Yes a merry Christmas to each and every one of us! I don't go in for this nonsense of "happy holidays" or "let's not mention the C word in case it upsets other religions."
The Magwich has been consumed (the pork pie: pay attention at the back!), the crackers pulled, the paper hats worn, the Da Vinci Code viewed and the Trivial Pursuit DVD untouched (grrr).
Now we're in what I call "the hiatus," when Christmas is over but not quite finished. You're fed up with leftovers and anything involving raisins or icing; the dustmen aren't coming for days and the bin is overflowing, and the nation doesn't return to work for days. The only sport seems to be fighting at the sales, which used to be called January Sales but now start on Boxing Day (an apt word, given the nature of the scrum, according to some of the papers today).
Oh well, better make the most of a few days off. Plenty of time to make some cards. I have enough trimmings now, thanks to some of my Christmas presents and a visit to Hobbycraft, Romford, today, to produce all my birthday cards for 07. I will be experimenting with resist stamping, shaker cards and Twinkling H20s. And now I've finally got the addresses of John's relatives in Ireland, I will need to get started!
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Trial by Media
The Suffolk police chief revealed that a man held for questioning re Ipswich murders was being released, and his name wouldn't be disclosed at this time.
Splutter!
In the words of a Monty Python skit, well his real name is xxx, he is xx years old, he lives at xxxx and he works at Tesco. The minute he was arrested, the stable doors opened and the horse bolted: photos from his website, his mother's house, the man himself talking innocently to the BBC. Maybe the rules have changed, but when I was a trainee reporter, you didn't name a suspect until they had been charged. Once charged, you are still innocent until proved otherwise at trial.
But now, even though this man has been released, the old adage "no smoke without fire" will no doubt apply in a formerly quiet rural town which is now looking over its shoulder; he has been made out to be odd, by the press; a loner, someone we can all look down on (whereas in an earlier, kinder time, he may have been regarded as a philanthropist for trying to ease lives ravaged by drugs and prostitution).
My biggest worry is miscarriage of justice. We seem to have more of them these days. I have always firmly believed that Barry George is wrongly incarcerated, that he does not posssess the skill and intellectual ability needed to have murdered Jill Dando. But he was an easy target and once the media had carried out their trial, the jury was easy to convince, with nothing more than circumstantial evidence. Remember Colin Stagg? The killer of Rachel Nickell still walks free. Then there were the tragedies of Derek Bentley, hanged for shouting "let him have it," and later exonerated for the murder of a policeman; and Stefan Kiszko, who died not long after being released from prison for a murder he didn't commit.
So credit to Suffolk police for the strides they are making in the investigation -- another man is now charged with the murders -- but isn't it time the press and TV took a step backwards and examined their consciences?
Splutter!
In the words of a Monty Python skit, well his real name is xxx, he is xx years old, he lives at xxxx and he works at Tesco. The minute he was arrested, the stable doors opened and the horse bolted: photos from his website, his mother's house, the man himself talking innocently to the BBC. Maybe the rules have changed, but when I was a trainee reporter, you didn't name a suspect until they had been charged. Once charged, you are still innocent until proved otherwise at trial.
But now, even though this man has been released, the old adage "no smoke without fire" will no doubt apply in a formerly quiet rural town which is now looking over its shoulder; he has been made out to be odd, by the press; a loner, someone we can all look down on (whereas in an earlier, kinder time, he may have been regarded as a philanthropist for trying to ease lives ravaged by drugs and prostitution).
My biggest worry is miscarriage of justice. We seem to have more of them these days. I have always firmly believed that Barry George is wrongly incarcerated, that he does not posssess the skill and intellectual ability needed to have murdered Jill Dando. But he was an easy target and once the media had carried out their trial, the jury was easy to convince, with nothing more than circumstantial evidence. Remember Colin Stagg? The killer of Rachel Nickell still walks free. Then there were the tragedies of Derek Bentley, hanged for shouting "let him have it," and later exonerated for the murder of a policeman; and Stefan Kiszko, who died not long after being released from prison for a murder he didn't commit.
So credit to Suffolk police for the strides they are making in the investigation -- another man is now charged with the murders -- but isn't it time the press and TV took a step backwards and examined their consciences?
Thursday, December 21, 2006
The path to old gitdom
I sometimes see John's teenage children looking at me in That Way...you know, that somewhat bemused, occasionally exasperated way that teenagers have of looking at you as if you're a historical relic. Not surprisingly, it's a look you see more often when you're trying to be young and trendy and you're maybe talking about your other self on Second Life, or the latest musical offering from the Towers of London.
I've never been reticient about revealing my age (look at the title of my blog) or saying that I'm middle aged, although I always secretly hope I don't look my age. I remember thinking n my teens and early 20s that someone who was 37 was well past it. I remember Giz lamenting the fact that a divorced friend of hers never met any new men. I thought scathingly, "well she's 37 - no wonder!" I used to think that having a mortgage was the absolute epitome of Old Git-Dom, meaning you had conformed and sold out big time.
Of course over the years more and more symbols of Old Git Dom get added to your arsenal. Slippers, for example, and not the frou fou marabou trimmed type either. The desire to wear comfortable shoes when out on a shopping expedition. The embarrassing retention of facts from the 70s. One's partiality to a scooner of sherry (try telling everyone it's actually trendy to drink sherry chilled....). The strange discussion held over the Sunday roast, over what type of joint it is ("silverside" "British?" "No, Irish".)
But the most important thing that comes with age is confidence. I'm confident enough to wear slippers and tell you all, and not give a stuff. When you're young, you think you're cutting edge and trendy but really you're just following everyone else like a sheep, wearing the same outfits, using the same phrases.
I shudder at the tyranny of being young and trying to avoid the agony of being an outsider, an eccentric, old-fashioned, square or whatever. As you get older, you don't worry about what people think of you. You're proud to be different. And the great thing is that everything always comes back into fashion. So the high waisted jeans that I've had for five years, and kept wearing when everyone else's were showing their knickers and muffin tops (not a very flattering look, but that's sheep for you), are now high fashion again. Cool, huh? I won't hold my breath about the slippers though.
I've never been reticient about revealing my age (look at the title of my blog) or saying that I'm middle aged, although I always secretly hope I don't look my age. I remember thinking n my teens and early 20s that someone who was 37 was well past it. I remember Giz lamenting the fact that a divorced friend of hers never met any new men. I thought scathingly, "well she's 37 - no wonder!" I used to think that having a mortgage was the absolute epitome of Old Git-Dom, meaning you had conformed and sold out big time.
Of course over the years more and more symbols of Old Git Dom get added to your arsenal. Slippers, for example, and not the frou fou marabou trimmed type either. The desire to wear comfortable shoes when out on a shopping expedition. The embarrassing retention of facts from the 70s. One's partiality to a scooner of sherry (try telling everyone it's actually trendy to drink sherry chilled....). The strange discussion held over the Sunday roast, over what type of joint it is ("silverside" "British?" "No, Irish".)
But the most important thing that comes with age is confidence. I'm confident enough to wear slippers and tell you all, and not give a stuff. When you're young, you think you're cutting edge and trendy but really you're just following everyone else like a sheep, wearing the same outfits, using the same phrases.
I shudder at the tyranny of being young and trying to avoid the agony of being an outsider, an eccentric, old-fashioned, square or whatever. As you get older, you don't worry about what people think of you. You're proud to be different. And the great thing is that everything always comes back into fashion. So the high waisted jeans that I've had for five years, and kept wearing when everyone else's were showing their knickers and muffin tops (not a very flattering look, but that's sheep for you), are now high fashion again. Cool, huh? I won't hold my breath about the slippers though.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Arthur Cushing
I had sad news yesterday. My first boss, the former editor of the South Devon Times, Arthur Cushing, died at the weekend. I had sent him the annual Christmas card & letter, and received an email from his daughter Katy telling me Arthur had had cancer for six months and died peacefully in St Luke's Hospice, Plymouth.
I told Ms Julie (Julie Skentelbery, my pal since our Mirror Group Training Scheme days) who recalled how Arthur had sent us to the shops to get his tobacco, and how once, in a rare rage, he had impaled himself on the spike (where all the used copy was placed) when shouting at Chris Bartlett.
Arthur was a very mild-mannered man usually. Goodness knows how he managed to stay so patient, when his beloved newspaper was staffed only by hapless trainees straight from their six week induction course. He was an old school, old style editor, with attention to integrity, grammar and building relationships with the local community and police to collect stories. How I hated being sent on a "prowl," where I had to befriend the local undertaker amongst others. I was always puzzled about the etiquette of this; should I enquire "how's business?" or beat around the bush over a cup of tea for half an hour?
Arthur didn't drive so he was very appreciative when Julie and I took him to the Seven Stars or the Cherry Tree for lunch in her Morris 1000, which had a giant stone in the boot (for sentimental reasons) and a non-operational speedometer. The landlord of the Seven Stars, Mr Stout, was extremely generous with his portions and his name bore witness to that.
Initially when I started work at the South Devon Times we were based in West of England Newspapers' main building in Honicknowle, Plymouth. It had a state of the art printing press which barely gathered speed for the small run of the SDT. Arthur would get mildly stressed on press day as the proofs came back, more subbing was needed and the printers were getting difficult. Then, around 4pm, he would rush into the office beaming, holding some copies in his hand.
The Sunday Independent shared the same offices and the staff considered themselves much superior, so inevitably someone would be scathing about the headline. It's true that sometimes we struggled for news. I remember one of my more dubious stories was "Lettuce soon a luxury." A lot of the content was supplied by a network of old ladies who supplied stories about the Women's Institute, Townswomen's Guild and various religious groups. Some of these ladies were quite fanatical about the paper , particularly one Kathleen Luscombe in Ringwood, South Hams, who would ring up and shriek down the phone that the paper hadn't yet arrived there.
Arthur finally left the SDT and went to Muscat to edit the Times of Oman. He was thrilled to have a chauffeur driven car. After he retired, he would write occasionally with news of his travels.
I will raise a glass over Christmas in memory of Arthur, the man who launched my journalist career and that of many others, among them Val McDermid, Robert "Ned" Bowden, Nikki Slight, Henrietta Knight, Alan Nixon.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Christmas in Munich
It's such a beautiful place, probably my favourite city in the world. It turned out that Giz wasn't too impressed by the first Christmas market, at Marienplatz, as you can see, so I didn't force Tollwood on her (a huge market on the site of the Oktoberfest).
Instead she wanted to go to a museum so we went to the Deutsche Museum. I've never been there before. The boats and canoes were very interesting (not meant ironically).
We also went to the planetarium, though the commentary was entirely in German so we didn't understand any of it except occasional references to "Milch Strasse" and "Marz."
I had hoped to take Giz to a fabulous restaurant, the Bogenhauser Hof, but unfortunately it was fully booked. We did go to an Indian restaurant, newly named Ganesha (formerly Namaskar) not far from the Hilton where we were staying.
I had hoped to take Giz to a fabulous restaurant, the Bogenhauser Hof, but unfortunately it was fully booked. We did go to an Indian restaurant, newly named Ganesha (formerly Namaskar) not far from the Hilton where we were staying.
All in all a nice time; and on Saturday, back in London, we went to the Holbein exhibition at Tate Britain, which was marvellous (although sadly Anne of Cleves was not present), followed by The Nutcracker at the Coliseum with English National Ballet. This was a new version of a ballet we've seen several times before. It was very colourful and quite special.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Festive Fun
Went to the annual Intel marketing Christmas party last week. Held as always as Sudbury House Hotel, Faringdon, and a severe case of deja vu walking in and seeing the same Christmas tree, the same table laid out with glasses, and so on. It may have even been the same turkey - very hard to tell with that tough old bird!
We had a Ladeez Table and certainly made the most noise, particularly with our rendition of "and a partridge in a pear tree" which far outshone the other tables, who'd gone mute at the prospect of singing (that's engineers for you).
We Ladeez didn't do too well with the quiz though. The questions were quite hard, not so much about celebrities or shoes, or even how many transistors on a processor, but far too many about the EU and golf.
Despite being exhorted not to cheat, mobile phones were soon flashing around the room, querying Google or phoning a friend. How else would Rick's table have scored 39 out of 40? Not that the Internet is always very reliable. Our Internet-supplied answer to the question "which leader coined the phrase 'Iron Curtain' was Goebbels, which we didn't think was right, and it wasn't (the correct answer was Churchill).
Anyway, we still ended up with 50% of the prize, one of two bottles of Champagne, thanks to Peggy's extraordinary skill at liberating bottles from tables.
Ladeez Awards
1) Mario Testino award for Photography: Kirsty Hammond
2) Best face when blowing up a balloon: Laura Conger
3) "Got to pick a pocket or two" award: Peggy Van Nieuwenhove
4) Most generous boss award: Rick
5) Booby prize for first to bed.....the author...zzzz
Anyway, it was a great night and wonderful to see some of our friends who recently left.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Princess Diana: when will it ever end?
At the risk of being controversial, I am extremely bored with all the hoo-ha surrounding the Princess Diana inquest, the ridiculous allegations about conspiracies and anything that Mohamnmed Al-Fayed has to say.
We should have had a complete and open inquest several years ago and drawn a line under the sorry business. There was clearly a lot of bungling between the British and French authorities, but that doesn't necessarily spell out "conspiracy." The word I would choose is "incompetence." Meanwhile the delays and prevarication about open or private inquest fuels the bonkers Daily Express which is obsessed with conspiracies and murder theories.
Without pre-empting the inquest, the facts seem to suggest that Diana died in a car crash. She wasn't wearing a seat belt. There was no reason to suggest any conspiracies. The driver was several times over the drink drive limit. Diana was divorced from Prince Charles and hardly a threat to the constitution. Some reports say she wasn't very seriously attached to Dodi Al Fayed. Then there's a report she was pregnant - but nothing suggests this was the case.
I was never a Diana fan, and since her death, a cult seems to have developed around her where she has taken on almost mystical qualities. "The princess of the people," warm and approachable. Well yes, but compared to the rest of the royal family, stiff and repressed, she couldn't be anything else. The charity work. Well sorry, but I never felt the same about it when I read that newspapers were always being tipped off about when to see her going about her secret charity work. Then there were the photo opportunities. The hang dog self-conscious pose at the Taj Mahal. The TV interview with the crazed eyeliner rimmed eyes. The behaviour. Throwing yourself down stairs is not a normal way to behave, nor is developing bulimia to attract attention.
I can understand why the royal family would drive anyone to despair, but she can't have been that naive that she didn't realise she was pre-destined for the role as bride because of her pure status and breeding stock potential. She knew about Camilla, and probably thought she would drive her older and less attractive rival away. But Charles likes pseudo intellectual debate, and surrounded himself with acolytes like Laurens Van Der Post. And he goes to dreary places like Balmoral, whereas Diana was a young woman who yearned for glamour and fun, not intellectual debate and trudging around Scotland in wellies.
Then there were the boyfriends. She certainly seemed to make up for lost time once she and Charles separated. Hewitt, Gilby, Will Carling, some doctor, an infatuation for Oliver Hoare (she made hundreds of calls to this married gentleman, and police were embarrassed when they investigated and found who was making them). And the various lurid writers of her life promise us there are many more romances with high-profile figures.
It's all as tawdry in retrospect as the sad little memorial in London and the even sadder little island when she is buried at her brother's estate, failing to draw the crowds. In my view, time to develop some proportion and perspective, and to move on.
We should have had a complete and open inquest several years ago and drawn a line under the sorry business. There was clearly a lot of bungling between the British and French authorities, but that doesn't necessarily spell out "conspiracy." The word I would choose is "incompetence." Meanwhile the delays and prevarication about open or private inquest fuels the bonkers Daily Express which is obsessed with conspiracies and murder theories.
Without pre-empting the inquest, the facts seem to suggest that Diana died in a car crash. She wasn't wearing a seat belt. There was no reason to suggest any conspiracies. The driver was several times over the drink drive limit. Diana was divorced from Prince Charles and hardly a threat to the constitution. Some reports say she wasn't very seriously attached to Dodi Al Fayed. Then there's a report she was pregnant - but nothing suggests this was the case.
I was never a Diana fan, and since her death, a cult seems to have developed around her where she has taken on almost mystical qualities. "The princess of the people," warm and approachable. Well yes, but compared to the rest of the royal family, stiff and repressed, she couldn't be anything else. The charity work. Well sorry, but I never felt the same about it when I read that newspapers were always being tipped off about when to see her going about her secret charity work. Then there were the photo opportunities. The hang dog self-conscious pose at the Taj Mahal. The TV interview with the crazed eyeliner rimmed eyes. The behaviour. Throwing yourself down stairs is not a normal way to behave, nor is developing bulimia to attract attention.
I can understand why the royal family would drive anyone to despair, but she can't have been that naive that she didn't realise she was pre-destined for the role as bride because of her pure status and breeding stock potential. She knew about Camilla, and probably thought she would drive her older and less attractive rival away. But Charles likes pseudo intellectual debate, and surrounded himself with acolytes like Laurens Van Der Post. And he goes to dreary places like Balmoral, whereas Diana was a young woman who yearned for glamour and fun, not intellectual debate and trudging around Scotland in wellies.
Then there were the boyfriends. She certainly seemed to make up for lost time once she and Charles separated. Hewitt, Gilby, Will Carling, some doctor, an infatuation for Oliver Hoare (she made hundreds of calls to this married gentleman, and police were embarrassed when they investigated and found who was making them). And the various lurid writers of her life promise us there are many more romances with high-profile figures.
It's all as tawdry in retrospect as the sad little memorial in London and the even sadder little island when she is buried at her brother's estate, failing to draw the crowds. In my view, time to develop some proportion and perspective, and to move on.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Leaping salmon
Three days on the salmon diet and only one pound lost! That's weight-wise: financially of course, many more pounds. Salmon as prescribed by Dr Perricone, twice a day, doesn't come cheap.
I suppose the curry on day two didn't help, but John was most insistent on a Friday night curry. I made concessions by not having a Bombay aloo, but I couldn't switch from a Bombay chicken to the dieter's alleged friend, the chicken tandoori.
I do the three-day Perricone salmon diet every now and then. I'm not a fan of faddy low-cal diets but this one seems to work: it's delicious, fairly filling, and usually gets good results. The diet isn't sold as a weight loss diet. I added up the calories and it comes in at around 1200. The diet is billed as the "three day facelift in the fridge." Perricone believes that skin ageing is caused by inflammation and the sun. And the diet really does seem to improve the skin. Kim Cattrall is a big fan apparently. For breakfast you have an omelette made with one whole egg and two egg whites, and porridge. For lunch, salmon fillet with lots of lettuce doused in lemon juice and olive oil (surprisingly delicious); for dinner, the same, plus a green vegetable; for snacks, almonds and slices of turkey breast, and an apple or pear.
I was driven to the diet after trying on a few party frocks and finding the size 12s a little clipped.
I lost two and a half stone in 2004 and have successfully kept it off, except for three pounds that have crept on and doggedly refuse to go. What isn't so good is that I don't go to the gym anywhere near enough. So I went for a run yesterday, in the rain and wind, and even spent some time in the gym today (and not just on the sun bed).
The forcing function is two Christmas parties on Dec 7 and 8. As the magazines gleefully tell us in December, it's all about showing gleaming skin, wearing sparkly eyeshadows and bling, and buying the drop dead frock.
I think I managed to get hold of the latter in a rare trip to Newbury. I lived in Newbury from 1994 to 1998 and have very fond memories of the town, pre-bypass, and its quaint little department store Camp Hopson. Well, what a change, in all respects. Now by-passed, Newbury has a more up-and-coming town centre, and Camp Hopson has been totally remodelled. No longer a fusty Grace Brothers, it's a bright shop to rival any House of Fraser. And in the Kaliko concession I found my perfect frock, midnight blue with sequins. I then had to buy some shoes, and I'm still looking for the midnight blue evening bag, but with two trips to London this week, I'm sure I'll succeed.
No more salmon for me, but I'll keep up the good work in Gillian McKeith style (my guru): porridge for breakfast with blueberries ands flax seeds; home made soup with seeds for lunch and fish or chicken with veg for dinner. There's no magic formula to losing weight than simply eating less and exercising. Lots of people eagerly asked me how I did it, back in 2004, but that really was the answer. I've also bought diet books which promise miracles - F Plan, Atkins, South Beach, New York - but I've realised that just eating less, and not being tyrannised into giving up your favourite foods, is what works. So while I happily cook my way through Gillian's recipes and have developed quite a taste for spinach and quinoa, I still have the occasional bag of crisps and the odd jacket potato and glass of chardonnay.
I suppose the curry on day two didn't help, but John was most insistent on a Friday night curry. I made concessions by not having a Bombay aloo, but I couldn't switch from a Bombay chicken to the dieter's alleged friend, the chicken tandoori.
I do the three-day Perricone salmon diet every now and then. I'm not a fan of faddy low-cal diets but this one seems to work: it's delicious, fairly filling, and usually gets good results. The diet isn't sold as a weight loss diet. I added up the calories and it comes in at around 1200. The diet is billed as the "three day facelift in the fridge." Perricone believes that skin ageing is caused by inflammation and the sun. And the diet really does seem to improve the skin. Kim Cattrall is a big fan apparently. For breakfast you have an omelette made with one whole egg and two egg whites, and porridge. For lunch, salmon fillet with lots of lettuce doused in lemon juice and olive oil (surprisingly delicious); for dinner, the same, plus a green vegetable; for snacks, almonds and slices of turkey breast, and an apple or pear.
I was driven to the diet after trying on a few party frocks and finding the size 12s a little clipped.
I lost two and a half stone in 2004 and have successfully kept it off, except for three pounds that have crept on and doggedly refuse to go. What isn't so good is that I don't go to the gym anywhere near enough. So I went for a run yesterday, in the rain and wind, and even spent some time in the gym today (and not just on the sun bed).
The forcing function is two Christmas parties on Dec 7 and 8. As the magazines gleefully tell us in December, it's all about showing gleaming skin, wearing sparkly eyeshadows and bling, and buying the drop dead frock.
I think I managed to get hold of the latter in a rare trip to Newbury. I lived in Newbury from 1994 to 1998 and have very fond memories of the town, pre-bypass, and its quaint little department store Camp Hopson. Well, what a change, in all respects. Now by-passed, Newbury has a more up-and-coming town centre, and Camp Hopson has been totally remodelled. No longer a fusty Grace Brothers, it's a bright shop to rival any House of Fraser. And in the Kaliko concession I found my perfect frock, midnight blue with sequins. I then had to buy some shoes, and I'm still looking for the midnight blue evening bag, but with two trips to London this week, I'm sure I'll succeed.
No more salmon for me, but I'll keep up the good work in Gillian McKeith style (my guru): porridge for breakfast with blueberries ands flax seeds; home made soup with seeds for lunch and fish or chicken with veg for dinner. There's no magic formula to losing weight than simply eating less and exercising. Lots of people eagerly asked me how I did it, back in 2004, but that really was the answer. I've also bought diet books which promise miracles - F Plan, Atkins, South Beach, New York - but I've realised that just eating less, and not being tyrannised into giving up your favourite foods, is what works. So while I happily cook my way through Gillian's recipes and have developed quite a taste for spinach and quinoa, I still have the occasional bag of crisps and the odd jacket potato and glass of chardonnay.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Nick names and talking in code
I pity the poor people who become involved with my family. As we're prolific divorcers, there have been quite a few over the years. We might appear normal, stoical even; but as soon as you get a group of us together, we start talking in code and everyone has a nickname or two, so only the bravest of newcomers survives.
John is a relative newcomer to the inner circle. He and I have been together now for nearly three years. This weekend we're going down to Plymouth and he'll meet my younger brother Chops and his family for the first time.
Let's start with the nicknames. Why use someone's real name when it's much more fun to think up a name that's more appropriate? Having said that, I can't remember why Chops is Chops, or why my mum is Gizzard. We think it may be a reference to Kenny Everett's character Gizzard Puke (not very flattering!). My elder brother is Snurge, after the villain in Princess Tina comic. My dad was Stamps. He was not a philatelist, but prone to stamping about. There was a character in an Enid Blyton story called Stampabout who was bad-tempered. His sister glued him to the chimney pot (as you do). So that's how Stamps got his moniker. Snurge's girlfriend entered into the whole thing with gusto and has a couple of nicknames, Bunch and The Inspector, the latter because she's keen on DIY and always inspecting things.
I have a couple of nicknames, of course. Chops calls me Gull and Snurge calls me Crone or Bone. Bunch calls me The Baroness (from the Sound of Music). John is still John, although in texts he's become J, so this might stick.
I was just talking to Giz on the phone and in 30 minutes we used several of our "code" references. A lot of these are from Monty Python. We routinely refer to the comfy chair, "never a willow," "I've got my own apron," "be fair Pascal" and "somebody said mattress to Mr Lambert."
We also have a lot of our own made-up expressions. If Giz and I am looking for an eaterie, we have a cautious sniff at the door first. If we say "old fat" in unison, it means that particular establishment will not be enjoying our custom. If someone is grumpy, we say they're Tough Ted (a very long story).
We might refer to "the vessel with the pestle," which comes from one of our favourite films The Court Jester. Snurge, Bunch and I am sadly word perfect with the script of Carry on Camping and will often drop references into conversation. Food and drink does not escape. At Christmas we always have a Magwich (a pork pie, from Great Expectations).
John will be very bemused if Giz and I decide to play Consequences this weekend. This ridiculous game, where a piece of paper is passed between us and we have to identify a man, a woman and what they said and did, is totally incomprehensible to anyone else. The man might be someone like Mr Upty, the made-up name we gave to a man in the 60s who gave some leafleting work to Snurge the schoolboy.
Tomorrow J will meet Chops in that Aladdin's Cave of Christmas decorations, the Endsleigh garden centre. My advice to him would be to ask Chops if he's been doing any pacing (he paces up and down when he listens to music) and if he's bought a new mobile lately. J works in the world of mobiles; Chops is a dream consumer and is forever buying a new one.
John is a relative newcomer to the inner circle. He and I have been together now for nearly three years. This weekend we're going down to Plymouth and he'll meet my younger brother Chops and his family for the first time.
Let's start with the nicknames. Why use someone's real name when it's much more fun to think up a name that's more appropriate? Having said that, I can't remember why Chops is Chops, or why my mum is Gizzard. We think it may be a reference to Kenny Everett's character Gizzard Puke (not very flattering!). My elder brother is Snurge, after the villain in Princess Tina comic. My dad was Stamps. He was not a philatelist, but prone to stamping about. There was a character in an Enid Blyton story called Stampabout who was bad-tempered. His sister glued him to the chimney pot (as you do). So that's how Stamps got his moniker. Snurge's girlfriend entered into the whole thing with gusto and has a couple of nicknames, Bunch and The Inspector, the latter because she's keen on DIY and always inspecting things.
I have a couple of nicknames, of course. Chops calls me Gull and Snurge calls me Crone or Bone. Bunch calls me The Baroness (from the Sound of Music). John is still John, although in texts he's become J, so this might stick.
I was just talking to Giz on the phone and in 30 minutes we used several of our "code" references. A lot of these are from Monty Python. We routinely refer to the comfy chair, "never a willow," "I've got my own apron," "be fair Pascal" and "somebody said mattress to Mr Lambert."
We also have a lot of our own made-up expressions. If Giz and I am looking for an eaterie, we have a cautious sniff at the door first. If we say "old fat" in unison, it means that particular establishment will not be enjoying our custom. If someone is grumpy, we say they're Tough Ted (a very long story).
We might refer to "the vessel with the pestle," which comes from one of our favourite films The Court Jester. Snurge, Bunch and I am sadly word perfect with the script of Carry on Camping and will often drop references into conversation. Food and drink does not escape. At Christmas we always have a Magwich (a pork pie, from Great Expectations).
John will be very bemused if Giz and I decide to play Consequences this weekend. This ridiculous game, where a piece of paper is passed between us and we have to identify a man, a woman and what they said and did, is totally incomprehensible to anyone else. The man might be someone like Mr Upty, the made-up name we gave to a man in the 60s who gave some leafleting work to Snurge the schoolboy.
Tomorrow J will meet Chops in that Aladdin's Cave of Christmas decorations, the Endsleigh garden centre. My advice to him would be to ask Chops if he's been doing any pacing (he paces up and down when he listens to music) and if he's bought a new mobile lately. J works in the world of mobiles; Chops is a dream consumer and is forever buying a new one.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Cats and Men
Cats and men have a mutually suspicious relationship. It's said that men are very wary of single women in their 30s and beyond who live on their own with a cat. I think the same would be true of single men living with a cat. Or single men living with their mum.
I've always had a cat. Currently it's Molly. We've had Molly for a year. We don't know too much about her history. She turned up at Julie and Paula's, in Swindon, bedraggled and thin. They took her to a vet and it turned out she was pregnant. They wanted to keep her but she was terrorising their elderly cats, so after the kittens had gone, I drove Molly from Swindon to her new home in Chingford.
Initially she was quite wild and wary; now she's calmed down, likes being kissed and likes listening to football commentaries. When John stopped listening to the Spurs match on Sunday, she stood up, looked at him indignantly, chirruped crossly and strode upstairs.
Molly was a bully in her Swindon days, but in Chingford she's terrorised by all the other cats. I am forever chasing Pedro out of the lean-to when I hear the soft ping of the cat flap. Then there's an ugly black and white bruiser who lurks under my car, or in the back garden, waiting for Molly. She never stays in the back garden now: her territory seems to be across the road, which is worrying as the road is used by a rat run and is quite busy.
Molly and John are wary of each other. When he sometimes tries to pick her up or stroke her, she bites or scratches. But occasionally she jumps up on his lap, and his face lights up.
In my experience, cats seem to prefer women. Men lurch around too much and their voices are loud. And they always brush cats off beds.
The addictive world of the blogger
When I first logged on to Blogger and decided to create a blog, it was easy enough to choose a template and just start writing. But then you become frustrated at not having any readers; you start to do some research, and before you know it, you're learning fast about rss feeds, spiders, tags, directories and so on.
Over the last few days I made some huge steps, simply by talking to a colleague of mine, Marc Alagem, who is a webmaster supreme and used to be in my team at Intel. Now, I don't know or write in HDML, and so I had no idea where to put my tags (which I knew I needed to become picked up by search engines). Marc kindly sent me the exact wording and where I needed to put it on my Blogger beta template.
Through the Blogger help group, I've also discovered various sites where you can promote your site, for example http://Technorati.com, http://Blogflux.com, www.globeofblogs.com. And I'm now found at www.feedburner.com, though sadly I have O feeds.
I'm also joining web communities, such as www.digg.com, and visiting similar blogs to mine to leave comments (I'm told it's a great opportunity to advertise your site).
It's all very exciting, albeit rather time-consuming. Still, anything to keep me away from that infernal card making.
Over the last few days I made some huge steps, simply by talking to a colleague of mine, Marc Alagem, who is a webmaster supreme and used to be in my team at Intel. Now, I don't know or write in HDML, and so I had no idea where to put my tags (which I knew I needed to become picked up by search engines). Marc kindly sent me the exact wording and where I needed to put it on my Blogger beta template.
Through the Blogger help group, I've also discovered various sites where you can promote your site, for example http://Technorati.com, http://Blogflux.com, www.globeofblogs.com. And I'm now found at www.feedburner.com, though sadly I have O feeds.
I'm also joining web communities, such as www.digg.com, and visiting similar blogs to mine to leave comments (I'm told it's a great opportunity to advertise your site).
It's all very exciting, albeit rather time-consuming. Still, anything to keep me away from that infernal card making.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Let's hear it for the ridiculous trio: Hurley, Posh & Moss
The three women I consider to be the most ridiculous in Britain have been much in the news this week, as always for nothing more than posturing or bragging.
Let's start with Hurley, possibly the most ridiculous of the three. She's actually a successful businesswoman, selling swimwear, after being a failed actress, but even though she's now in her 40s, she's still trying to get column inches for her looks. Her wedding, we are told, will take place in March. And not just one ceremony. Oh no, she has to do this in both England and India, and will need, gasp - no fewer than 12 outfits for the UK event!
It strikes me poor old Hurley is hurtling towards Baby Jane syndrome, where she ages over time but still tries to look the same. Is she defined only by her looks and her ability, as she put it, to fit into tiny clothes? Why does she have to splurge on this monstrous wedding (or perhaps it's free of charge courtesy of Hello magazine, provided other celebs turn up).
She's no arbiter of style or taste; she's been wearing white jeans for the last 12 years! And her evening dresses are so boring, always cut to the thigh and showing her neat little bosom. Yawn. Put it all away darling and concentrate on making millions. We'd respect you more.
Then there's Ms Beckham. Her marriage is in trouble again, apparently (Grazia). Her new book, The Extra Half an Inch, has shot into the book chart at number 10. Yet extracts are fairly laughable. This cossetted and pampered princess, who always looks glum despite her lux lifestyle, tries to convince us that she's just an ordinary Essex gel looking for bargains.
Well, she still comes across as an ordinary Essex gel even though she spends thousands pulling together a look: the right shoes, handbag, jewellery, etc. It's all too contrived, too much of an effort. Lighten up love and look less false. The hairstyle was a good move. Now get rid of the perma tan and fake nails.
Meanwhile, someone who does dress effortlessly is Kate Moss. Sometimes she can look stunning. But she also gets into a rut: the skinny jeans and waistcoats this summer got a trifle boring. My main beef with Moss is that she's revered as some sort of icon, whereas she's a terrible role model for the young. I remember a shoot for Vogue several years ago. Her nails were filthy and she had that gaunt, emaciated look that promptly became lauded as "heroin chic." Since then we've had the drug addiction and the ridiculous charade of the lost contracts which were miraculously restored a few months later; the ridiculous boyfriend and threatened marriage (which we can all see will end in tears in about 18 months time), and the arrogant posturing and trashing of properties (rented cottage in the Cotswolds).
Lately, Moss has been showing signs of wear and tear. It was inevitable that her lifestyle would catch up with her. Spending thousands on spa treatments won't repair the damage done by smoking, drinking and drug-taking.
When has Moss done anything good? At least Hurley is visible supporting breast cancer. Beckham self consciously told a TV programme about her and Day-vid" that they have their own children's charity, but they hadn't told anyone about it (until that programme). Moss just comes across as a hedonistic, selfish slattern, precisely why she is lauded by the Grazias of the world. But it will look less cool the older she gets. My advice: adopt the Gillian McKeith regime and take up a charity (but don't adopt any African children).
Let's start with Hurley, possibly the most ridiculous of the three. She's actually a successful businesswoman, selling swimwear, after being a failed actress, but even though she's now in her 40s, she's still trying to get column inches for her looks. Her wedding, we are told, will take place in March. And not just one ceremony. Oh no, she has to do this in both England and India, and will need, gasp - no fewer than 12 outfits for the UK event!
It strikes me poor old Hurley is hurtling towards Baby Jane syndrome, where she ages over time but still tries to look the same. Is she defined only by her looks and her ability, as she put it, to fit into tiny clothes? Why does she have to splurge on this monstrous wedding (or perhaps it's free of charge courtesy of Hello magazine, provided other celebs turn up).
She's no arbiter of style or taste; she's been wearing white jeans for the last 12 years! And her evening dresses are so boring, always cut to the thigh and showing her neat little bosom. Yawn. Put it all away darling and concentrate on making millions. We'd respect you more.
Then there's Ms Beckham. Her marriage is in trouble again, apparently (Grazia). Her new book, The Extra Half an Inch, has shot into the book chart at number 10. Yet extracts are fairly laughable. This cossetted and pampered princess, who always looks glum despite her lux lifestyle, tries to convince us that she's just an ordinary Essex gel looking for bargains.
Well, she still comes across as an ordinary Essex gel even though she spends thousands pulling together a look: the right shoes, handbag, jewellery, etc. It's all too contrived, too much of an effort. Lighten up love and look less false. The hairstyle was a good move. Now get rid of the perma tan and fake nails.
Meanwhile, someone who does dress effortlessly is Kate Moss. Sometimes she can look stunning. But she also gets into a rut: the skinny jeans and waistcoats this summer got a trifle boring. My main beef with Moss is that she's revered as some sort of icon, whereas she's a terrible role model for the young. I remember a shoot for Vogue several years ago. Her nails were filthy and she had that gaunt, emaciated look that promptly became lauded as "heroin chic." Since then we've had the drug addiction and the ridiculous charade of the lost contracts which were miraculously restored a few months later; the ridiculous boyfriend and threatened marriage (which we can all see will end in tears in about 18 months time), and the arrogant posturing and trashing of properties (rented cottage in the Cotswolds).
Lately, Moss has been showing signs of wear and tear. It was inevitable that her lifestyle would catch up with her. Spending thousands on spa treatments won't repair the damage done by smoking, drinking and drug-taking.
When has Moss done anything good? At least Hurley is visible supporting breast cancer. Beckham self consciously told a TV programme about her and Day-vid" that they have their own children's charity, but they hadn't told anyone about it (until that programme). Moss just comes across as a hedonistic, selfish slattern, precisely why she is lauded by the Grazias of the world. But it will look less cool the older she gets. My advice: adopt the Gillian McKeith regime and take up a charity (but don't adopt any African children).
Thursday, November 09, 2006
"Sound of Music" in London reviewed
We saw a preview of the new production of The Sound of Music in London a few days ago. And the word from the crowded auditorium? A triumph!
I did question the wisdom of Andrew Lloyd-Webber when I heard he was planning to stage this show, given the fanatical popularity of the film version. But the Sound of Music has always existed as a stage production, and as proof there are two extra songs. The Baroness gets to sing!
The crowd was at 90% on this preview night and highly excited and boisterous. Maria, played by Connie Fisher, the winner of the BBC show "How do you solve a problem like Maria?" received rapturous applause in welcome, as did opera diva Lesley Garrett.
The most satisfying thing about the production was the vocal and musical quality. Both Fisher and Garrett were superb, Fisher confounding me as I'd never really rated her voice on the TV show. She doesn't suffer in comparison to Julie Andrews. Garrett was superb in "Climb Ev'ry Mountain," the show stopper that closed Act 1. Looking around, I could see quite a few of the audience were wiping away tears. And that's the triumph of the show. The film is a real tear-jerker; why I have never really figured out, but fortunately so is this stage version. Without the genuine emotion it induces, the whole thing could be perceived as very schlmatzy.
Other highs were the imaginative scenery and staging; the over-the-top conducting and the children. Maria has an easier ride with the children than she does in the film. The only way we know they've been unpleasant to governesses in the past is the mention of one of them climbing up to Maria's bedroom from the garden with a toad in each hand.
The lows are Captain Von Trapp and the treatment of Lonely Goatherd. Von Trapp was played by an understudy, Christopher Dickins, and he was very wooden, although I suspect it's equally to do with the writing of the part than the actor's performance. There was no chemistry with him and Maria, and hard to see how the script even allows for that. She is convincing as Lloyd-Webber wanted in terms of "she climbs a tree, she scrapes a knee" but she seems like a very naive young girl and it's hard to imagine what the Captain saw in her.
Lonely Goatherd in the film is a puppet show. In the stage musical, it's a scene with Maria and the children in the garden with servants going about their business. I didn't think it quite worked; I kept waiting for the servants to join in. But John thought it was very good (he is less addicted to the film version).
As for Maria, Connie Fisher held her own which was challenging against Garrett. I'm not quite sure why Garrett gets to sing "My favourite things" in the first scene - it doesn't seem right for the Mother Abbess, but seems like a vehicle to give the established star more to do. Fisher was trying a little too hard, but she'll relax over time, and time is what she will have. This show will run and run!
Oh, a handy tip for dining if you're going to see this show at the Palladium: the Shakespeare's Arms, at the top of Carnaby Street, has upstairs dining and it was very good. Attentive and friendly service, real ales and good wine list. I had a stilton & wild mushroom tart followed by sausage and mash.
I did question the wisdom of Andrew Lloyd-Webber when I heard he was planning to stage this show, given the fanatical popularity of the film version. But the Sound of Music has always existed as a stage production, and as proof there are two extra songs. The Baroness gets to sing!
The crowd was at 90% on this preview night and highly excited and boisterous. Maria, played by Connie Fisher, the winner of the BBC show "How do you solve a problem like Maria?" received rapturous applause in welcome, as did opera diva Lesley Garrett.
The most satisfying thing about the production was the vocal and musical quality. Both Fisher and Garrett were superb, Fisher confounding me as I'd never really rated her voice on the TV show. She doesn't suffer in comparison to Julie Andrews. Garrett was superb in "Climb Ev'ry Mountain," the show stopper that closed Act 1. Looking around, I could see quite a few of the audience were wiping away tears. And that's the triumph of the show. The film is a real tear-jerker; why I have never really figured out, but fortunately so is this stage version. Without the genuine emotion it induces, the whole thing could be perceived as very schlmatzy.
Other highs were the imaginative scenery and staging; the over-the-top conducting and the children. Maria has an easier ride with the children than she does in the film. The only way we know they've been unpleasant to governesses in the past is the mention of one of them climbing up to Maria's bedroom from the garden with a toad in each hand.
The lows are Captain Von Trapp and the treatment of Lonely Goatherd. Von Trapp was played by an understudy, Christopher Dickins, and he was very wooden, although I suspect it's equally to do with the writing of the part than the actor's performance. There was no chemistry with him and Maria, and hard to see how the script even allows for that. She is convincing as Lloyd-Webber wanted in terms of "she climbs a tree, she scrapes a knee" but she seems like a very naive young girl and it's hard to imagine what the Captain saw in her.
Lonely Goatherd in the film is a puppet show. In the stage musical, it's a scene with Maria and the children in the garden with servants going about their business. I didn't think it quite worked; I kept waiting for the servants to join in. But John thought it was very good (he is less addicted to the film version).
As for Maria, Connie Fisher held her own which was challenging against Garrett. I'm not quite sure why Garrett gets to sing "My favourite things" in the first scene - it doesn't seem right for the Mother Abbess, but seems like a vehicle to give the established star more to do. Fisher was trying a little too hard, but she'll relax over time, and time is what she will have. This show will run and run!
Oh, a handy tip for dining if you're going to see this show at the Palladium: the Shakespeare's Arms, at the top of Carnaby Street, has upstairs dining and it was very good. Attentive and friendly service, real ales and good wine list. I had a stilton & wild mushroom tart followed by sausage and mash.
Friday, November 03, 2006
M&S food ads are too tasty by half!
Somebody stop them! Those gorgeous, luscious Marks and Spencer food ads with Dervla Kirwan's seductive voiceover.
Such is the power of these ads, they even make you fancy food you wouldn't normally touch with a bargepole, viz a viz, from the latest ad, broccoli and leeks with a Stilton sauce.
Apparently every time a new campaign starts, M&S has record demand for the various items.
I imagine Sainsburys and Aldi must be as sick as the proverbial, because they both have new ads featuring close-ups of food, but neither look anywhere near as appetizing as those delicious morsels at M&S.
It's great that M&S have got their mojo back, not just with their ads across the board, (Twiggy et al), but with their fashions and homewares. If only they would improve the lighting in the ladies' changing rooms, they would sell even more stuff.
Such is the power of these ads, they even make you fancy food you wouldn't normally touch with a bargepole, viz a viz, from the latest ad, broccoli and leeks with a Stilton sauce.
Apparently every time a new campaign starts, M&S has record demand for the various items.
I imagine Sainsburys and Aldi must be as sick as the proverbial, because they both have new ads featuring close-ups of food, but neither look anywhere near as appetizing as those delicious morsels at M&S.
It's great that M&S have got their mojo back, not just with their ads across the board, (Twiggy et al), but with their fashions and homewares. If only they would improve the lighting in the ladies' changing rooms, they would sell even more stuff.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
More doom and gloom about UK teenagers
Another shock horror report today claims the UK's teenagers are the worst behaved in Europe: they drink more, take more drugs, get involved in anti-social behaviour, and are more promiscuous. Another report today claimed that "ASBOS" are becoming a status symbol.
These reports follow others in recent months which have highlighted high levels of obesity in Britain's youth and that Britain has the highest rate of teenage pregnancies.
I'm sure the tutting readers of the Daily Mail would instantly blame parents or the government; some may blame schools. I don't think it's a case of blame, but changing sociological factors.
Nowadays we have more women working, and as a result, we've had to change the way that meals are cooked and eaten with the growth of convenience foods.
We've seen a huge rise in the number of consumer electronics appliances, starting with the TV through to the computer, the mobile phone, hand-helds and game consoles. These have replaced the parlour games, outdoor activities and good old conversation of old.
And we have become more selfish and materialistic. We throw out goods simply for being unfashionable; we do the same with our elderly. Happy to use 60% of the UK's grandparents for minding the children while we work, we are less happy to have the parents living with us when they need support and we're more inclined to put them in homes (which, we also know from reports, have even lower standards of food quality than school meals).
Add to this the mix of religious hatred and mistrust, the political correctness that is overplayed to the detriment of this country's own indigenous religion- as seen by BA banning staff from wearing the cross, or various loony councils banning the word "Christmas", and you have a society in the UK that is heading for catastrophe.
There is also a greater class divide than there used to be. The chattering classes, with their organic food, fairtrade t-shirts, private schooling and 4x4s are even more contemptuous of those caught in the poverty trap.
We need to restore some sense of balance. Children don't have to eat junk food all day. They don't have to sit glued to their TV or PSP either. It's clear we need to improve people's education on nutrition and good parenting, and we need to think of community based ways to do that, not foolish "nanny state" directives or supermarkets being expected to show people how to eat fruit. And the key here is that we should all take responsibility.
These reports follow others in recent months which have highlighted high levels of obesity in Britain's youth and that Britain has the highest rate of teenage pregnancies.
I'm sure the tutting readers of the Daily Mail would instantly blame parents or the government; some may blame schools. I don't think it's a case of blame, but changing sociological factors.
Nowadays we have more women working, and as a result, we've had to change the way that meals are cooked and eaten with the growth of convenience foods.
We've seen a huge rise in the number of consumer electronics appliances, starting with the TV through to the computer, the mobile phone, hand-helds and game consoles. These have replaced the parlour games, outdoor activities and good old conversation of old.
And we have become more selfish and materialistic. We throw out goods simply for being unfashionable; we do the same with our elderly. Happy to use 60% of the UK's grandparents for minding the children while we work, we are less happy to have the parents living with us when they need support and we're more inclined to put them in homes (which, we also know from reports, have even lower standards of food quality than school meals).
Add to this the mix of religious hatred and mistrust, the political correctness that is overplayed to the detriment of this country's own indigenous religion- as seen by BA banning staff from wearing the cross, or various loony councils banning the word "Christmas", and you have a society in the UK that is heading for catastrophe.
There is also a greater class divide than there used to be. The chattering classes, with their organic food, fairtrade t-shirts, private schooling and 4x4s are even more contemptuous of those caught in the poverty trap.
We need to restore some sense of balance. Children don't have to eat junk food all day. They don't have to sit glued to their TV or PSP either. It's clear we need to improve people's education on nutrition and good parenting, and we need to think of community based ways to do that, not foolish "nanny state" directives or supermarkets being expected to show people how to eat fruit. And the key here is that we should all take responsibility.
Monday, October 30, 2006
The lure of the bottle stall
It was as English as the sound of wood on willow, the summer fete with its promise of a pony ride, an ice cream and a mystery prize if you were lucky from the bottle stall.
There was a summer fete nearly every week at a local amenity called Harewood House. The fete was usually opened by a minor celebrity. So minor that even I was asked to open a jumble sale when I was a lowly reporter on the South Devon Times.
I always made a beeline for the bottle stall. I couldn't resist this game of chance where you handed over a couple of coins and nearly always won something. Unfortunately, as the bottles were things people gave away, the prize was not always to be coveted. Giz, my mum's face was a picture when I once presented her with a bottle of anchovy essence. Followed by, another time, a bottle of "Cresta" (advertising slogan: It's Frothy Man).
I was also very keen on the books stall. For 5d I bought "Glamour School," which gave beauty tips 50s style, with pictures of celebs like Ava Gardner and Elizabeth Taylor. I remember one tip to this day: "beware the kiss of the sun - it's a fiery one!" and it's a pity I haven't heeded this advice.
I was always too wary to step into Gipsy Acora's caravan. It was plastered with pictures of Acora with various celebrities like Roy Hudd and Dora Bryan. My dad (Stamps) knew Acora - he often went to the local pub and they played dominoes. Stamps was mildly amused that David (Acora) never seemed to be able to predict the outcome.
Several years later I did go to see Acora in his Barbican shop in Plymouth. With his dramatic turn of phrase, he gestured with his hands and told me I would be looking into a coffin as the leaves fell. We waited for autumn but there was no looking into coffins, that year or in fact ever.
The other highlight of the fete was the entertainment, morris men, lurchers or little girls from the Marnic School of Dancing. I was envious because Giz had never let me join the dancing school (too clumsy, she said) and one of my friends, Jane Wigginton, was a leading light. Her decision was probably sound, because I ruined the maypole dance in my school's 1972 pageant, the life of Joshua Reynolds, when I went the wrong way. There was mass disarray and the pattern of the ribbons looked less like a spider's web than the bottom of Giz's sewing basket.
I was always careful to avoid anything home cooked, being very suspicious of pasties or cakes that may have been cooked by scenty old ladies, whose perfume or Velouty powder cream inadvertently transferred itself to the foodstuff.
I've been to a few car boot sales, always looking for the game "I want to bite your finger", but somehow I don't think they'll ever hold the nostalgic pull of the quintessential English summer fete, even if it was held indoors owing to inclement weather.
There was a summer fete nearly every week at a local amenity called Harewood House. The fete was usually opened by a minor celebrity. So minor that even I was asked to open a jumble sale when I was a lowly reporter on the South Devon Times.
I always made a beeline for the bottle stall. I couldn't resist this game of chance where you handed over a couple of coins and nearly always won something. Unfortunately, as the bottles were things people gave away, the prize was not always to be coveted. Giz, my mum's face was a picture when I once presented her with a bottle of anchovy essence. Followed by, another time, a bottle of "Cresta" (advertising slogan: It's Frothy Man).
I was also very keen on the books stall. For 5d I bought "Glamour School," which gave beauty tips 50s style, with pictures of celebs like Ava Gardner and Elizabeth Taylor. I remember one tip to this day: "beware the kiss of the sun - it's a fiery one!" and it's a pity I haven't heeded this advice.
I was always too wary to step into Gipsy Acora's caravan. It was plastered with pictures of Acora with various celebrities like Roy Hudd and Dora Bryan. My dad (Stamps) knew Acora - he often went to the local pub and they played dominoes. Stamps was mildly amused that David (Acora) never seemed to be able to predict the outcome.
Several years later I did go to see Acora in his Barbican shop in Plymouth. With his dramatic turn of phrase, he gestured with his hands and told me I would be looking into a coffin as the leaves fell. We waited for autumn but there was no looking into coffins, that year or in fact ever.
The other highlight of the fete was the entertainment, morris men, lurchers or little girls from the Marnic School of Dancing. I was envious because Giz had never let me join the dancing school (too clumsy, she said) and one of my friends, Jane Wigginton, was a leading light. Her decision was probably sound, because I ruined the maypole dance in my school's 1972 pageant, the life of Joshua Reynolds, when I went the wrong way. There was mass disarray and the pattern of the ribbons looked less like a spider's web than the bottom of Giz's sewing basket.
I was always careful to avoid anything home cooked, being very suspicious of pasties or cakes that may have been cooked by scenty old ladies, whose perfume or Velouty powder cream inadvertently transferred itself to the foodstuff.
I've been to a few car boot sales, always looking for the game "I want to bite your finger", but somehow I don't think they'll ever hold the nostalgic pull of the quintessential English summer fete, even if it was held indoors owing to inclement weather.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Missing starlets
Whatever happened to Sharon Maiden and Tracy Hyde? Gillian Bailey and Janet Maw? You're thinking, "who?" Unfortunately, or fortunately, I don't know which, I have an excellent memory for names back in the mists of time, and I'm often pinging Google to find out whatever happened to xxx, an actress who was introduced in a particular film, or whatever happened to xxx, a toy, beauty product or food item from yesteryear.
Sharon Maiden for example was introduced in one of my all-time favourite films Clockwise. Yes I know, I shouldn't own up to it - I should be claiming that my favourite films are "Red" "Blue" "Laughing tigers shooting pandas" or whatever pretentious foreign stuff it is de rigeur to claim to like. Ms Maiden appears to have sunk into obscurity after Clockwise.
Tracy Hyde was introduced in the film SWALK, also known as Melody, which was a post-Oliver vehicle for Mark Lester. I was mildly obsessed with him and went to see all his follow-up films, SWALK being one of them. (It was terrible, by the way - a romance between two 12 year olds).
Gillian Bailey is no starlet, she's older than me, but she starred in "Double Deckers" which was huge when I was a kid, and she went on to appear in many things, although I haven't seen her on TV since she appeared in Precious Bane with a disfigured face.
Janet Maw was also a very popular actress in the 70s and 80s, appearing in lots of things, but never seen nowadays. She seems to do a lot of audio books now.
And then there are things. Things like Velouty powder cream which old ladies use. It's only about £1.50 - and very hard to get hold of. Why do things like that permeate my mind?! Or lotions and potions that I used as a teenager to get rid of spots. Whatever happened to Torbetol, Trinsonovin, Cepton, Valderma? Perfumes: Aqua Manda and Kiku. My first perfumes, Yardley Sea Jade and Dorothy Gray Midnight. I sometimes look on eBay to see if any of these things ever turn up. I struck lucky once with the perfume my mum used to wear years ago, Memoire Cherie by Elzabeth Arden, long since discontinued. I found a vendor in the US selling a soap. I bought it and surprised mum with it, though she confessed later it didn't seem to smell the same and people's tastes change.
I'd be interested to know if you ever wonder about people or things in the same way!
Sharon Maiden for example was introduced in one of my all-time favourite films Clockwise. Yes I know, I shouldn't own up to it - I should be claiming that my favourite films are "Red" "Blue" "Laughing tigers shooting pandas" or whatever pretentious foreign stuff it is de rigeur to claim to like. Ms Maiden appears to have sunk into obscurity after Clockwise.
Tracy Hyde was introduced in the film SWALK, also known as Melody, which was a post-Oliver vehicle for Mark Lester. I was mildly obsessed with him and went to see all his follow-up films, SWALK being one of them. (It was terrible, by the way - a romance between two 12 year olds).
Gillian Bailey is no starlet, she's older than me, but she starred in "Double Deckers" which was huge when I was a kid, and she went on to appear in many things, although I haven't seen her on TV since she appeared in Precious Bane with a disfigured face.
Janet Maw was also a very popular actress in the 70s and 80s, appearing in lots of things, but never seen nowadays. She seems to do a lot of audio books now.
And then there are things. Things like Velouty powder cream which old ladies use. It's only about £1.50 - and very hard to get hold of. Why do things like that permeate my mind?! Or lotions and potions that I used as a teenager to get rid of spots. Whatever happened to Torbetol, Trinsonovin, Cepton, Valderma? Perfumes: Aqua Manda and Kiku. My first perfumes, Yardley Sea Jade and Dorothy Gray Midnight. I sometimes look on eBay to see if any of these things ever turn up. I struck lucky once with the perfume my mum used to wear years ago, Memoire Cherie by Elzabeth Arden, long since discontinued. I found a vendor in the US selling a soap. I bought it and surprised mum with it, though she confessed later it didn't seem to smell the same and people's tastes change.
I'd be interested to know if you ever wonder about people or things in the same way!
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
I wish I'd never got started!
At the start of the year when all the part works were getting promoted on TV, I decided a new hobby was in order and ordered "Creative Papercraft" with its various free gifts (binder, selection of hand made paper envelopes, etc).
Big mistake!
Before I knew it, I was standing dazed in Hobbycrafts, Romford (I didn't even know where Romford was and had to look it up on the map) with a shopping basket full of numerous ribbons, handmade papers and embellishments. I made a couple of cards, very amateurish now I think, just embellishments stuck on.
Unfortunately Creative Papercraft must have gone out of business. I haven't received a magazine since June and they haven't been using the direct debit. Too many free gifts, I suspect. So in lieu of that, I've been buying crafting magazines. What a burgeoning sector! But as I eagerly flick through them, I soon get crestfallen. The cards they feature are either too difficult, requiring me to use techniques like embossing, teabagging or quilling to name but three, or, if I believe I can make an attempt, they always require new and different paper stock and trimmings, which sends me fleeing to http://craftobsessions.co.uk (amazing service, arrives the next day with a personalised card from David & Brenda).
I must confess I do love looking in my craft box, which holds all my papers, trimmings, ribbons, glitter, beads, stamps, paints, etc (it will soon become a trunk)and sometimes I even attempt the odd card or two, though I dread to work out how much each one costs.
And it just gets worse. Somehow I now have in my possession a scrapbook kit, and this is a whole new area with its own websites, magazines and handmade papers. Aargh!
Big mistake!
Before I knew it, I was standing dazed in Hobbycrafts, Romford (I didn't even know where Romford was and had to look it up on the map) with a shopping basket full of numerous ribbons, handmade papers and embellishments. I made a couple of cards, very amateurish now I think, just embellishments stuck on.
Unfortunately Creative Papercraft must have gone out of business. I haven't received a magazine since June and they haven't been using the direct debit. Too many free gifts, I suspect. So in lieu of that, I've been buying crafting magazines. What a burgeoning sector! But as I eagerly flick through them, I soon get crestfallen. The cards they feature are either too difficult, requiring me to use techniques like embossing, teabagging or quilling to name but three, or, if I believe I can make an attempt, they always require new and different paper stock and trimmings, which sends me fleeing to http://craftobsessions.co.uk (amazing service, arrives the next day with a personalised card from David & Brenda).
I must confess I do love looking in my craft box, which holds all my papers, trimmings, ribbons, glitter, beads, stamps, paints, etc (it will soon become a trunk)and sometimes I even attempt the odd card or two, though I dread to work out how much each one costs.
And it just gets worse. Somehow I now have in my possession a scrapbook kit, and this is a whole new area with its own websites, magazines and handmade papers. Aargh!
The art of running marathons
John started his latest marathon training schedule at the weekend. He runs all the time, but in the run-up to a marathon starts a more intense programme. He is hoping to be one of the chosen ones to run in the London marathon in April. If his application is unsuccessful, he'll run in Boston instead. He has a list of the world's top 10 marathons and is working through them. In total he has run 14 marathons; on the list, he's completed New York, Paris, London, Berlin, Stockholm, Rotterdam and Honolulu.
Honolulu was fun - I didn't think John would be keen but because it was in the top 10 he agreed to have a fortnight's holiday with the marathon bang in the middle of it. It started at 5am and I was outside the hotel in the gloomy early morning light to take one of my inept photos as John ran by. I then got an excellent spot at the finish, although it meant I had to stand around for hours.
John's ambition is to complete a marathon in four hours. He's come close, but it still eludes him. Last year he joined local club the Orion Harriers to try to improve his time, and it's helped in terms of camaraderie and organised sessions. Saturday's run was a club race, a seven and a half miles cross country. I was filming for J's vblog. He wasn't very happy with his time and was covered in mud and scratches from brambles.
Last year J ran four marathons, far too many because the body takes a long time to recover. So he dialled it down this year and did two, Rotterdam and Stockholm, with some half marathons as part of his training. I went with him to Rotterdam and Stockholm. Rotterdam is one of the fastest courses, but unfortunately he got dehydrated after missing a water stop. Stockholm, back in June, we turned into a long weekend and took Rachel.
The picture hows Rachel, John and I at the Hastings half marathon earlier this year. It was cold!!!
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Mum very impressed with new Intel TV ad
She is not in the target demographic, and can't even be called a silver surfer as she refuses to try a PC, but my mother is very taken with the new TV ad. Usually she dismisses Intel's ads as "silly," so when I told her about the new campaign I pointed out it's aimed at young people (with the implication that she wouldn't like it).
She saw the ad that's running in the Uk (all the ads worldwide were directed by a top UK video director) and inmmediately texted to say she liked it. I thought she was just being perverse, but a couple of days later, and more exposures to the ad, and she texted again: "That ad is a real head turner, I can't get over all the different things that are going on in it."
I suspect she has missed a whole vocation as a focus group member.
She saw the ad that's running in the Uk (all the ads worldwide were directed by a top UK video director) and inmmediately texted to say she liked it. I thought she was just being perverse, but a couple of days later, and more exposures to the ad, and she texted again: "That ad is a real head turner, I can't get over all the different things that are going on in it."
I suspect she has missed a whole vocation as a focus group member.
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