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!

Gluttony for punishment

On a happy note I received a press release this morning, and unusually thought I'd use it:

Sweet...everyone loves a baby story.

"HUNDREDS of fluffy cygnets are beginning to hatch at Abbotsbury Swannery in Dorset after the first baby swan was born at 7.45am today (16 May). The Swannery is the only place in the world where visitors can walk every day through a colony of mute swans, see cygnets hatching and participate in mass feedings at 12 noon and 4pm.

Swanherds noticed the first signs of hatching when the pen (female swan) on nest number two became restless and began hovering over the nest, to allow the emerging cygnet more room to peck its way out of the egg. The pen is continuing to turn the remaining six eggs, until they finish hatching."

But not all bird stories are quite so happy.

As a rubber duck aficionado you can imagine how distraught I was to see this sequence of photos as Florentijn Hofman's floating, inflatable sculpture came to a sticky end in Hong Kong's harbour.

I stopped buying from Amazon when their tax avoidance scams became known a year or so ago...and it has burst into the open again here.  If I could avoid Google I would, but I'm trapped in their net (even Blogger is Google-owned isn't it?).  What fascinates me is that all these businesses and many, many more have 'Corporate Social Responsibility' policies, yet without batting their eyes, they can't help but duck their most basic of responsibilities.  The greed is good philosophy seems to have been ratcheted up more and more in the last thirty years...let's hope it is close to breaking point.

I don't know why I do it.

This is The Cat's and The Boy's last term.  Exams have begun.  The stress levels are high.

But at the end of the exams, their school days all just seem to fizzle out.  Shortly, they go on exam leave, and only go to the school when there's an exam on.  At the end of the exams, that's it.  They don't go back.  For the parents, it means their seven year involvement ends with a whimper, not with a bang.

So a little while back, I proposed to the school that a celebration dinner is held for the parents of the Sixth form leavers.  For me it's a chance for the parents to thank the school for turning their babes in arms into something approaching an adult, and like wise for the school to thank the parents for their support.  The headmistress leapt on the idea, and the culmination of my efforts takes place on Friday.  Dinner for 140 of us.

But it does make me wonder how some parents function.  When asked about dress code by one mother, I replied 'lounge suits'...which is most people's lingo suggests a dress code for women as well.  I got a shrieking reply that she wasn't going to wear a lounge suit...what was she supposed to wear.  I've had to move some people around because the people they asked to sit with no longer want to.  I had one parent accuse me of telling him the wrong date...no I told him the right one, and he just wrote it down wrong.  I've had people ask to sit with particular people, only for me to find out that the people they've asked to sit don't want to sit with them.  I've had a parent ask if they could bring their kids... it's a semi-formal dinner for parents.  The original hall 'The Great Hall' we were due to be in suddenly became unavailable because the teacher who booked it for me forgot there would be exams in there.  And so it goes on....

I'm looking forward to it.  There may be a tear in my eye.

A bit of olive oil on troubled waters

Please don't trouble yourself reading this post if you're irritated by my occasional  political pontificating or do I mean posturing?

Obviously I'm gutted about Brighton and Hove Albion being knocked out of the play-offs last night.  I'm not a footballing man, but you have to support your home team.  That's why I wore my shirt for the first leg on Friday night.

I'm even more gutted that my favourite radio station has been closed by its owners.  Q Radio has been my station of choice for several years now, churning out the sort of music I like with DJs who don't interfere too much.  A second choice is BBC Radio 6...but if anyone has any suggestions for alternatives, that would be much appreciated. Muchly.

Evidently, I am a grammar guru.  I scored nine out of ten in the BBC quiz here.  It would have been ten, but I forgot that lesson about reading the question before answering...something I've not had to do for a few years.  Anyway, I realise that I may be better at knowing good grammar than I am at putting it into action.  You just have to read this blog to discover that.

The BBC is on form at the moment.  I read this article - 10 things about Hell.  It was prompted by Dan Brown's new book.  And if you know anything about Dan Brown's books, they are hell to read and then even worse when translated into a film.

I hope Rupert Murdoch doesn't come chasing me for quoting this interview with Jamie Oliver in the Sunday Times:

"He is known as the cheeky Essex charmer who can rustle up a culinary feast for friends and family in the blink of an eye. This weekend the celebrity chef Jamie Oliver showed a political side, saying he was disillusioned and frustrated with the government.

In a wide-ranging interview with The Sunday Times, Oliver, who employs thousands of people, attacked prisoner reforms, suggested that school meals were not being funded properly and said that although he did not support UKIP he loved the fact that the party was “stirring it up”....

....While he admitted that he did not know much about UKIP’s policies, he observed that “with Thatcher dying and seeing how we reacted to her death and then how UKIP did over the last weekend I think it is part of the same stuff. I think the public reacts to clarity and single-mindedness. I know I should be careful what I say but I do believe politics has got more squashed in the middle and samey.

“What I love is that UKIP are stirring it up. Now they have stirred it up they have got my interest and I will listen to them and I don’t think anyone would before . . . It is a clear sign from the public that they want someone to have a view.

“I think the public want prisons sorted out properly, I think they want hospitals sorted out properly. We have tried a few things in the recession and I think they are question-marking whether we are going down the right path. I think UKIP has changed the path for the next two years.”

Now apart from a disastrous meal or two at his restaurants, I have to say I rather like his cooking.  And in fairness, it;s a long time since he was just a chef...he's quite a campaigner.  I think generally he has quite a lot (of good things) to say.

Unfortunately, I think what he is saying is both probably right, and probably quite dangerous.  He is 'bang-on' in saying the two major parties are occupying the same centrist ground...and have done for quite some time.  Just before the last election I went to a presentation where the economic policies of the two parties were analysed in depth.  The difference in their spending forecasts was around £5bn.  Now whilst that sounds a lot and is a little more than you and I take home every week, it is in fact a tiny, tiny, tiny amount when on an annual basis the government spends £720 bn per annum or there abouts. If my maths is right, we're talking less than 0.2%.  So whilst the Tories like to portray themselves as the politicians who are careful with our money, in fact they're no different to the Ed Miller Band.  And vice-versa.  my best guess is that The Eton Rifles are much more likely to stick to their guns because they have an elitist view that they and they alone know what's best, whereas Ed's gang would probably have wavered.

Jamie suggests that people like clarity and single-mindedness...he may be right...although many would argue that the current bunch in charge have acted with single-mindedness.  What I think, and have said before, is that people appreciate leaders with vision.  And that is where the current political generation is lacking.  The concept of vision.  What is Britain's role in the world, how should our society be shaped, what sort of communities do we want to live in...not just now but in 25 years time.  If a political party could and would shape that vision, I suspect they would garner enormous support...with a few enemies.

But until then, the danger is that crackpot organisations like UKIP will focus on a few populist policies and actually prevent a new order emerging.

Sore loser

I have a feeling David Cameron is being hoisted.  Having said that he wants to renegotiate Britain's membership of the EU and then hold a referendum on it, a whole host of Tory Grandees and senior ministers are just manoeuvring just to have a referendum.  Almost certainly the result would be a British exit from Europe.  Cameron thought he was being clever, but really he's just a little boy playing with men's toys.  Useless, useless little man.

We bought a 'dock' for our digital music recently.  Very splendid it looks too.

We chose this one because a) it looks good and b) you can plug in both an iPod and an android phone.  Except we discovered that our iPod is too old to be compatible and the Android connector (if you're not a techy...if you don't have an iPhone, but do have one onto which you can download apps, the chances are that it is an Android phone, probably made by Samsung, Motorola, Sony or LG) just charges the phone whilst the music has to be sent by bluetooth...yes that does sound over-complicated, and yes it's a bit beyond us.  So it's a bit of a white elephant really...

A little while back I mentioned the new members of the cast here   Well there's been some changes already.  Firstly Mrs Mop has gone.  I don't what we did to upset her, but she decided to not  remain.  Since then the office has deteriorated as no one is clearing up and washing up.

Secondly The Bishop has been renamed to Mrs Sweary Shouty.  In fact she just swears.  Like a trooper.  Enough to make a sailor blush.

New in is Quiet Girl.  She is that.  And very lovely too.

And finally we have Scooter Girl.  Yes she rides a scooter, is a photographer comes from Wales with a broad accent and is very full of life.

So it's all quite fun really.

After the exertions of Friday night it would have been sensible to have had a quiet weekend.Fat chance.  We met The Muffins for lunch.  Naturally I wore my Bradley Wiggins top as I tried not to fall asleep at the table.  The Wicked Witch of The West arrived with Boss...they'd come to collect The Boy as there was a christening to be done down in Buckinghamshire.  At the same time we took the opportunity to talk about arrangements that need to be made now that he's 18 and he is technically responsible for a whole host of things from his mother's estate.  Not taxing at all.

And then last night we went off to see Jack Dee.  I struggle to enjoy stand up comedians...it just seems odd to sit and watch and listen to one person in the middle of an enormous stage.  But I enjoy Jack Dee's miserable gait and he does his stuff very well so we laughed along for a couple of hours.  His theme was the miserable week he'd had, and he comic observations that permits.  Very good.  Recommended.

The alternative for Sunday evening would have been to go to the BAFTAs.  The Olympic Opening Ceremony was up for an award, but cruelly our hopes were dashed.  I blame that Clare Balding for being exceptionally good throughout the Olympics and Paralympics...a worthy winner.

Cook some

Surprisingly I managed my cycle ride up to Cambridge.  Even more surprisingly I did it about 20% faster than I normally cycle to work...a distance of just 27 km as opposed to the 103 km of this ride.  It took four and a half hours of peddling to complete it in the wind rain and cold.  I have to say I was pretty chuffed with myself, as it wasn't until I'd left the house that I had decided to do it. I think you can see the route if you click here

It was a trip through my own little history.  The start point was just by the changing area for the Olympic Opening Ceremony, and as we peddled through London I went past many familiar sights including my father's old factory.  Later on we went past Audley End...I remember leaving my bicycle there as a young teenager when I went off for a day trip to London...it was just propped against the wall, completely unchained or shackled and still there on my return - would that happen now?

I didn't really see all that much in the dark...it was heads down stuff and concentration required all the time...the rain was pretty consistent from start to finish, so we ended up soaked top to bottom before we'd hit five miles.  It didn't matter too much really...I quite liked the cooling effect, although it made things a bit slippery, especially over drain covers.  The wind was blustery so it could catch us unawares, but fortunately it was generally blowing in the right direction.  I was delighted to see an owl fly past...they're great to see, and enjoyed the coincidence of a cock crowing as we arrived in Cambridge.

The three refreshment stops were marvellous...a hot warming drink and some energy-giving food were just what I needed.  But it did mean that when you went out side again, it felt really, rally cold.  The worst time for me was just after the half-way mark after a short stop...out into heavier rain, uphill, loads and loads of pot holes, and nearly missing a turning.

I learnt some things

Being part of an ad hoc team thrown together as we met in the cafe at the start made all the difference.  We swapped lead position as one would flag and another would find a burst of energy,we all rolled merrily along as the hours ticked by

You don't get sleepy as you peddle.  I had wondered whether I would just fall asleep at some stage...I had no idea what the impact would be

Pot holes can floor anyone.  The roads were littered with dangerous pot holes.  i managed to miss them all just about, but a good number didn't complete the ride simply because they crashed down the holes and buckled their wheels

A seven car police chase in the middle of the countryside at midnight is not exciting, just terrifying

If you wear a Brighton and Hove Albion shirt on the night of one of the play-offs, people will want to talk to you a lot...so you'd better know what the score is/was

The mysteries of the rail network are beyond belief.  I took the train back at a cost of £24 - I was only going to Stratford.  The six people who were going all the way to Liverpool Street paid the princely sum of £10.50 each, although they were travelling a longer distance.  My route mean a change at Bishops Stortford, onto a train to Liverpool Street and then back to Stratford, even though there is normally a train directly from BS to Stratford....this was the route they made me take, even though it would have been better to have taken the train directly to Liverpool Street and then out again...quicker and cheaper...grrr

As for the title of this post...it was text I sent The Cat's Mother about one in the morning....predictive text can have some interesting results...wonder if you can guess what I thought I'd written

By the time you read this....

....I should be well on my way to Cambridge.  Tonight I'm due to be cycling the 100km from London starting at 10.00pm...and finishing as the sun comes up.

There are only three issues:

1.  We've been invited to a dinner party with a few of our favourite friends.  It's tempting.
2.  It's really rather windy, and whilst I can cope with cold and rain, wind is something that is altogether more uncomfortable (OK...cut with the fart jokes)
3.  Due to one cold after another, I've done no training.  So I have something in common with Jade Goody, apart from the fact that she was buried in the church yard next to us when we lived in Buckhurst Hill

So either wish me luck or condemn my fecklessness

A long hot summer

Are we the only ones to see and enjoy the ultra miserable 'The Village' on BBC 1?

I think it's a total gem, avoiding all the normal TV cliches, and "telling it like it was", except a bit more drab and gloomy.  It tells the story of a Derbyshire village through the 20th century, and the first series has focused on the period during the first world war.  Boy oh boy was life hard then.  I'm really looking forward to the second series which will be set in the twenties.  I doubt (and hope) it will be much cheerier, as they were pretty bleak days too.  The Village was something that the BBC does best when it tries.  Remarkable screenplay that actually made you pay attention, think and use your imagination.

Sorry about the ad at the beginning



Many have compared it to Heimat, the German programme that followed a family through the challenges of the twentieth century.  Equally brilliant, less gloomy, and just as fascinating....but you need many, many hours to watch the trilogy from beginning to end



We had an interesting bank holiday - I mentioned our trip down to Brighton, but we returned to host The Boy's 18th birthday bbq with all his friends.  It was an afternoon thing to avoid the drunkeness that often clouds these things...how foolish of us.  Sobriety was generally maintained during the daylight hours, but as the sun set, the teens headed off to the pub.  The Boy was summoned back some time later.  He arrived in a bit of a state, and worse still had lost the Ray Bans his girlfriend had bought him as a present.  He was distraught.  She's still not talking to him.  And me?  I was furious, but equally distraught because I could feel his wretchedness at having got himself into a pickle.  At the moment he got home I could still see the little baby of eighteen years ago...helpless and confused.  Painful, really painful.

And there was I stupidly thinking that once they hit 18, you could retire from real parenting duties.

Art for arts sake

May's a good month to visit Brighton.

It's funny how the internet age has changed the amount of things we know about.  I grew up in a small village on the Herts/Essex borders called Hatfield Heath.  It was everything that a village should be.  A large green on which cricket was played every year and the site of the annual summer fete.  There was a butcher, a baker, a haberdashery, a general store, a garage, a news agent and plenty of pubs.  I don't think any of them exist any more, although I suspect cricket is still played on the green.  I remember once my practically hysterical mother screaming blue murder at me as I sauntered across, not realising that a few hours earlier adders had been found in the grass.

What I didn't know, but I suspect I would now if I was growing up there was that just down the road lived and worked Britain's greatest sculptor, Henry Moore.  It seems extraordinary to me that within spitting distance was someone with such talent and fame and we didn't even know.  These days, his home, studios and grounds are open to the public.  We went the weekend before last with a couple of friends.  He used to deliver the newspapers every morning.  As well as many of Moore's works, there is currently a Rodin exhibition as well, so well worth the trip down the country lanes.

I particularly liked this one...it's in a field of sheep, and the reason it changes colour is because the sheep rub up against it...I guess it's worth a fortune, and the sheep have no idea at all!

But back to Brighton.

May is festival month in Brighton, so whatever your taste in arts, there's something to see or do.  It's odd then that in all the years I've lived there I've not managed to see more than a handful of things.  But the last couple of years we've discovered the Artists Open Houses event...essentially it's an opportunity to see all the creative stuff that comes out of Brighton, as well as having a nose round people's houses...who could resist.

We really like Frances Bloomfield who creates these

And Sophie Woodrow who creates these

Just down the road from us, Studio 323 is doing a project of photographing everyone who comes in.  We had our portrait taken, so I expect it will pop up here some time.  See if you can spot us!

Knowing his liking for Scotch eggs, I thought John would be pleased about this

And talking of things Scottish, grrr...the Scots really annoy me.  Sorry, but it's true.  And it's not just because I've had more than one Scottish girlfriend.

Take this, for example.

Why does it make Scotland better than England, any more than it makes Scotland better than any other country in the world?  There's something seriously wrong with the Scottish psyche that they can only measure their own success in comparison to England.  If they were a person, Freud would have something to say.  the therapist bills would be enough to bankrupt the country.

Anyway, I will probably keep my thoughts to myself when we travel north to Edinburgh again this summer when The Cat and The Boy perform again at The Fringe.

I suspect they are like the child of a very famous and successful rock star or actor...always trying to prove their own worth, but really not having a fraction of the talent of their parent.  My apologies to  Peaches Geldoff.  And to my Scottish friends and relatives.  But really, the next time I hear the chant 'Anyone other than England'....

I will probably keep my thoughts to myself when we travel north to Edinburgh again this summer when The Cat and The Boy perform again at The Fringe.

How mad is this...another one of those PC nonsenses.  You can't tell children whether or not they have a Best Friend...we all like other people to a greater or lesser extent, and frankly it's distorting nature if we try and interfere at this emotional level.  Anyone want to be my BFF?

You can imagine how mad this made me feel.  If the bank is sold off, taxpayers will be facing a £20 billion loss.  So whilst the bankers who got the damn thing into the mess have got off largely Scott Free, we will have to pay for their greed, folly, selfishness.  Worse still, the bank has continued to pay outrageous salaries and eye-watering bonuses whilst most people have had to pull in the reigns...that is even if they have a job.  I'm sure the Tories would like to off load it, but common sense says that if it's back in profit, we should keep a hold of it until we the people who bailed it out get our money back....and some.