Bronze, Silver, Gold

At the Leveson Inquiry, celebrity after celebrity has come along to condemn the awful behaviour of the media. Fortunately these are generally REAL celebrities rather than the Z listers who have nothing to offer except their love of being in the limelight. Away from the proceedings the media barons are not slow to suggest that the Inquiry is simply revenge for the MPs expenses affair. This year we've had the Police on trial for their handling of riots. And I hardly need to mention the behaviour of that other pillar of society - the financial sector which has brought the country and the world to their collective knees. This week a judge was sent to prison for allowing their child to die after failing to get treatment for a burn they inflicted. I'm left wondering why it is that in past times when the very structures that support a civilised society have become so de-based, root and branch change has happened. Revolution even. But here we are with little more than tinkering to a tried, tested and failed system going on. Common sense says that a lot more needs to change than is actually happening. But the problem is that the career politicians in charge are nothing more than middle-managers, and we are bereft of political leaders with vision. It's rare that I find myself in agreement with Ken Livingstone, but I couldn't help but nod vigorously when he said on the Andrew Marr show last weekend that at least with Maggie Thatcher she had a view of how the world should be and her policies were there to drive that vision. Of course he did add that it was as shame that her policies were wrong, but at least she had a vision.

One pillar of society that at the moment appears to be going from strength to strength is the monarchy. I suspect Helen Mirren in The Queen and Colin Firth in The Kings Speech may have something to do with this. After the Queen's Annus Horribilis, the monarchy has steadily rebuilt its stature and standing. Well done Kate Middleton. I remain firmly in the 'Chop their heads off' camp, but at least I can appreciate their efforts. Prince Philip has hit 90, and he keeps the gaffs coming...good for him - here are some great examples which I've stolen from The Daily Telegraph and Wikipedia (always a reliable source):


1. China State Visit, 1986

If you stay here much longer, you’ll all be slitty-eyed

2. To a blind women with a guide

“Do you know they have eating dogs for the anorexic now?”

3. To an Aborigine in Australia

“Do you still throw spears at each other?”

4. To his wife, the Queen, after her coronation

“Where did you get the hat?”

5.Unknown

“If you see a man opening a car door for a woman, it means one of two things: it’s either a new woman or a new car!”

1963

Speaking about the rate of British tax, he said: "All money nowadays seems to be produced with a natural homing instinct for the Treasury."

1965

On seeing an exhibition of "primitive" Ethiopian art, he muttered: "It looks like the kind of thing my daughter would bring back from her school art lessons."

1966
The Duke famously proclaimed: "British women can't cook".

1967

When asked if he would like to visit the Soviet Union: "I would like to go to Russia very much, although the bastards murdered half my family."

1969
The Duke said to Tom Jones after his Royal Variety Performance: "What do you gargle with, pebbles?".

He later added: "It is very difficult at all to see how it is possible to become immensely valuable by singing what I think are the most hideous songs."

On the Royal Family's finances: "We go into the red next year. I shall probably have to give up polo."

1976
On a tour of Canada: "We don't come here for our health. We can think of other ways of enjoying ourselves."

1981
During the recession he mused: “Everybody was saying we must have more leisure. Now they are complaining they are unemployed."

1984
When accepting a figurine from a woman during a visit to Kenya he asked: "You are a woman aren't you?"

1986
He told a World Wildlife Fund meeting that "if it has got four legs and it is not a chair, if it has got two wings and flies but is not an aeroplane and if it swims and it is not a submarine, the Cantonese will eat it."

Prince Philip's opinion of Beijing, during a tour of China in 1986, was simply: "Ghastly."

1993

To a British tourist in Hungary in he quipped: "You can't have been here that long — you haven't got a pot belly."

To survivors of the Lockerbie bombing he told them: "People usually say that after a fire it is water damage that is the worst. We are still drying out Windsor Castle."

1994
"Aren't most of you descended from pirates?", he asked an islander in the Cayman Islands.

To a Caribbean rabbit breeder in Anguilla, he said: "Don't feed your rabbits pawpaw fruit — it acts as a contraceptive. Then again, it might not work on rabbits."

1995

He asked a Scottish driving instructor in Oban: "How do you keep the natives off the booze long enough to pass the test?"

1996

Following the Dunblane massacre, he questioned the need for a firearms ban: "If a cricketer, for instance, suddenly decided to go into a school and batter a lot of people to death with a cricket bat, which he could do very easily, I mean, are you going to ban cricket bats?"

1998
The Duke asked a British student who had been trekking in Papua New Guinea: "You managed not to get eaten then?"

1999
In Cardiff he told children from the British Deaf Association, who were standing by a Caribbean steel band: "If you're near that music it's no wonder you're deaf".

2000

To guests at the opening reception of a new £18million British Embassy in Berlin: "It's a vast waste of space."

At a Buckingham Palace drinks party, he told group of female Labour MPs: "Ah, so this is feminist corner then."

On being offered fine Italian wines by Giuliano Amato, the former Prime Minister, at a dinner in Rome, he is said to have uttered: "Get me a beer. I don't care what kind it is, just get me a beer!"

"People think there's a rigid class system here, but dukes have been known to marry chorus girls. Some have even married Americans."

2001
To Elton John: "Oh it's you that wons that ghastly car is it? We often see it when driving to Windsor Castle."

2002
While touring a factory near Edinburgh he said a fuse box was so crude it "looked as though it had been put in by an Indian".

2002
To the Aircraft Research Association, he said: "If you travel as much as we do, you appreciate the improvements in aircraft design of less noise and more comfort, provided you don't travel in something called economy class, which sounds ghastly."

2009
Said to black dance troupe Diversity at the Royal Variety Performance: "Are you all one family?"

To a young fashion designer at Buckingham Palace he told him: "You didn't design your beard too well, did you? You really must try better with your beard."

2010
On asking a female Sea Cadet what she did for a living, and being told that she worked in a nightclub (as a barmaid), the Duke asked “Is it a strip club?” Observing her surprise he dismissed the suggestion saying that it was “probably too cold for that anyway”.

2010
At a prize-giving ceremony for the Duke of Edinburgh Awards a girl told him that she'd been to Romania to help in an orphanage. He replied: "Oh yes, there's a lot of orphanges in Romania - they must breed them".


"YOU have mosquitos. I have the Press."
- To the matron of a hospital in the Caribbean.

"If it doesn't fart or eat hay then she isn't interested"
- speaking about his daughter, Princess Anne.

"Can you tell the difference between them?"
- The Duke's question after President Barack Obama said he met with the leaders of the UK, China and Russia.

"The problem with London is the tourists. They cause the congestion. If we could just stop the tourism, we could stop the congestion."
- on London traffic.

"Well, you'll never fly in it, you're too fat to be an astronaut."
- to a 13-year-old whilst visiting a space shuttle.

“You look like you’re ready for bed!”
- To the President of Nigeria, dressed in traditional robes.

Of more note though than the man's quips is the Duke of Edinburgh Award. Now incredibly popular, in my day hardly anyone got involved. Of course, many do it as a way of oiling the wheels of the application process to get themselves into University, but some do it for the right reasons. I don't normally ask anyone to contribute to the blog, but by a coincidence of timing, I had an e-mail from Zoe McLean of AtoZ Expeditions which organises DofE expeditions, and here is what she had to say:

"Most people have probably heard of the Duke of Edinburgh’s Award, it has been around now for 55 years. However unless they have taken part, few people will realise the life changing possibilities that a DofE programme holds. Participants are challenged by the different sections of the award which include volunteering, taking part in physical activity and learning a new skill.

The most memorable and testing part of the programme for most people is the expedition. This is an antidote to modern society where young people are often portrayed as cosseted and inactive. Participants have to plan, train and then undertake an adventurous, unaccompanied and self-sufficient expedition. They are given the responsibility to take the lead and manage the risks of the journey rather than being led by an adult – something many, particularly younger entrants, have never experienced. DofE expeditions are not just about technical skills, they are a journey of self-discovery, participants will need to overcome challenges and hardships; becoming more resourceful and confident in the process.

Most participants choose to expedition on foot, carrying all of their kit for the duration, but for the adventurous there are other options such as canoeing, cycling or even sailing.

Today there is much focus on academic qualifications but with increasing numbers of young people gaining top marks, the ambitious need to find other ways to standout. Completing a DofE programme shows that a young person is dedicated, can use their initiative and is not afraid of a challenge – standing then in good stead for whatever their future holds."

I think in this day and age, every pupil should be encouraged to take part....it's a really valuable learning experience.

I said coincidental timing, and by that I mean that Zoe's e-mail arrived on the same day that The School held, for the first time, an awards ceremony for the pupils who had achieved Bronze and Silver. The Cat and The Boy went to collect their certificates and badges. In both cases, the scheme has been really good for their development and I'm glad that The Boy will go onto do Gold. If he gets through, he won't be going on stage to collect his reward...it'll be a trip to Buckingham Palace. He's only allowed to take one person with him...I hope he invites Grandma in Wales as I know just how proud his mother would be.

A new start

The Cat's Mother has now left the building.

Yes, it's true. The Cat's Mother is no longer in residence.

Instead she has been usurped by The Baroness Puke Vom Honk'n'Heave. She moved in on Monday.

Let me tell you The Baroness is no match for The Cat's Mother. For a start she lies in bed all day moaning and groaning. There's hardly a smile to be raised.

What's worse is that she doesn't cook, she doesn't wash and she doesn't clean. So the kitchen is piling high with Dominos pizza boxes, the sink is full to overflowing...there isn't a mug to be found which isn't covered in a brown tea or coffee stain. The mice have become emboldened and have taken to organising hurdle races across the sitting room floor. We've been trying to shoot them, but none of us appear to be a good aim - their number are multiplying and we now have so many holes in the sofa and the walls we've run out of fingers and toes to count them. I've run out of clean pants so am now wearing them inside out and back to front, but I'm a feared this may not be a good long-term solution. Given his military bent, The Boy has gone commando. And we don't like to ask about The Cat. We had a go at washing, but when everything came out pink, we thought there must be something wrong with the machine.

On the up side, I've allowed myself to strip the motorcycle engine in the living room. I don't think the oily patches will show after a few weeks on the cream shag-pile carpet. The Cat has moved the drinks cabinet to her room which has given us a bit more space downstairs, and The Boy can now practice his guitar playing and drumming until three in the morning.

On balance, though, I'm not sure that, overall, it's a good deal, so I'm making a public appeal for The Cat's Mother to return. In the meantime, any food parcels would be greatly appreciated, if you could give us a clue about how to switch on the dishwasher that would be great, and if you could get Oxfam to deliver some clothes I'd be grateful.

Round and around and around

Today is a bacon and egg sandwich today. The inevitable follow up to a curry and red wine evening last night. Life can be good in the simplest of ways sometimes.

Have you ever Googled yourself? Yes, of course you have. Don't deny it. Today I didn't Google me, I searched for Anish Kapoor, and was surprised and delighted to see that I came up (as in this blog) on the first search page. Of course, that doesn't mean anything, but as he is my favourite artist, I'm delighted to have an association. Irrespective of how tenuous! I first came across his work by accident when I was trapped in Madrid for a weekend by myself. It was so long ago, I'm not sure I was yet shaving. Anyway, I was amazed and continue to be amazed by his work. The first exhibition I took The Cat's Mother and The Cat to was Anish Kapoor. The first exhibit a giant vagina. Still they stuck with it. And my 50th birthday present from The Cat's Mother was a pair of Anish Kapoor cufflinks. Come the Olympics, I intend to be one of the very first up his curious tower which is being finished off at the Olympic park as I tip, tap away.

I've always been a great believer that what goes around comes around. So I recognise that when I'm a grumpy, miserable git, I'll get my comeuppance in due course. I usually do, and I'm glad to see it applies elsewhere. I spent a couple of years doing some work for someone known as a complete bastard. I'm quite adept, so managed to keep on the right side for a long time by most people's standards. But eventually it came to an end, with him owing me some £3000. Eight years down the line, and it was mostly forgotten, although never repaid. I was "disappointed" when I found out that he had bought a flat just round the corner from us in Brighton. An odd coincidence, and an unfortunate one. I secretly have been hoping to bump into him in public just to humiliate him on the streets - but the truth is he is so thick skinned I suspect it would just bounce off. By another interesting coincidence, one of the women I skated with on Sunday I discovered just above him. So I wonder what I could/should have said. Perhaps I should let sleeping dogs lie. I didn't tell her of the occasion when his wife burst into his office with her new born baby. She handed the baby over to the receptionist and said "You're fucking him, you can change his baby's nappies too" before storming out. Nice.

At home, there have been rewards. The Boy has been made Captain of the 2nd XV rugby team at school. One might feel that not being in the 1st XV would be a backwards step, but the appointment is more about his ability to motivate and lead people. An achievement worth a pat on the back. He's worked so hard at his rugby, having come to the school knowing only football, he went from just practicing with the team, to being a sub, to playing to going on tour and then onto the Firsts before this appointment. He's not the biggest lad in the squad, and he's not a natural catcher, but he's an important member of the team. Sometimes hard graft is the only way to achieve results.

I wonder what is going to happen in the middle east..it does seem that the Arab Spring has made the whole region even less stable than it was before. Egypt is a powder keg. Syria? Well who knows how much more blood will be spilled. And what will the west do if the unrest spreads to Saudi? As for Iran. I feel I could almost hold my breath until someone drops a bomb there. Tricky, tricky.

Two wheels on my wagon...

Sometimes you think someone is trying to tell you something. Last week I managed to get two punctures cycling in to work. The first I repaired, although it was a bugger and ended up taking me nearly 40 minutes to do, but the second left me carrying the bike over my shoulder for the three or four miles to the bike shop. I asked them to put winter tyres on, and they've promised me that I won't have another puncture for a year. We'll see.

On the other hand, I felt this week is going to be a good one when I was woken up by the radio and the station, Q radio, played all my favourite tunes as I gradually stirred myself from my slumbers.

Q has been incessantly playing an ad for 'Autoglass' - reminding us of how expensive it is to replace a whole windscreen rather than get a chip fixed. The Little Car has a chip, and I've suggested (incessantly) that The Cat's Mother gets it repaired. "Yes, yes" she says. And this is the difference between her and me. Friday she drove all the way to Bath for her weekend of retail therapy and 'treatments' with the girls. I KNEW the windscreen would crack and she'd be stranded for hours until a new one could be found and fitted. She thought nothing of it and went cheerfully on her way. Of course she returned without a problem. She has no worry lines. I'm looking more characterful by the day.

I've never thought of myself as a 'biker' but it does appear that two wheels are my preferred means of transport. Except when I'm on eight.

I've decided that if I'm to audition for rollerblading at the opening ceremony of the Olympics, I should follow my own advice: "If you're going to do something, do it properly". So on Sunday I had a two-hours skate lesson on the sea-front in Brighton. Whilst most of the rest of the country seemed to be smothered in fog, we were enjoying sunshine and warmth as the waves lapped against the pebbly beach. I skated in a t-shirt. And the lesson was invaluable, if just to remind me of how much I'd forgotten and how difficult it can be to make my body do things that feel unnatural. Fortunately I've got two more lessons this week. I can only hope I learn fast.

It was finally time for the motorbike to be repaired this weekend. Whilst a new speedo was being fitted, I was given the opportunity to test ride a new Ducati. As the sales man said, "I'm not going to sell you the bike, you should decide whether or not you want it." Nice technique. yes I want it desperately...it's the equivalent of a Ferrari on two wheels. I was out on it for an hour and a half. It felt solid, it gently flows round the bends and sings when you hit 4000 revs. The whole thing just felt that it had been put together with precision, love and care...just like a Rolls Royce. Gorgeous. By comparison, my KTM is rougher and likes to be chucked around - designed and built by greasy bikers, but it feels a lot more solid than the other bike they let me have for a couple of hours - a smaller KTM which just felt like a toy (even though with a 600cc engine it is fast and flighty enough that it is the preferred choice of jewel shop thieves across London). I'd really love to get the Ducati...my heart is sold on it. Christmas is coming up after all, and I think I deserve a treat. But my head says I should wait. For once I think I shall listen to my head. With a new speedo, and the damage caused by the vandals/would be thieves my orange beast feels great and I enjoyed the ride into work today. Funny how just putting a new speedo made th whole bike feel better.

Swimming in a sea of ignorance

The Cat's Mother has taken flight.

Well when I say taken flight she's off to Bath for the weekend with the 'girls'. That will mean a lot of screeching, screaming and shouting. All very Essex.

In theory that means I'm left in charge of the teenagers. As you can imagine that's not a great option. They're lovely. Really they're lovely. Sometimes. But truth be told I could do with 24 hours of peace and quiet. Where better then than a quick trip to Brighton, abandoning the offspring to burn the house down. You can't blame me really can you? I'll be on the seafront on Sunday practising and then having a roller-blading lesson for a couple of hours. I'm determined that if I'm going to an audition I'm going to give it my all. I haven't yet explained to the instructor why I 'urgently' need some lessons. I'm not sure I should. She might laugh at me.

It doesn't matter how old I get I still seem to find out things that frankly I should have known years and years ago. I find this quite exciting really. Some of these things; in fact all of them are quite simple stuff. When I started work at Rover some very many years ago, I, a car enthusiast discovered that some small cars have three doors and some have five. I had always assumed they all had just three. Just this week we were playing 'You Tube safari'...you start with a video of an artist/song you like and when it's finished click on the 'Similar videos' link to see where it takes you. It's great fun. Especially after a glass or two of fine red wine. As they say on the ads 'Fun for all the family'. Sometime into our safari we came across the video for Elton John's Tiny Dancer. It's a song we love. I've loved it for at least two or three years, and have thought it evidence that he's still able to bang out a good tune. So you can imagine my consternation when I read there on the screen that it's a track from Madman Across the Water, recorded in 1971. How could I have missed it for 40 years? I shall never know.



On the opther hand I was genuinely alarmed by a report on the Beeb today that some people think that anti-biotics will cure the common cold. They won't. Nor will the left overs from an unfinished course help you the next time you're ill. Evidently people 'self-medicate' and wonder why it all goes shit-shaped. There's a lad known to The Boy who's had a foot ailment for sometime....we may be talking years now. He's given drugs by the doctor but never finishes them, so it keeps flaring up. You'd have thought the very wealthy and successful parents would be able to manage to read a simple label on a bottle of pills and follow the instructions.

Fun, fun, fun

So the real losses caused by the banking sector are now beginning to be crystalised for the tax payer. In the case of Northern Rock, it's around about £400 million.I wonder how much the management team at the time of the first run on a British Bank for a hundred years has paid back. I wonder how much of a cut in the standard of living they have taken. I don't actually. I know. When the great privatisations of the 20th century were going on, the UK's family jewellery was given away for a song, with a very few people made millionaires. I wonder if the conservatives are going to repeat their mistakes again.

I don't remember a weekend as tiring as the last one - it's Thursday and I'm really struggling to wake up in the morning. Friday night was the Old Boys Dinner, an early start on Saturday to take The Boy to rugby, then into town to see Mark Rylance perform in Jerusalem, before returning to go to the Golf Club (I don't play, I just like eating, drinking and dancing) dinner dance. Got up early Sunday for Remembrance day and then went shopping for Sunday dinner. No wonder we crashed out for a couple of hours in the afternoon. Perhaps we were keeping ourselves busy to distract ourselves from a pretty challenging environment at home. Teenagers. Who'd have them? The tension is simmering and I don't hold up much hope there won't be an explosion.

If only we could solve problems the Volkswagen way. It's not that I've been asked to write about about them, and I have to say my experience of an Audi TT (made by Volkswagen) was not a happy one. BUT somebody mentioned a project the company is involved in, and all I can say is that if the theory that something as simple as fun is the easiest way to change people’s behaviour for the better is right, then it should be universally applied. Especially at home. Now.

This was the video that brought it to my attention



And there's plenty more interesting stuff to be found here

"I cannot tell a lie....

....but the place is full of chavs."

It's come as something of a surprise to find out that I made it through to the next round of auditions to participate in the opening ceremony of the Olympics. Worryingly the next audition is 'role specific'. That would be fine, but I suspect I'm auditioning to rollerblade. Now some five to ten years ago I used to rollerblade a lot. Friday nights. Wednesday nights. 15 miles a time. I even did a rollerblade marathon. Truth be told I'm not sure I can even stand up in my 'blades now. Damn. The question is, should I duck out now with my dignity intact or should I go along for the ride, enjoy myself and leave with a painful arse?

Whilst it has hardly come as a surprise, it is a reflection on the true value of democracy and freedom of speech in the US that the 'Occupy Wall Street' camp has been cleared overnight. I think it is little different here - if The City had had its way the London protesters would also have gone by now. Occupy Wall St have made a fair point that 1% of Americans own the majority of the country's wealth. I'm not close enough to know what else they've said, other than they are inspired by the Arab Spring and they believe there is no morality amongst financiers. The authorities have used concerns about health and safety as the excuse to remove them. It's a poor excuse. Peaceful protest of any sort should be allowed in any free democracy...minor inconvenience and embarrassment should not be a reason to stop the proper expression of firmly held views.

Woodford Green is just about as middle-class as you can get. Lot's of lovely detached and semi-detached inter-war and post war mock Tudor houses. Disney would be proud. Cricket is played on The Green, and ducks swim in the pond. Until the recent arrival of a Tesco Express, the only supermarket was a Waitrose. The local garage sells sparkly new Jaguars and Range Rovers. Lovely. So it will cause some real soul searching to understand why in the space of 48 hours there have been two shootings in the area. At the local branch of 'Cakes and Shakes' (of which the headline quote was a description by The Boy's best friend). No one dead. Hardly a ripple on the news media. The only conclusion can be that this sort of thing is happening all the time. Scary.

Meanwhile, if you believe apartheid is wrong, sign here

The last post

I'll take it as a compliment when one of the UK's leading plastic surgeons says "You must have had cosmetic surgery." On Friday night we were celebrating at the Old Boys Dinner. Acquaintances were being renewed, and it was good to see some people I hadn't heard from for more than thirty years. The conversation flowed freely. As freely as the complimentary wine allowed. Last year I organised the event; this year I threw my toys out of my pram when I realised this year's President was a fool (IMHO) and next year's is a well known buffoon. We held a two minute silence to remember the fallen, whilst in the background fireworks from some unknown party created sound effects that helped us all think of the trenches.

On Sunday it was Remembrance Day.

There was no sound in the school quad, aside from cable holding the flag clattering against the flagpole. It seemed entirely appropriate and remarkably atmospheric during the the two minute silence at the Remembrance Day Parade at The Boy's school. Then just before the drum signified the end of the silence, a bird noisily flapped its wings and flew off into the clear blue sky.

The whole event was incredibly poignant. Many standing in the autumn warmth and sunshine were moved to tears.

This year two people from the school have been killed in Afghanistan. Paul Watkins, a Gap Year student originally from South Africa who joined the Royal Lancers and Lieutenant Daniel Clack, a high-flying pupil, known to many who stood around the quad whilst the wreathes were laid. Dan Clack's parents attended the event, as did many of his former school friends - at the age of 24, it hasn't been that long since he was just another noisy schoolboy running through the ancient red brick corridors. 24 is such a very young age to die, and I'm not sure how any parent copes with that. Very sad. Very sad.

On Saturday morning The Boy was playing rugby for the school First 15. A match they won 44-0. The sweet taste of victory, and not a casualty in sight. That's the only sort of conflict I ever want him involved in.

Pie'n'mash

With remarkable irony, I managed to get a paper cut when opening one of the myriad catalogues that come through the door at this time of year. It was a catalogue for Robert Welch kitchen knives.



I know when it's time to get my haircut. I walk down Bermondsey street and peer in through the window of George the Cypriot barber. If the naked girl on his calendar is a different one from the last time I looked, then it's time for a trim. It's not that I really remember which girl was there before, its just that I recognise that I haven't seen the new beauty before. This week I spied a new girl on the calendar.

George is a feature of the Street, and there are others like him. I would imagine he's been in the street at least thirty, maybe forty or even fifty years. It's changed a lot in that time. Whenever I go in he likes to chat. Just about all his sentences include the word 'fuck' or 'fucking'. And I can always get the latest prices of flights to Cyprus. If I want I can buy a dodgy DVD, batteries, a pen or whatever is his latest scheme to bring in a little bit more money. He has to cut six people's hair a day in order to cover his overheads. I guess from that the rent is not too much. There's usually a good black and white or technicolour film on in the background. I know a lot about his family. His daughter is married to an Italian. I'm amazed that there isn't a Green Line painted down the middle of the road outside his shop. Opposite is a Turkish sandwich shop which I go in a couple of times a week. As far as I know there's no animosity, but I've never seen them speak either. In the Turkish shop I'm known as Mr Marvelous. One of the girls behind the copunter once asked me to marry her. I have a feeling it was more because she wanted a visa than because of the romantic way I asked for a chicken kebab with chilli sauce.

Next to George's is Al's Cafe. I think Al maybe Italian, although I've never asked. It's always busy with workmen buying their English Breakfast...bacon, eggs, sausages, beans and a big mug of tea. Delicious. I'm generally in there after a heavy night out to get my bacon and egg sandwich. White bread, no sauce thank you very much.

Twenty years ago, I started working in another part of London - Clerkenwell which at the time was similar to Bermondsey as it is now. Cheap and cheerful Cafe's and Chinese restaurants serving delicious albeit probably unhealthy foods. The whole area was forgotten and decayed. But in the boom years Clerkenwell changed as the money moved in. Printers were replaced by Corporate Design agencies, textile traders were replaced by contract carpet suppliers. The area became gentrified, the cafes went to be replaced by hyper-trendy restaurants and cutting edge bars. Shabby terraced houses were replaced by high-rise designer flats. On the one hand I can't say it's a bad thing. It's progress for sure, but whimsically I feel some heart and soul has gone forever.

The same is becoming true of Bermondsey. It's now fashionable. At one end of the street is The Shard, the spike of glass that rises high above the London sky-line and will contain designer flats, a fashionable hotel and restaurants cutting edge bars. At the other end of the street is the new White Cube Gallery full of uber-trendy arty types with more than a few bob to spend. And just beyond is Bermondsey Square, the new block of concrete and glass hotels, offices, bars and restaurants. In its centre every Friday is the 'world-famous' Bermondsey market - a now motley collection of market stalls flogging stuff that may well have come from a car boot sale. It's not the same as it was when you could smell, taste and feel the history.





I'm not sure how long George, Al and the Turkish sandwich bar will be around. I'm afeared not as long as I would hope. If I'm lucky they'll be here for another couple of years which is when I'm planning to move out of my office and work from home. Probably a shed at the bottom of the garden if The Cat's Mother has her way.

That's progress.

Olympic dreaming

I can't remember the last time that I was as nervous as I was yesterday.

No it wasn't that I was concerned that Berlusconi might decide not to go. No it wasn't that I was concerned that Israel may launch pre-emptive strikes on the Iranians. No it wasn't even that I was worried that Theresa May has allowed hundreds of extremists in to the country because she's worried about people having to queue for too long. I like the gag that's going round at the moment: "Knock, knock" Theresa May "Come in"

No it was far more important than that.

It took me until my thirties before I stopped having stress dreams about exams. It seems I'm not alone...many friends say that it was similar for them. So I hope my experience yesterday will not lead to another decade of restless nights, but it certainly brought back memories of queuing up outside the exam room before the next 'O' or 'A' Level or degree exam.

I mentioned before, though I can't remember when, that I'd got an audition to participate in the Opening Ceremony for the Olympics. It was done in a moment of enthusiasm without really thinking it through. Yesterday, the day rolled round so I schlepped off to Three Mills where the auditions are being held. Although I cycle past there every time I come into work, on this occasion I decided to go by tube, managing to arrive three-quarters of an hour early. Amidst the decay and mess that is Bow, it stands out on the riverside as a beacon of beauty. A large complex of studios based around old warehouses where some of our favourite TV programmes and films have been made. I was not alone, and soon we were all in, registered and measured for any costume we might need. There were 200 of us, and in total, twelve and a half thousand are being auditioned. That's a lot of people ranging from 18 to 70ish, and from rank amateur Daddy dancers to professionals who presumably would like ti on their CV.

We've been sworn to secrecy about what went on...but it's the first time I've participated in any mass choreography. It may well be my last. It was a phenomenal amount of fun. But it must be said that although I regard myself as quite fit, within a few minutes I was huffing and puffing, read in the face with sweat pouring down my forehead. I guess having a heavy cold and cough didn't help things. Clearly the professionals did their thing and did it very well....they obviously had techniques for creating 'stand out' whilst the rest of us tried to even vaguely remember what we were supposed to be doing. My favourite person by a mile was an Indian man who came along in suit and tie whilst the rest of us wore baggy sports wear. Inspite of being encouraged to take it off, it remained on him for the entire three hours. So too did his thick square moustache and the biggest grin I've ever seen. I really, really would like to see him succeed...he was obviously loving it. The organisers were amazingly friendly and supportive...it was a lovely thing to get to do with them.

As for me, I managed some parts OK, did other parts disastrously so have no expectations of getting through. Co-ordination was never my strong point, and that was amply demonstrated throughout the evening. And it obviously hyped me up as last night was particularly restless. I'd really love to get the chance to participate in the Olympics, but I'm not holding my breath. But it was a great experience, and I can now say I tried. And I shall be back to my Dad dancing at birthdays and weddings.

And did those feet in ancient times

Whilst everyone was reading the press reports with the name of the new Bond movie which will come out next year, I was through pure good fortune walking through the filmset on the first day of filming. In the arches of Ewer Street in South East London was the venue. No doubt Danial Craig had hop and skipped directly from the press conference to cause some mess and mayhem in our locale. In a school boy way I find this sort of thing absolutely thrilling. It is the collision of fantasy and reality that makes you think it wouldn't be impossible just to slip from one to the other.



This morning too I felt like a bit part player in another movie - Contagion. The tube train managed to go one stop before the driver announced we were halted as someone had been taken seriously ill at Liverpool street and were being removed by ambulance. I buried my head in my book. After a while we moved again, then stopped as the driver announced another person taken ill at Liverpool Street. I buried my head in my book. After a while we moved again, then stopped again as the driver announced another person taken ill at St Paul's. I buried my head in my book. After a while we moved again, then stopped again as the driver announced another person taken ill at Liverpool Street....

Jerusalem is a place I've never been to. Nor do I have much desire to go there. I can't help but wonder how long it may in case be there. You've got Israel determined to have it all, Palestine determined to have their share, and in all likelihood (according to a report which will be launched later this week by the IAEA) the Iranians who might like to flatten it. I've never understood why western powers have turned a blind eye to the Israelis having nuclear capable weaponry. The almost inevitable consequence of this is bound to be a determination by an enemy of Israel to have a nuclear deterrent. So the likelihood of nuclear confrontation is that much higher. And let's face it none of us wants to glow in the dark, do we?

Jerusalem is high on our minds at the moment. In the West End Jerusalem has re-opened. It stars Mark Rylance and McKenzie Crooke, and was amazing when we first saw it a couple of years ago. It then transferred to Broadway where it was a run away success, and has now come back to London, marginally updated to reflect our current financial travails. That it was a success in America is truly remarkable because, on the surface at least, it is quite parochial. It is set around a dirty caravan parked in the woods featuring a motley collection of life's ne'er do goods speaking in heavy West Country accents. Teenagers, drinking, drugs and everything that doesn't speak well about life outside the mainstream is its lifeblood. On a bigger scale, of course, it's about the human condition. The Cat is lucky enough to be going to see it with the school this week, and we all get to see it again on Saturday for our afternoon's entertainment.

I suspect many of the play's character's were at Lewes this weekend. Lewes, the county town of Sussex is a sleepy old place that hasn't really changed for centuries. Yes there's a couple of supermarkets, a Boots and a few other chain stores, but if you peel back the modern skin you'll find it's the same as it was before electricity. It is rich in ancient timbered houses...including one that was the home of Anne of Cleves. The town has a rich history - some of it quite socking. The BBC has a good background to it:

A catholic background

Mary Tudor, was a devout Catholic, and during the reign of her half brother, Edward VI, lived in withdrawal from the Royal Court, and emphatically refused to accept the Protestant faith. Despite a conspiracy devised by The Earl of Northumberland [1502-1553], to prevent her succession to the throne after Edward’s death, Mary Tudor entered London and seized power to the throne from Lady Jane Grey who had been enthroned for a mere nine days.

Mary proceeded cautiously at first, repealing anti-catholic legislation, but soon, with the backing of Catholic Archbishop, Cardinal Pole, she proceeded to reinstate papal dominance and seal a Catholic union with Spain and Spanish King - Phillip II. The year 1554 was momentous. Lady Jane Grey was executed, Elizabeth, Mary’s half sister, was imprisoned and Mary I of England and Philip II of Spain were married. The following year was also one that will be etched on the annals of history with blood. The royal marriage between Mary and the Spanish Philip was deeply unpopular with such a close association with Spanish Catholicism. Mary’s persecution of the Protestants started in earnest in 1555, earning her the dubious name of “Bloody Mary”.

Protestants generally trace their separation from the Roman Catholic Church to the 1500s, which is sometimes called the magisterial Reformation because it initially proposed numerous radical revisions of the doctrinal standards of the Roman Catholic Church - called the magisterium.

Hundreds of Protestants were pursued and forced to languish in appalling conditions in jail while waiting examination or execution. No thought was even given for pregnant women, many of whom gave birth in squalid conditions with both mothers and babies dying in the company of odious criminals. There were eminent Christians in their number too: the Archbishop of Canterbury, several Bishops, dozens of clergymen and scholars – none were spared. Those who were lucky were able to escape abroad to France and beyond.

Toward the end of October 1554, a Bible-reading was taking place in the home of one Dirick Carver, a brewer from Brighthelmstone (now Brighton) with John Launder, Thomas Iveson and William Veisey. Under the command of Sir Edward Gage, the High Sheriff of Sussex, the four men were arrested at prayer. It was a short matter of time before they were brought before the court of Bonner, the Bishop of London in Newgate, London. They were kept there until 8 June 1855.
After forced confessions were signed, their fate was sealed.

On 22 July 1555, Dirick Carver, was taken by his Catholic persecutors, to Lewes town centre to be burned outside of the Old Star Inn, where the Town Hall currently stands. His Bible was taken from him and thrown into a barrel on the pyre. The crowd called to him, pleading God to strengthen his resolve and his faith. He knelt down and prayed, but was then forced to climb into the barrel too.

Carver took his Bible and threw it into the surrounding crowd. His final words were: “Lord have mercy upon me, for unto thee I commend my spirit and my soul doth rejoice in thee!” His Bible was preserved and is on display in Lewes Museum today. Clear evidence of his blood splattered on the pages of Judges, Zephaniah and Ruth is a graphic reminder of his physical ordeal.

On 6 June 1556, a further number of Protestants were taken to their flaming deaths in Lewes. Thos Harland, John Oswold, Thos Avington and Thos Reed had all spent a great deal of time in prison, and still rejected the Mass and refused to go to a church where the language was one they would not understand.

Despite these deaths, Bonner, the Bishop of London was not convinced that the heretics were being persuaded back to the Roman faith. So he arranged the largest bonfire of humans the
The 17 burning crosses serve as a reminder town or indeed the country had seen. The ten hapless Protestants were: Richard Woodman, George Stevens, Alexander Hosman, William Mainard, Thomasina Wood, Margery Morris, James Morris, Denis Burges, Ann Ashdon and Mary Groves.

Such was the conviction of the Protestants’ faith, that they could endure imprisonment, deprivation, torment and burning but they would not recant their deeply held opinions of the fundamental incorrectness of the Roman Catholic faith. The central belief of their Protestant faith was the belief that Jesus Christ was the head of the church, and it was inconceivable that the Roman Catholic Church should put the pope at the head of Christian faith. They stood firm with their principles and endured horrific persecutions, and it was only when Mary Tudor’s reign came to an end in 1558 that they were able to return to open worship.

John Foxe (1517 – 1587), was an English martyrologist converted from the Roman Catholic to the Protestant faith in about 1540, while he was a fellow of Magdalene College, Oxford. He committed the remainder of his life to the promotion of the English reformation. In 1554, he went into exile in Basic in Switzerland, to escape Bloody Mary’s persecutors, in the same
way as so many other Protestants did and he did not return until the Protestant Elizabeth I came to the throne.

It was while he was in exile he compiled an ecclesiastical history, 'Acts and Monuments', justifying the reformation and had it published in Latin in 1563 – the English version not being published until 1641. It became a testament to the Protestant strength of faith and his perceived injustice of Roman Catholicism.

It was through this publication that Foxe set out to prove that the Roman Catholic Church had been a false church since the 11th Century, citing the persecution of those agin the papacy and his declared conviction that the Pope was the anti-Christ. The persecutions in England often involved the death of his friends, turning his academic interest in the Acts and Monuments into a passionate and angry publication.

He wrote a comparatively small amount of the 'Acts and Monuments' himself, the remainder of the content coming from a huge array of letters, personal memoirs, registers and eyewitness accounts. It chronicled accounts from the 11th Century, accentuating the similarity between the reformation martyrs and those of the late imperial persecutions. He continued making amendments and additions from new information supplied.

When he was approached by the church for an abridged version, he refused, insisting on producing further revisions of the entire works in 1583. He was in the midst of planning further modifications to the publication when he died in 1587.

When Elizabeth I came to the throne in 1558, she had other religious problems to surmount with Philip of Spain, the husband of her deceased sister, still vying for the English throne, but the religious persecutions had all but come to an end.

The memory of the Lewes 17 is still celebrated with annual torchlight processions through Lewes which attract up to 80,000 people. Five bonfire societies carry 17 barrels of burning tar and 17 flaming crosses every 5 November.

We went to Lewes on Saturday evening. I've been a regular visitor for the last 20 years, The Boy has been a few times, and this was a new experience for The Cat and The Cat's Mother.

On the up side it was dry. On the down side there were 60,000 people crowded into the narrow streets. On the upside the event is still allowed despite our obsession with health and safety. On the downside the streets were full of the cast from Jerusalem. On the upside you're allowed to shout 'Burn the Pope' without meaning it and without being arrested. On the downside there were children who were terrified. On the upside the parades were spectacular. On the downside we queued for an hour and a half to get on the train from Brighton. On the upside we managed to get a good view in the high street. On the downside we had to fight our way through a crush that made you wonder if you'd ever be able to breath again. On the upside the costumes were spectacular (although I didn't understand the Zulu link). On the downside the bangers were very, very noisy and reduced The Cat's Mother to a quivering wreck. On the upside we had tickets to the best bonfire - Cliffe. On the downside it was a long walk. On the upside the fireworks were the most spectacular The Cat's Mother has ever seen. On the downside The Cat's Mother says she never wants to go again.

First Friday Photos

Well remarkably this is the first time in months that I've actually done this on time.

The benefit of err erm working from home this morning.


My last cycle home along the canal this year

Evening view across the Thames

Yummy!

TOWIE

Eating out in October

Not the Rugby World Cup

No month is complete without some street art - Ben Eine

Traditional punting in Cambridge

The ski show...obviously

Doughnuts on the pier

Another kind of beach...on the Thames

Cafe tables in Brighton

Boat on the beach in Brighton

Another boat

having fun go round and round

It's all just rubbish

The birthday boy

And his brother

Off to a Halloween Party

UP

The Boy

It's a laugh

Opera Girl

Kids!

Aunt and neice in the media centre at Lords

Seats good enough for a Lord

Cats together

C'mon, c'mon...keep up (3)

In blog land I'm still in last week. That's the equivalent of not changing the clocks back (or forwards) some ninety-six times if my maths is right. Which is a lot.

I celebrated Palestine being being accepted into full membership of UNESCO. It may be a small step. But it's a significant one. The US has shown its colours by cutting off UNESCO. That would be justifiable if it had a realistic alternative. But it doesn't. Its' middle-east policy is bankrupt and has been for years under successive Presidents. And whilst the middle-east remains in turmoil there is little question that extremism will grow with almost inevitable terrible consequences. Peace and prosperity in that neck of the woods would bring calm and safety in the rest of the world.

But enough...

After two days hard toil at the office last week I needed a break. You may be able to work five, six, even seven days a week, but I am more a more tender flower wilting under the the glaring heat of stress. Well that's my reasoning anyway....and I can justify it by letting you know about a senior moment I had this week. I had an important letter to post, so I stepped out of the office and walked towards the post box. As I neared, I tossed the letter in only to realise immediately that I'd put it in the black rubbish bin, not the red letterbox. As I stuck my arm in to retrieve it I had to sheepishly explain to the people walking past and whispering to each other my mistake. Well at least it amused them.

As it happens, I had the perfect excuse to escape the office on Friday. The Cat's Granddad was celebrating his eightieth birthday. That's a fine age to reach. That's thirty more years than I've managed, and he still seems to be bright as a bell. So to celebrate The Cat's Mother had organised a day at Lord's for the family. That's the world-famous cricket ground. The biggest in the world (inspite of what the Australian's might claim). It's also home to the most ridiculous trophy for any sport. A broken perfume bottle that may or may not contain the ashes of a stump. Only the English. You may feel that late October is an odd time to be at Lords, but our day consisted of being coached by two former England cricketers...John Lever and John Embury. And what a challenge they had. With the age group ranging from six through to 80 and with talent ranging from the very enthusiastic amateur to me. We were in the Lord's Indoor academy, and it was a lot of fun for everyone. My appalling bowling (it was noted that I had left a former international cricketer speechless with my performance) was compensated by a pretty respectable turn at batting even if I say so myself. Birthday boy had to race his brother round the wickets, and it was a shame we didn't quite capture that on video.






For Up and Muffin Dad, the day was a special treat. The Muffin is the keen cricketer so he was playing on holy ground, and in their younger days Up and The Cat's Mother used to be enthusiasts. UP had kept a programme from years gone by, and it was his opportunity to get it autographed...how touching is that?!

No wonder we needed a quiet weekend.

Oh no. I forgot. On Sunday we forewent the delights of Downton Abbey to see a couple of exhibitions by urban artists which were also being filmed for a BBC documentary. So it may be my second chance of fifteen minutes of fame, although I did avoid the opportunity of being interviewed this time round. There's a thing that worries me. I like modern art, I like street art, I like urban art. I also like more traditional art. The major difference as I see it is that with traditional art, the craft is more important than the concept (although I know many scholars would challenge me on that) but with urban art, too often it's all concept and little artistry. We didn't see any thing we'd like to hang on the wall at home. It would have been a fabulous time, but the teenagers took it on themselves to be teenagers. One spent the evening sulking and the other threw a mini-strop.

If only I'd had a cricket bat with me.