Forgetting where you put your keys is one thing; putting your keys in the fridge is another." Makes sense, doesn't it?

Sally has health issues of course, she'll be 80 in January after all. One of them is macular degeneration which really affects her eyesight, but there's not a lot that can be done unfortunately. She's managing fine now and in fact has just been on a two week holiday with Daphne down to Cornwall and the South coast.

She's given up the house in Mallorca now - it was too hard for her to manage. But Carlota has said we can go visit any time we want. It would be nice to go back out there, but it won't be the same.

Well, back to work, but - just wanted to catch up.

Friends we've never met

There's a well known line that a 'stranger is just a friend you've never met'. Well, that's a lovely rule to follow, but not always true of course. And in pre-internet days you'd never have made a friend you'd never met except, perhaps, a pen pal.

But the delights of the internet are that you can make friends, real friends, that you've never met. And sometimes you get to meet them, and sometimes you don't.

I have good friends - friends who came into my life in different ways and some who were here for a reason, a season, and a lifetime.

I have friends I made over the internet such as Cathy (in Ireland) and Nadine (in the US, pictured left)  who I have met and who have deeply influenced my life. They've been a terrific support in hard times, great fun in good times, and opened up my life. I now travel to Ireland and the US to visit them and we will be friends come hell or high water!

There are also 'lost' friends you find again on the internet. Facebook is a typical example of how this can happen. An old school friend, a former lover, a long-lost family member... or a friend of a friend that you share interests with.

There are also friends I've made who I've never met. There are people I have learned to admire like WoodlandDave on Twitter. A real nature explorer and education specialist. I've never met him, but I know he's someone I would like. And then there's Linny - we don't just tweet at eachother, we have a dialogue and we 'chat' over twitter and Facebook. I know already I like her. She is a friend, even though we've never met.

The internet is, of course, a potential minefield of danger and duplicity. But if, like me, your basic instinct is trust, it can be a heck of a good place to make new friends. Just don't ever send money, and never arrange to meet anyone you aren't absolutely sure of.