A Yorkshireman of a certain age who likes most genres of music and most makes of old car. Travel is a joy, not least to escape the British winter. Travel by bicycle is bliss and if I’m not lost in music then I’m lost in a daydream about a hot day, tens of miles to cover and the promise of a great campsite and a beer. I like to think I’m always learning and becoming wiser. However, on the latter point evidence is in short supply.
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I’ve sat in a lot of meetings at work where you’ve felt like a prisoner, that is, unable to escape. This is where somebody is probably covering worthy stuff but it is long winded, bureaucratic and bluntly of no interest. When it was over there was a great sense of relief and I may have inadvertently broken into a skip on the way out of the room.
Today I felt that type of emotion at the end of Pilates. Lou, the instructor uttered the magic words “just find a position that you can be comfortable in” and then she switched off the light. We all wearily came to a prostrate halt, flat on our backs on the mat. We knew the ‘one sided planks’, abdominal exercises, contortions to unlock your hip flexors or very unnatural movements to strengthen your gluteus maximus muscles had finished. Lying in the dark for two minutes we could reflect on the fact that probably Wednesday at 1.30pm would come around again quickly. However, for now, it was over. (Funnily enough a wet bike ride in 5°C over 50 miles appeals more than Pilates).
On the theme of pain then it seems appropriate to talk about the proposed Leeds United logo. It lasted six hours before the Managing Director, on the local BBC radio station, abandoned it and offered consultation over a new one. I still tend to think that large corporate decisions are usually reached intelligently. I know this naivety is akin to implicitly trusting policemen and thinking that banks are honourable. What happened with this sub 1930’s Italian Fascist aberration will be the subject of endless brand marketing courses for decades. It was simply inept and complacent. However it did bring all the fans together!
For those of your who peruse “Tony’s View Of The World’ you’ll see that I have been writing to Welsh luminaries about their brutal and short sighted parking regime. I’m not expecting any sympathy. However on another injustice then I had the opportunity to vent, in a calm yet destructive way, with Open Reach about our non availability of Superfast broadband last week.
This opportunity came about through our local MP, Julian Sturdy. He initially held a public meeting and then a supplementary meeting with Open Reach. A selection of local village representatives were invited to attend. We’re making progress on installation but they are a year behind schedule. Personally trying to cope with, at best, an internet speed of 1mb is difficult.
Open Reach turned up hoping to only ‘look forward’. They were a little taken aback at having to review the process and it’s apparent historic challenges. ‘The past informs the present’ I always find. However, we all finished up friends and we meet again in March.
For those who are detached from the political process then when your MP gets involved in the nitty gritty of your personal frustrations then they can seem very relevant and useful.
Talking about York then I learned that New York is not named with any direct connection to my fine city. It was in fact named after the Duke of York. This new name was in his honour when the British took over New Amsterdam in 1664. Don’t pretend that you never learn anything here.
LIONHEART is North Carolina’s H.C. McEntire’s debut release of nine self penned compositions. The title sums up her feeling about the courage to strike out and release music under her own name. This album fits delightfully into a slot of intimate, uplifting, melodic and lyrically interesting Country Americana with a possible drift into Folk.
North Carolina’s Heather McEntire has spent her career progressing from Post Punk to this dulcet and crafted genre. Her recent day job has been a combination of playing with Mount Moriah and more recently being a member of Angel Olsen’s touring band. She says that much of the album was composed whilst on the road with Olsen. The songs didn’t fit Mount Moriah hence the solo debut.
Affairs start with “A Lamb, A Dove” a plaintiff unadorned vocal that shows the beauty of McEntire’s voice against some occasional piano chords before building to involve harmonies with Tift Merritt and the nagging siren qualities of pedal steel. The song alludes to McEntire’s journey of coming out in the South with acceptance anxieties from her family and the tense background of the legal battles that the Gay community face to get equality in the Southern States. Lyrics include – “I have found heaven, In a woman’s touch, Come to me now, I’ll make you blush”. And connection with her spiritual side – “It’s a wild world, That will make you believe, In a kingdom, Full of mercy and faith, It’s a fine line, And I will walk it with grace, Come like a dove, I’ll show you love.”
However whilst this may be an important statement from McEntire I wouldn’t want to leave an impression that the album is a long heartfelt ‘message’. The tracks here stand alone and they are mellifluous, constructed at the right pace, have beautiful instrumentation and are delivered with lovely voices.
Such a track is “One Great Thunder” with heavenly voices and strings. It is a short ethereal piece that transported me to Delibes’ “Flower Duet” from his Opera Lakmé. It is simply delicious and a demonstration of her considerable talent to create such a short piece of heaven.
“Baby’s Got the Blues” is a pulsing but gentle acoustic rocker with Hammond behind the clear and assertive vocals with support from Ryan Gustafson. Some of the words hook you with mentions of “dogwood, surrogates, mama buried the revolver” etc. but what it all means is beyond me and starts to come across as a touch jumbled.
“Wild Dogs” is back to a slower pace where her vocal is backed by Angel Olsen’s different but exquisite harmony back in the mix. Meanwhile a cello and strings provide the accompaniment – “When we were wild dogs, How our teeth were stained with blood, From the fire, from the hunt, When I held for you that lust. ”
Despite the vicious lyric it is a delicate and captivating song! Maybe this is one of the intriguing and attractive elements of the album – that mix of delicate melodies with some disordered yet memorable imagery in the words.
This is one of those Americana albums that will be noted for its immense beauty and intensity. I expect to return to it regularly during the year.
Yes, I know I can be an irascible git but sometimes the brutal stupidity of others’ actions, through ignorance, needs to be pointed out. Anna and I went down to North Wales to see Ann Marie, my sister. The present Mrs Ives has allergies and Ann Marie’s labrador is such a hazard. Hence we stayed nearby at a delightful hotel in what is a very nice little coastal resort. Most hotels have parking but not Anna’s pick. The requirement was that you had to proverbially ‘feed the meter’ at stupid times of the day in a nearby car park.
I admit that I failed in this simple task and some parking management warrior in a nice uniform and Ford Escort van pounced to issue a parking ticket. (I know about the Parking Marshall as I mentioned his largesse, to him, when we passed in the town later). So whilst I will pay the fine I felt that I should share a point of view with the Council’s Chief Executive, the Leader of The Council and local MP. This scurrying around to answer my letter will cost them more in administration than the £25 I will pay for this stupid fine.
No doubt I shall get told to enjoy sex and travel but we’ll see.
February 5 post script – had a letter back from the MP asking for permission to more widely circulate my letter! Chief Executive’s office has responded saying that he’s on holiday but will respond.
39 Lakeside,
Acaster Malbis.
York,
YO23 2TY
Subject: Conwy Town Centre Parking Regime – Tourism Prevention
Dear Mr Davies,
I write to express considerable disappointment after a brief stay in Conwy.
My wife selected The Erskine Arms as a hotel to stay at for two nights. We travelled from Yorkshire. The premises are splendid and the hotel boasts a bar and restaurant. Unfortunately parking is limited and a guest has to probably use Council pay car parks. Paying for overnight parking at a hotel would be something you’d expect in a busy city centre location and not ordinarily at a small coastal town.
We left our car in the Vicarage Gardens car park. On Sunday morning, admittedly late, I returned to the car at around 8.25 am to renew the parking. On this cold, wet and windy January morning the streets were deserted. Clearly this is low season and not only were shops shut but tourists and locals were thin on the ground. I bought a ticket and sauntered to the car to discover a parking fine. The Council Civil Enforcement Officer had got nicely into position before at 8.00am and had identified at 8.01am that my parking had expired. He duly met one of his quota penalty bookings for the shift and by 8.06 am had stuck the ticket to my windscreen.
Needless to say the car park was largely empty with a few local resident’s cars on parking permits.
I arrived with my new ticket (another £2.00) and clearly I was too late. I attach copies of tickets and the fine for verification of this activity.
If you are to pass this letter to your officials to respond then no doubt I will be told of important parking challenges in the town centre, clear signage to make potential victims aware of fines and that if I pay promptly then I can reduce the fine.
However, let me help you think about this another way:
Guests drive a long way and check in. The hotel is hoping that the guests spend further money at the hotel and may fear telling the guest that they should arise from their slumbers before 8am (on a cold, wet and windy Sunday morning in January) to refresh the ticket. After all this will be an awful welcome and may depress food and beverage sales at the hotel. What a dilemma?
After the parking fine is delivered to the guest the hotel will now probably receive a blow. The guest will now go on to Trip Advisor, and maybe other sites, and mark down the experience and advise people to avoid this hotel or Conwy. A £50 parking fine is probably the equivalent of 50% of their hotel bill if they only stayed one night.
For your information my wife and I spent around £350 (at the hotel and around Conwy and Llandudno) over our two night stay.
How welcome is this hotel and tourist revenue, in January, to the local businesses? How many people now have wages to pay their Council Tax?
I worry that the Council doesn’t care about these tourist revenues or ‘selling’ Conwy as a welcoming destination and views parking as a revenue stream.
What your officials can do to correct this nonsense is:
Have a seasonal extension until 9am before the Parking Marshall springs into action. I am sure they can identify parking issues that are a genuine hazard and then be nicely in place for issuing, at 9.01am, a parking ticket on a cold, wet and windy Sunday morning in January.
Or you can extend the overnight (seasonal) charge of £0.60 from 6pm to 9am. If you are worried about the lost revenue of that hour then whack it up to £1.60 for overnight! I note you have differential arrangements for different times of the year. (Sadly the number of parking fines will fall as a result of this tourist friendly change and may reduce fine revenues).
Or you can enable the machine to issue two tickets – one for overnight and then another from 8am the next morning thus allowing revenue to be protected?
Or you can come to some arrangement with the hotels that allow them to have concessions for guests or for an advance ticket to be purchased via the hotel. (This is how it works in most city centre hotels where guests use local public car parks).
Lastly, you can rest assured that I will be telling all I meet about this pernicious experience. I cannot imagine that it will help tourism in Conwy. However, there again do you care?
I cringe every time the latest Honours are announced. This occurs twice a year. In total 1,350 of these accolades are handled out to ‘recognise merit in terms of achievement or service’. At best described as a peculiarly British arrangement where there are several levels of award from a suffix that you cam affix to the front of your name through to a large number of prefixes that you can tag onto your surname. These awards are handed out to Brits and other members of the Commonwealth or we can give ‘honorary’ awards to citizens of other nations.
Their compilation is by a couple of committees and then the Queen advises the lucky winners of their prize officially on certain dates. If you get the highest accolade then Her Majesty or delegates invite you to Buckingham Palace where you kneel; the sword is tapped on your shoulder and you get to discuss briefly the weather and her nag’s prospects at Epsom in the afternoon racing.
The problem is about who gets these awards. It seems a right for politicians, sportsmen, senior soldiers, ancient rock stars, national treasures in terms of acting, radio or TV personalities, currently overpaid ‘captains of industry’ and probably a whole selection of people who’ve spent about a decade canvassing for one (or putting money into good causes to gain ‘credits’).
This nonsense started in 1348 and may explain some of the archaic titles such as The Order Of The Garter. In fact the most common Honours are Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (CBE), Officer of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (OBE) and Member of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire. (MBE). The very reference to the British Empire is not only obsolete but frankly places it in a Netflix period drama.
If it is for service or achievement then why by heading a Government Department as a civil servant do you get a gong? You’re bewilderingly well paid, live a cloistered and privileged life and have another career of being a non-exec on all sorts of Boards (after you take your eye wateringly generous pension). Okay, you can do your job and climbed to the top of the ‘slippery pole’ but why should you get a bauble?
Captains of industry have tenures, sometimes long and sometimes short, where talent, good luck and timing enables them to earn £millions and have privilege in any activity they may want to participate in. After all this recognition they eventually get a Knighthood so that they can join their other lucky and lofty mates. A risk, of course, is that after your bank contributes to a global financial collapse: they might ask for it back as happened to luminaries at two UK banks.
The celebrity strain is beyond a joke. This New Year saw Michael Palin and Twiggy get Knighted or made a Dame. Now to say anything derogatory about these two is akin to feeding a playful labrador puppy into a wood saw… but come on! Twiggy got the Honour for her services to fashion, the arts and charity? Google tells me that she has involvement with 13 charities. Well done and thank you but how many folk do you know who are devoting over 10 hours volunteering or caring where they get no money, no support and certainly a lot less than appreciation? I know a few.
If these celebrities make a mockery of the pecking order of worthiness then don’t start me on footballers, actors or musicians. It seems that the first hiring question for their future PR agency is what will you do to accelerate my acquisition of an Honour? “My qualifications are that I’m over 50 years old, have convictions for drugs and have mainly led a dysfunctional life that has enabled tabloid newspapers to have a splendid time telling people about me. I am also hopelessly rich, entitled and hob nob with junior Royals. However, I’ve lent my name to a few charities, I fit in a couple of functions a year and my PA has me sign lots of T shirt. In addition I can fit in a gig for free once in a blue moon. Surely that’s worth a Knighthood for my export sales and high profile?”
A mediocre political career on the back benches can get you a Knighthood if you vote regularly with the Government, say nice things about the leadership when required and retire when the tap comes on the shoulder to release your safe seat to an acolyte of the ruling junta.
Somewhere down the list with the junior accolades are ladies who’ve devoted many days a month to teaching disabled children to ride a horse or given 50 years of service to being a lollipop lady on a dangerous road in rain and snow. I love these folk and we walk in their shadows. Neither do I have a problem with awards of distinction such as bravery. I’m humbled to think what soldiers do on battlefields, who isn’t?
I know a few men who’ve had an Honour. Were they worth it? Debatable but I do know one who spent a lot of time and effort trying to get the highest award (unsuccessfully). There are many who’ve turned down the offer when they’ve been asked if they want one. I’m happy with that but a few have gone out of their way to demonstrate their virtue signalling by declining the Honour – frankly, that’s worse than accepting it.
Due to political patronage and the desire to create ‘feel good’ on the front page of The Daily Mail twice a year this antique Byzantine practise will continue with some occasionally ‘sold’ for a donation to a political party. And with all this we sneer at corrupt practices in Asia and Africa.
Lastly, there are some monumental cock ups. Lovelies who’ve been awarded an Honour include Mussolini, Ceausescu, Mugabe, paedophile Jimmy Savile and traitor Anthony Blunt. I suspect there are a few current holders who glance nervously over their shoulder at the Serious Fraud Office and or some under-age sex investigation policemen.
Don’t get me started on the award of honorary degrees…
Picture, if you will, a wide-open range with a couple of hundred steers shuffling at a hurried pace creating a dusty haze in the heat. The camera pulls back to find our lonesome cowboy leading his horse at a brisk pace singing “No One To Blame”. This is Dusty Rust, long time resident of Kansas City, Missouri, delivering a Country & Western tune with his attractive baritone. We get pedal steel, fiddle and reverb guitar as he channels his inner Frankie Laine.
Dusty Rust has been plying his trade for some years (sadly, not on horse back) and this is his third release. A quick search on YouTube finds him documenting a tour through Kansas, Nebraska, Wyoming, Utah, Montana, Idaho, Oregon, Washington and Missouri playing minor venues. He’s typical of many touring artists waiting for that elusive propulsion into The Big Time.
“I Was Wrong” brings to mind 1960s commercial Country, à la Glen Campbell, as a banjo picks out the melody whilst Rust’s winning and expressive vocal tells you of his heartache. This is on top of a nonchalant rhythm, all held together by harmonica. “Ride” continues in the same upbeat vein but pedal steel picks up the melody whilst the guitar chimes; I can imagine Rust singing, eyes closed and his head tossed back, up on the stage of these small bars whilst couples take the floor in front of him.
He has an ear for a melody. With crafted, structured and layered arrangements we work our way through 38 minutes of music that I’d describe as contemporary traditional Country. There’s plenty of Honky Tonk and Outlaw to be behold but there is that measured tunesmith sensibility. Making this record exceptional is Rust’s production. Subtle layers involving guitars, pedal steel, fiddle, banjo and piano, often way back in the mix, create a sound that places it in this millennium despite it’s 20th century origins.
Arizona includes the ambiguous description of his transport as a ‘slightly stolen van’! The stellar arrangement creates that ‘60s sunshine pop feel whilst exiting with present-day sounds that would impress Adam Granduciel.
“Hell On Fire”, my album highlight, picks up the recurrent theme of girl trouble, albeit this femme is more than tricky after shooting the farm’s banker – “Hey San Diego, how far are you? I’m shot in San Francisco and there’s nothing I can do, The lady I love is hell on fire and the world’s about to burn, The next train I’ll get to leaving, she’s no longer my concern, I’m out on my way”. Like a novel this tale unfolds whilst electric guitars howl behind the acoustic and drum shuffle creating that eerie and haunting atmosphere that this surprising story demands.
With only nine tracks we’re treated to all killer and no filler. With the supposed resurgence of traditional Country making a commercial comeback (albeit it helps to have an obligatory Willie Nelson duet and be supported by Jack White) then Dusty Rust may just catch the tide. Music as good as this deserves a much wider listen. Indulge me.
When you meet other people, if you’re retired, they are often flummoxed as to what to ask you. After all, in their minds, you are close to death now and given that it is the winter and you cannot tend your garden or visit the bowls club you clearly must be at home in your slippers watching Jeremy Kyle drinking soup. What on Earth is there to talk about? However, if on the very rare occasion where they actually do ask you it is hard to know what to say you’ve been doing! This is because none of it adds up to anything very weighty or sounding important like, “Oh, I’ve been in Newport for two days talking to customers”. (Probably talking bollocks with no useful outcomes more like). So, anyway, I decided to wrack my brain and write up the diary for the week.
Saturday
All the daughters gone! Having the house back to ourselves meant that we could turn off the radiators in the spare rooms, clean the bathrooms, restock the fridge and get back to normal. Such pearls of ‘millennial’ wisdom will be lost until they next appear. Katrina observed, when making a ragu, that our fresh carrots were ‘out of date’. Never in all my long years have I worried about the ‘use by’ date on carrots. In fact they are usually boiled to death or made so small that any flavour is lost and it seems their age is not critical. However, we can all agree with “what do I know?”
The Favourite Youngest’s best moment came when recalling one of her Christmas nights out in York. One of the party had brought along a dog to the nightclub. Not unreasonably the bouncer stopped her taking it in. At this point indignation, hurt and subterfuge kicked in. It was explained that Fido was a trainee guide dog. As part of its training then it was being familiarised with social situations. The sceptical bouncer relented. In fairness the dog had been a trainee guide dog but failed the programme and was now a pet. Kids eh?
One downside of the daughters’ departure is that I will have to watch Season Two of ‘The Crown’ on Netflix all by myself.
With this tranquillity I managed to write an album review for the Americana Music Show. In fact it became one of my ‘Records Of The Week’ – Grayson Capps. I had quite a lot of affection for this release not least because I nearly cycled past his home in Alabama. Another chore was thinking about renewing my car insurance. You will know the situation where a renewal quotation comes in the post. The new quotation is usually an uplift, over the previous year, of 25 to 30%. With this you go through the procedure of going back to the comparison web sites to get quotations from other insurance companies nearer your current cost. I’m used to this administration but I do hate them for it. Imagine the truly older folk who blindly renew and incur all these pointless extra costs.
Sunday
The Holiday Inn Express was our destination before a night at The Sage in Gateshead with Candi Staton. (You can see my review of the concert under ‘Music’). The hotel Reception was crowded with revellers checking in; one girl was stood there in full make up but with her hair in curlers! On the streets of Newcastle we passed smokers. However, it wasn’t tobacco but marijuana that they were smoking. The Geordies were dressed to the nines and many were not wearing a coat, hat and gloves (like this wuss). Before departing from Yorkshire my evening attire was discussed. Anna suggested a new favourite shirt that I recently bought from John Lewis. I did point out that the shirt was checked and that Candi was more Soul than Country & Western…
A wonderful night and one of our better New Year’s Eves for many years.
Monday
New Years Day saw all the shops shut! Anna had to abandon Newcastle city centre without a retail experience. Nothing was open on this Bank Holiday. We drove home by the resort of Tynemouth to Yorkshire. It had been a late night and so a few pints of beer were sunk. I made a decision to not drink anything for the rest of the week. (Friday night may see this pledge abandoned).
As always the football engages us and we were waiting for the Leeds United result – a disappointing draw at home to Nottingham Forest. The expectation of so many LUFC fans is so hard to fathom. If Leeds ever do get promoted then I think West Yorkshire will be alight.
Tuesday
I wrote sometime ago about a dodgy knee and it remains a priority to restore it to good health. I attended the local gym in Acomb. After lots of rehab then the recovery continues and the programme includes following a number of exercises, some on equipment and some on the mat; with a set number of repetitions or time allotments. All this progress allows me to dream of a summer pedalling through Europe. Bliss.
A bit more mundane was the task later to visit one of our rental properties to inspect a damp patch on a downstairs bedroom wall. Not a crisis but not a good situation. The resolution requires removing all the plaster, inserting a protective membrane and then re-plastering. Anything that involves old or new plaster is the filthiest job in construction. We’ve asked for a quotation and await the bad news.
Wednesday
I don’t like Pilates. The instructor, Lou, is fabulous and patiently answers all my questions about which muscle group she is attempting to reawaken with the latest convoluted stretching. I do it because it is vital to keep supple and keep you body in balance. However, when it is over I am happy to have another week between me and the floor mat. It seems to be the ladies who turn up. More men need to take this up. At £5.50 for an hour I may be saving the NHS a lot more in due course.
Some good friends, Jane and John, came around later for our thoughts on their planned holiday to Canada. It was good to share our recommendations and thoughts so soon after our trip.
Thursday
I felt that after a week off the road that I needed to get back on the bike. I set off well wrapped toward Cawood. The temperature fell to 2°C and steady rain became heavier and penetrative. As I started to literally freeze then an intended short cut via Ulleskelf wasn’t available due to road flooding (due to the River Wharfe rising). I ended up doing a painful and saturating 30 miles. When I got home my hands thawed with immense pain as I peeled off sopping wet kit and I then dived into the bath. I wonder why I cycle in warmer climes!
At W H Smith’s I picked up a copy of the end of year copy of Country Music People. It contained a couple of my reviews and had a full page of my end of year Top 10 records. Fame at last!
I went out early evening to a public meeting with our local MP (Julian Sturdy) about the delays in installing Superfast broadband in three local villages. Open Reach’s performance is beyond appalling and the meeting vented their feelings on the MP and a representative from the client (who appointed Open Reach). It was interesting to talk afterwards to the MP about the General Election result. At the meeting was an old Moores’ colleague who I’d guess I hadn’t seen for at least 15 years – Bob Redwood, our former Export Sales Manager. He and his wife looked well.
Back home I typed up some notes to circulate around neighbours about the meeting. I doubt most will care. Anna cares! She’s sick of me swearing at the computer as it seizes when opening a web page.
Friday
On the count down to the in-laws house being sold (they have moved to a rather splendid home in Pocklington) then it is all hands to the pump to facilitate the sale. I initially stayed at home to receive four items of furniture that were being relocated to our house by two chaps in a white van. Two pieces are apparently being stored for the Favourite Eldest, as and when she buys a property. I reckon they’ll be going to the charity or community furniture store in due course, as that will never happen!
Then I got to drive to their house across York to dismantle some large furniture that we cannot palm off on a charity shop. Either it has glass in it or they couldn’t get it down the stairs. Speaking to other people who have emptied houses then they were similarly rueful at letting things go to the Household Waste Site or charity shops. We would have loved to have passed several quite expensive items onto a good home of someone we knew. Sadly no one has the need or space. When I got to the Household Waste Site it had a long queue and some folk were still unloading Christmas trees.
The reward for all this was lunch at Café 68 located within Cycle Heaven on Hospital Fields Road. Talking to Piers, the co-owner, he regaled us with a story about stopping at cricket legend Geoffrey Boycott’s house in Boston Spa, with other cyclists, for a bacon sandwich recently. GB was the complete host and the invite came through him knowing one of the cycle party. In fact after a couple of hours they all wanted to get off whilst Geoff kept talking!
It’s been six years since Grayson Capp’s last solo album but Scarlett Roses is well worth the wait. This sixth release is a compelling combination of interesting words, great tunes, arrangements and production values that elevate this to one of the best late 2017 releases.
Capps appears to have now settled in Mobile Bay with his family after spells in New Orleans and Nashville. On my cycling travels then I have a working knowledge of many parts of the USA. In fact I well remember the ferry ride from Dauphin Island across the neck of Mobile Bay in Alabama. On the other side of this brief ferry ride was a continuing route along the Gulf Coast to Florida. It transpires that I was only 30 miles away from Fairhope, Capps’ new domicile. A really beautiful place to live.
The album reflects on life and love. In fact the lyrics are a highlight – we trip from lightweight love ditties such as “Hold Me Darlin’” to the dreamy musings on, the title track, “Scarlett Roses”.
On this Capps explains “That song came to me in that whole whirlpool of dreams, mixing emotions about old love and daughters and sons and ageing parents, it’s an interesting thing that happens when you let yourself enter that relaxed, hypnotic trance state. You start singing and all these lyrics just start coming from all these different places.”
“I watched you sail out on the ocean’
For a land to find your dreams’
You held out scarlet colored roses’
And you threw them in the ocean’
And they floated right on back to me.”
The album, if it has to be placed in a genre, is very much Country Rock. The pop sensibilities blend nicely with Americana (and its rougher-hewn edges). The ‘Rock’ comes from the long time collaborator, Corky Hughes, who wields a mighty axe. His career has included Black Oak Arkansas and he can either deftly fill in or ignite with a blistering solo.
Such an opportunity presents itself on “Taos” where excoriating distortion with a brooding thumping backing track allows Capps to howl about a 1,500 mile drive across Louisiana, Texas to New Mexico. Eventually the song slowly grinds to a close with feedback. The speakers bubble and gurgle worthy of Neil Young. I can well imagine playing this frightening loud and beating the steering wheel as the miles slip beneath the wheels. Enormous.
“Bag Of Weed” is a James McMurtry type trip around the community with characters he comes across explained and sympathised with as they struggle. This cinematic song is pure Country in its melody and delivery. Capps has explained, when playing this live, that it serves as some form of antidote to the typical Nashville lyrics that have little resonance for him at least.
The album has shade and light in the sound. Production was shared between Hughes, Capps and Trina Shoemaker, his accomplished wife. Shoemaker has worked with Sheryl Crow, Brandi Carlile, Rodney Crowell and the Dixie Chicks.
“Moving On” showcases Capps attractive voice – it holds a melody beautifully and demonstrates its character with a slight huskiness. The song is a Country tune drenched in harmonies and harmonica with ‘Dicky Betts’ guitar signatures, a rolling gait rhythm supported by an acoustic foundation.
Capps in all his interviews seems to talk about finding peace. Clearly the album came together over a period of time; it gives an insight into his mindset as he clocks up a half century. On “New Again” he throws in some thoughts on growing old:
“I’m getting old, my friends have died
I never got to say goodbye,
The dead they don’t miss you when they’re gone
Me too I’ll up and die,
But for now I’m still alive”
Despite his reflections on mortality then I expect there’s life in him yet. If you’re new to this talent then I urge you to catch up.
Newcastle on a New Year’s Eve is cold and dank with temperatures hovering at around 5°C. However the hardy natives brought in the New Year with a septuagenarian sensation from America’s Deep South, Candi Staton, at the Sage Theatre in Gateshead (a bridge walk from Newcastle). She ran through her catalogue of Southern Soul and classic 1970’s disco. The audience, several possibly only a couple of decades behind Candi, were resplendent in their party outfits and danced in the aisles and lapped up this night of glitter ball action. The revellers had come down from Scotland and further south in England: such was the draw.
Twelve songs over 80 minutes showcased her long recording career from “I’d Rather Be An Old Man’s Sweetheart”, released in 1969, through to 2014’s knock out “I Ain’t Easy To Love” from the Life Happens album. Both songs she explained had come from her collaboration with Muscle Shoals, legend, Rick Hall. (I, for one, genuflected at this point. For diligent readers then you’ll recollect that I rode a bike from Toronto to Muscle Shoals, Alabama to stand in the immortal Fame Studios). Her career has had gaps and it is a wonderful that she is now back regularly releasing albums and appearing on stage, notably in Europe. A six-piece band included her son, Marcus Williams, on drums, and former Style Council founder, Mick Talbot, on keyboards knew their stuff and immediately hit a funky groove. There was no loitering here! The crowd were soon in motion.
Much of her earlier chart success came with disco covers and we were treated to “Stand By Your Man”, “In The Ghetto” and “Suspicious Minds”. Most of the audience could sing along even if they knew the songs as originals by Tammy and The King. With the audience now well into their stride throwing shapes she lit the afterburners and the opening chords of “Young Hearts, Run Free” brought the expected loud cheers and a surge of energy. “You’ve Got The Love” kept the fans up and moving before an encore of “Hallelujah Anyway”. Then she waved goodbye and was gone.
Aside from the music Candi recounted stories of the Chitlin’ Circuit (a circuit of live music venues in the South of the USA notorious for being less than salubrious) and ensuring payment by the brandishing of a small pistol. However, for all the bravado, this is a God fearing woman. She told us she was blessed to sail into 2018 after the losses of Billy Paul and Percy Sledge in recent years. In fact her explanation for her continuing to perform was that “God has a purpose for me… and my work ain’t done yet”. When she said this then I wondered where I stood on Divine Intervention and a Mark Cohn line from “Walking In Memphis” came to mind – “She said, ‘Tell me are you a Christian, child?’ And I said, ‘Ma’am, I am tonight!’”
I think we can all agree we were blessed. A completely wonderful evening.
Despite seeing The Average White Band live then it wasn’t until sometime later that I really got into this majestic Scottish Soul outfit and bought their records. I’d seen them supporting Wishbone Ash; sadly like most support bands I’ve ever seen then I just wished them away so that my reason for being at the gig could start.
The ‘White’ album by AWB has folklore attached to it and is revered in many circles as one of the very best Soul albums ever released. This improbable collection of Scotsmen found themselves in the USA after recording this, their second, album which their then record label, MCA, subsequently had no interest in releasing. By this stage the band had played together for some time and their ‘sound’, song writing and machine precision tightness had been developed to such a degree that Los Angeles rather than Dundee came to mind.
After the blow of rejection then as luck would have it they met Jerry Wexler (of Atlantic Records and the mentor of Aretha Franklin) at a party. They had their tapes with them. He knew gold when he heard it and the band were despatched to Florida to record the album, again, with legendary Soul producer, Arif Mardin.
This 40+ minutes of Soul nirvana caught the USA by surprise after it’s release by the very ‘whiteness’ of the band. Black radio stations happily (ignorant of its Caucasian origins) played the singles. Inevitably black audiences streamed into venues to witness the music first hand. Considerable amazement followed as six badly dressed and very hairy pale Scots strode onto the stage. The disappointment soon passed as the act caught fire.
The album also caught fire and made it’s way to the top of the US Billboard 200 and spawned the funky single “Pick Up The Pieces” with its repetitive signature riff and chorus. This ascended all the way to the top of the US charts (it had initially failed to chart in the UK) and possibly more remarkable was that the song was an instrumental.
Classic Soul Funk groups had that telepathy amongst them. These musicians produced such a tightly produced sound – it propelled your hips and feet as if you were being physically prodded. So it was with Alan Gorrie’s thumping bass, the technically sophisticated yet hypnotic drumming of Robbie McIntosh, the silky, catchy and driving rhythm guitar of Onnie McIntyre interplays with Hamish Stuart’s lead guitar. Add the saxophones of Roger Ball and ‘Molly’ Duncan and you’re transported to Soul heaven.
Nine of the 10 tracks are originals. Gorrie and Stuart share the vocals. Their plaintive tenor falsettos are heart felt and pleading throughout. When they share a vocal then the fit and harmonies are as tight as the rhythm section.
Not all the songs are turbo charged. When they take it down with “Just Wanna Love You Tonight” strings are introduced. We hear of an assignation before lovers are parted with a long tour lying ahead. The vocals are expressive and mellifluous.
After the romantic interlude they find another gear seamlessly and speed is regained with “Keepin’ It To Myself”. A sax introduction makes way for Gorrie’s vocal. More heartbreak unfolds as he concludes that he’s not sharing his love after yet more disappointment.
Aside from the Number 1 single then most memorable is the cover of the Isley Brothers’ “Work To Do”. I always liked the lyrics that explain to a long-suffering wife why he’s not home.
There are some amazing British exports, like Rolls Royce. Just like the car then AWB were amongst our most refined, high quality, beautifully crafted and unique gifts to the world.
So when are you mentally in the perfect place? A large glass of merlot, the fire crackling in the hearth and a boxset? Sitting on a park bench watching the kids on the swings as they whoop and scream? Well, mine would be on the bike rolling along through the countryside with a podcast keeping my attention.
I remember, on my rides in the USA, listening to various podcasts. Such was the pleasure that I can tell you where I was when I listened to the Word podcast with Rick Buckler’s story about The Jam (Interstate 61 in Louisiana), Ashley Hutchings talking about Sandy Denny (Natchez Trace Parkway, Tennessee) or Nicola Benedetti on Desert Island Discs (Interstate 50, Kansas). I can also tell you that I was climbing out of Gilling East on Thursday up a 10% gradient hill when I listened to a podcast about a book on David Bowie (David Bowie: A Life by Dylan Jones). It was an enjoyable ride but the gears kept slipping on the bike and the temperature was hovering at about 1°C.
There was one hilarious story about Bowie’s relocation to Switzerland (to avoid UK tax and his drug dealers) that resulted in him living up a mountain. However one night at 5.30pm came a knock on the door. “Hello David”. It was Roger Moore! A delighted Bowie invited him in for tea and they got on so famously that drinks and dinner followed. The next day – knock, knock. “Hello David”. This continued to the point that around 5pm most nights Bowie extinguished the lights and hid under the kitchen table to avoid “Hello David”. By this time I was on the outskirts of York but with no feeling in my fingers.
Christmas brings stupid time pressures doesn’t it? We have a leaking shower pump and needed to have a plumber visit to replace it. Eventually in time these things get resolved. However, close to Christmas tradesmen stop working and the arrival of guests over Christmas meant resolution was important. I’m pleased to say that a plumber did turn up but with the wrong parts and then had to make various calls and depart to Plumb Center to get the correct bits. (I shouldn’t complain as I made quite a decent living latterly trying to help organisations stop this type of wasteful running around). You’ll be relieved to know that in any case I had a fall back plan of fitting a rose to a hosepipe and sluicing down close relatives outside the back door.
Famous Belgians anyone? I was drawn to the headline that Hercule Poirot and his fellow countrymen were now stopping the Telegram Service. Apparently, it was now only used by bailiffs! In an age where even sending Christmas cards by post seems beyond obsolete then I can well remember telegrams that came for our wedding and even some when I was at boarding school. In fact who doesn’t enjoy the pleasure of receiving a long informative letter from a friend through the post? Along with vinyl records, dandelion and burdock, people domiciled in the UK on Call Centre phone lines and Huddersfield Town, in the top division of football, then I reckon they may be back eventually. No doubt some Californian 19 year old entrepreneur will think that the joy of having a bloke perspiring in a uniform (after leaping from his motorbike) delivering a message on paper from someone in Papua New Guinea might be quite thrilling. He’d be right.
The BBC Sports Personality Of The Year came around and the public voted for Mo Farah. I can’t be bothered to watch it (nearly three hours of Gary Lineker?) but I do take an interest in the winner mainly because it can rank up there with The Eurovision Song Contest for stupidity. I note that Chris Froome with four Tour de France victories and One Vuelta victory didn’t get the nod. Ten years ago we’d have given him an Earldom, let alone a trophy, for what he has achieved on the bike. Clearly there’s the small matter of being a bit liberal with asthma medication to overcome. I hope he does. I have to say that as a Kenyan he’s done us proud.
Before I stop talking about cycling then I must report on feline developments. I subscribe to a Facebook Forum for cycle touring and you get some ‘dumb as bat shit’ stuff on here but my latest favourite was the following question:
Needless to say that as most of the correspondents are American then several took this very seriously (apologies to any US readers!) I was concerned about the cat’s safety and enquired as to how it would wear a helmet? Someone logically answered that this wouldn’t be needed because they always landed on their feet. Silly me, of course.
A pre-Christmas family tradition of a team event saw the four of us travel to Whitby (Yorkshire coast). There were sharp divisions on where to eat and more importantly what to eat. The ‘I’m virtuous and eating like a mouse’ faction were having nothing to do with Fish & Chips or a Full English Breakfast. Eventually the ‘normal and eat anything’ wing reached an amicable solution and father got his full English whilst the tallest of the offspring had a sausage sandwich. Meanwhile the ‘virtuous’ nibbled toasted teacakes. However, this visit made these pages as the eldest spotted Mr & Mrs Lawson perambulating around the town. Alison and Peter were visiting relatives from Edinburgh. Peter and I used to work together, probably shortly after decimalisation, but more importantly we have cycled a few thousand miles together in Europe. They were intercepted for a cup of tea and a catch up. A lovely additional Christmas present.
The gym has hideous vacuous pop music playing music and TV’s showing the types of thing that you always wondered who watched them. So as I’m stretching and stuff I’m drawn to a Christmas film (Holiday In Handcuffs) that has a scene where a daughter is pleading with her father not to tell embarrassing jokes, like he does with waitresses in restaurants, when her boyfriend makes a planned appearance. Funnily enough I know a man like that…
It was strange to be asked for my Top 10 albums of the year by the folk I write for. I’ve spent a lifetime poring over various lists every Christmas and now I had to submit mine! What is clear then you are conflicted as you compile the list: do you pick the most worthy, adventurous and surprising releases or something, a little more honest, that you’re likely to play again?
For me I decided to pick two lists. One is the stuff I enjoyed from 2017 releases. I think I can explain why I liked them so much and you may find it somewhere as a ‘Record Of The Week’ on the blog. The other list is a list of albums that I have bought and become absorbed with in 2017. Although you’ll note they are old; most are vinyl which were a complete pleasure to track down. Revisiting old albums and or artists is a joy – like meeting up with old friends.
Eternal gratitude to Calvin Powers, The Mighty Jessney (Steve) and Duncan Warwick who gave me so much music that it was nearly overwhelming. With what I bought and what I received then I listened to circa 210 new albums (to me) this year. That’s in addition to my usual listening to older stuff. I seldom passed a charity shop or HMV in York without buying something. In addition I bought albums this year in Leeds, London, Vancouver, Calgary, Stuttgart, Helsinki, Nuremberg and I looked in every other holiday destination I visited!
Streaming doesn’t work for me with poor internet in Acaster Malbis and I have to admit to being a ‘collector’.
2017 Releases
John Moreland Big Bad Luv
Tyler Childers Purgatory
Amanda Anne Platt & The Honeycutters
Courtney Marie Andrews Honest life
The War On Drugs A Deeper Understanding
Lukas Nelson & The Promise Of The Real
Miranda Lambert The Weight Of These Wings
Lee Ann Womack The Lonely, The Lonesome & The Gone
Hurricane Ruth Ain’t Ready For The Grave
Zephaniah OHora With The 18 Wheelers This Highway
Bought & Enjoyed In 2017
The Rolling Stones Exile on Main Street (1972)
Millie Jackson Just A Lil’ Bit Country (1981)
Humble Pie Smokin’ (1972)
10cc The Original Soundtrack (1975)
Candi Staton Music Speaks Louder Than Words (1977)
Vinegar Joe Rock ’n Roll Gypsies (1972)
Cat Stevens Tea For The Tillerman (1970)
Marcia Ball Live! Down The Road (2005)
The Average White Band Put It Where You Want It (1975)
Carlos Santana & John McLaughlin Love, Devotion & Surrender (1973)
As I’ve got steadily more into the Blues and Americana it became self evident that there is a lot to discover in The Rolling Stones’ late 1960’s and early 1970’s catalogue. My conversion started with Sticky Fingers. The 2016 Blue & Lonesome was confirmation that they were the real thing and their legend is built on some wonderful foundations. Exile, for me, was an overlong and messy confection. A double album with a couple of decent tunes on it?
My ‘Road to Damascus’ moment came when I was introduced (thanks Sooty) to a 2016 re-mastered vinyl version. The album was cut using specialist half speed mastering. This results in a superior high frequency response. So gone is all that mushy sound and now you can pick out the vocals and instruments. It was a revelation!
The album has a story beside the music. In 1972 the Stones became expatriates as they escaped British tax rates (top rate of 83%!), drug busts and contract battles. Keith Richards became a resident at Chateau Nellcôte near Villefranche-sur-Mer (Nice) in the South of France. It was here that the album was initially recorded. The stories abound about recording between 8pm and 3am most days and along the way Richards and half the musicians were high on heroin and booze whilst Jagger, Wyman and Watts made sporadic appearances to complete the record. Richards’ drug problems were so horrific that he was eventually banned from France, in 1973, for two years.
For all this then the Stones were in their pomp and magic came to pass. The album has that dirty bluesy rock n’ roll feel throughout and the irreverence and looseness suggests that they were beyond caring about the sensibilities of those more supposedly respectable.
The first of 18 tracks is “Rocks Off” a full throttle rocker with the horns and Nicky Hopkins’ piano driving it along. Maybe the listener starts to get a feel for the party that’s going on behind this:
“Feel so hypnotized, can’t describe the scene. Feel so mesmerized all that inside me. The sunshine bores the daylights out of me. Chasing shadows moonlight mystery. Headed for the overload”
We’re on our way.
Mick Taylor was holding down the present day Ronnie Wood position. Possibly the most accomplished guitarist the Stones ever had. Less pleasing to Jagger, because of his disruptive drug fuelled behaviour, was Bobby Keys. However, immediately you can hear his saxophone giving the whole album a Soul feel. “Shake Your Hips” isn’t a Stones composition but a cover of Slim Harpo’s who wrote it in 1965. It’s hypnotic percussive rhythm would have an audience up immediately. However, they won’t be sitting down anytime soon as we move onto “Casino Boogie” (with Taylor’s beautiful outro solo) and then finish side one with “Tumbling Dice”.
Phew. Epic
Side Two starts with “Sweet Virginia”. A great Country Blues song led off by Jagger on harp. Following we have three throttled back ballads but someone steps on the gas on “Loving Cup”. Jagger lays into a gutsy vocal. The song had a subsequent controversy when their previous manager, Allen Klein sued them for royalties claiming that the song was written during the time they were under contract to his company. Very rock ‘n roll.
“Happy” opens Side Three. This is a concert favourite when Mick leaves the stage and Keith croaks his way through this song. Apparently on one recording day Richards came to the studio early before the other band members showed up, found a riff and they recorded it with subsequent vocals and instruments added later. “Ventilator Blues” is a funky thing and Mick Taylor has no doubt been privately educating his kids with a share of the royalties that came from composing this with Jagger and Richards. “I Just Want To See His Face” references Jesus and is like a Soul coda with call and response – so different and innovative. As is the gospel ballad “Let It Loose” with female chorus harmonies, distorted guitars and horns accompaniment with Keys (sax) and Price (trumpet) providing backing for the ladies to take this gem home. This has never been subsequently played live but has ended up on two film soundtracks. My favourite track on the album.
I can’t believe there is another side to go!
Side Four rocks out starting with “All Down The Line” that seems to be an arrangement that we hear a lot of in later albums. Next the cover of Robert Johnson’s “Stop Breaking Down (Blues)” is without doubt the best cover of this standard. The band light it up with howling harmonica and great muscular guitar passages. All other efforts by latter day Blues luminaries are damp squibs compared to this. “Shine A Light” apparently is about Brian Jones and started life under Allen Klein’s management and became another legal dispute. As in all these histories about the album and songs then you have to be sceptical but it is a fine rocker with gospel leanings and a wonderful vocal. “Soul Survivor” ends the journey and what a journey it is.
There is a lot to discover and love. If some of the immense anthems and commercial classics were the earlier phase then this was a ‘back to basics’ package. Given that Richards was operating on automatic for another decade, as his addictions led him by the nose, you do feel that Jagger took control and led them into a patchy future of hits and outtakes on future albums. This is possibly forgivable as who was pushing or buying Blues and Country Rock albums in the Eighties or Nineties? Whatever the facts then the later records are out there awaiting my discovery and dissection. Can’t wait.
Ruth LaMaster, resident of St Louis, had three previous albums but wanted to move up a level with the next. To do this she persuaded drummer, Blues Rock producer and Grammy winner, Tom Hambridge, to lead the team. Magic ensued. Tom Hambridge has sat in with many luminaries and recent production credits include Buddy Guy and Mike Zito’s last barnstormer, Make Blues Not War. She knew what she was doing with this recruitment.
The calibre of musicians is weapon grade with ex sidemen for Stevie Ray Vaughan, Eric Clapton and Joe Bonamassa. Hambridge places her up front; with that lungpower and charisma the results are fabulous. McMaster spends a lot of time on the road and it is no surprise the first track is “Barrelhouse Joe’s”. An easy swing rhythm tells you about ‘rolling till the break of dawn…’ and gives you a clue as to the type of night you might experience! Guitars and piano interplay.
“Far From The Cradle” (but we ain’t ready for the grave) allows the band to take it down for a 12 bar Blues. A wondrous guitar passage between Pat Buchanan and Rob McNelley leads off before Reese Wynams, on piano, takes his solo. The song was inspired by her father and her start at his bar where she used to sing. In the meanwhile we hear McMaster sing the hell out of the song. “My Heart Aches For You” is more slow Blues, an organ grumbles in the background before a beautiful picked guitar solo allows her to step away from the microphone to catch her breath. Think of a female Bobby ‘Blues’ Bland.
McMaster can sing at any volume and shows mellifluous tones when the lights are dimmed or delivering a stadium raunchy bellow if the song demands it. Pace changes demonstrate the flexibility and ability of McMaster to own the whole spectrum of the Blues.
“Estilene” is lively heartfelt advice to a ‘preacher’s daughter’ to leave married men alone (as it won’t lead to a long happy love). Hey, Ruth this is the Blues, so what did you expect? Out of the 12 tracks then nine are originals co written between McMaster and Hambridge but there is no doubt about the origins of “Whole Lotta Rosie”. Vintage AC/DC gets an authentic rerun. McMaster’s vocal is terrific with the rap introduction before the band hits the Australian groove. With a true Bon Scott plaintive howl she kills it.
A Willie Dixon compliment about her voice led to the name. He compared her vocals to a hurricane. He called it right. She’s not particularly famous and says she’s ‘humble and hard working’. Maybe this heat inducing 53 minutes can propel her to greater things.
The present Mrs Ives leapt out of bed this morning and threw back the curtains hoping to see snow. In fact I think it is another BBC pre-occupation. Lord, how they love floods, torrential rain, drought etc. It seems a way of keeping the BBC regions busy in posting footage of weedy little presenters stood in the middle of nowhere against a backdrop of falling snow whilst a Land Rover manfully drags a Vauxhall Corsa out of a ditch. So I’m not impressed. Well I wasn’t until I saw a Deliveroo bike rider spinning down a slushy road as large wet flakes descended on him as he wearily pedalled toward to some residential location to deliver a cold pizza. I like riding a bike… but respect.
I keep seeing references to one of my favourite boxsets – House Of Cards. The story being that Kevin Spacey has been sacked and it will now battle on without him. Frankly, it was out on its legs as regards the storyline before he was ‘outed’ as a sexual predator. However money talks and Robin Wright will soldier on with dwindling viewing figures.
The point I wanted to raise was that Hollywood seems to have many empowered females and men who Tweet or end up on platforms denouncing Trump, most things Right of Centre and sometimes worthy causes like land mines, African poverty and the like. They most certainly have now come out against Weinstein, Spacey and a whole raft of US TV personalities. Quite right too. But we need to cut to the chase as to the credibility of all these keyboard warriors on their own lives and the abuse around them in the industry.
Spacey and Weinstein must have been known, to men and women alike, as horrid and intimidating people who have abused, at will, for decades. Did it suit all and sundry to turn a blind eye to this appalling state of affairs? Of course it did! It all damages how interested I will be when their next Tweet tells me about some unbelievable political outrage.
As regards giving the old boy an outing I was instructed to point the Merc toward Chatsworth House near Chesterfield during the week. This splendid stately home was holding a Christmas market in the grounds as well as presenting part of the house with a Dickens Christmas theme. As expected there were plenty of opportunities to buy stuff. However, I have to report that after Anna’s skirmish with Chinese made products in Canada she is now very skeptical about all these ‘local crafts’. After leaving the House we found a farm shop on the Chatsworth estate and bought some delicious fresh produce. In fact the shop is nearly worth the drive alone.
Talking about celebrities then I went for a bike fit recently. Andy Fraser was the man who took all my measurements and then sat me on a bike jig and with lasers tried to get me set up right. So apart from learning that I am shrinking (don’t tell my youngest daughter who’s convinced I am a dwarf in any case), that I have one foot shorter than the other and have the hip flexibility of an oak tree it was all good. For the perspicacious amongst you then will note that he shares his name with a legendary bass player (of Free). So we got to discussing music and he plays in a band. They had their moments in the spotlight including playing a festival in Sandbach. At the said event they went on stage after Ray LaMontagne. I have to say that I have all the albums by this American Singer Songwriter; he’s wonderful. A quick look at Wikipedia revealed:
“In 2009 LaMontagne paid $1.05 million for a 103-acre farm in Ashfield, Massachusetts, the former residence of U.S. Ambassador William C. Bullitt, where he lives with his wife, Sarah Sousa, and their two children in the farmhouse built in 1830”.
Andy, it could have been so different.
So how many of you have been to a World Cup Final? The recent appearance of the England Rugby League team in the Final against Australia brought to mind my attendance in 1970. The Final was played at the Leeds RL Club ground. The game is noted for England’s defeat and it being an almighty punch up.
I was exhorted by the present Mrs Ives to try and empty the garage. It is undoubtedly full to the rafters including bikes and a car. Under scrutiny was a large oak box (and lid) that I had kept with a plan to transform it from a crate to furniture. Despite her observation of woodworm then I was still wavering about its retention until she hit a nerve – “doesn’t the Morgan have wood in it?” At this point a quick decision was made to take the box to the tip.
As I continue to live with a less than perfect knee then I volunteered to go for an MRI scan. This was done at a unit attached to the University of York. So I spent 20 minutes lying absolutely still whilst I was slid into a tunnel. For my £310 the images now get despatched electronically to somewhere in the world where a musculoskeletal expert looks at it and then sends it back to my physiotherapist. The results were not all that bad and hopefully I can delay ordering a wooden leg for some time to come.
Friday saw me in London meeting up with four old friends. The first, of the party, Neil I met in 1974 when we shared digs as we attended Manchester Polytechnic. The others were added in 1978 (Paul, Tim and Peter) when I worked for Ford Tractor Operations in Basildon. We dined at The Hawksmoor at Seven Dials and ran up a bill of £314 and one of the party had only one course and left early! Needless to say we met in a pub beforehand and some of us adjoined to one afterwards!
(Four friends Tony? The picture shows three? I’d love to report that Crockford was under the table paralytic but less excitingly he was hauled out early to help his wife with her West End coat shopping).
There is frankly nothing but joy about a Royal Wedding. In the scheme of things then they don’t ordinarily work out well but in the first instance you have to be pleased for the happy couple. What Meghan is marrying into seems beyond comprehension. For an independent and wealthy woman her life will now be a tabloid hell until her first child. She must love him. After motherhood then a woman in her forties with a young family will not be of great interest. Hopefully, in the interim, she can keep a naked Harry out of Las Vegas hotel rooms with other nubile women carrying mobile phones.
Like the rest of the nation then I wish them health and happiness… and a day off work for my daughters would be nice whilst we watch the wedding.
Tony Ives’ Blog 