I should be so lucky…

Posted on Sep 28, 2014 by cliverh

No, nothing to do with the Kylie Minogue song, more a reflection of life  and people. I’ve just been reading about Phil Collins, erstwhile drummer in Genesis, successful solo artist and multi-millionaire. He’s the same age as me (although two months older), has a son aged 37 (my daughter is 37), and retired in 2010; like me. The big difference (besides him being extremely rich), is that whereas when he retired (according to an interview with the Mail on Sunday) he sat in front of the TV, watched cricket and drunk copious bottles of wine; I did none of those things.

I’ve admired Phil from afar for over 40 years. In his pomp he was a great singer, drummer, songwriter and multi-instrumentalist. When with Genesis, they produced some the greatest prob rock ever, and when he went solo in 1980 with Face Value. This was required listening for me at the time, because I was spending a lot of time working away, missing my wife and family and the songs on this album hit a nerve. Hello I Must Be Going and No Jacket Required followed quickly and both were again a superb set of songs on landmark albums. Like most pop singers, he ran out of steam after about 15 years and some of his later work was so-so and I didn’t buy it. Its strange that lots of his ilk go through the same hiatus: McCartney, Sting, Knopfler etc. They become famous, produce great music but then end up churning out lift music. Phil was no exception and I don’t think he ever recaptured the early work he wrote and recorded which for me anyway, hit the the mark. Along the way he did some acting, notably in Buster and Miami Vice and perhaps he should have capitalised on that skill. Never mind he still toured, with Genesis and without then fizzled out a bit. I don’t blame him for saying he retired and he had nothing to do, but surely even superannuated rock stars can do other things? That’s the thing about being up there, and then being down, its always bad when you’re down. Like me he could have done so many other things, helping others beside his family, getting involved with the local community, being there for neighbours. I accept that he was a rock god and maybe couldn’t be ‘normal’ amongst ordinary folk, but I’m sure he could have tried. There’s always something that can be done to alleviate boredom, you’ve just got to have imagination.

So Phil, if you’re bored with doing nothing, and feeling sorry for yourself, with all the millions you earned over the years, send some to me and I’ll find a worthy cause to help out, and I don’t mean my own. Congratulations by the way on admitting you’re an alcoholic, and that you’ve given up the booze, now go out and do something useful! Even if its writing more great songs and getting some records out. If they’re as good as ‘In the Air Tonight’, ‘Behind the Lines’, or ‘Sussudio’ I’ll be downloading/buying them. On reflection, that’s what you’re good at, so get to it. Get Lucky.

Stop press, just heard that Lynsey de Paul has died at 64, the age Phil and I will get to next year. Even more reason to stop feeling sorry for yourself and get a life, before its too late.

Posted in My World and As I See It | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Retirement

Posted on Sep 24, 2014 by cliverh

It’s what every working person strives for, and hope that when it comes it will be relaxing, healthy, solvent and carefree. Most often it is, and then sometimes it ain’t. Retirement has been bandied about a lot recently, whether it’s premature in the case of football managers, later for those waiting their state pension and who now have to wait even longer for it, and the latest television appeal to ‘I’m in’ for the latest government initiative on contributory pensions.

Yes it’s all to do with retirement. I’ve retired twice; once from the Royal Air Force and once from BAE Systems, both I’m glad to say with a pension, which enabled me to retire at the tender age of 59. Needless to say the great 65 figure is looming up, and I will get the state pension at that point, unfortunately a mere 21 days before the new, higher rate kicks in. Ce la guerre as they say, and it doesn’t matter if I delay the inevitable. Not that I’m complaining, I’ll still get a state pension at the normal age, which is something a great many people can’t say. Quite a few people I know are bemoaning the fact that because they’re in their 50s they’ve got to wait until they are 66 or 67 before they get a state pension. That’s a great pity, and it means there will be a vast pool of very experienced older people available for work until much later in life. Which us the point I’m coming to. Now, I was happy to take the retirement route, not even looking for a job, to give younger people a chance. So I didn’t even bother looking and now just do the odd job for the local community or people I know. I can pick and choose, luckily because my pensions allow me to indulge in such a relaxed lifestyle. I did think at the start that it would be a fulfilling, satisfying lifestyle which would enable me to indulge in whatever I wanted to do. It’s almost true, but daily life still gets in the way. We all (even the Queen as my mum used to say) have to eat/drink, sleep and ablut to stay alive. Those are essentials and some of these are essential every day and in the case of food, have to be provided for. It’s using the old saw: eat when you like, sleep when you like, *** when you like. Only it doesn’t work like that, so food still has to be prepared at certain times of the day, to fit in with your metabolism, sleep naturally happens at night, so do other things. So the idea that at retirement you are much freer and easier doesn’t bear scrutiny, especially if you live with a significant other. After four years when I used to say ‘every day is different’, now that’s not the case. Often some days you just can’t get going and nothing gets done, other days flow like mad and everything flows.

But its a strange state; retirement. You’re not actually producing anything or providing a service, yet with a pension you still have an income, funded of course if it is private, during your working life, and by national insurance contributions from the working population if you’re not. Some people have to work, in my case I worked to live not vice versa. I know 70+ olds who just want to keep on working and say they would die if they stopped. I don’t think so, if gives you to do things, in fact any work expands to fill the time available to do it, so a better job is generally the result. Nice about retirement? No rat race, no commuting, no office politics, no promotion, no grovelling, no pay rises. Retirement? Well, you lose the camaraderie between workmates and the daily banter, Friday lunch time drinks (after work of course), pay rises, feeling useful and more. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I retired, wild horses wouldn’t drag me into formal employment, unless I need to for survival. And it does give you freedom; you don’t have to apply for holiday, time off for the doctor/dentist, sloping away early fr a night or weekend away. No, you’re the boss in that regard (not the real boss of course, that’s your significant other!), but generally you’re answerable to no-one within the bounds of the law, and well basically if you want to do something, nothing can make you. Sorry this is a bit of a ramble, but even after four years I still haven’t worked out what retirement actually means. I mean I don’t feel my age, well not always anyway, some days I feel about 30, others about 80. Although I don’t know what an 80 year old feels like necessarily.

So retirement is all its cracked up to be, and not. Its what most people want, but when they get there, they are sometimes disappointed. It can leave you destitute, or give you choices. Ultimately though retirement comes to an end, and nobody escapes that one.

Posted in My World and As I See It | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Scotland

Posted on Sep 10, 2014 by cliverh

The debate about the future of our northern cousins rumbles on and on and on……

Politicians have their own galvanised view, none more so than the leader of the SNP, whose remit seems to be: make Scotland independent, whatever the cost financially and corporally. It doesn’t seem as if he has a clear idea of what he wants independence to achieve. Just to break away from the rest of the UK because they’re not Scottish is a specious argument and really doesn’t bear scrutiny. What it appears to me that what Salmond and his cohorts want is just to be Scottish and that’s all. From the point of the rest of the UK Scotland is part of our union and it seems ridiculous to break away from what is, for better or worse, the best arrangement on this small island.

The SNP quote breakaway countries that were behind the iron curtain and other countries like Belgium as being successful small countries once controlled by bigger ones. None of them are islands though and there is a serious point regarding that. If Jihadists rise up and decide to invade the UK post independence(PI), who’s going to defend the northern borders and approaches? Theoretically the RAF and Royal Navy will quit Scotland PI, and all those army regiments associated with Scotland will surely do the same? This is an urgent situation which ain’t going to be resolved in a hurry. No-one in the SNP has an military experience or even interest. Its all very well saying ‘we’ll be better off’ and ‘we don’t need England’, but if we were to be invaded, it might be slightly different. I doubt the Jihadists will treat Scotland as an independent or neutral country, so the rest of us would have to provide defence to protect our borders. I doubt if Salmond and his gang have thought of that. The first responsibility of any government, in any country, is defence of the realm. Defend borders, stop intruders, invasions etc. Yes I know we haven’t been invaded since Roman times, but it could still happen. The only way out is a pact with the rest of the UK to defend Scotland, bailing it out if they get into financial difficulties, supporting their entry in Europe, supporting their free prescriptions, free university places etc. Oh hang on we do that now don’t we?

So what’s the point of Scottish independence? Not to just be ‘Scottish’ as Sean Connery et al want, even though they don’t live there. No, there has to be cogent argument for independence, a good long-term plan which will sustain and support the country for a very long time, not until Salmond and his crew have lost the next Scottish elections, when the population see the folly of voting for separation, and the country without the support of the greater UK, falls into the worst depression and anarchy ever seen on these shores. Couldn’t happen? Couldn’t it? The jury will decide in a weeks time.

Posted in My World and As I See It | Tagged , , , , | 4 Comments

The Summer Holiday (Part 2)

Posted on Aug 19, 2014 by cliverh

After getting back from the Haute Pyrenees, Friday was a slight deflation, but turned out to be the nicest day weather wise, the day before we due to make way back.

We went shopping for our journey back, we had planned to spend 5 days getting back to Calais 650 miles away. Before we left Fran took an old Christmas card with all the address details of her cousin who lived in the Dordogne valley and would be practically on our route back. I had my last (cold) dip I’m the pool, then we BBQ’d some meat, with extra to take with us. We had to be out of the gite by 10, and our next planned stop was Auch, about 40 miles North. We said our goodbyes to Pete and Wendy and started to make our way via national roads towards Auch. We found our Campanile hotel about 3 miles outside the town, which is famous for being the birthplace of D’Artangan later immortalised as one of the Musketeers by Alexander Dumas. We had a bit of rain, but it cleared up later and we went back into town for a meal, though it being the weekend before Bastille or National Day it was surprisingly quiet. We had planned to visit Toulouse the next day and bought tickets at the SNCF station in Auch to travel the next day Sunday 13th. It would save driving and parking in an unfamiliar town so was thought the best solution and in any case we like trains.

image

As you can see graffiti travels everywhere….

image

…and the station facilities are sometimes minimal.

We arrived in Toulouse at lunch time and walked down typically French streets to the centre of town or Place du Capitole Square which on one side has the huge Capitole building which is a beautiful construction so typical of the French

image

Inside is just as beautiful, and weddings and other functions are often held in here

image

Toulouse had a lot else to offer, but because we were only there for the day, we joined the round city train from the Place du Capitole, a snip at €6.

image

(Pictured, the number plate of the sight-seeing train, just to break up the text!)

I won’t bore with all the sights described through the headphones in English, but needless to say there were lots of churches and a huge river and a canal. The details go in one ear and out the other anyway, but it is lovely city and well worth a longer visit. I’ve also got an interest in the name as it is (for whatever obscure reason), the name of our home, which doesn’t have a number. We had a nice light lunch and made our way back to the Gare. The journey was about 1 1\2 hours so we got back to Auch about 8 and had a nice dinner in the Irish Rock bar while the World Cup was showing on at least 10 screens in the bar. We sat outside and it was very pleasant. The next day we were off to our next stop.

As mentioned before we were going to visit relations in Lalinde in the Dordogne valley, and it was about 100 miles north. It was all RN (Route National) so was like UK A roads but going through villages. Eventually we arrived near Bergerac and turned right, following the Dordogne as far as Lalinde. Then it was a question of finding where we were staying which was no easy feat. Although our Tom-Tom SatNav had guided us well up to now, on this occasion it lead us up the garden path, literally. We fell into the trap of blindly following the SatNav instructions and ended up in someone’s driveway. She gave us better directions in broken English, and we found the road but not the house. Then eventually we saw someone stood in a road leading off to the right and he waved at us, then we knew we were at the right place. It was a converted barn, very tastefully and nicely done, and we had a bedroom over looking the front of the house:

IMGP6144 IMGP6143

We had contacted Fran’s cousin, David and he invited us to dinner on the Tuesday at his wonderful house overlooking the Dordogne and the town of Lalinde.  Unbeknown to her, his sister Patricia and her husband Bob were also there having spent 5 weeks in the UK visiting their families and friends from their home in New Zealand.  This was to be the last leg of their holiday before returning home and what a surprise it was! We had a lovely dinner with them until late and promised to meet up again, soon:

IMGP6178 IMGP6174

(Picture above: Patricia, Fran, David)         (David, Tricia (his wife), Bob (Patricia’s                                                                                            husband), Patricia, the author, Fran)

The next morning we had to start our journey home, about 450 miles to Calais. We left our lovely B&B and did some shopping and headed North on the uneventful journey to our next stop Orleans, in another Campanile. Just staying the night after having dinner there we did more shopping for the wine etc, and made our way towards Paris. It’s still 180 miles from Paris to Calais so a fair amount of driving to do. Unfortunately Paris does not have the luxury of an M25 and getting through it can be a challenge, especially if there is an accident in one of the tunnels on the peripherique which is what delayed us for about an hour and a half. The rest of the trip to Calais was uneventful and we arrived there well in time to catch our Eurotunnel train back to Blighty. We arrived home in Surrey at about 8.00pm, tired but happy. It had been quite a trip from the lowlands in the North of France to the height of the Pyrenees, the beauty of the Dordogne and Lot Valleys, famous old towns like Auch and Toulouse, meeting old friends, visiting relations, and driving 2000 miles in the process without a hitch.

Vive La France!

 

Posted in My World and As I See It | Leave a comment

Trains

Posted on Aug 18, 2014 by cliverh

Trains

The interesting thing about trains is the view out of the window, unlike most other forms of mass transport.

Cars, buses and trams all have the same view as each other; ships have sea and ports, in planes you see the runways, a bit of sky and that’s it, but trains? Aah the esoteric view is all encompassing, if only briefly. Back gardens, industrial areas, city centres, the list is endless. Of course poets and artists through the ages have espoused the beauty of train travel from Benjamin to McKewan, from Christie to film noir. There is the romance of trains, the practicality, the usefulness. But most of all, there is the view. I read somewhere that going past a cricket match one never sees a ball actually bowled. I don’t how true that apochropal story, but I have never witnessed one. You do however see lots of interesting things through a train window. Flashes of superb nature, families in back gardens, cars waiting at level crossings, and houses; council, estate, detached, stately, all manner of dwellings where people live. But where else could you see, albeit fleetingly, a microcosm of life as if witnessing it through TV screen. Sometimes you regret not being able to see more, but that is the appeal; you only see that glimpse at that time, surely a fast forward movie in glorious technicolour. The golfer addressing the ball, the boat on the canal, the traffic jam on the road underneath. So the journey is more interesting for that, because what happens inside the train is nowhere near as interesting unless you people watch. Its not like on a bus which usually involves shorter journeys, the train generally throws people together for sometimes hours on end. On one particular train trip we went from Melbourne to Sydney, the journey took 11 1/2 hours, but never felt like it. Paradoxically, the view on that trip was quite boring after a couple of hours, but the other occupants in the coach were interesting and engaging.

Train journeys are of course a bit more humdrum when they involve a commute to work. I did this for three years in 80s when I travelled up to London and then via tube to my final destination. The drudgery of the daily commute doesn’t inspire anyone to converse with their fellow passengers, they all sit behind their newspapers (in my day), and presumably behind their tablet/phone/laptop today, although I have not had direct experience of commuting for many years. That is except when I was involved in travelling to the Excel for the Olympics, often quite early in the morning, and things hadn’t changed much in the intervening 22 years since I last travelled on a train at that time of the morning. The good part of travelling in my Olympic uniform though was that tourists and other Olympians would engage in conversation merely because I was so dressed. Would that happen if I was in ordinary clothes? The juries still out, but I would guess not. Other long journeys besides the Australian one have been ‘up North’ on the East coast line which also provided superb views. The British railway system has certainly improved in leaps and bounds in the years since I commuted, is this because or in spite of denationalisation? Again there might be some dispute about this, but my view is that the private companies have invested heavily in new stock, rails and stations and have probably improved our travelling experience more than if British Rail had stayed in government hands.

So the view from the train window exceeds all expectations as far as I’m concerned. A train journey is like having your own wide screen television with an ever changing scene, always fresh, always changing. Someone else is doing the driving, so you can snooze, read, eat, drink; whatever, and you will never take a wrong turn or have to do a U turn when you miss your exit. Sometimes the journey is all too short, but is always interesting despite this. Give me the train anytime.

Posted in My World and As I See It | Tagged , | Leave a comment

I cannot stand……

Posted on Jul 18, 2014 by cliverh

OK I’ll come right out with it, and didn’t mention the U word in the title for fear of shock horror and averted glances.

I’m talking about urinals. For ladies and those of a nervous disposition turn away now or read through splayed fingers. I cannot stand the things, they are designed to allow men, and boys depending on the height to pee in public toilets without using a WC. Obviously ladies have no choice, they have to sit down to relieve nature, unless they use one of those ladies tube things, but 99.9% of ladies do sit down. Men however have a choice, and given that choice I would rather use a WC to pee, and not a urinal. Let me explain why; when a lady has finished her ‘number 1s’ she wipes the area with a tissue. Generally men do not, preferring the ‘shake’ method which is at best totally inefficient, and in the worse case, not only showers your person with unwanted liquids, but could also contaminate bystanders. And there is no privacy in a men’s toilet with urinals, as you separated by a porcelain screen at best or fresh air. In addition, urinals are not the most fragrant of places to be, and if a fag end or used chewing gum has been dropped in it, is likely to block up with the resultant pool remaining. Now, I’m no prude but I don’t actually relish standing next to a complete stranger and peeing on demand. In fact I often have to pretend I’ve done ‘something’, zip up and walk out, to walk back in seconds later and find relief in a WC. I can’t do it in public. I’m a former rugby player and have been in many situations where one ‘bares all’ in front of fellow players, but I still can’t pee into a urinal. I’ve tried everything; relaxing, thinking about something else, not looking (that’s bound to fail), but nothing works until I’m in complete privacy. The main reason is though, is that in later years, men dribble. Now I know this is not a medical condition or anything to worry about, because ALL men must dribble a bit because the aforementioned shake method doesn’t get rid of all liquid, and any residue is therefore absorbed by pants or in the case of commando wear, trousers. This can lead to a number of problems, including soreness, smell and I hate to say it, rot. Urine has a tendency to rot clothes if not washed. So although men wouldn’t admit they dribble, they do and that’s that.

So to conclude, if you see me in a public toilet and wonder whether I’m going into a cubicle for ‘No 2’, the probability is that its a No 1 I’m doing, blissfully, in private, without other prying eyes, and which also allows me to do that thing that ladies do naturally and I could never, NEVER do in a row of urinals and that is wipe the drips with a toilet tissue to keep me as clean as can be. Viva the closet!

Posted in My World and As I See It | Tagged , | Leave a comment

The Summer Holiday (almost) (Part 1)

Posted on Jul 7, 2014 by cliverh

A year ago, I contacted an old friend from my RAF days who had moved to Haute Garonne in the Pyrenees, rebuilt an old farmhouse and adjoining porcherie which he had turned into a modern gite, which was available for hire. Pete advertised the property on Facebook, and after consultation with Fran, we decided to go for it.

The logistics of getting there were addressed much later, and not realising just how far it is, decided in the end to drive down, spending a few days before and five days after the week stay in the gite getting there and back, making it a full two week tour. So in February I booked the Eurotunnel crossing; my choice of getting across the channel for its ease of travel, value and sheer convenience. The return trip cost £130 which equated very well with other forms of cross-channel travel. The final payment made in early June, preparations had to made to our 13 year old Renault to equip it for the arduous journey. So in it went for a service and to change the cam belt, as the existing one had been fitted some five years before, and couldn’t be completely trusted. The cost of £300 was well worth it, considering the problems that could be caused if the damn thing broke; worse scenario is a new engine. The other things that had to be arranged all fell into place: travel insurance, breakdown insurance, the obligatory equipment required by French law: fluorescent jackets, first aid kit, headlamp beam deflectors, fire extinguisher and controversially, a breathalyser. This last because most French drivers don’t carry one as a form of protest, since they can languish in the car for years and get too warm, negating their effectiveness, go past their use by date, and allegedly, were introduced by Pres. Sarkozy and one of his close relatives was the sole manufacturer/supplier. This last point alone was enough to make French drivers protest against carrying on the things.

So the Eurotunnel beckoned, and it was the day to leave, 3rd July. An uneventful journey down to M20 to the terminal, offered an early train, which was accepted, and then 30 minutes or so later we were driving on the right side of the road. We stopped very soon after at an ‘Aire’ or rest area. We had a view over Deux Caps and could still see England. We bought loads of cold food to have on the way, and had some early lunch at this Aire. The sun shine and it was very hot: and we had 600 miles to go. The essential pint to regard though that it is not cheap to get anywhere fast in France; there are some five major companies operating the main route peage roads and if you want to use them the costs vary between companies. Our first stopover was Le Mans and we had booked ahead to stay the night in the Premiere Classe motel in the university area. A typical French chain of motels, they all provide basic, clean accommodation, often with breakfast bars and free WiFi. Coincidentally there was a classic car rally at Le Mans that weekend so our travelling companions were classic British cars from all eras. A lot if them stayed in the same hotel so it appeared we were somewhere in England. The next morning we headed off down the Autoroute again to our next stop Cahors, some 350 miles away.
image

Although there was some rain, which improved as we got nearer our destination:
image

The good/bad thing about French motorways is that mostly they are well maintained and fast, although we kept between 65-70mph as if felt most comfortable and returned the best fuel consumption. We stopped a couple of times, using our own food and brewing up with the small gas cooker and kettle we took with us, and the journey was quite uneventful. The previous work done to the car was paying dividends as it purred along like a good ‘un. Fran had the worse shift with rain, major hills, aggressive French driving and me nodding off, Mr satnav, good old Tom-Tom got us to the Camponile hotel in Cahors. We were dog tired so opted for some dinner in the hotel. Which turned out to be quite nice, we had a short walk around the somewhat industrial area around the hotel, but didn’t explore too much. I tried in the morning to get a French electrical plug for our 4 way adapter without success, but gave up, we packed up and set off again, this time via Toulouse towards Boulogne – sur – Gesse, a mere 145 miles away. The marvellous thing about the distance signage in Europe is that its all in kilometres and they tend to pass a lot quicker than miles.

So we set out for our final destination, Pete and Wendy’s gite near Boulogne-sur-Gesse in the Midi Pyrenees about 50 miles from the Spanish border. The gite:

image

image

Has a living, dining room, a bathroom and a bedroom. Pete’s website shows off the interior much better: The Gite

The first evening was lovely, Pete and Wendy invited us over to their patio (20 feet away) for a drink and to catch up. Pete and I served together on the same support helicopter squadron (72) in the 80s in Northern Ireland at the height of the troubles. We had a bit of catching up to do after all that time, all aided by a beer or three! We had frozen two meals and took them with us, so that was the first night sorted out. The next day Sunday, it rained mostly although it was a good day to relax after our long arduous journey. It was aided by the fact that Pete had installed a satellite dish the size if Jodrell Bank to pull in all the UK stations so we were able to watch the Wimbledon final, even though the Scots guy wasn’t in it. The next day the rain had eased so we went into the local town Boulogne-sur-Gesse to have a look around, but in common with many French towns between 12 and 2 it was closed, literally, although we found a cafe open, and the big supermarket chain, Intermarche. The afternoon turned out quite nice so we chilled out on the balcony, and I had go in the swimming pool (see The Gite), but that was folly, it was 20°, which for swimming in is cold, believe me.

Tuesday loomed and we decided to go out for a drive, and got as far as St Girons via St Gaudens:

image

But as can be seen in the photo, it was overcast. We stayed out until the mid afternoon, having seen the Pyrenees from afar:

image

We were waiting for a nice day to go to them, so on Wednesday we went back into B-s-G because it was market day. The quality, range and prices in a French village market are beyond compare, we picked up some lovely local cheese, olives, garlic and meat from a British stall holder selling locally produced English cuts if sausages, ribs, bacon etc. Having bought some stuff we went back to the gite, and spent the afternoon there, looking through the local attractions leaflets which Pete and Wendy thoughtfully leave in a folder. We decided to go to the Pic du Midi, which is high up in the Pyrenees. The journey was about 60 miles away and involved some of the route of the Tour de France, leading up to the notorious Col de Tourmalet, right at the top, nearly 3000 metres or 10000 feet, where several cyclists have died struggling to get to the top. The car got very hot going up but got there in the end, smelling a bit if rubber which seemed alarming until other much newer cars went past smelling the same:

image

So we had a brew and some lunch and climbed around the Cop and looked over the fantastic sights:

image

image

image

The souvenir shop relieved of us some money and we made our way back to the small town of Mongie which is a ski resort and home of the cable car which goes up to the Pic du Midi:

image

This started 100 years ago as a metreological station, but has grown over the years to become a research station, observatory, hotel and tourist attraction. Two cable rides taken you to the top, some 3500 metres up:

image

image

To be fair, there isn’t a lot there for tourists, except of course the fabulous views, but I suppose you don’t need much else. There is a museum, restaurant/coffee bar but if its a nice day (it was for us), you get breathtaking views which photos can’t do justice to:

image

image

image

So we caught the cable cars down, just as the clouds descended and strouded the whole area, including Mongie in fog. We set off back down the hill in the fog, and broke into sunshine a little way down. On the way was this waterfall:

image

image

…which was very fast flowing. We made our way back to the Gite, which took about an hour and a half, arriving back about 7.30, totally shattered. To be continued…

Posted in My World and As I See It | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Boar’s Bridge Festival

Posted on Jun 27, 2014 by cliverh

Our first Boar’s Bridge!

This music festival has been running annually for six years, and takes place in the beautiful grounds of Boar’s Bridge House near Basingstoke in Hampshire. ‘Music Festival’ may conjure up images of pyramid tents, mud, alternative therapy stalls and loud, very loud music. Well this one is a lot less frenetic than that. Although there is amplification and a ‘main stage’, there are alternative therapies, side stalls and an acoustic tent, so there are parallels with other, more famous festivals.

The basic form of music is ‘folk’, although images of be-beaded, sandalled pre-hippies with one finger stuck in the ear, wailing in a plaintive voice about bad things happening is very far from the reality. Folk can encompass many forms and volumes from the quiet introspective to the frankly raucous and quite ‘rocky’ but in the case of this festival, includes pure folk, pseudo classical, bluegrass, pop, rock, blues, Motown; basically you name it, it’s there. My wife Fran and I arrived on Friday evening 20th June, and after a few hellos to people I know, including the organiser Lynne, we set up our camp and the lovely flat field provided for that purpose. Quite a few of the attendees come from two folk/acoustic clubs: The Windmill, which meets weekly at the Tweseldown pub in Aldershot, and Poppies which meets in Yateley monthly on a Friday. Lynne and Mike who organise Boars Bridge have been doing so improving it year on year and praying for decent weather which they got this year for the first time since 2011. It was hot and sunny, and the sales of the local beer in the ‘other’ marquee were very high. Food was also available, kept simply to burgers and chilli, both meat and veggie. We put up our ‘tent’ which attaches to my van, a Mazda Bongo:

image

This makes for a very comfortable setup and enables us to detach the van and drive away, although we didn’t do that on this occasion. The ‘main stage’ isn’t however a pyramid, just a humble marquee:

wpid-received_m_mid_1403336676397_cc8347f4b7fa1b9c21_0.jpeg

…which had enough room for everyone to sit down and enjoy the performances, spread over the Saturday and Sunday.

The programme:

image

…contained the comprehensive running order from the likes of Stuart Tester, a favourite at the Tweseldown, to The Stomping Nomads, an almost rock-like band, through Gary Paine’s Blossom Hill Bluegrass band, which includes his dad Don, who is 80, to our hosts who played in their group Tudor Lodge, made up of Lynne and John Cee Stannard. There were 30 acts, including Serpentyne a morris dancing group, who roped in innocent bystanders to perform through to some excellent performers including Jim McClean, No Small Thing and Steve Donnelly. There are far too many others for them all to get a mention, but needless to say all were professional, consummate musicians and singers who really knew how to put on show. These included: Bram Taylor who’s been a professional, touring musician for over 40 years, Terry St Clair, who is also not in the first flush of youth, and Mike Silver who produced an excellent set.

In the ‘other marquee’, Mike Hayller (Krabbers) and his beau Caroline set up a Buskers ‘no mic’ Corner, where anyone with an instrument, a voice and/or a song could wait their turn and do a set, usually two numbers or if no one was waiting, a few more. This was mainly for those ‘folkies’ who didn’t aspire to the main stage, and who normally performed as a floor act in one of the clubs. Mike and Caroline organised it superbly, in fact some of the main acts came through and took their turn, whether to warm up, or just to entertain a smaller audience we’ll never know. At one point on the Sunday there seemed to be more performers than there were on the main stage, but because that was amplified it could always drown out the buskers. It was great fun and again a wide range of material, played on guitar, banjo, ukelele, fiddle, mandolin, recorder (the wooden kind!), cajon, squeeze box, and most quirkily of all, a hurdy-gurdy! An absolutely brilliant idea which worked well. Hats off to Mike and Caroline.

Lynne and Mike, who own Boars Bridge House, made the whole camping experience very easy, with portaloos, fresh water, carp pond:

image

…lovely scenery, well kept grounds, horses, wildlife, carp pond, everything for a relaxing time, and everyone played the game and took their rubbish home. There also seemed to be a lot of day visitors too, judging by how full the car park was and some of the eclectic vehicles in it:

image

…it’s based on Sierra running gear and a Toyota engine apparently and is yours, a snip at £25000; bargain! The whole point of the weekend was to raise funds for the Berkshire MS charity and it seemed we bettered last years figures, we’ll know soon. The whole event finished with a grand finale in the main tent with about 20 performers on stage from the previous two days. It was a riot, and sent us off on the journey home in high spirits. Everyone who was involved in the planning, execution and partaking of the whole event should be heartily congratulated on a job well done to an extremely high standard.

Roll on next years Boar’s Bridge Festival.

Posted in My World and As I See It | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Ruffits 2014

Posted on Jun 2, 2014 by cliverh

Another year gone, another Whitsun bank holiday (what it used to be called), another Ruffits. As my reader will recall from last year we went to a field in the middle of the Sussex countryside to camp/caravan, sing, drink, eat and sit around a bonfire: heaven.

 

image

Of course this year the mix is pretty much the same: music, drinking, fire, outdoor eating etc, but the dynamic changes every year. More younger people are coming, mainly because their parents or their parents friends brought them along, then other friends are invited and so the cabal grows. This year Lenny and Jane, Carol and Jeremy, Patricia and Robin, Ian and Sarah and their progeny and friends all appeared, along with the ‘Welsh’ contingent dragged along by Lee, Lenny’s son, with Julian and Brian en famile. I’m sorry if I’ve missed anybody by name, but there were also quite a few whose name either escapes me, or I don’t know.

We didn’t arrive until the Saturday afternoon, when most were well established having arrived on Friday, some in the early hours. We got there on a overcast day, and put up our awning:

IMG_20140525_131716

 It’s very comfortable but not as practical as the caravan we borrowed last year from our neighbours. We’ve used this awning a few times, and it is huge and quite easy to put up. So we finessed the set-up on the Saturday afternoon and fired up the mini BBQ for the evening meal, then it’s fire time! It’s not always essential to get there first in order to secure the best spot, because everyone moves out as newcomers arrive, especially if the fire get really hot.

IMG_0153

 

Then it’s the usual turn and turn about for songs, some old some new some self-penned (which I did) and very good renditions all round. Some of the talent on show is just awesome; Britains Got Talent? Pah, not a patch on Ruffits-in-the-field!  Unfortunately the rain started in the early hours and turned into a  torrent, so by 2.00am everyone had more or less dispersed to sleep off the beer. The following morning the sun shone bright and cheerful, and stayed like it for the rest of the day and night:

IMG_20140525_131838…even I got me shorts on! Shame about the legs though. Anyway I went for a walk in the afternoon, while a few went to the pub (see Ruffits May 2013). The sun was shining and it is a lovely quiet area:

IMG_20140525_162508

IMG_20140525_163943

 

After coming back and heating up the chilli, it was fire time again, and this time we all had a good old sing-song and the night stayed clear. But after the previous late night, we were relatively early this time. As usual all the acts sung well, and there was some surprising talent on view. The next day the heavens opened slightly and by mid-morning had become a deluge. There was no way of getting the ten down and pack away dry, so we went for it and packed away wet. The rest were all doing the same while jeremy restored the fire pit back to grass. I like to think we are all ecologically sound in that we don’t leave anything behind except our memories, and we don’t cause any damage.  It’s a nice place to be.

So the short journey home, and leave the unpacking until a clearer day to dry all the wet stuff off. All the preparation to go takes a few days beforehand and afterwards it takes time to clear up and pack away (in our case to come out again for the Boar’s Bridge Festival in June) but it’s all worth it; meeting with old (and some not so old) friends and enjoying time together in the same conditions, it’s a real cathartic releases.

Where Carol used to organise Ruffits three times a year, it’s done to the one weekend, so roll on next year and hope for better weather!  See you all then, if we’re spared!

 

Posted in My World and As I See It | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

The two hander

Posted on May 19, 2014 by cliverh

The Two Hander

a short play

by Clive Handy ©2014

The distinguished actor, Sebastian ffolkes-hamilton expected and usually got good parts. However time and the sun hadn’t been kind to his once handsome face, and good parts for older men were more difficult to come by. The scene is set in his agent’s (Milton Keane) office, just off Charlotte Street, round the corner from the old Middlesex Hospital. In the office is a desk in front of a window, with a swivel chair behind it. In the corner is an old fashioned hat stand with a baseball cap perched on a hook. Opposite the desk are two, two-seater settees which have seen better days. On the desk is a laptop computer and a printer, a telephone and scattered bits of paper. Down stage left is a door.

Sound Effect (knocks on door)

Milton (sat at the desk, telephone in hand. Typically dressed with jacket, bow tie, slightly balding long hair, 40ish, and a bit foppish): Come in.

The door opens and in strides Sebastian. He is just under 6 feet, very slim and effete looking. He’s wearing a suit with a carnation in the buttonhole, a trilby and of all things; a cape!

Seb: (In a very plummy accent)  My dear Milton old boy, how the devil are you?

M: Don’t you ‘how am I’ you waste of space. I’ve been trying to get hold of you for two weeks since you sent me that handwritten note. HANDWRITTEN! Don’t you answer emails, texts, telephone calls?

Seb: I don’t go for that new fangled stuff, you know that Milton old bean.

(Seb sits down in a settee)

M: Well I suggest you perk up and start using them, the telephones’ been around for about 150 years. And to be honest old son, without text or perhaps an email account, your career is up the Swanee.

S: Don’t call me that, I most certainly am not your son. Now, what have you got for me, you know my last part was in Downtown Abbey, but I got killed orf.

M: You mean you got the sack and they couldn’t wait to write you out.

S: That is most unkind (he gets up and starts pacing the room) as you know with age comes difficulties and I have suffered more than most, I need an income to support my admittedly high lifestyle, but I’m counting on you Milton. (He stares at M pointedly, the telephone rings)

M: (Picks up phone) Oh hello Sid, yes mate I’m good, what you got? (Pause) Oh really? Sounds good, might have someone right here in my office as we speak (pause) OK Sid I’ll bell you.

S: Well? (Looking exasperated and holding his face in his hands)

M: Right could have a job for you, walk on part in EastEnders. But there is slight problem (gets up and turns to look out of the window).

S: What?

M: (turning round) It’s a cockney part, obviously.

S: Obvious? What’s obvious about that?

M: You know about EastEnders, right?

S: (Acting ignorant) Never heard of it dear boy. (Slightly snooty look, nose in the air).

M: I’ll let that pass, it’s a TV soap set in the East End of London, oh for God’s sake watch it on the box tonight. Good pay though.

S: But my dear boy, I don’t do cockney.

M: Well that’s a lie; you’re from bloody Walthamstow, hardly upper crust country.

S: That was a LONG time ago (paces across the stage and back)

M: (Sits down) Yes, you can take the boy out of Walthamstow, but you can’t take Walthamstow out of the boy.

S: (haughtily) I am NOT a boy, you impertinent pipsqueak.

M: Sit down Sebastian you’re making me giddy pacing up and down. Now this job could be for six weeks and pays £600 a week. Like I said you’ll have to do cockney and …er dress down a bit; you’ll be an old tramp. And he gets murdered, and I know you do dead very well (mumbling under his breath) ‘cos you’re close to it, that’s why.

S: Absolutely not; I shall not denigrate myself for the coin of the realm.

M: You might not have a choice, there’s not much else except….

S: What? What? (Looking earnestly at Sid)

M: Well it’s not main-stream, in fact it’s a daytime soap.

S: What, you expect me to do a part that will only be seen by old grannies and the unemployed?

M: Well it’s a slightly wider demographic than that. They want someone to play a middle aged (Sebastian looks horrified) Lord something who needs help at the local doctors surgery. The show’s called ‘Doctors’ and it’s on BBC1 at lunchtimes. Oh and it pulls in up to 2 million viewers daily, not bad for what was; it ‘old grannies and the unemployed’?

S: Oh that’s sounds OK, how long is the part for?

M: That depends on you, sometimes characters join the show, make a big impression and they are asked to carry on. Up to you really.

S: OK well you give it a glossy edge and of course I would rather play someone who is closer to my station than a downbeat part where no one will recognise me.

M: You bloody snob, Sebastian. Right I’ll give Sid a ring.

(Picks up phone and dials)

M: Hello Sid, I’ve got someone for the Doctors part. It’s Sebastian ffolkes-hamilton. Oh I see …well…I don’t know…..yes, yes if course…but he’d be very good…oh OK Sid I’ll tell him.

S: Sorry mate (Seb looks aghast at this word) they don’t want you for that, Sid says you’re more trouble than you’re worth. How about Benders?

M: (reverting to his cockney roots accent) Well love a duck, cor blimey and me apples and pears where’s the script?

M: (picks up phone and dials) Hello Sid? Yes mate Sebastian ffolkes-hamilton, he’s agreed to be a tramp. (replaces receiver)

S: (looks suitably disgusted) Oh well, if I have to prostitute myself. Does anyone know me on the EastEnders production team?

M: Luckily no, they don’t watch Downton, so you’re safe. Oh and Seb?

S: Yes?

M: Don’t call yourself Sebastian ffolkes-hamilton, just use your real name.

S: Oh OK, oh well Jim Smith here I come, ready or not.

M: Thank gawd for that. (holds head in hands)

Black out and curtain.

 

Posted in My World and As I See It | Tagged , | Leave a comment