In Istanbul

I could write a long post about this wonderful city, and how I surprised our American friends by dressing up as a very grumpy chauffeur at the airport, but instead I'll just show you some of my favourite pictures

 The very wonderful Chora

 No wonder they look nervous...circumcision room

 The Cystern..very, very calming

 A few AK 47s seen around

 Does the bridge spoil their view do you think?

 Really he had two legs...

 Famous steps to Taksim Square

 Some craft were more unexpected than others

Not in Istanbul

You can't help but like Boris can you?  The man who single-handedly created the bicycle and organised the London Olympics.

I can't help but think I wouldn't let him organise a chimpanzees tea party, but there's no doubting his chutzpah.

We were lucky enough to be invited to the opening reception of the 'Pearls' exhibition at the V&A last week. I have never, ever, ever seen so many security guards and police in one small space.  I guess the several tons of pearls on display may be worth a pretty penny.  I assume the assembled beautiful people were mostly pretty wealthy too.  They smelled of money for sure.  The evening was opened by one of the Qatar royal family, and she was then followed by Boris.  He is without doubt a truly amusing orator.  Clever with it too. The audience was enraptured.  I'd recommend an evening with him any day.  As for the exhibition, it's absolutely fascinating...we couldn't stay long which was a shame, so we may well go back.  But there's a fascinating history to pearls, and some remarkable pieces of jewellery to see....and then I'd suggest exploring the rest of the V&A which must be one of the best museums anywhere in the world (plus it has an awfully nice cafe).

We abandoned The Boy for a few days whilst we jetted off to Istanbul. Well he's a big lad now, and he's not going to do anything like pranging the car in our absence is he?

It's a bloody long way to Exeter and I've come a bloody long way in thirty years

Going to university is a very different experience now, as I discovered at the weekend.

Once upon a time it was rucksack on your back, ghetto blaster in your right hand catch the train.  I rather think, today's approach of car filled to bursting with every possible item imaginable and parents driving to destination is the better way of doing it.  We rolled up, unloaded, with fewer items than most falling on the ground, and took everything up to the room.  The one casualty was the fake Louis Vuitton suitcase The Boy had brought back from his rugby tour of the Far East.  The wheel collapsed, shortly before the handle pulled off.  Some part of an Exeter rubbish tip will forever be The Boy's.

I then abandoned The Cat with The Cat's Mother whilst I went off to see how the campus has changed since I was last there.  And it has changed.  It seems smaller.  If I'd grown half an inch since I was a student, I would have understood, but I haven't.  There has been an investment of many millions in many new academic, administrative, cultural and sporting facilities.  The place is more crowded, but actually just as attractive.  The hills, one known as Cardiac Hill, are less challenging...I remember being able to cycle up one that just about nobody else could...it didn't seem so bad now.  The building I was taught in still looks the same, but the 'new' library has just been refurbished, extended and opens into a covered meeting space called The Forum...I think the Romans would like it.  There was a coach-load of Chinese students looking completely bewildered....even more so than the ones from the home counties (one continuity is that Exeter has an apartheid policy which excludes anyone who is not born and bred within the M25 boundary).

I'm sure The Cat will love it.  She will be studying a subject she loves, she will meet new people from a different bubble to her own, she will find some independence that she doesn't have now, and have a livelier social life.  It's all good, and she will return a grown up in three years ready to face the harsh world of working life.  Hopefully we may see her a few times before then!

I've been re-acquainting myself with my past recently, and this was no exception.  I spent a wonderful couple of hours wandering round with distant memories gradually coming back. Good times, bad times, ordinary times.  People I liked, people I disliked (avoid anyone you make friends with in Freshers week for the next three years) and people I just knew.  Drinks in the Ram, or the Ewe Students Union Bars, much socialising.
Dancing down at The Quay, curries every week.   Not enough work.  Not enough involvement.  But I still got my 2.1 which got me my first job.  Economics and Political Development since 1800.  Call it modern history.  Don't talk about the Soviet Union which disappeared a few years after I graduated, wasting two terms of (gentle) effort.

I liked being there again, albeit I am frustrated I couldn't quite fit all the pieces of the jigsaw together again. But what matters to me most is that by accident, I have in the last few weeks fitted together each of the stages of my life into something of a continuum, so right at the moment I have not a bad helicopter view of where I've come from to where I am now.

The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes.

Exeter's a bloody long way away. And it's even further to come back when it's raining cats, dogs and pigs whilst the traffic queues stretch into the distance due to road works. No wonder I was exhausted yesterday. The Cat has departed to pastures new, and we had travelled in Le Taxi Yaris. Taking the Jeep would have been sensible (if expensive), but the idea was to share the driving and The Cat's Mother isn't keen on piloting a tank long distances. As it happens I drove all the way there and all the way back. It seemed sensible as wrenching The Cat and The Cat's Mother apart was quite an emotional trauma, and I suspected I would be more attentive on the road.

We arrived in the dark at the hotel we were staying at, Gidleigh Park, having driven down ever narrowing country lanes. In Devon, not only are they narrow, there are also walled banks, and the dark seemed completely impenetrable. The lack of houses seems to leave the darkness rather blacker than before. Occasionally a break in the walls would let us see beyond, and we couldn't help but feel that we might see over the rocks, in the crevice of which the candle burned, there was thrust out an evil yellow face, a terrible animal face, all seamed and scored with vile passions. Foul with mire, with a bristling beard, and hung with matted hair, it might well have belonged to one of those old savages who dwelt in the burrows on the hillsides. The light beneath him was reflected in his small, cunning eyes which peered fiercely to right and left through the darkness, like a crafty and savage animal who has heard the steps of the hunters.

Without pointing a finger at anyone, The Cat's Mother had failed to pass on a vital piece of information to me. The hotel's direction instructions specifically say, do not use a SatNav. We were indeed lost on the bleak, windy, scary Dartmoor. Having eventually found ourselves again, we tried to follow the hotel's directions, and inspite of passing their massive sign three times we couldn't find our way. We tried for the fourth time on the basis that once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. We were somewhat spooked when we took the road yet again and saw it as clear as clear could be.

We were further spooked when arriving at the hotel, the ancient wooden door swung open as we were about to step in.  The interior is heavily wood panelled and creeks a lot.  Our rooms were down a maze of corridors, and we managed to convince ourselves that at best just one of us would seen the sunrise. Oddly, as it was declared the UK's best restaurant in 2010, we didn't eat a full meal but it was late so just had a snack in the bar.  Amongst the other people in the bar was a man with an eye patch (really).  Clearly he was a murderer.  The names of our rooms were unusual, so we turned to trusty Google.  Yes, The Cat was in Sittaford, best known as the location of an Agatha Christie murder mystery.  Oh dear.  

.../more to follow

P.S.


Did you know that LloydsTSB is no more? As we drove along Old Street last weekend, I noticed that The Boy's branch had turned from bottle green to blue, and now has a TSB sign fixed outside it. And on Monday, there was a big fat glossy brochure for me in the post (actually not glossy, matt is far more upmarket my design chums tell me). The brochure tells me what a lovely, friendly bank Lloyds will be. A new bank. A new start. Not one single mention of why they were being forced to sell of 600 branches. The first step has been to rename them TSB - do you remember that from 18 years ago? TSB is your 'local' bank evidently. The fabulous brochure tells me how important its customers are to it. Well, call me cynical, but a (slightly) new name and a new logo do not a new bank make. Correct me if I'm wrong, but Lloyds has more complaints than any other and has an appalling track record in resolving those complaints...again correct me if I'm wrong but I believe they have more complaints referred to the Ombudsman than any other. And of course, it's still owned by you and me because it was broke. Funnily enough, they seem very keen on offering me, Tom, Dick and Harry financial advice. It still pretty much run by the same management with the same staff and has the same culture it had when it was mis-selling PPI. They must think we're stupid.

Memories

It's a funny place, Loughton station 9.28 on a weekday morning.

Men and women hanging around nervously looking around.  The odd furtive glance upwards, but mostly avoiding people's eyes.   If they were teenagers, the police would be called.

Today there were two police standing behind the barriers.  Much more purposeful they looked.  Perhaps there has been trouble before

Above their heads, the station clock quietly ticking away.  Tick, tock, tick, tock.  It heads towards 9.30.  As the hands move round, there is a palpable tension.  Should a train arrive in those precious two minutes you can see the flash of frustration - cheeks become reddened, a look of despair.  Watches are checked.

At 9.30, they all suddenly turn as one and march through the barriers.  Most rush along the passageway and up the stairs to the platform.  Five minutes until the next tube rattles along headed to West Ruislip.

You see, it's cheaper to travel after 9.30

Do you know where you were on 9/11?  This year's anniversary made the middle pages of the press.  The media has short memories, even if that one cataclysmic event changed the course of history.  My memory is shorter than most.  I'd remembered listening to the news in the office as it all unraveled, but not later.  I was reminded today.  I had gone for a pizza.  A friend I hadn't seen for many years, but met for lunch today says he has a very clear memory of our evening eating pizza that night.  What did we talk about?  I have no idea.  I can't imagine.  Could we have spoken about anything other than the events in New York that day?  It seems unlikely.  I wish I could remember.

You're just ordinary

There was an enormous irony that Nobel Peace Winning President Obama was ready to bomb Syria back to the stone age, the deeply unpleasant President Putin managed to shaft him by leaping on the suggestion that Syria's chemical weapons should be put under international control.  You can say what you like about the KGB, but even now they're one step ahead of the west.  look out, there's probably reds under your bed.

At home, we're getting ready for the start of a new era.  The Cat goes off down to Exeter at the weekend.  We're driving her down...a change from when I went there and and to head south west under my own steam.  Aren't the young pampered these days?  There's been a round of buying to make sure she's suitably equipped, and hopefully it'll all fit in the car...we're taking the small one as The Cat's Mother doesn't want to drive my tank.  Meanwhile, The Boy is still hoping to go off and do a season at a ski resort, but is finding in the real world, promises are easily broken - the place that offered him a job last year is proving truculent this, and alternatives are few and far between.  We have our fingers crossed, but Plan B may have to be created very quickly....

I think I'm in trouble with Grandma in Cyprus again.  We've not headed to Cyprus this year, and from over there it must look as though we're avoiding her...after all we've been gallivanting everywhere else.  Scotland, Geneva, Burgundy, and soon Turkey.  But not one of those holidays has been for us...Scotland to see the kids perform, Geneva and Burgundy for a wedding, and Istanbul for an American friend's 50th birthday surprise.  Back home we're trying to sort the kids out (see above), and in between I'm trying to do some work (actually I'm trying to do a lot of work).  So we'll get there, but I'm not sure quite when....

We watched two programmes the other night about decline and fall.  Both on the BBC, one about Ford in the UK, one about the once great city of Detroit.  The one about Ford was oddly perverse.  It used lots of Ford promotional videos and was extremely upbeat...only mentioning in passing that Ford no longer makes its cars here because of old fashioned labour practices and expensive overheads.  I don't think they mentioned how many ordinary people had been put out of work.  The other one was called Requiem for Detroit and was a startling piece about the decline of the city.  It was built on the success of the motor industry, but became a car crash itself when people stopped buying them during the financial crash (those bankers again) I'd recommend watching it.  Alongside the collapse of Detroit (it filed for bankruptcy this year) a new industry has grown up - photographing the decaying remains of the depopulating city centre.  Some of the pictures are stunning in their beauty, and some of the best can be found here.  And here's a trailer for the programme

BBC Documentary: Requiem For Detroit from Logan Siegel on Vimeo.

I laughed and laughed and laughed when seven BBC executives sat in a committee room in the House of Commons and were grilled like lamb chops over payments to departing executives.  Somewhere in the discussion the phrase that "ordinary people will find it hard to understand" that these folk were given overly generous handouts for no reason.  On the same day, a journalist said that she'd got a ticket to an event, but she didn't know how ordinary people would get one.  So that day I felt very ordinary indeed.  But then we are all ordinary aren't we?  It's just that certain groups feel they are a privileged elite.  A cosy club who should be immune to the same rules that the majority are.  For the BBC, the grilling was a tragedy as the senior management team came out of it looking arrogant, out of touch and elitist...and that's not what anyone wants from the BBC.  It's one of our greatest institutions, and it would be a disaster if idiot managers provided the fodder for another arrogant, elitist bunch - politicians - to tear it to shreds.

Birthday time

It's been a tradition (evidently) that when it's The Cat's birthday she has a sausage supper - sausages, beans, tomatoes,  mushrooms.  Obviously that started long before I ever arrived on the scene, and has carried on even though she's now 18.  As it happens this year, and hereafter she won't be at home...she's off to Uni next weekend.  Friday was The Cat's Mother's birthday, so in honour of the tradition, sausage supper was served to the family.  Delicious.  Some foods remain fabulous no matter how many times you've had them, and no matter that we eat in some truly wonderful restaurants.

The Cat's Mother's birthday celebrations are always over several days.  On Saturday we went to The Globe to see Midsummer Nights Dream.  Fortunately we were in the covered seating area, rather than the groundling space which is open to the elements.  It rained and it poured, but don't think that would weaken the resolve of the stewards who resolutely don't let the groundling find shelter.  It's a funny old Shakespeare play this one...often people's first introduction to Shakespeare I suspect.  There are some rip-roaringly funny sections, but also some periods that are frankly just tedious.  The same was true of the performances...Oberon and Titania adopted the traditional/old fashioned style of performing Shakespeare, and just shouted at each other from start to finish., Puck was a truly odd performance...I'm still not sure what he was trying to achieve but I'd come to loathe him long before the final scene which he performed chewing gum.  Bottom was terrific.  Anyway, I fell off my seat laughing at the good bits, and fell off my seat because I'd fallen asleep in the tedious bits.

Sunday and we headed off to West Side Story at Sadlers Wells.  As I've said before, I like a bit of dance I do.  This is an American production and done exceptionally well.  There are, of course, some great, great songs, and at Sadlers both the dancing and the set were superb as well.  The Guardian reviews it well here.  Here's a clip which gives you a flavour, or if you can do go and see it.

Old men of the motor industry

Nine of the dozen 1983 Austin Rover sales and marketing graduate trainees gathered on Thursday afternoon.  Driving up there I had been much in thought...well the traffic was so hideous that there was plenty of time as I went no where fast...my main concerns were trying to remember the names and faces of the people I had known thirty years ago.  Most had passed into oblivion.  Just like the cars...Maestros, Montegos, Metros, Princesses, Triumph Acclaims.

Around a bottle of champagne, we re-introduced ourselves.  We were at Haseley Manor, a fourteenth century house that had once been one of the training basis for ARG. At some stage in the demise of the company it had been sold on and then sold on again.  Now it lies empty and abandoned in need of a new owner.  Yours for just £4 million.

We all had quite a lot to say to each other.  I remember when I first met up with old school chums some twenty years ago there was quite a lot of jostling to see who had done the best.  On this meeting, there was none of that...it was just very enjoyable chit chat which kept going into the early hours of the morning.

Interestingly, three things that characterised me at Austin Rover have followed me throughout my life.  Everyone (but me) agreed that whilst there I had spent my time railing against the system. I don't remember that, but it is true, and an explanation of why I could never be a corporate man...and explains some of the ups and downs of my working life.  I guess I just like doing things my way.

I was also described as having 'a light touch with work'.  It may be that over thirty years I haven't been nose to grindstone all the time.  There have been restful periods, there have been periods, long, long periods when I've worked harder than anyone I know.  But, I have always been able to convey such an air of calm, that people have assumed I'm not doing very much.  Being laid back isn't always good when everyone else is losing their heads...

Everyone seemed to think I had left under a cloud.  The truth is that I hadn't, but some months before I resigned there had been an incident.  A year after we joined, it had been time for a new round of graduate recruitment.  As the blue-eyed boy I was asked back to Haseley Manor to give the short list candidates an insight to what they could expect.  I took it upon myself to give my talk, stay with them at the bar and then take them out to a local night club.  We got back just as the sun was rising.  Some of them were somewhat worse for wear, and it showed badly in their final interview.  The rumour was that I had slept with one of the girls - not true, but she did a few months later come and live with me, and we spent a few good years together.  It's a fact that throughout my career there have always been 'incidents'....always when my sense of fun and adventure has been a little bit more than was expected.

I had a fabulous night, I loved seeing all these people again, and we all hope to do it again.