Scotch Eggs

Dear John, when you're next down in London, it will be my pleasure to treat you to a meal at this restaurant in Bermondsey Street:

Anyway, what the feck does Tom Stoppard know about the theatre?  Last night we were at the National watching what promised to be an amusing play by Gorky called Children of the Sun.  The write ups have been excellent, it's three-quarters of the way through its run, and there's never anything wrong with a bit of Gorky.  By half time, The Cat's Mother was ready to leave, and I was suffering the fidgets.  Essentially, the play is about the middle-class fiddling whilst Romeski burns and the greediness of the working classes.  We think the heart of the problem was a poor translation - not that my Russian is great - and then made worse by some pretty bland acting of characters that you really couldn't care less about if you tried.  Not to worry, the set was marvellous, and the ending included some pyrotechnics, the like of which you're unlikely to see on stage again...an enormous explosion and flames that sent glass flying across the stage.  At the interval, we happened to be standing in the foyer, and found ourselves adjacent to Tom Stoppard, his friends and some theatre staff who were discussing the performance.  He said it was very good.  Either he is the politest man in the world or he knows nothing about the theatre.

I can't think of a title for this one

On the one hand there's a tremendous naivety about the furore caused by the US (and UK) governments looking through everyone's personal data...after all they can only do that because we hand it over willy nilly to any old company that wants it, so why shouldn't the government take a sneak peek.  I suspect in most cases it's so tedious that all those James Bonds stuck in GCHQ are permanently asleep.  Incidentally, a friend of mine who lives in Cheltenham told me that parties there can be incredibly boring...you can never meet someone and as an opening gambit say "what do you do for a living?", because the chance are the reply will be "I'm a civil servant"...in other words they work at GCHQ and can't/won't talk about their job. Or perhaps talking about your job is boring anyway.

I see Thames Water is the next company to be nailed for not paying corporation tax.  They reason is that they have 'deferred' on the basis that they are investing in the infra structure.  In fact, I saw that they'd deferred to the tune of £1 billion.  It sits on their balance sheet.  OMFG (one for you Steve), every year I try and defer my tax to the tune of a few hundred quid, and the Inland Revenue go ape.  Perhaps this year, I'll explain that I'm deferring because the plumbing needs fixing....

I don't have much time for Thames Water.  In our last office, I merrily paid my annual water bill for half a dozen years before I spotted that in fact our water was part of the building service charge.  There was a common water supply for the building and the cost was paid by the landlord with the bill divided between the tenants.  When  I contacted Thames Water they promised to look into it...and over several months didn't.  I stopped paying them...obviously.  They started sending me threatening letters, ignoring the fact that I shouldn't be paying them and kept telling them that.  Eventually they started legal proceedings...I was tempted to let them go through with it, but ended up referring them to OFWAT...who managed to persuade them of their stupidity...a few weeks alter an engineer came round, confirmed we shouldn't be paying water rates.  It took a little longer to get my money back.  Anyway, another battle won.

I see it's all hotted up in Istanbul, with riot police ripping through the protesters in Taksim Square.  It would be easy to look at the actions of the authorities there, and pass judgement, but I hesitate.  You may remember Brian Haw...the peace protester who devoted a decade of his life to camping out in Parliament Square.  Yes, our police didn't use tear gas to move him on but our 'democratically elected' leaders saw fit to pass the Serious Crime and Police Act of 2005 in attempt to remove him.  I'm glad they failed, because it doesn't feel that in a 'free' country politicians should behave like that.

The Boy is relaxing without too many cares about him.  The Cat has another couple of weeks before she can do likewise.  What a truly fabulous time to have...I suspect they won't appreciate it as much as they should...it's only when you get old and croaky like me, that you realise how precious time without responsibility can be.

We're trying without too much luck to sort out car insurance for The Boy.  He passed his test a little while ago, but hasn't been able to drive since.  We all know how hideously expensive it is for young people, so that's a challenge in itself, but what is making it worse is that he will be away for most of July, and a good deal of August, and if he is lucky will be off for a ski season starting in November as an instructor.  So what we need is short-term or pay as you go insurance, and I'm truly struggling to find anything at all.  If any one has any suggestions, they would be more than gratefully received.  My own car insurance provided a little gem yesterday - the renewal cost was quoted as £600, and I thought I ought to check out if there was anything cheaper on compare the meerkat.  Indeed there was...the same insurance from the same insurance company for just £270.  Who ever said insurance is a con?

Filling a vacuum

I think of myself as pretty fit...I cycle a reasonable distance pretty often, and manage that without too much hardship.  On that basis I decided to enter the National Lottery Anniversary Run  - a five mile run round the Olympic Park finishing in the stadium itself!  And I get two tickets for family to cheer me on.

Not that I'm over-confident about anything, ever, but I thought I would simply put on my running shorts on the day and sprint the distance without breaking into a sweat.  To make sure I would do it in style, I bought myself a new pair of running shoes. Yesterday, I thought I would try them  out.  What I hadn't factored in was that I haven't actually run for thirty years.  By the time I'd reached the end of the drive (it's no longer than yours), I was out of breath...and my little practice was a half mile out and back another back.  Oh my word.  Oh my word, I thought I was going to die.  No two ways about it, it was gruesome.  I remembered now why I don't run.  I don't like it.  My legs weigh a ton each, and struggle to go one in front of the other.  The rest of my body is a lead weight...and these days, my stomach bounces up and down threatening to poke my eye out.  So there's nothing for it...I must practice...and I've only got until the 21st of July to get it sorted.  It's going to be grim.

Talking of grim...we headed off to Secret Cinema last week...rather than central London, it was being held in West Croydon, which has a number of downside...it's a bloody long way for a night out, it's a grim suburb and the trains stop running at 11.20.  That would have been fine if the event itself was good, but it wasn't.  Held over thirteen floors of a deserted office building, the production was just spread too thin...so you felt that you were wandering round a deserted office building rather than being immersed in the the film 'Brazil' by Terry Gilliam.  In the end, we left at about 9.15, somewhat disappointed.  From what I heard, the full film wasn't shown, although there was a theatrical climax...I assume a terrorist attack.  As the tickets are nearly £50 each...and then you add food and drink on top, it's an expensive evening that needs to work hard.  We may skip the next one.  Shame really, as I think Brazil is a terrific film.



There was also a Muffin birthday this weekend, the smallest one hitting the grand old age of eight.  We started off in Delauney's Cafe, moved on to the sweet shop, before going  to see the new production of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which is playing previews now.  Oh dear, oh dear oh dear.  Methinks the famous Sam Mendes has invested too much time and effort getting the technical effects right, completely forgetting that the show needs pizazz and oomph.  The first half is way, way too long...full of tedious songs and lacking any sort of humanity or spirit.  There were an awful lot of fidgety little bums, so it was a relief to get to the interval.  With the second half set in the factory, it was obviously brighter, livelier and more interesting....although it would be hard to say that fun crept into the equation very much.  The show opens 'properly' on 24th June, so they've got a fortnight to sort it out, but I'm not sure how they will make a first half devoted to the dreary Buckets more entertaining.  Good luck Sam...you'll need it.

To round off the weekend we went to see Eddie Izzard.  The evening didn't promise much for me...I don't like the yawning aircraft hangar that is The O2 for performances, and I struggle to laugh at stand up comedy. So it's a credit to Mr Izzard, that he did bring a smile to my face...more for the clever, intellectual parts of his surreal act which appealed.  I wasn't rolling on the floor laughing, but then nor was anyone else either.  Like Charlie and the chocolate factory, the second half  was considerably better than the first, but it was not a bad evening out.

The biggest amusement for me, though, was The Cat's Mother's god son who was with us.  He's 26, just in case you thought we were taking nippers out for a late night.  He's eccentric to say the least.  At the interview for his new job, he was shown into a room, and realised that there was a ticking clock on the wall.  He was climbing on a chair to remove the battery 'because it's too loud' just as the interviewers arrived.  He doesn't start the job (yes, he actually got it) until July, so has spent his time reading the Koran.  And why not?  Last week, he needed to replace his vacuum cleaner so headed to John Lewis, where he engaged the sales man in a discussion about the merits of the new Siemens for AN HOUR.  Finally, the sales man had to say, "You know, it's just a vacuum cleaner.  It's not going to change your life."

Trubble in't mill

Tonight is another Secret Cinema outing...The Cat's Mother is getting a bit grumpy about these things...they're quite convoluted, and booking and finding out where to go, what to wear, what to bring is quite stressful.  And she gets stressed quite easily.

One of the pleasures of Secret Cinema is working out what you're going to see...sometimes we manage, but usually not.  Today, someone in the office let the cat out the bag and told me what it is.  Grrr that is really, really irritating.  I like a surprise.  It's fortunate that I like the film very much, and it's a while since I've seen it.

I managed to upset one of the women in the office the other day...I was a bit clumsy in trying to be helpful.  She was proudly showing everyone her new leggings, and I started talking about how proper safety wear is a good idea when she's riding her Vespa scooter.  Whatever the weather, I'm never without an armoured jacket and trousers...and I was able to quote the label which says 'Helps prevent muscle stripping' and that I'd read that if you come off at 30 mph it's less than half a second before the road will remove all the flesh down to the bone.  Yes, very ungracious of me, but I do have a bit of a bee in  my bonnet about motor bike safety...

Time clock of the heart

Some things confuse me, some things confuse other people.  Time for example.

On The Cat's Mother's side of the family, time is a mystery which will never be understood.  Her sister, Mrs Muffin, has never knowingly been anything less than half an hour late for anything (except this weekend when I was forced, arm twisted to sit through yet another viewing of The Lord Of The Rings...this time for the benefit of the young Muffins - they arrived two minutes early, whilst I was still working).

The Cat is always late by varying degrees, and when The Boy and I who are both sticklers for time get tetchy because we're being made late, gets really irritated.  I've lost count of the time we've heard her say something along the lines of "Oh, so when you said we had to be there by seven, you didn't mean we were leaving at 7?"  Fortunately the school journey never needs to be made again.  When we lived almost next door to the school The Boy, who could walk there, would leave home at 7.45 in the morning.  Since we started living some miles away, and a car was required to get them there, the journey generally starts some twenty minutes later.  There have been tears.  I'm glad it's all over.

The Cat's Mother, is generally pretty good at getting ready on time, but then will go and spoil it all by finding half a dozen things that can be done before we leave to go anywhere for any reason.  If we're having a meal before we go to the theatre or cinema, all will go well until an extra pudding, an extra coffee, a trip to the loo is thrown in....we have been known to be running down the aisle as the curtains are going up.

So there's an irreconcilable difference in our understanding of time.

I had an e-mail from Southwark Playhouse today that started "Southwark Playhouse mk. III is officially open! Our new bar is easy to find and open from 11am to 12pm Monday to Saturday."

Now correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't that mean it is open for precisely one hour?  Eleven in the morning until midday.  I realise that there is some debate about this, but one minute past midday is 12.01pm, so logically 12pm is midday.  Now you may say I'm just being picky, and deliberately obtuse, but now the sun has come out, I don't want to turn up at lunchtime and find the doors locked. Please don't ever accuse me of picking a fight for the sake of picking a fight....

Doing time is another matter.

I never forget how lucky I am to be working in the middle of London, and actually one of the most diverse and dynamic parts of central London.  It's a mix of the ancient and the modern; the rich and the poor.  If I wanted to (and I wish I had the time to) I could spend hours exploring...but usually I just wander out, grab a sandwich and then head back to my desk.  It's a bad habit.  Today, though was slightly different.  As I wandered, I went past Southwark Crown Court...there was a large crowd, and loads of TV cameras and photographers.  I paused just long enough to see Rebecca Brooks come out.  She looked pretty pleased with herself, which is strange because the consensus in the crowd seemed to be that she should be doing time.  I took a picture, but I was a little way away...

Elsewhere, the BBC seems a little confused.  Here are the opening two paragraphs of a story I read on the news site

Al-Rahma Islamic Centre destroyed in 'racist attack'

An Islamic centre in north London has been destroyed by a fire in an apparent racially motivated attack.

It is not yet known whether the Al-Rahma Islamic Centre, which is listed as a mosque, was set alight deliberately in the early hours.

I'd say that was a somewhat inflammatory headline...

Turkish delight

I'm so glad we have the BBC.  It's not just the TV programmes, it's not just the radio shows, it's not even the BBC website.  What I am most in awe of the BBC for today is that they have finally unravelled the bare bear mystery for me.  No I don't mean naked dancing grizzlies, I mean how to use the words when you're not talking about bears or birthday suits.  The mystery was solved because of the terrible flooding that's going on in central Europe at the moment.  Specifically, the BBC headline which says, 'Flood waters from Czech dams bear down on Prague'.  My money would have been on 'bare' as the right word....I know I've tried to use Google in the past to find out how to bear arms, but to no avail, but at least I no longer have to bear this burden.

So Labour is going to restrict 'winter fuel payments' to the wealthy elderly.  Quite right too...why should those rich feckers get a penny.  Some might disingenuously argue 'because they've contributed more'.  Of course that is ridiculous; how could any one feel that the people who have put most into the system should get anything back.  The chances are, these people have paid for and not used the education system, nor the National Health service either as they've sent their kids to private school and filled the coffers of BUPA too.  I'm not going to dwell on the absolutes of the discussion too much, as I think the major policy announcement is merely the vocalisation of how much the politicians are missing the point.  Tinkering with winter fuel payments will make a difference of a few million at best....it will make no impact whatsoever on the country's financial position.  It does nothing, it says nothing. The truth is, root and branch reform of every aspect of the UK's fiscal system is the only way to solve the problems UK plc faces.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again and again and again.  It would be churlish, of course, to point out that ensuring the international businesses that squirrel away billions out of reach of HMRC pay a proper level of tax would reap unimaginable billions.  I don't even think re-writing tax legislation so that the effective location of business deals is the point of taxation would be beyond the wit and wisdom of any tax lawyer.  Starbucks wouldn't leave the UK now, nor would Google, Amazon or Apple...let alone EDF.  I rather like the idea mentioned by someone the other day, that companies are taxed, just like you and I, on income rather than profit.

The Cat's Mother and I are contemplating a trip to Turkey.  Nay, that is an understatement.  We are definitely booked on a trip to Istanbul later this year.  Well, bugger me, why is it that whenever we decide to go somewhere, the populace start rioting.  They did in Jordan last year, and a couple of years before that The Cat's Mother went off to Syria, and even Lebanon the year before last had seen some trouble.  I've not yet got my head around the Ottoman Problem, but it is unlikely that I won't have a read around to see what the SP is.  In the meantime, if anyone there happens to be reading this...please just cool it until we've been and gone.

It's a short life

I love shorts.

Yes, when the sun comes out, my marble white legs are exposed to all in the hope of turning them a dusky brown.  Hopefully that will happen at least once this year.

But the shorts I love most are short movies.  It must be the nature of the format that means all the creativity which normally gets spread amongst two hours of a full-length movie, gets squashed into a much tighter space to create something which is much more powerful and exciting.  Next Floor is one of my favourites



On a lighter note is this one



But my absolute favourite is this one (WARNING ADULT CONTENT)...Danse Macabre by Pedro Pires. It is very moving indeed.



Having seen it originally at Secret Cinema, I downloaded it from iTunes to watch at my leisure.  But sadly, the version that's available has been significantly edited...the 'danse' where the body is moved around has been edited out.  Odd, as this is a key part of the thing.  I don't understand.  Very disappointing.

This weekend we sat down to watch Django on BluRay.  It was a film The Cat's Mother and I enjoyed very much at the cinema...although, being Tarrantino, there were some parts where she hid behind the seats.  It was with great angst I realised, not too far in, that the watch at home, no holds barred version has been edited.  Having only seen the film once at the cinema, it's hard to say what all the edits are, but one that was particularly noticeable - because it's on the soundtrack - is where Django and Schultz ride into town, and they discuss what would happen if they sat down together in the saloon.  It was a nice little bit...not critical to the film, but certainly worth having.  So why has it gone?  Why do that?  If it was good enough for the cinema, what makes it not good enough for the sofa?  There were other bits that my fuzzy memory said were not right either.  It somewhat tainted an otherwise enjoyable evening....



P.S. I see YouTube is working much harder to 'monetise' their investment...so sorry for all the ads

And so to Cyprus

I had something brilliantly funny to tell you.  But I've forgotten it.  Sorry about that.  It doesn't help anyone does it?

I've found that Big Brother in the form of Google Now does have some value.  Whilst waiting at the bus stop, the digital signs telling us when the next one was due simply said "Check bus timetable".  The woman who arrived a couple of minutes after me and who was close to mastering English asked politely, "Have you talked to the timetable?"  I looked down to my shoes and shook my head.  Then I looked at my phone, and it told me there was just three minutes until the number 5 was due.  Scary, but ever, ever so helpful.

Anyway, I'm pleased to say my own big brother is being a better son to his mother than I am, and has gone off to Cyprus to see Grandma.  She'll be delighted to see him. They'll have a lovely week in thee sun.  Fabulous.  Our next trip is not yet scheduled...with the offspring finishing school this summer, having various things lined up - they're both performing at Edinburgh Fringe again, the Boy is at Army Camp, and The Cat has a part in a film during the 'summer holidays', and after September it all gets foggy, we've not sorted anything out.  Shocking really; thank heavens for Skype which occasionally works.

Last night we were in Cyprus anyway.  We went to see Othello at the National.  Funny how the Turks always seem to have had their eye on that bountiful island!  We enjoyed it. Quite sensational really.  A modern setting and not a single performance which was anything less than superlative.  Even Adrian Lester, and he doesn't normally float my boat. It brought tears to my eyes, literally.  In some ways I hoped for an American ending, when everyone lived happily ever after.  But that Shakespeare certainly knows how to wring every once of misery out of his stories.  Grab a ticket if you can.

Big Brother

This weekend was some European football final, and it was being played at Wembley.  Because of my Olympic volunteering, I had the opportunity to performance in the pre-match entertainment...it was a choreographed battle between medieval knights...Vandals vs Goths?  I don't know really.  I turned it down, but only because one of the rehearsals clashed with Young Muffin's first Holy Communion.  Shame.  I think I would have been quite a good Lancelot.

This weekend, there was another First Holy Communion.  This time for a Hobbit (a new character to my cast of thousands).  I managed to wriggle out of the service...there is after all only so much religious nonsense I can take.  But, of course, I went along to the BBQ afterwards.  I'm never one to miss out on a burnt sausage or carbonated burger.  I got into a conversation with some folks about foxes.  We have three fox holes in our garden, and I was defending them. I've seen them play and I've seen them sun bathe, and I rather adore the fact that urban foxes have habit (evidently) of stealing shoes and depositing them around the neighbourhood...they are lovely.  But after reading John's post here, I feel foxes guilty.  Where I live, it's hard to remember how savage and destructive they can be.

I wonder what's best...better the devil you know?  The situation in Syria is going from bad to worse.  I'm still generally of the opinion, that civil wars should be left to the citizens of the country battling it out.  But it the Middle East is one region where everyone feels it's OK to stick their nose in.  If I look back at Iraq, I suspect that far fewer people would have died if we'd left Saddam in charge...his fall led to a void which has not been filled, leading to violent clashes and frequent deaths.  Of course, that wasn't a civil war...it was George Bush and his playmate Tony Blair showing off.  The real downside has been the destabilisation caused by Iran not having a natural counter balance.  No wonder Israel looks worried.   In Syria, you've got a mottley grouping of various opposition factions, many of whom are not natural allies of the West....and especially of Israel.  Hezzbolah are now involved, and they too would like to wipe the Israelis off the map.  The Russians are getting dragged in.  Israel is looking more likely to lose the plot, especially as the Americans are doing a good job of doing nothing very well.  It wouldn't surprise me if there's a melt down...and the outcome is quite unpredictable.

I like to go to 'national events'. so was quite pleased when The Cat's Mother got tickets for The Chelsea Flower Show last week.  I had imagined great rolling gardens with lovely, clever planting which would be wonderfully inspiring for us.  Instead, we were confronted rows and rows of exhibitors selling (IMHO) tat.  This was the first year that garden gnomes have been admitted, which strikes me as bizarre, given the nastiness of some of the sculptures to be had:  do you fancy a 20' garishly painted dinosaur being ridden by a monkey jockey?  I certainly didn't.  There were show gardens of course...most seemed to have followed the fashion for the 'wild meadow' look...but I don't think throwing some wild flower seeds and long grass on a 20' square is particularly clever.  The Daily Telegraph garden was literally full of shaped hedges...there was no space walking...so what's the point?  As usual (I'm told) there were a lot of metal/concrete/wood constructions...none of which enhanced the display, I would say.  Even the winning 'Australian Garden' didn't really excite me. Anyway, I took a few pics...I'm not sure why.  Grump.

My brother is off to see Grandma in Cyprus this week...he'll be enjoying the sunshine, whilst we shiver in the cold rain here.

I had to make an emergency phone purchase last week.  My trusty mobile that runs my life just about breathed its last.  As I use it for work and pleasure, I really can't cop without it.  It comes with something called Google Now, which is the scariest piece of software ever.  Within an hour, it was able to tell me how long it would take to get to work from where I was.  An hour later it told me how long to get home.  Six hours later, it told me how long the journey would be to the flat in Brighton.  Six hours after that, it was telling me how the shares I owned were doing.  The only piece of information I had consciously given it was my email address.  Big Brother is truly here.

I dream of genie

Last week we went off to see The Hot House...a Harold Pinter play that's enjoying a short run.  It was a bit of a last minute thing really...a friend had got a couple of tickets, but then feeling ill had offered them to us.

"It’s Christmas Day in a nameless state-run mental institution where the inmates are subjected to a tirade of mindless cruelty. A maniacal and self-obsessed leader breeds a contagion of hierarchical savagery amongst his staff, who thrive on a noxious diet of delusion and deceit.

The day got off to a lousy start - a death and a birth. Absolutely bloody scandalous! Is it too much to ask to keep the place clean?

Under a veil of devilish wit and subversive humour, Pinter’s biting political commentary on the perils of unchecked power is as vital and pertinent today as when it was written in the 50s."

It was brilliant...fast and pacey, alternating between comedy and horror, it was a great evening's entertainment. But that's not what made it such a special evening.  As we were leaving, we bumped into a friend of mine and her husband...she had been one of the runners in this year's Boston marathon...we chatted for a while before saying our goodbyes.  As we turned, there behind us was one of the actors.  Christopher Timothy.  You will probably know him best for this:




I know him for other reasons.  When I was a wee lad, I lived in a village called Hatfield Heath.  It was a surprisingly lively place...and not just because there were so many pubs.  Unlike too many villages these days, there was a real community.  Part of that community was The Heath Players...yes the village amateur dramatic group.  Grandma in Cyprus was involved, and I joined the junior section.  It was a good way to keep the young of the village out of mischief.  I thoroughly enjoyed it.  My first role was the genie of the ring in the village pantomime of Aladdin.  I was painted head to toe in grey make-up.  The group, you will have guessed, was run by a young Chris Timothy...our very own celebrity...although as I had still not cracked into double (age) figures, I didn't think of him as any different from the rest of the adults.  He had a lovely wife...and as I remember it, they seemed to adopt a new child every week.  We would most regularly see him on TV when he was advertised The Sun...it all made him a bit racy.  But he was a lovely, inspiring man.  All Creatures Great and Small came a few years later.

As the years have passed, I occasionally thought it would be good to see him

So when I saw him, I turned and said "Chris.  You won't recognise me.  It's been forty years since we last met."  Naturally, as a good actor, he was not wrong footed, and we quickly got into a conversation, briefly catching up on history.  I left with a buzz, it was a stupendous evening.  Only going to show just remarkable coincidences can be...we hadn't planned to go to the play, we didn't know that we would bump into friends who would delay us just long enough to meet someone who had a significant influence on a part of my childhood.

Jammie

The Cat's Mother had expected this:



Fortunately, I knew better.  So at least one of us was happy.

We were going to a site-specific performance by the London Contemporary Orchestra...in Aldwych  underground station.  Aldwych (or Strand if you look at the signs above the entrance) has been shut for twenty years.  Very exciting indeed.  In truth the music was more Brian Eno than...erm...melodic; but the event itself was fantastic.  A deserted underground station...all very Doctor Who.

Shut your mouth

I love my cycling, but it's not without its dangers.

I wasn't particularly hungry when I got home from my ride last night.  I tend to ride with a big smile on my face, and with my mouth open I managed to eat a fair few flies.  The first one was a big one and I nearly choked.  I tried to keep my mouth shut, but obviously failed, as I had a steady intake for the entire 18 miles. I'm sure it'll do me good.

So I give you a version of an old favourite:

There was an old man who swallowed a fly. 

I don't know why he swallowed a fly. I guess he'll die.
There was an old man who swallowed a spider 

That wiggled and jiggled and tickled insider him. 

He swallowed the spider to catch the fly. 

I don't know why he swallowed a fly. I guess he'll die.

There was an old man who swallowed a bird. 

How absurd! To swallow a bird! 

He swallowed the bird to catch the spider 

That wiggled and jiggled and tickled insider him. 

He swallowed the spider to catch the fly. 

I don't know why He swallowed a fly. I guess he'll die.

(Continue verses) 

Cat . . . Imagine that! He swallowed a cat. 

Dog . . . What a hog! He swallowed a dog. 

Goat . . . He opened his throat and in walked a goat. 

Cow . . . I don't know how he swallowed that cow.
There was an old man, he swallowed a horse. He died of course!

When I'm on the cycle path that runs along the canal and is shared by cycles and pedestrians I'll use my bell to make people aware of my imminent arrival...it's tricky to get it just right so you don't frighten them.  I'll always say thank you and normally throw in a a'good morning' or 'good evening' for good measure.  Generally the going is good, but yesterday I was confronted by two cyclists riding side by side blocking the path as they came towards me.  I'd like to think they were distracted by their conversation, but as they weren't talking that couldn't have been the case.  It wasn't until we all stopped facing each other like troops on the demilitarised zone in Korea that it seemed to dawn on them that unless they went single file we'd be stuck for ever.

On the road, it's a matter of taking my life in my hands.  I don't use a bell, as I've found a bellow at the top of my voice is usually more effective.  Yesterday, I didn't hesitate to use  the words Fxxxxxg cxxt at the woman who was texting whilst driving her BMW and had managed to career into the cycling lane just in front of me. She seemed completely taken aback, and I don't know why, as I doubt her text was more important than my life.  A few hundred yards along a man was reading his copy of The Sun whilst driving along in the cycle lane.  He got the same treatment.  I think I'm totally justified...in fact in younger days, I probably would have snapped off his wing mirror as a more lasting reminder.  Thank heavens I've mellowed.

On a lighter note, I smiled at the white van driver who bellowed "Two nil" to me in Bermondsey Street.  I always cycle in my Brighton and Hove Albion Away shirt...it's a very bright green and black strip which generally makes me quite noticeable.  2-0 was the score last week when Crystal Palace stopped my team having any chance of a place in the Premiership.

On another lighter note, George is coming on fine now.  He's hobbling around, and last week celebrated his birthday...I think he appreciated it was one he may well not have seen without a good deal of luck and the efforts from the very fabulous doctors and nurses of the NHS.

I was prompted to write his post because of this

"If my mother was standing here now she would tell you that.....

...your sister was to blame for me not going to Oxford University"

When I was a lad, although we weren't in any way short of toys, there were some things that we loved playing with that weren't bought from the shops.

I remember making a 'Jodrell Bank' radio telescope out of matchboxes.

There was always a cotton reel around, we knocked some nails into it and did some knitting with Mum's wool....long thin knits which had no use what so ever.  Was this called French knitting?  Seems appropriate to me.

Egg boxes were fantastic source materials, and galleons were the best things to make.  I have a feeling, although I can't remember, that they went in the bath without water proofing and sank honourably.  No doubt Grandma in Cyprus will put me right on that.  At the weekend we usually have a cooked breakfast/brunch, usually involving eggs, and this inspired me to relive my childhood.  Naturally The Boy joined in...and in fact took over.  The result was splendid:

HMS Sunny Eggs

If I can persuade The Cat to give me one of her cotton reels (or if not, I will have to go on a dawn raid), my plan is to make one of these:

A cotton reel tank.  If The Boy makes one too, we'll have a battle...

Simple things.

Anyway, back to my Dinner on Friday night.  I was chatting to a woman who had in fact married one of the teachers.  As we spoke it soon became apparent that we had met a very long time ago.  I didn't know her too well, but I knew her sister very well indeed.  In fact I had known her sister so well that I had been completely distracted from my studies when I should have been trying to get into Oxford.  I'll never know if I was capable, but I didn't get in.  If I had, my life would have been quite different.  Not to worry, different doesn't mean better; just different.

It was, if nothing else, a good life lesson.  And perhaps that's why I'm so firm when I think The Boy is allowing romantic thoughts get in the way of academic success

Into Darkness

It's not often the top of our road is on the national news.  We've had film crews and TV crews, but never as far as I know the BBC, Sky and ITN, etc.  Unfortunately it wasn't for a good reason.  Three people had been shot on Saturday night; one died.  And this in lovely Hove, supposedly the sleepy, up-market part of the millennium city of Brighton and Hove.  I'm not going to join the chorus of comments in the local paper saying that the country's going to the dogs.  It was an awful event, but I suspect a one off.  We're a country with some of the strictest gun laws in the world, so it merely demonstrates that if someone wants to get hold of a gun and use it, they will.

Friday night was our Celebration Dinner...the culmination of several month's efforts. The Boy, The Cat and Namesake were all there to help out, and earn £20 into the bargain for serving the wine.  They may yet have a career ahead of them.... All went well, although we had two unexpected guests arrive, so there was a rapid reshuffling to fit them in...it was kind of inevitable I guess...not much more to say other than everyone seemed to enjoy themselves, and my back is sore from all the pats on the back and votes of thanks for organising it.  Really rather pleased that it went well, and of course for not letting my Boy down!  The Cat's Mother is pleased because our table drank more wine than any other.  I didn't know it was a competition.

Saturday was another celebration, and an altogether stranger one for me.  It was Young Muffin's First Holy Communion, and the service was conducted at the Muffin Mansion by a friendly priest.  I'm quite clear on my own religious views these days, although it's taken me nearly fifty years to get there.  I believe in God, but organised religion is not for me.  Beyond that, I worry about children being indoctrinated at such a young age...but I understand, that if you don't get them young, you probably won't get them at all.  As I sat there listening to the service, I was delighted to see Young Muffin beaming from ear to ear, whilst at the same time, couldn't restrain the thought in my head that his was all mumbo jumbo.  The Cat's Mother and her family are all very firmly committed Catholics, so as with every relationship we all have to make compromises...and this is one that I do.  Quite happily.

We're not Star Trek fans by any stretch of the imagination  but on Sunday night we went to see the new one...Into Darkness. We've developed an emotional bond with the current series which comes out our trip to Jordan last year.  We'd been travelling all day in the hot, dusty desert, and arrived at the Dead Sea, exhausted, well dead on our feet really.  So we had our evening meal sent up to our room...The Cat and The Boy with us.  We ate our food, and then all four of us climbed into bed to watch a DVD of the rebooted Star Trek.  There was something about the evening...a warm breeze, some nice wine, and a lovely family feeling...it was fabulous.  The film was terrific.  So of course we had to see this one, and it was a great romp.  I've read the reviews, which essentially say 'good effort, not as good as the last one', but actually for us it was a marvellous adventure.  One word of advice to myself though, don't drink 24 fluid ounces of coffee just before it starts.

And to cap it all, this was in the foyer...we can't wait!