Away with the fairies

Are you the last one to leave the party? Have you ever gone to stay at a friends for the weekend and then just not left?

The Boy has a Godfather who once was one of the UK's foremost technology journalists. he was well enough known that when we had a computer go badly wrong, the mere mention of his name sent a shiver down the spine of the supplying company's PR. We got a new computer and a whole host of goodies. He was also the first person we knew to get (for testing of course) an X-Box, and his flat was a geeks paradise.

At some stage, I don't know when quite, he decided there was more to life than writing about gadgets. He completed modernised what had been a tatty, rundown and disgracefully untidy flat into a splendid icon of contemporary minimalism. It was beautiful.

Then he sold it and decided to travel the world. Among his exploits included helping sail a yacht half way round the world with a couple who, as far as I can tell, would probably make excellent characters in a scary horror movie.

At some stage on his travels he met an American lass, fell in love and decided to marry.

But life is never simple, and in order to get the right American visa so he could go back and get hitched, he had to return to the UK. He needed somewhere to stay, so I offered the flat in Brighton for 3-4 weeks. That was in December. He finally returned to the States yesterday. Yes, the visa process was challenging to say the least...evidently many people try to marry an American just to get a Visa to live there. Can you imagine? A fine upstanding Englishman put in the same category as....well you know.

But it wasn't just visa problems...it was distant relationship problems. So he's gone back not entirely sure that the marriage will happen. I hope it does, he deserves it. And if it was meant to be, it will happen. I'm sure.

We've been down a couple of times, but it's not easy when you want the space to yourself and there's someone there...no matter who they are. I've been delighted that the flat has been properly lived in for the last five months...that's not been the case for fifteen years. And on Monday, we will venture down for our first visit since his departure...and we can start again trying to finish off the refurbishment that we postponed on his arrival. Hopefully the flooring will be down this side of the summer break.

Of course...boo hoo to everyone who said he'd never leave.

Have a great Bank Holiday.

Photogallery - friendship

Well I kind of feel a bit guilty about last week's Gallery from Tara...I cheated with my line drawings of paunches...of course Tara's whole point was that too often we end up taking the pictures rather than being in front of the camera....so what would happen if we weren't there.

So this week I've decided to be a good boy and here are some pictures which illustrate friendship (Tara's theme this week) to me.





These first two are of my friend Graeme...he has a fabulous place in Herefordshire and many a happy time has been spent there during warm summers and cold New Years. he came to the Foo Fighters with us...and admitted at the end he only knew one of their songs....many people would have given their right arm for his ticket! He's been a great support and calming influence when life has been topsy turvey...and that's just what friends are for.



This is The Boy and his friend The Cat. They have a very special friendship...and fight and squabble like brother and sister. It is just fantastic to see...I think they will continue to be the very best of friends for ever. Their friendship has had an enormous impact on my life over the last year.



In the middle is someone I met through blogging. She's the sweetest, funniest person in the world...you should read her blog. She has only two faults. Her obsession with David Tenant and her undying loyalty to Scotland. Auntie Gwen has bravely accompanied me to numerous gigs...even some rubbish ones - Echo and the Bunnymen being the most memorable. I didn't take her to see Kings of Leon last year, and I'm not sure she'll ever forgive me.



And here are some friends from school...we've all trodden slightly different paths. One sells medical equipment and is married to our old physics master's daughter, one sells garage doors and stood on the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square, and one used to be known as Ali at school...but is now Pawan in deference to him....I used to help him stretch the material for his turban after it had been washed. We meet up a couple of times a year...and I'm sure they'd be there for me if my life depended on it.



And finally the friends I recently travelled to Russia with. One person I was at school with (but we can't remember each other), the rest are relatively new friends...all have made me welcome in their long-established groups. And one of them is very special to me indeed.

An Essex weekend

On a very serious level, I am quite perturbed that we have little kids being tried in an adult court (for rape), and a school teacher is driven to beat a pupil with a dumbbell because his class is seeing how far he can be wound up before he snaps. In both cases only the court knows the full facts so I won't pass judgement, but both are very unsettling, and a sign that we have a very dysfunctional society that needs to act quickly and decisively to find a way of re-balancing how society deals with children.

On another note, either Blogger has gone potty, or Hotmail has (may be both...or are they the same organisation?), as comments on my blog are only arriving in my in- box about 12 hours after they're posted....a minor irritation amongst many!

Last weekend was ridiculously full. Friday night we were out at a local fish restaurant (we'd run out of energy to cook...and more importantly clear away and wash up afterwards). Saturday was taken up with a wedding, Sunday a 50th Birthday Party followed by a celebratory dinner for a confirmation. I was so glad to get back to the office yesterday to relax...what a pain that it was such a rubbish day in the office!

I'll share some highlights of the weekend:

At the wedding they were trying to tread a careful line between an Essex wedding and something the rest of the world would understand. The Rod Stewart impersonator who sang and strutted over the wedding breakfast may have just tipped the balance. The fly-by of three bi-planes was allegedly nothing to do with the wedding, but I refuse to be convinced. Of course there was a disco, but best was the singer who could belt out a song better than the original artist (oh for the days of K-Tel). She was flown over from Marbella specially.

It was brilliant, but my legs ached as never before the next day.

At the birthday lunch I was at one moment talking to the Chief Executive of one of the UK's largest charities, and the next to a bloke who had been educated at a run down comprehensive in Barking and become a stone mason. He carves gravestones...and on the back of that is buying his first Ferrari. I staggered out having drunk a gallon of champagne.

Essex...it's a place of contrasts.

The Do's and Dont's of having a German exchange student

1. Obviously don't mention the war. Or the 1966 World Cup. Or that time when we beat them 5-1. Even if they are the only things we've got over them.
2. Don't try and describe coleslaw, say it's made of Kraut, and then blush because you think you've just insulted them
3. Do avoid the newspaper stories about memorials to Bomber Command being erected
4. Do remember they drink coffee not tea
5. Don't take him to the restaurant opposite the Olympic Stadium (H Formans again) and then start talking about German Olympics before realising that neither Berlin 1936 and Munich 1972 were happy times
6. Don 't play the game of 'Name 10 famous Germans' and then realise you can't talk about the obvious one
7. Don't snigger when you realise he looks just like Ron Weasley
8. If you talk in your sleep (which I do) don't start shouting out in German
9. Do get in lots of sausages
10. Do go to a vegetarian restaurant. It's educational
11. Do not speak slowly and loudly in the belief that this will help him understand you. All Germans already speak better English than you ever will
12. Don't accept a delivery of ten ginger wigs which are part of a joke for a friends 50th birthday, and then frantically try and hide them when your (ginger) German walks in the room...it just looks suspicious
13. Do laugh when you realise that both The Boy and The German spend ages blow drying their hair every morning before they come down to breakfast
14. Do put your foot down when all the German contingent decide it would be a great idea to go to Thorpe Park for the day. By themselves.
15. Do remember to tell The boy to remove his history of the second world war from his room.
16. Don't spot it there at the end of the week
17. Do let them go to Camden
18. Do try and steer them away from the shop selling 'Hitler European Tour' 1939-1945 T-shirts
19. Do take them to a friends 50th birthday at The Ivy
20. Don't expect them to know this is anything special
21. Do amuse him by calling The Boy a kartoffel kopf
22. Do look forward to the return visit by The Boy when you will have a week of peace and quiet



From left to right:

The Boys Best Friend - it was his father's 50th, BBF's exchange student, Ron Weasely, The Boy

Caught with my trousers down

We've all had embarrassing moments in our lives..some more than others I guess. I've had few enough that the my embarrassing moments are painful memories that pop up in my mind exactly when they shouldn't. Of course, I'd love to share them with you...but they're embarrassing so I just can't.

I cycle into work. It's 25-30km depending on the route I go, so I don't do it everyday...much as I'd like to I just don't have the enthusiasm or energy. Over the last couple of years I've been doing it twice, maybe even three days a week when its not too cold, not too wet..or just when my laziness doesn't get the better of me. Still, when I do, it's beautiful...somehow you can get right into the centre of London by riding down the canals, avoiding the traffic, and feeling that you're in the countryside.



Naturally enough, when I get to the office I'm hot and sweaty and in need of a shower...it's a good job that I forward planned and had one installed when we bought the place. I bring a change of clothes, so emerge freshly showered and ready for a day's work. Well, that is once, I've checked the news online, checked my e-mails,checked twitter, checked facebook, checked hotmail, checked the blogosphere. And had a mug of tea. And chatted to everyone in the office. But apart from that I'm right down to it.

When it's time to go home, naturally enough I change again into my cycling shorts and pedal off into the sunset. Usually I change in the bathroom, but when I'm the last to leave, I will occasionally change at my desk and pad across the room in my underclothes (sorry, I know that's not a great image for you - I hope you're not reading this over breakfast). No one can see me because we have reflected film on the windows to keep the heat out...I have to be careful in winter when the office lights make it all transparent from the outside - but in summer it is fine.

Last night my fellow office occupiers had all gone...the last to leave before me was The soon-to-be-wed-Spaniard and The soon-to-be-a-house-owner-French-girl. They both went off to the gym. So it was time to change, and I dropped my trousers. Just as the door opened. The Spaniard had returned early. I pulled them up, but heaven only knows what she thought I was doing. Neither of us has mentioned it.

But it hasn't stopped her inviting me to her wedding in Spain in July. British Airways and Icelandic volcanoes allowing.

P.S. I've just embarassed myself. Over at Commonplaces, Kevin recently posted that he'd seen a blue plaque to Terry Hall and Lenny the Lion...I took this as some kind of strange joke, having checked that Terry Hall of The Specials was still alive and kicking. I hadn't realised that the other Terry Hall was the one who put his hand up Lenny The Lion's back, was 80 and died three years ago....I'm too embarassed to add another comment, and hope Mr Musgrove misses this confession completely...

Macbeth

If you can look into the seeds of time,
And say which grain will grow, and which will not,
Speak.

--Banquo, Act I, scene iii

Mr Blobby

So this week's challenge in Tara's gallery is 'Self-portrait'. As an Englishman, naturally, this makes it a very difficult task for me...such a self-effacing gentleman that I am. However, Rupert Murdoch has come to the rescue...and that will be a first and last for him. This weekend there was an article in the Sunday Times about how to get rid of your paunch...accompanied by some suitable examples...line drawings only...the short and long of it is that at home, there is a dispute as to which of these is me....you will have to make your own mind up....

Dog days are over

Have you ever been in the position where you chase after someone, knowing all along that your love would not be requited? Well so it has been with me and Florence. I remember first coming across her sometime early last year...maybe even the tail end of the year before. She was the new 'hot young thing' with everyone wanting to tango with her. To start with I stood back, aloof and disinterested, but one day I accidentally caught her singing and was lost. I had to have her. But no matter what I did, I just didn't get to see her. Four times she managed to avoid our date together. I'm sure she was just teasing me.

The boy's always loved music...like many youngsters he would sway and swing away whilst listening to the radio, and I always encouraged him. He has eclectic tastes, driven by my own choices...from Andy Williams through to the Stereophonics...though I've never persuaded him to enjoy Cilla Black. I remember the first time I took him to a gig...Turin Brakes at Somerset House. When I told him he didn't believe me...just as if I had said we were going to meet Father Christmas. But we did go, and he loved every minute of it. As he was just 8, we stood as near to the stage as we could so that he could see....after all you're not that tall at that age! And since then we've gone to dozens of gigs...and even to V Festival a couple of years ago. Every time finding a way of standing right up front, even though he's now almost as tall as me (actually he's taller, but that's not something I ever intend to admit.

But this year, we've already reached May, and not a single gig have we been to. Although I think there's been some brilliant music around nothing has really appealed. Not sure why; it just hasn't. Apart from one. Florence and The Machine. I have tried and tried and tried to get tickets, but just failed miserably. Which is odd because I'm normally lightening quick off the mark and have even managed to get impossible to get tickets such as George Michael, Kings of Leon and the Foo Fighters. But Florence had eluded me. Evidently her popularity is too great for the venues she's been playing.

I've always avoided touts, but there's now a new generation of 'ticket swap' web sites which as far as I can see have legitimised the tout game. So earlier this week I visited Seatwave, and remarkably found some tickets for last night. The cost was high...an initial price of £40ish actually turned into over £60 by the time all the add-ons had been added on. But I was pretty desperate so I paid up. And the tickets duly arrived. I was in seventh heaven. until Friday night when I had an e-mail from Seatwave saying my tickets were forgeries and I should contact them on Saturday. I had been right royally ripped off by a dodgy website and I would lose the £300 the five tickets had cost. It was not a good Friday night.

I rang on Saturday morning, and the first surprise was that I got straight through. A helpful lady said they would refund the money. Disappointed I made plans for seeing robin Hood. Then my mobile rang...they'd managed to get me new tickets. Wow...what superb customer service...



Spot the fake...and the real thing

So we all trooped off to see Florence....stood at the front and danced and shouted the night away. She's one hell of a performer...one of the best gigs ever....

Don't mention the war

We are on tenterhooks because tonight our home will be invaded by the Germans. When I say Germans, I mean German. The boy is doing German to GCSE, so we have the privilege of a German exchange student. I'm not sure it's an entirely fair exchange as he comes to us for 10 days, and the boy only gets to go there for a week. Still if they don't get on (and a few exchanges on Facebook have yet to establish any common ground) that may not be a bad thing. The visitor will occupy the spare room, and that's where I keep all my clothes, so I've had to decamp and shove a room's worth of clothes into two small drawers. I think we were slightly conned - it appeared when the boy chose German as a subject that the exchange was a compulsory part of the deal...but it transpires that in fact there are only 11 doing the exchange - leaving some 20 who ducked out. So I think I slightly had the wool pulled over my eyes.

Actually I think we're quite lucky - the boy's best friend is getting a girl. She's two years older than him, and in her communications is asking about the local nightclubs, etc whilst he is asking her which XBox games does she like...

Generally the exchange students will be spending time in school...poor them...but will also be treated to trips to see the sights of London. Actually there seems to be so much building work going on that they may be getting to see the sites of London. I'm not sure such things have been arranged in Germany as the school there is pretty much in the middle of nowhere in particular. As our finale, we're all trooping off to see Florence and The Machine....which might be brilliant or it might be a disaster depending on his musical tastes...imagine if he only likes jazz....

Of one thing I'm certain, the boy will benefit enormously. Not only will he be able to talk for an extended period with a native speaker, but when he goes there in July he will be totally immersed - and if I know the boy well, then that is something which will totally appeal. He already has much affection for the country - we went there on holiday last year and loved it. If you want to you can read about that little adventure here I'm already a complete fan of the country having spent many happy childhood holidays there and some amazing times as a student...I hope the boy will feel the same.

Naturally we're going to be serving traditional British food - lasagne, pizza, coq au vin, etc, etc. So I hope he enjoys the change in diet...after all they only eat sausages, don't they. We thought we shouldn't watch re-runs of Dad's Army, but Fawlty Towers would be OK. And we're not going to make jokes about who is going to get their towel down to the bathroom first. That would be tasteless.

Slipping up on banana skins

"All credit to the original photographer who retains the copyright"

I'm having trouble with bananas again. It seems bananas have always given me problems, but these days they're a real challenge. The thing is, I like to eat a banana for my lunch...pretty much every day given the chance. But for some reason, the days of buying yellow bananas seems to be over. All our local shops sell are green ones. It wouldn't be so bad if they were supposed to be green, but it's just that they're unripe and inedible. Ah I hear you cry, why not buy in advance and let them turn yellow on your desk. A good point well made, but these bananas turn from green to black swifter than you can imagine. And anyway, I'm not so good at planning ahead. So my daily lunchtime routine involves treking round every sandwich shop (don't bother with Sainsbury's because there they are always very, very green) until I find something that might just be edible. What has happened? Have the banana boats got quicker so they arrive very quickly after they've been cut off the banana tree? I just don't know, but it is a right pain.

I had heard that there will be no more bananas in 50 years because a disease is killing them off, but it turns out this is just another one of those urban myths that do the rounds and trip up the gullible like me.

There's also been a trade war waged by Europe and America because of bananas..something to do with us favouring the products from our old colonies.

Stepfather in Cyprus told us tales of when he used to work unloading bananas...presumably from the bateaux de bananes...and just occasionally you'd find poisonous snakes and poisonous spiders woken up from their slumbers by the sudden cold. I think he ran a mile, but I can't really remember so well.

Bananas have always been a problem for me. My earliest banana memory was whilst at a two day interview for a place at St Edmunds College Oxford. I'd done ok, but not brilliantly at the entrance exam....I'd been distracted by the discovery of girls..one in particular, and my interest in her hadn't helped my exam technique. Anyway, over lunch one of my fellow applicants, a rather enticing girl, said, "What is it about bananas...you can't eat them without it seeming rude." I blushed, but didn't decline her offer of seeing round her room. I may have been distracted again as I ended up going to Exeter University.

On the other hand, I get on quite well when I read Bateau de Banane...may be I should stick to blogs and eat apples instead

On reflection

Only in Chigwell...would you find a £120,000 sports car finished in chrome (yes it reflects just like your bath taps should)...with an advertising slogan for a local business down the sides. Chigwell is the most ridiculous place in the whole world, of that I am convinced!

On the other hand, I love East London...it feels entirely real. And I'm lucky enough that when I wake up and feel energetic (admittedly not as often this year as last) I can cycle a full 30km to work - along the canals that wind their way through to the heart of London - I pop out just by the Rotherhithe tunnel. I have mentioned this before - although the distance has gone up somewhat this year (for reasons to be explained in the fullness of time). Along the canals, I see the old Matchbox toy factory - recently reduced to a pile of rubble, the Olympic site - going up so quickly, that you might think it'll be finished this year. And a big pink modern building with the sign H Forman on the side. I kept meaning to google it, but didn't. Fortunately, Griff Rhys Jones last year did a series on TV about our riverways and happened to head down this canal. It turns out that this is London's last salmon smokery and had been relocated after a fight with the Olympic organisers. I was pleased to know this, and yet more pleased when I cycled past and saw a banner declaring there is now a restaurant. We went there on Friday night, and it rocked - to get to it you drive through one of the eastend's old industrial estates - much in decline. The location is on Fish Island...I'm not sure it's an island, and strongly suspect the fish upped and left sometime ago...even though they're returning now. Naturally we had smoked salmon to start and the whole meal was absolutely delicious. As was the truffle mash, and the bubble and squeek I had with my lamb. The best restaurant I've been to for ages. But on Friday night, the place was practically empty - what a shame - no doubt it will begin to fill as 2012 nears, but I'm sure it should have more people now. You sit looking out over the canal directly over the Olympic stadium which is amazing - I hope that soon they will illuminate it and it will become a beacon. There's also an art gallery if you feel the need. They also do Saturday and Sunday brunch...so I strongly suggest that if you get the opportunity, and can find your way, then give it a try. Formans. Here's a picture of the smoking room...as clean as a whistle.

Grandma in Cyprus

I would like to declare here, publicly that I have bought Grandma in Cyprus a birthday card. It is written. It is signed. It has the right postage on it (£1.14). It is posted. It is her birthday on Wednesday.

I say this because earlier this year I had to write this post.

So I wouldn't want everyone to think that I'm a bad son. I have learnt my lesson.

Unfortunately, she won't be whooping it up, as she'll be flat on her back in a Cypriot hospital as she's got to have an operation on Monday. I'm sure it'll all go well as I hear good things about the Cyprus Health Service. But do wish her well on Monday. And Happy Birthday on Wednesday.

The politics of racism

It's good to see that on the day of the election, Nigel Farage of UKIP is involved in a plane crash, presumably in the hope of garnering some sympathy votes. For me, it's shame that it didn't hit the ground a bit harder. It's also been reported that the BNP candidate Bob Bailey was involved in a fracas whilst canvassing in an area with a large Asian population. I have a friend called Bob Bailey. They're not related.

I won't be voting for a variety of reasons. I'm not on the electoral register having failed to fill in the form. I might have done, but they have a habit of selling your details off to any old junk mail company. I'm not really a fan of democracy in a world which is so complicated that generally we don't have the foggiest about the real issues of the day. But I'm not suggesting I know of a better alternative. And finally, I'm loathe to vote for a party, any party, where I might support some of their policies but not all of them...so in effect I'd be voting for something I don't believe in. Call it a cop out if you like, but I don't think so. Where we live, is a very very very deep shade of blue. Last time round we lived in Bermondsey and I voted for the very nice Simon Hughes.

I will be staying up 'til the crack of sparrow watching Election night coverage in the hope of there being another Portillo moment...although this time I gather the most likely thing is for Gordon to lose his Balls...one or both I'm not sure. I may need to rethink my approach as I am a student of politics (2.1 Hons) and should be encouraging the boy to get involved.

On the subject of politics,I'd just like to raise the issue of political correctness. We're all used to behaving properly these days and avoiding is 'isms'...for me it often goes too far, and we have to be so PC it takes out much of the colour and joy of living. BUT,I am completely confused by what's OK amongst our youth and what isn't. At school,any thing that is bad is 'Jewish'. As in "That's so Jewish". I recoil in horror, but evidently its common parlance amongst the lads and lasses of every creed. And no malice is meant by it so evidently it's OK. I don't understand. By comparison, a friend (yes honestly it wasn't me) whilst waiting for someone who was late described them as being on 'African time' and that was derided with accusations of casual racism.

And tomorrow is the annual Whites vs Asians football match. Again I recoil. It gets doubly confusing because you have non-Asians playing in the Asians team. It's all good fun evidently. I'm totally confused. Any help here would be much appreciated.

The Gallery...graveyard shift

I rather like Tara's Gallery - it's fun to see what everyone does for the weekly theme. This week, it's Paint a Picture of the World we live in...and I see there are lots of exotic places people have chosen. For me though, I've chosen the local graveyard near my office in Bermondsey. Very few people know Bermondsey, and it's a delightful place, off the beaten track - amazing considering we are just spitting distance from the big bad City. Anyway, the graveyard is used as a park now, and people come here for their lunch when it's sunny. I love it - peace and quiet, away from the roar of the traffic. The boy managed to find a fig tree, and scrumped a few last year...