All posts by tonyives

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About tonyives

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.

My First Full Time Job – Week 45 : 2024

Journal, , , ,

My first full time job was at a factory in Gainsborough, Lincolnshire where I joined as a graduate trainee. It was a steep learning curve going from a happy go lucky student to a salaried employee. Relatively recently I’d found a page on Facebook talking about the company, Aveling Marshall. Sadly, the company is long shut and the factory in Gainsborough is now a shopping precinct! No doubt the size and reach of the global construction and agricultural manufacturers was always going to see off a little player. In following the Facebook page I got into a conversation with the author/administrator (Ian Palmer). He asked if I’d write up my time there for a quarterly magazine he published. See below.

To make this remotely interesting for the readers of the magazine I’ve peppered it with the names of staff I worked with. Unfortunately I never did get to know the names of the two strippers…

“When Ian asked me to write about my time at Marshalls I really hadn’t thought a great deal, for 46 years, about those two years at the Britannia Works, I now realise how much that time was integral to my growing up and an early education in business. I graduated from Manchester Polytechnic in the summer of 1976, at the tender age of 21,  I had no idea what I’d do but my then graduate girlfriend signed up with a recruitment agency; so I did! They found the opportunity with Aveling Marshall and I trundled down to Gainsborough to meet the Training Manager, Peter Watkins. All I knew was that they were part of Leyland Special Products. This group contained the makers of refrigeration, military personnel carriers, dump and fork lift trucks and construction equipment. He asked if I was interested in Finance or Purchasing? With little thought but aware I’d taken three attempts to pass O Level Mathematics I plumped for the latter! From here I had a second successful interview with the Purchasing Director, John Walker and on October 4 (after a telegram advising of my successful application) I turned up for work on the princely sum of £2,512 pa.

The product portfolio was the Challenger, road rollers and Track Marshalls AM 100 and 105 although new products were coming. Overall in the Purchasing Department I had three jobs: Purchase Analyst, Buyer and Senior Buyer. My recollections of the first job were the pricing up of many pages of A3 size Bills of Materials. These Bills related to machines being transferred from Aveling Barford, namely the articulated wheel loaders/shovels. The hundreds of sheets bore down into exceptional detail and I well remember pricing thousands of fasteners! Doing this today with a laptop and spreadsheet would have been easy and relatively fast. With a biro and Tippex I just about got there although I’m sure the accuracy of all these manual entries would have been dubious. Not all the time was spent in the office I had a couple of several week blocks away at a college in St Helens doing a qualification in Purchasing. I must thank Aveling Marshall for a post graduate qualification from the Institute of Purchasing & Supply.

A Track Marshall crawler tractor

Shortly after I joined a Purchasing Manager was recruited, David Forman. David loved a document and I well remember his spending what seemed weeks designing dedicated Kalamazoo cards that kept all the detail about components on them. These were stored in a special filing cabinets. I think the administrative staff in the department kept them up to date. This must have been either Pearl, Shirley or Sandra. I’m still in touch with Sandra today who is a proud grandmother who still lives local to Gainsborough. When we worked together we’d have been amazed to envisage ourselves now as grandparents! I was sat next to Lennie Auckland. Lennie was in his sixties and was a kind and helpful guy who was fiercely proud of the town and drove a three speed Ford Popular. This car seemed ancient even then! I had been given a Triumph Herald by my parents a few years earlier but using the Leyland car discount I bought a Triumph Spitfire. I’m not sure how I found the money: no doubt a lot of debt.

Other staff included David May, Steve Tonks, Dyer who delighted in answering the phone with “Dyer here”, Cameron, a Scotsman, who could have three lit cigarettes on the go as he moved around the office from desk, to filing cabinets to other offices, Neil, a Jehovah’s witness and Alan who looked after non-production purchases.

The tractors are still common on the beaches of Norfolk taking and retrieving fishing boats out of the sea. I snapped this on a holiday.

It was an era of high inflation and suppliers sought regular uplifts. In line with the Government’s Price and Incomes Policy there was a lot of bureaucracy and justification sought. (Frankly, ask a supplier to justify an increase then they can!) However, I remember being sat in John Walker’s office as he often put suppliers to the sword trying to get the increases reduced. Also, in John’s office Cathy would appear with a memo from her boss the Managing Director, Fred Clem. All Fred’s memos were on green stationary. He was an elusive figure but I well recollect a dinner where he posed all the graduates the question ‘if you had one component in stock and you had a request from a customer via the Spares/Parts department for it or you could fit it to a new tractor and sell that unit what should you do?’ The correct answer, in an industry that depended on service and equipment to work 16 hours a day, was to sell it as spares.

As I got used to turning up for work five days a week I also got used to wearing a suit and tie. I recollect trying to make the same shirt last three days before I might disappear back to Leeds for my mother to do the laundry. Eventually I moved from week day digs in Torksey to a flat in Gainsborough where I moved in with Mike Gordon, another graduate recruit. This Scot joined as a Profit Analyst. He ruefully commented, after several months, that a better title would have been Loss Analyst! The week nights seem to have been spent listening to vinyl at the top of this two storey abode and I think I wore out Boston’s first album along with Peter Gabriel’s first solo album. However, the weekends could see us drive to the metropolis that was Retford to a disco. Alternatively, it could be a trip to Cleethorpes to see The Stranglers. It was the height of punk rock and I still have all my Sex Pistols 45’s. Sunday morning saw me often donning a white shirt and any other kit and striding out to play for the mighty Real Aveling football team. I only scored once from full back and I think I can remember the exact move and how I stroked it under the ‘keeper. Clearly I never scored many goals! If that was memorable so was the night at the Social Club when two strippers were on the bill. It just seems inconceivable that today a company venue would be used for such entertainment!

‘The Indestructible caterpillar returns’ – a poster I took when I left and had mounted.

After a couple of years I became restless and started to look for a move away. I wrote to Ford Tractor Operations in Basildon to join as a buyer and was successful and departed to Essex. I eventually left Ford to study for a Master in Business in Administration full time at the University of Bradford. I didn’t return to Ford but took a job as a Purchasing Manager at a furniture manufacturer in Yorkshire. I spent 23 years here rising to be a director and moving eventually into sales, marketing and then running their nationwide cabinet installation. The company had sales in excess of £100m and was the subsidiary of an American company. Today I’m very much retired and apart from family responsibilities I like to spend time riding my bike whether in the Yorkshire Wolds, across the USA, around Australia or all over Europe.

Wonderful memories. Thank you, Ian, for this trip down memory lane.”

Jesus was a physio (exclusive) – Week 44 : 2024

Journal

For those of you who followed Anna’s ankle break with concern then I’m delighted to tell you that 11 weeks after the unfortunate backwards step on to an Austrian mountain forest tree root she’s made fabulous progress. Only wearing a (ski style) boot outside she’s mobile and gaining confidence every day. It helps that she’s diligently keeping to the physio’s twice daily programme. The next big step (not literally) will be being allowed to drive. For me this will have the downside that having learned where the ladies who do her hair or nails, in the surrounding villages, reside I will no longer have to chauffeur her there and then twiddle my thumbs for an hour. I did previously report my bemusement at spinning around Tesco in search of items that I had never heard of let alone shopped for. This problem ended when Anna started to drive herself around.

Anna Louise Hamilton

Staying with the family then we continue to delight in our granddaughter. She has a sweet and fun disposition: clearly that hereditary gene can be traced to me. Although I suspect the other females in the tribe may wish to debate this. Her mother recently declared at 9 or 10 months old she had reached the ‘dog stage’. Jarring a little we sought clarification. Firstly, she’s always pleased to see you, next she watches you intensively as you eat and, lastly, she is capable of tricks. I would have previously rolled my eyes at other parents or grandparents proprietorial pride when she responds to your clapping by clapping back!

Now possessing the acceleration of a Ferrari she was retrieved from the stairs as quickly as we could!

I had to smile when Gary Richardson announced his retirement. He covered sport on the BBC Radio Four ‘Today’ programme and had his own Sunday morning show for literally decades. Moores’ (one of my former employers) hired Gary to speak at a golf dinner we hosted at The Belfry. As Sales Director I hosted the evening dinner that included lots of prizes being handed out and Gary’s talk. (No, I didn’t play but turned up in the evening!) He was very entertaining and opined to the diners that he’d once personally lent me £3,000 but hadn’t seen me since until now. However, on balance he thought it was probably money well spent to secure my long term absence! Following this night he invited my favourite eldest daughter and myself to visit the BBC studios in Shepherd’s Bush to look around and then sit with the producers whilst the Sunday morning show went out live. Great memories.

Gary Richardson

On a bike ride I recently entered in to a theological discourse in my head, or helmet to be precise. As we know Jesus is reported as laying hands on various unwell folk and suddenly their incapacity vanished. Maybe Jesus was a physio? This seemed a possibility as I have often had cause to submit to the ministrations of various practitioners around York. Their healing can be immediate and I too have ‘picked up my mat’ and scurried into the car park, poorer, but restored. Clearly not as exciting as the possibility of a miracle but, I jest ye not, my proposition needs considering.

I’m well aware that in my leadership position that my thoughts on fashion will be sought after. King Charles needs a makeover. This profound observation came after a friend’s (Bea) mother clocked up her 100th birthday. This pin sharp observer, whilst pleased to receive the card, did immediately see a likeness of the King and Queen to Albert Arkwright and Nurse Emmanuel from Open All Hours .

(Sorry if the sight of the Royal card ruins the surprise for my various readers approaching a century.)

I accept the old boy is knocking on and dealing (brilliantly) with his illness. However, whilst I’m not convinced that the Royals are overly relevant as we plod into the 21st Century I do think they could look less like a relic. Charles needs a haircut. A balding bloke with a wispy grey hair combover and a selection of suits (often creased or baggy) and tropical climate casual shirts that appear to have come from the stage wardrobe of an Agatha Christie revival simply need to go. Next time I discuss the crowd pleasing merits of Prince William in an Aston Villa away shirt…

Record Of The Week # 160

Music, , , ,

Billy Strings – Highway Prayers

With an album recorded at the beginning of the year Strings is back. In the interim he’s been touring and debuting the songs. A fan delight amongst comments on his social media is that they’re now recorded. His trajectory has been vertical. Widely feted by music or broadsheet media as a precocious talent; the narrative has been that he’d kicked his early years substance misuse and grew up with a taste for rock but whose heart lay in roots music after the influence of his stepfather. Always a major bluegrass act he’s now one that’s global.

 We should treasure Strings for many reasons but not least because he’s made bluegrass an arena genre and brought it to many new ears. With so much pap filling the country charts and arenas it’s heartening, that with no compromises, he’s packing them in. He’s a musician who’s stretched the genre and popularised roots music with his rockstar vibe. This release, with its muscle car sleeve, is traditional roots music and throughout you are bathed in his acoustic mastery along with some other brilliant players in his band.

Strings wrote or co-wrote all 20 tracks and I’m pleased to see Thomm Jutz help out on three. The musicianship is peerless throughout with banjo (Billy Failing), bass (Royal Masat), mandolin (Jarrod Walker) and fiddle (Alex Hargreaves) keeping pace with his guitar pyrotechnics. Whilst faithful to bluegrass throughout there are a breadth of ideas and sounds within the genre. Three instrumentals sit with songs with his vocals that contain interesting lyrics whether a traditional dark and haunting bluegrass story about murder (My Alice), sad and happy love stories (Be Your Man, Don’t Be Calling Me (At 4AM) and Cabin Song), hell raising (Leadfoot) and smoking marijuana (MORBUD4ME and Catch and Release). On this latter song Strings tells of driving to a fishing spot whilst enjoying a smoke. Unfortunately, a State Trooper detains him by the side of the road and detects the dreaded weed. It’s all done with a Charlie Daniels’ comic tongue in cheek delivery à la Uneasy Rider.

Strings has a pleasing tenor voice and on occasion it’s a focus such as on Leaning on a Travellin’ Song that starts with just male harmony vocals over an acoustic guitar that delight or the sublime accapella Richard Petty (a dearly departed NASCAR racer) and Stratosphere Blues/I Believe In You where he slips from bluegrass to sophisticated folk. It’s maybe here that you detect the fingerprints of John Brion who co-produced the album with Strings. Seemingly Brion has no prior credentials in country or roots music yet has previously worked with singer songwriters such as Aimee Mann and Fiona Apple. An hour and a quarter of solid bluegrass might not be my chosen destination but this album is so sweet, jammed with melodies, phenomenal musicianship and enchanting vocals that I shall not complain as it sweeps up, royally, in the end of the year polls and awards.

The Grey Nomads Head South

Travel, , , ,

Primo Giorno

After a little negotiation and the loss of one nomad, Tim, Rome was selected as the destination for old friends Paul, Neil and moi to head in October. The three of us had been friends since the 1970s and as reunions go we’d set the bar high by a sojourn to Malaga in 2023. The Italian capital ticked all the boxes for culture, cuisine, was warm in October and walkable. Inevitably I had to rise at Stupid O’Clock to attend Leeds Bradford Airport for the Jet2 flight. Sampling Yorkshire cuisine for the last time in four days I feasted on a Greggs bacon sandwich before boarding.

As a bloke with too much to say I was soon attempting to pass the two hours and 50 minutes by talking with my neighbouring passenger. She was looking around Rome with her partner before starting a cruise for a week or so from the coastal port near the city. I’m interested in people’s lives and her aubergine spiky hair sat on top of a retired Primary School music teacher. She was now spending time in more leisurely pursuits; this included playing and teaching steel drums. A long discussion ensued about the chord structures they played and how the hell you kept the lid of an oil drum in tune. Anyone earwigging this conversation would have probably found themselves shortly drifting into an unconscious state. Anyway, not the most obvious musical pursuit for someone who lived between Leeds and Wakefield.

At Fiumicino I eventually tracked down Paul, who’d flown in earlier from London, and we took a taxi to the city. The last time I caught a taxi in Rome was 1987. My honeymoon. My lasting memory was being ripped off by the driver. In fairness it was something like 40,000 Lira and it was easy when man handling a half inch wad of notes to accidentally chuck in an extra 10,000. Comfortingly there was a fixed fee of €55 and so the potential for malarky was reduced. On arrival in the centre, we were in need of hydration.

The first of the holiday

Hydration proved essential as the apartment lay at the top of 66 steps and we perched over a narrow street at a great height. Anna had taken over the search and booking after the three of us, earlier in the year, had drawn a blank on finding an affordable apartment with three bedrooms.

Checking in took 40 minutes. Andrea let us in and then began extracting further money. I had known this was coming. Sadly, our team bursar, Neil wasn’t arriving until later and the administration fell to me whilst Paul took photos and had hysterics as we progressed onto the next payment.

Andrea and a bemused victim of VRBO

In short there was a cleaning fee of just over £96 (yes, I know daylight robbery), a damage deposit of €150 and a city tax of €6 per person per day. All this required bringing up website links and the tapping in of credit card details that serially failed until the umpteenth attempt.

With Andrea considerably richer and gone we decided to procure some groceries and get another drink!

A nice drop of Baccanera

Grocery shopping needed to be thorough as living at the top of 66 steps would have had Sherpa Tenzing and Sir Edmund Hillary drawing lots to see who was popping out to get the milk. Eventually Neil arrived after being delayed by the scene of a car crash on his way. His appearance initiated the tricky allocation of rooms. Two were large with double beds and the third was adequate but more accurately described as a hutch. I’d found a random number generator on the web and we decided that the lowest number would be the loser. It was a best of five competition. (Sadly) Neil was eliminated early on leaving Paul and myself to ‘fight it out’. I’m pleased to report a happy ending with Paul securing the hutch.

Dinner was around the corner where Paul set about a steak so inadequately cooked that a good vet would have had the cow running around in no time. Neil ate the first of his several pizzas on his brief stay in Italy and my dish was so remarkable I’ve completely forgotten what it was. Sleep didn’t follow quickly as the town was buzzing and the narrow street amplified the revelling crowds below through our windows. Paul’s hutch was insulated by an internal wall and was no doubt looking at the inside of his eyelids shortly after his head hit the pillow.

Secondo Giorno

Fortified by our breakfast we ventured into the rain to find the Pantheon. This is a former temple and is a remarkable structure. It seemed the site had a few incarnations before it appeared in its current form in AD 125. The engineering blew me away as the symmetry and design given it antiquity were exceptional. Paul quickly identified the real achievement: with a nine metre round aperture in the self-supported roof the light inside the building was just about adequate on its own. Latterly it had a Christian adaptation but the scale and magnificence showed the ambition and confidence of the Romans millennia ago.

The Pantheon
Our two heroes start the video…

If we’d thought, foolishly, that visiting Rome in October would be a time of year when tourism may have abated we were oh so wrong. The city was heaving and there were a mix of Far Eastern tourists, usually wandering around with their face lit brightly by their phones as they photographed literally everything, burly Americans finding it hard to navigate the hoards due to their bulk whilst attempting to follow their tour leader who was babbling into a microphone about the finer points of the Roman Empire and South Americans who, I suspect, were here for the religious significance. And some of the Brits were struggling to cope with the concept that falling rain made you wet.

From here we dodged the raindrops and headed to the magnificent Victor Emmanual II monument. Vic was the first king of the united Italy and was a relatively recent installation; only completed in 1935. After visiting the church behind the monument, we saw where the Forum and Colosseum were before heading across the Tiber for a Vatican tour.

Scaffolding is a common sight!

As we approached the meeting point Neil received a call to say it was cancelled! There wasn’t sufficient capacity in the attraction to cater for all the tourists. It wouldn’t ‘dismantle’ our visit with disappointment but there were lots of foreign Catholic worshipping tourists who I’m sure had come to Rome as a literal pilgrimage. This confirmed how busy Rome was as a tourist destination. No matter, we absorbed the blow and pacified Neil with more pizza.

After this fine dining we were still bemused by the cancellation and visited a local ticket booking agency to confirm this was true. The Indian proprietor confirmed ‘absolutely’. He also said Rome was inexplicably busy! He recommended we wander down to St Peter’s Square and join a queue. In the continuing rain we did as he recommended. Neil was now wearing a pullover that absorbed the rain perfectly. Here we looked at the queue and spent 15 minutes trying to find the end of it and then spent 90 minutes in it. The visit to St Peter’s Basilica was worth the wait.

(Note Paul’s flat hat. Whippets were not allowed in the basilica)
No sighting of Il Papa at the St Peter Basilica

It’s a remarkable structure and the marble, gold leaf and paintings are sumptuous and it must be the ‘Disneyland’ of cathedrals. Around every corner there’s a new amazing sculpture or painting. Sadly, a trip up the cupola wasn’t possible due to a service taking place.

So, as we wandered back we had a beer and Paul reviewed his restaurant options. John, a well-travelled friend of Paul’s, had given him a list and we hoped, without an earlier booking on this Saturday night, we’d be lucky.

Paul still wearing his coat (but not hat)

We were fortunate and bowled up to Hostaria Farnese. This wasn’t before confirming that Paul’s multi-tasking skills needed working on. He can either talk or navigate, but not both! We were heading in the wrong direction initially. On arrival, after photos, we had three delicious courses and a fine bottle of wine. I had a tomato and mozzarella salad followed by some roast pork and finished with some pistachio ice cream. We were asked to part with about €190. On discovering that Neil had forgotten to pack his Marigolds we had no option other than to cough up.

6.3 miles walking during the day

Giorno Tre

The sun appeared. Neil chose shorts but Paul still wore his fleece. This definitively proves that when they were youths the climate was warmer in Lancashire compared to Yorkshire with lasting effects. The objective was to get to the Colosseum early and avoid the crowds; we failed. However, we got a ticket, for free, to enter the Colosseum at 1pm. In the meanwhile, we had entry into the Forum. Frankly folks we wondered around for a little while watching all the Far Eastern tourists taking copious photos usually with themselves in the foreground. The area is a confetti of various ruins that span many centuries but mostly excavated in the 19th. After showing willing as to the project I proposed abandoning and getting a coffee that was carried unanimously.

The Forum

Traffic in Rome was predictably hectic and made no easier but quite appealing when about 100 Fiat 500’s drove past. Paul shot the video (sound on).

A noisy Fiat fiesta

The Colosseum did not disappoint. It’s a spectacular structure. It was my second visit and fortunately little had changed (!) as regards the building although the volume of tourists had exploded. Poor Anna languishing in York with her broken ankle did get to share the views as I had a video call with her.

The Colosseum

The Nomads separated (when within) and we met up an hour later to head for the Trevi Fountain and Spanish Steps but not before a drink.

Never alone!
The Tiber

On finding a table we got talking to a couple from Essex who were taking time out with a break. Whilst I’m rabbiting to the good burghers of Rayleigh I was being drawn. I was handed a caricature out of the blue by someone who just happened to fancy doing a sketch! Funnily enough I was not impressed by the likeness but Paul and Neil laughed heartily at the uncanny resemblance.

Bastard…

The Trevi Fountain is a wonderful monument built in the 18th Century at the behest of a Pope. Famously you should throw a coin over your shoulder into the fountain, no doubt for luck. Given the crowds who prevented close access to the water you’d more than likely make someone lose an eye if you did this. The total number of coins thrown total over €1 million every year and go to charity. The sceptic in me wonders if it’s a ‘one for you and one for me’ arrangement with the collectors. Fighting our way past the fountain we found the Spanish Steps.

Trevi Fountain
This gives you an idea of how busy all of the tourist attractions were in Rome

After reflecting on our future mountaineering when we returned to the apartment we spurned the opportunity to ascend the 135 steps to the church at the top. Despite the name arising from the Spanish embassy at the bottom of the steps the money and design were French and it was completed in the 18th Century.

Spanish Steps
6.7 miles during the day

Our last supper was at another of John’s picks at Trattoria Palese. With a pullover on you could happily dine outside and we did and exchanged bants with a cheeky Macedonian waiter. Close to our apartment was an Irish pub. I couldn’t resist a Guinness as our final drink. The next day we all had different flight times and I was the first off. All three of us suffered delays with Paul not departing until the evening. So that was a wrap for 2024. Who knows where the nomads might reconvene next?

Record Of The Week # 159

Music

49 Winchester – Leavin’ This Holler

For what is a fine album I must declare a disappointment. I’d long harboured the romantic notion that the band’s moniker came from the rifle of the same name. I’d envisaged an album sleeve like The Eagles’ Desperado classic with hirsute outlaws (creating havoc before presumably galloping into the sunset.) Hey-ho, it turns out to be Isaac Gibson’s early home address in Castlewood, Virginia. However, that’s the end of the disappointment as this is an important listen with Gibson’s voice and tunes being the draw.

The sound is the rockier end of country. However, it’s an organic sound with arrangements that include pedal steel and fiddle often with an acoustic foundation. There are no session musicians watching the clock here.  The band are still young and originate from around Castlewood where Gibson started his musical career in school. The title track is about a break up and leaving the ‘Holler’. They’re the valleys of the Appalachians. Gibson unleashes his winsome and yearning baritone to tell us of his heartbreak and his need to flee. Maggie Antone duets and adds pleasing harmonies. Fast Asleep intriguingly employs the Czech National Symphony Orchestra, as you do! Someone knew a contact and they stepped up and contribute considerable beauty to what is actually a sad song about fractures in a relationship. Bus Shelton’s tasteful electric guitar solo is sublime.  

Much to my pleasure some tinctures of Southern Rock creep in on the love song Rest of My Days where some brass also gets in on the act. Traveling Band, about the grind of following the white lines of the Interstate has the same feel, whereas Yearnin’ For You must be a future crowd pleaser as a delightful melody sits on top of a galloping two step rhythm. Anchor signs off the album. The orchestra returns as this slow burning track builds into something of a power ballad with Gibson seemingly being put through the wringer as he wrestles with internal strife. Truly epic.

It’s a very tight, together sound with quality arrangements from Stewart Myers. This is his second outing with the band and follows 2022’s Fortune Favors The Bold. The band have enjoyed a growing profile and fanbase with international touring. With Gibson’s song writing, his voice and this excellent band it seems that this release will only accelerate their fortunes. A 2024 highlight for me.

Record Of The Week # 158

Music

Hannah Juanita – Tennessee Songbird

Juanita was an archetypal wannabee who arrived in Nashville with a guitar, dog and a head full of songs in her early twenties. She’s since been paying her dues by gigging around Music City as well as getting some higher profile support slots. The delight is that Juanita (a nom de plume) writes and sings traditional country music. Most of the compositions here are from her own pen. She’s talented but the album catches fire after teaming up with Mose Wilson, another traditional country music artist with his own career, to co-write a few of the songs and for him to play on and produce the album: it’s a superb partnership. I have to credit the other musicians on the album who elevate the whole affair, none more so than Jeff Taylor on piano. As records go this is all killer and no filler.

Fortune has a lilting pace where she mourns that fortune has left her and now she’s left with her mistakes in the tricky business of love. I especially love Jeff Taylor’s accordion and the vocal harmonies she creates with her own double tracking. If the lyrics are comfortingly predictable then Granny’s Cutlass Supreme shakes things up. Here grandma in a bikini (?) and martini keeps her Oldsmobile in a tip-top-tastic condition with polish and elbow grease. This nonsense enjoys a funky rhythm plus some gruff and deep vocals from Riley Downing (The Deslondes). There’s plenty of references to Honky Tonk in the lyrics and Honky Tonkin’ For Life  – “When the music starts / I feel it in my heart / Singin’ is the life for me / I’m a honky tonk angel” reaffirms where her happy place is as the electric guitar picks, the pedal steel serenades as the snare keeps a steady beat with the bass. Certainly, this is one for a trip on to the hard wood floor.

We finish with the heartbreaker Blue Moon. Her voice, with a minimum of accompaniment, starts as a beautiful siren call as she laments that having thought she’d moved on from a lover she ends up melancholy with the appearance of the lunar vision. The song builds from an acoustic guitar and slow honky-tonk piano to strings. This is a heartening collection that encourages you to believe that along with other contemporary artists such as Sierra Ferrell, Brennan Leigh and Summer Dean there’s a female traditional country scene laying down a fine body of work to help us all keep the faith.

Meat Free Toad in the Hole, China & Monet – Week 36 : 2024

Journal

You’ll not need to be a rocket scientist to work out that most of my time has been spent hovering around Ives Towers cleaning, cooking, gardening, sorting out trades and variously tripping out to post or collect parcels and shopping for my bride (since our return from Austria with her broken ankle.)  I have borne this yoke, as you must agree, heroically yet less kind close friends did observe that it was time I returned the favour after all those years of wifely servitude. I suspect the pleasing image of me bedecked in a pinny flourishing a feather duster in one hand and the Dyson in the other drove them to such disloyalty. However, there has been the benefit of everyday being a ‘school day’.

Who knew there were certain ways to clean a work surface? That the dish washer goes on once a day and that the washing machine has various settings? If there’s a qualification on how to use an air fryer then I’ve nailed that. If my burden has increased then so has the workload of the sales staff in Tesco. I suspect they’re now watching, in trepidation, the car park for my arrival. I was pretty good at spinning round and collecting meat, chocolate biscuits, frozen stuff, beer and dairy but complicated stuff like certain exotic brands of salad dressing, small bottles of shampoo with formulas that seem to be a cure for smallpox, various spray soaps (??), flax seeds etc have necessitated collaring a member of staff and asking for help. For example, who knew Auntie Bessie made a meat free toad in the hole or where it lurked?

One of Anna’s several frustrations include being unable to climb the stairs. A solution to the daily ‘will you find me x and bring it down’ has been helped by WhatsApp. We call each other and put on the video camera; I get guided to the ‘third drawer in the cabinet near the window, on the left hand side, in the spare room, where beneath the birthdays cards where you’ll find…’ I have now been to the deep recesses of the property that I barely knew existed let alone what the furniture contained. Everyday is indeed a school day.

Anna is now into her recovery after the operation and is optimistic, stoic and calm. It’s going very well but it’ll take time. I’d like to say it’s one step at a time but in her case currently it’s one hop at a time! Obviously in our situation concerts and socialising has taken a hit including a wedding bash in Scotland. Anna has been fulsome in thanking everyone for their kind thoughts and gifts. The kindness has been overwhelming.

Felt I should be honest with Rodney as his valet wasn’t. Seems he liked my help.

This has left a little time for reading and I have completed a quite brilliant book on the rise and global intentions of China. It’s called The Hundred-Year Marathon by Michael Pillsbury. I tracked this down in Columbia, South Carolina on my travels. It’s written by an American China expert who worked for several Presidents and has had a high profile with China over decades; all helped by his being fluent in Chinese. It’s not a happy story for the West as China seeks to dominate. This is by economic absorption and elimination of competitive industries (mainly by state subsidy of their own production) or more aggressively dominating near nation states by military might. Their inexorable rise continues at the price of democracy or freedom of speech not just in China but all over the world. Much of the commentary is how the West were mugged in plain sight by the Chinese playing up to US misconceptions and naivety over decades. It’s very readable and not a sensational Sino hostile read but a measured deep dive into the history and the track record of the Communist Party and its relentless ‘progress’ on this path. Beware.

Lastly, with the Mighty Jessney and Mrs Blues (or Steve and Sharon.). I went to York Art Gallery to see Monet’s Water Lilies. The exhibition included other Impressionist artists of the late 19th Century and some of his influences such as Japanese prints. It was interesting and I approached it with curiosity but I am to fine art what Kylie Minogue is to brick laying.

Over a century on with so much technology it’s hard to place yourself in this era when no doubt this art was seen as adventurous, brave and new. Anyway, it was a great hour or so and maybe I should study more.

Austria 2024: Your Call Is Important To Us (Not)

Journal

I think we’re all aware that medical matters can be complicated and despite our reverence for the National Health Service (necessitating worship and respect like a religion) it was dilatory in processing Anna, which caused us unbelievable stress (as if the Austrian part wasn’t daunting enough…)

A virulent infection can be found in European hospitals. This meant our admission into York District Hospital would necessitate Anna completing three successful tests beforehand. Had she not had her brief stay in Austria then this would not have been a requirement. The first test/smear was taken on the morning of admission: Thursday August 15th. On her discharge I was sent to the local GP practice to obtain two further kits for the tests. On the Tuesday (August 20th) we submitted our last sample and awaited a call.

We got one. We had submitted two further tests that were not relevant. A doctor’s error. The hospital wanted us to obtain the correct test kits and start again. Given the time sensitive nature of her pinning I was very upset and anxious. However, with the correct test kits we submitted our last smear on Thursday August 22nd. We’d now lost a week. So much for the efficacy of the emergency actions by Anna and I to get to the hospital in the early hours of August 15th.

A call came through on the afternoon of the 22nd from the Trauma Co-ordinator. He talked of a Friday operation and went through the requirements of not to eat and stop certain medication and where to go to. Our joy was palpable. We asked about the test results? No, they were still outstanding and that was an issue but if unresolved then they might still operate but have to place Anna in a separate room afterwards.

On the morning of August 23rd he rang again. The operation was off. They had a capacity crisis with two children being admitted and the test results were not back. The department that analysed these samples didn’t appear to process things very quickly and our samples weren’t prioritised or no one pressed for them. He said he’d call back later that day to give us his next plan. It was Friday and weekend was a Bank Holiday: not propitious. He left for the weekend without calling again. How could he? We called the hospital.

At this point you don’t know who to call on a Friday evening and whether they had access or knew where to get any information. One critical issue was that if the operation was imminent (although we were unaware) then Anna would need to stop certain medication and fast. If she didn’t then we would accidentally extend the timescale for her to be ready for surgery. We were promised a call back. (That came 12 hours later. Frankly, useless.) However, with that delay we placed another call.

A brilliant nurse on the Orthopaedic ward took our call and did some research. Apparently we were scheduled for August 25th (Sunday). This was great news but still two weeks after the accident. We were told to call the following (Saturday) morning. That call, with a doctor, confirmed that all the tests were back and negative. No, he couldn’t confirm that they were all set for Sunday and they would call later to advise if a Sunday operation would take place.

No one rang. We kept checking with the ward about what they knew. Eventually a doctor rang in the evening confirming that Sunday would proceed. On Sunday Anna had her pinning. Her recovery now starts

What my story doesn’t dwell on is all the calls we made, the absence of knowing when a call would be returned and not least being in the dark about test analysis timescales or when they would operate.

As it’s the NHS and the eventual surgery was completed successfully you’re inclined to ‘move on’. However, frankly were it any other business you’d be contacting a consumer affairs programme. Despite the undoubted challenges the NHS faces our problems arose through poor processes and a lack of communication. They don’t necessarily cost much to resolve.

Lastly, several folk have been interested in the events and given support. I’m most grateful and heartened. It helped . Anna now has the tricky bit of healing and getting fit to work on. She’ll get there.

Austria 2024: Home

Travel

My first thoughts were getting to the hospital but on this day, the Tuesday after the Sunday accident I waited at the hotel for the Collinson call. This came with the usual telephone line being dropped and I was offered two flights. One at 10pm on Wednesday night or one at tea time on Friday from Munich. Anna would get three seats to herself to rest her leg in plaster. The problem here was that there were no midweek flights out of Salzburg and so we’d have to travel further afield. Consulting Anna I took the Wednesday, the logic being that the sooner we got to England then the sooner she’d get the operation and if we arrived on Friday then we may suffer the hospital departments partially closed for the weekend. However, it was clear that we’d not get to York District Hospital before midnight and they didn’t know we were coming! The advice had been to get to a hospital and go into triage.

From this decisive call I went down to the hospital and joined the walkers and holiday makers on the bus. The region had made this and several ski lifts free to encourage tourists. My bus stop, which was about a mile from the hospital was a very pleasant walk. I counted the different nationalities by the variety of number plates. It added up to 10 in a mile. Quite a destination for all and sundry.

Not a bad walk

Anna (and Helga) were fine although the room was hot due to the sunshine but the staff buzzed about and seemed to cope with the difficulty of catering for a vegetarian, not a usual Austrian problem it appeared! You take for granted the widespread knowledge of English and whilst it didn’t always help overcoming some cultural differences or medical matters I wouldn’t like to be a German speaker in a British hospital.

That night I said goodbye to the hotel staff and guests and packed. Everyone had been as kind and as helpful as they could be. I left the hotel mid-morning by taxi despite not being collected by an ambulance taxi in the late afternoon from the hospital. Frankly, there was nothing to hang about for in Hinterglemm and my mind was elsewhere. The taxi did turn up with a quasi para medic who drove the Mercedes mini bus to Munich.

My temporary accommodation

She was a nice girl but drove like a nutcase on the no speed limit autobahns. Clutching a stress ball in her right hand and swapping lanes to dive in and out of traffic in outer Munich rush hour traffic was an experience you’d usually pay extra for at a theme park. Anna shut her eyes. At the airport we eventually found the Check In desk.

With a wheel chair you cannot move through Security or onto the aircraft without ‘special assistance’. The downside of this is that we experienced an hour and half delay waiting for this ‘special assistance’ to arrive to push Anna. They were simply late and our abandonment by the now empty Check In desk long after the other passengers had disappeared through Security was stressful.

The flight eventually departed at 11.30pm and you can imagine that arriving in Manchester at past 1pm wasn’t ideal. Neither was the absence of the taxi to take her to Manchester. My car was located at a different Terminal and I had the suitcases to collect and move so it always the plan that she would travel separately and more promptly. However, I managed to exit the Baggage Reclaim and Customs before Anna and looked around Arrivals for a bloke with a sign. There wasn’t one. So, I hung around in Arrivals until she emerged. After a delay thinking someone would appear we called Collinson asking where the driver was. We were told that the driver wouldn’t appear and the only solution was to wait longer for someone new. Given we’d lost about 45 minutes through this fiasco we cut our losses and I went to the Terminal 2 and fetched my car to Terminal 1 and loaded Anna into the back seat and off we went to York District Hospital negotiating part of the M1 being closed!

There are 17 sets of traffic lights from the A64 to York District Hospital; we drove though 16 of those on green where I slumped over the counter at A&E Reception at 4am and related our story. They couldn’t have been more responsive or sympathetic to the ordeal and she was quickly wheeled into Triage. Then X Rays and then in front of a doctor. He looked at her X Rays and confirmed what we knew plus explained a little more about the breaks in the tibia and fibia. We were now in the system. Anna couldn’t come home as we couldn’t move her around the house without a zimmer/walker. They kept her in whilst I drove home in the emerging daylight. My head hit the pillow at 6am.

From here we’re waiting for her operation date. Anna remains calm and lots of friends and family have been in touch. We’re grateful for all the kindness and support. If there are some ‘take aways’ to emphasis then make sure you travel with your GHIC and always have travel insurance.

Austria 2024: “Thank You For Calling” – Part 3

Travel

Hospitals wake early and by breakfast, at my hotel, Anna advised on WhatsApp that the consultant had done his rounds and that they wouldn’t operate and insert the pins. The reason that we eventually extracted was that they needed the bed. Had they decided to do the operation then Anna would have had to stay until the swelling of her ankle went down and then there would be further time after the operation in the hospital before she could fly. They had 60 beds at this small hospital and 46 were currently filled by tourists. (It does make you wonder how many hospital beds are filled by tourists in a major attraction like London, albeit the visitors are not probably skiing or walking up and down mountains: it must be hundreds.) So, with this development I called the emergency medical number for our travel insurer – World First. As it is with these organisations they sub contract the trickier medical bit. This medical insurance was provided by Collinson.

Our hotel in Hinterglemm

They were responsive and opened a case file. The next step was for them to receive a hospital medical report and for me to complete an accident form. They would then decide the best solution. Their reassuring approach made me feel that I was working with a partner and I trotted off to ask for the medical report. However, from here it was frustrating during the day, to create a dialogue between the hospital and the insurer. Obviously we wanted it moving quickly. The initial problem arose when the hospital wouldn’t provide a written report but would discuss it on the phone. That was irritating but they gave us a contact telephone number to call them. That didn’t connect! I found this out by ringing up Collinson at midday and asking how they’d got on? “Oh, we rang and rang but couldn’t get an answer”.  Calming myself I thought why didn’t you ring me back to get the number checked? Moving on, I did amend the number after pressing the hospital for the correct one.

Hospital on the lake

Not all of my calls were easy with Collinson as the quality of phone signal in these areas was patchy and usually you’d drop off the line at a vital point when you were discussing details. Also, when you went back to Collinson you’d have to go through their protocol of re-affirming details before they would put you through to the case handler you were initially speaking to… “Case Number, name of claimant, date of birth and country where the claimant is claiming from”. Now if this sounds a bit ‘clunky’ rather than such a big deal by this stage you know you holiday is over and delivering a solution for your bride is the only focus. Resolving bureaucracy, language barriers with the Austrians, knowing virtually nothing about ankle breaks or their rectification and not least the pressing importance of a timely intervention being met. Add to this the sorting of this out on busy streets with poor mobile telephone connections in burning hot sunshine and knowing time is of the essence made this into an interesting and intensive activity.

Meanwhile I’m on the bus down the 13 miles of valley to the hospital to see Anna, who’s languishing in her two bed Ward with a testy elderly Austrian woman who snaps at the staff and demands coffee and biscuits at precise times in the morning and afternoon. I christened her Helga. One nurse was admonished for not placing her morning newspaper on her bed rather than a table. However, despite this less attractive side to her personality she spoke a bit of English and liked my voice! She told me and the nurses about my dulcet tones and wondered if I was an actor? In fairness, it was an easy mistake to make. On every visit Anna’s calm, well cared for and knows that despite my impatience a solution will come to pass.

After my visit I trooped up to bus stop in the heat, past the delightful lake, where Collinson rang to say that they had now spoken to the hospital. Yippee.

Laura still had details to sort with the hospital and was also disappointed they wouldn’t operate. I had this conversation at the bus stop on the main road as buses and concrete mixers are grumbling past. “Can you hear me?” “Yes, Laura”. The upshot was that if they couldn’t persuade the hospital they’d fly us home. It might seem obvious given our policy but in a state of heightened anxiety this was a comfort. She’d call tomorrow giving me the plan.

I continued up the valley to Hinterglemm and showered for dinner. The breakfast, lunch (pack up) and dinner were fabulous. Given Anna’s absence I’d had to explain to the waitresses and other Inghams holiday makers what had happened initially and given them a day by day report. This was whilst downing a large beer. I suppose this counts as holiday?

Back in the room I had a long accident report to complete and send along with passport details so that new airline tickets could be booked. Was it all straightforward from here with so many transfers and handlers and how would York District Hospital respond with no prior contact when we turned up at Stupid O’Clock with a broken ankle? Anyway that was tomorrow’s challenge. Now it was sleep.

Austria 2024: “A Room With A View” – Part 2

Travel

Returning quickly to Anna she was sat on the ground with her legs stretched in front of her with a badly swollen left ankle. It had ballooned in barely seconds. She was in considerable pain, nauseous and couldn’t move the ankle let alone contemplate standing up. 

Beside me was the kind lady who’d called me back. She was an Austrian school teacher who was staying locally with her teenage daughters at an apartment they had in the area. She spoke excellent English, as did her daughters, and assessing the situation that Anna would need carrying down or up the path to a road where a vehicle could access, she rang an emergency number. The person on the end of the line needed directions to where we were and as she spoke German she stayed to facilitate the navigation. It was a blessing to have such assistance.

In about 25 minutes a man appeared and quickly looked at the ankle, presumably confirming Anna needed hospitalisation, and then started to assess the best routes to get her to a vehicle (on a road). From here the lady and daughters said that they could do nothing further, accepted my profuse thanks and went about their original walk up the mountain. Who said there are no angels in Austria? 

In the meanwhile, our official Mountain Rescue man called up another four rescuers who appeared with a stretcher so that they could safely secure Anna onto it and drag her off the mountain. It was about three or four hundred yards downhill to an ambulance.

I was surprised to see a Police van and the ambulance when we got clear of the forest. Anna meanwhile had been jogged around on this bumpy slide but was bearing up and urged me to give some beer money to the hardy souls who’d dragged her off the mountain. The Police just needed to know it was an accident rather than anything more sinister and they were soon on their way. The paramedics loaded Anna up and were off. I’d asked to go along with them to the hospital in the ambulance, 13 miles down the road in Zell-am-See, but was denied. No doubt some protocol.

With her in the best, safe hands I trudged the mile or so downhill back to the hotel to collect some things for her including her Global Health Insurance Card (GHIC) and then hailed a taxi to take me there. Needless to say my mind was flooding with the minutiae of being able to support Anna. For example it seems that several local businesses hide behind (imho) poor mountain internet signals to operate on a cash only basis. The taxi cost €65 in cash. This would be recoverable but how much cash would I need during this crisis to get about etc.? Where was an ATM?

On arrival at the hospital I was directed to the A&E waiting room where passing across the GHIC was met with relief. (I’m sure they would have taken care of the emergency without the opportunity to reclaim but taking away potential problems was a good move.) I was comforted that she was in capable hands but what was happening? Eventually Anna WhatsApp’d me. She’d broken her ankle in two places and was fully X Ray’d but would need an operation to pin the bones. This was when fuck met my old boots. I’d known things were amiss but this was very serious. I went up to the Ward.

As always Anna was calm and resigned to this issue but had to be on an infusion of pain relief for the ankle as it had been ‘reset’ in the correct alignment with lots of pulling and pushing that necessitated a very painful injection. We both quickly agreed that I would have been a hopeless coward had I had to go through this procedure. The initial advice by the hospital was that they would carry out the operation two or three days later.

Her accommodation was a bright, airy and modern room for two female patients with its own loo and shower. There was a TV attached to the bed which was very functional and moved up and down on the push of a switch. The view from the hospital window was sensational.

Floating around were various nurses and other staff. There appeared to be no deprivation or shortage of medics albeit no one would want to be there.

There was nothing more to do and as it was clear she’d be there for some time I took a long list of things to collect and return with the next day. We both started telling the tour operator, family and friends about events on WhatsApp and I returned to the hotel. This I decided to do by the free bus that ran along the valley. It meant walking a mile to the bus stop from the krankenhaus (yes, it sounds like a cartoon name for a hospital) and in the 30° heat/sunshine I caught the bus in a fairly sweaty mess back to Hinterglemm.

So, everything was under control? However, tomorrow a proverbial stick would be thrust into the spokes by the hospital.

To be continued…

Austria 2024: “Not A Walk In The Park” – Part 1

Travel

So the present Mrs Ives felt that we should follow the 2022 footsteps of our youngest (and husband) to Austria for a walking holiday. Being a part time guide I had the kit and so off we went flying into Salzburg and then took a bus ride with Inghams to Hinterglemm. 

The last time I was in the Salzburg area I was cycling back to York in 2018 from Croatia. The country is undoubtedly beautiful. I’d also spent a lot of time (a long time ago) in Austria or dealing with Austrians. They are or were pre-eminent in making furniture components. It was all familiar and attractive to me. The resort lay at the top of a valley in the west of Austria equidistant between Innsbruck and Salzburg. It was a Saturday when we arrived and town was jumping. The whole place is set up for tourism, whether winter skiers or summer walkers (or mountain bike riders.) It’s chocolate box pretty and the surrounding mountains are awesome.

There must have been a weekend festival as the crowded streets were teeming and the natives were to be found in local garb albeit often the worse for wear as they copiously imbibed. If their merriment was fun to see then the oompah music wasn’t. It amazes me how Austria ever made it to the 21st Century if this is what they like listening to. Granted it isn’t complicated as each tune was the same as the last one, give or take an odd toot. This cacophony was usually underpinned by a tuba and led by an accordion.

A musical highlight amongst this teutonic torment came when breaking away from this formula they played Smokie’s 1972 hit ‘Living Next Door To Alice’. (Sorry, I’m a geek I know this stuff.) It was a tolerable rendition that was enlivened by the crowd adding at the end of the chorus ‘Who the fuck is Alice?’ A sentiment I could relate to. Anyway as some of the crowd drifted off weaving to their accommodation we also crossed the road to our hotel that sadly was close to the noisy revelry. This din continued until 1.30am I am told. Frustratingly, for Anna, I was well asleep drifting off trying to recall the band members of Smokie.

Breakfast was splendid but passage to the buffet reminded me of the Austrian no nonsense approach to people in their way. This was to ignore them and barrel on. I found this intolerably rude, not least when I stepped aside and there was no ‘thank you’. I too did contemplate barrelling through but chickened out at the thought of being impaled by a plate of scrambled eggs, hash browns and the funny little things the Austrians think are sausages approaching me at 15mph held by a burly Frau with the sense of humour (and the manners) of a pedal bin. 

After breakfast we met with the guide who told us about the walking routes and distributed maps. From here we walked to a cable car and ascended to the top and strolled around.

There were separate paths for all the mountain bikers who were togged up in elbow and knee protectors along with full face helmets. Clearly these chaps had speed on their mind and as us cyclists would say it was very ‘technical’ as the paths wound tightly down the slopes. 

Yes, well observed this chap not wearing elbow protectors, but the rest were!

Our initial exertions resulted in a pit stop for a cold soft drink and we solved Austria’s national debt crisis in one fell swoop by paying for the drinks. (I know we talk about the cost of living crisis and inflation in the UK but this place is on another level.)

“There’s gold in them thar hills…”

After this we descended back to the town by walking and using the cable cars.

By this stage the legs are advising that this walking down hill malarky is tiring and tricky but with one small section to go before we reached the bottom we were mercifully out of the very hot sun in a wooded area that had a windy, in places steep, path that was covered in tree roots. I was walking ahead of Anna and was around a corner when a lady walker came back shouting for me to return as “your wife has fallen”. 

…to be continued

Medals, Stories & Dogs- Week 32 : 2024

Journal

It seems that dreams are mainly the province of the young, however, some may recollect I was transcribing the life story of Eric Blackburn back in 2021 and I published an exert of post war Hull – The Ballad of Porky Upton. Eric was born in 1927 and recorded, still with a pin sharp memory, his time in bombed out WW2 Hull as a school boy through to the 1960s. It started with an early death of his father and his first job at 13 years old as a farm hand. From here he joined the railway and progressed to the footplate on a steam engine. This time was split between the LNER and East African Railways in Tanganyika with a miserable spell in between completing National Service. I spent many weeks typing this up and transcribed over 250,000 words but Eric kept churning out more and more pages. I got to a position where after months I had to bring my toil to an end as there was no end in sight. At this point James, his son, stepped in and finished the write up and then organised the self-publication of the book. I get a kindly mention for my work. (This is quite a popular route to get your work into print.) There are many passages that paint a wonderful picture of a different era of agriculture with horses, German bombers flying overhead, post war rationing, steam engines, the futility of National Service, post war colonialism in Africa and the frighteningly violent move toward independence of these nascent nations.

The title is a play on words of ‘Goodbye, Mr. Chips’. This was a 1939 and then 1969 popular British film. Krupp were a large German company that made many rail components including rails.

So above is the hard back version. Eric is 96 years old and managed to get the job done: a quite remarkable achievement and life!

I have to say it’s been a wonderful summer of sport. Unforgivably I’ve spent a lot of time slumped on the sofa in front of the TV watching it! First came the football Euros, which were a damp squib. Southgate got an uncomfortable amount of hammer over England’s (unconvincing) progress to the Final where the best team (Spain) won. The next guy has all this misery in store for him. Nothing lives long in the memory about the tournament apart from Scotland’s demolition by the hosts. I still wake up in a cold sweat thinking about this (not). The Tour de France was as usual a ravishing watch with captivating scenery and sunny vistas. This was made all the better by watching (Sir) Mark Cavendish win a record 35th stage. To be competitive at 39 years old is remarkable and much to his credit he didn’t climb off at that point but painfully trundled through the Alps and Pyrenees to complete the race in Nice showing great respect for the race.

After this was Test cricket and whilst I’d have loved something that was overall more of a contest the West Indies, in some sessions, were terrific. Anna and I joined Paul for a day at Trent Bridge and to celebrate Nottingham City Council fined me £35 for driving in a bus lane, gits. Whilst we’re digesting all that the Olympics comes into view and we’re all agog about sports that we barely know exist such as Trampolining, BMX. Women’s Air Rifle and  Artistic Swimming. Frankly we have no interest in the activity, do we? Of course, we wish the British participants well and luxuriate in our medal acquisition but as soon as they’ve collected their gong we’ve forgotten them, whoever they were. I suspect my lasting memory will be the soggy Opening Ceremony that included 15 minutes of ‘80s tuneless Euro disco. The setting in the centre of the beautiful city is sumptuous and I hope Paris is now enjoying paying for it all for decades to come!

It’s undeniable that the climate is warming. We can debate what’s causing it but it’s a fact. When I cross the fields around our house in summer I have to spray insect repellent to stop various horrid things stinging me. Horse flies are brutes! This type of misery I associate with Continental Europe or far flung hot continents. Ants are a thing as well aren’t they.

Our granddaughter is now over 8 months old and becoming, every day, more of a little person. Her mother (Sophie), maybe a little over frank, believes she has reached the ‘dog’ stage in terms of development. That is, she can recognise her name, do some tricks, is always pleased to see you and watches every mouthful of food you take! Needless to say, she is wonderful.

Two of my favourite females (excluding the Morgan)

A modern and frustrating (to me) common occurrence is that when someone dies the news is seldom accompanied by the reason for their death. It can only be to shield the family or reputation of the departed from the indignity of bad luck or mortality? I can comfortably accept this ‘black out’ for someone who takes their life. The shock is devastating enough. However, it’s inescapable that it’s only a delay as the facts will eventually come into the public domain.

Lastly, I found a piece on social media about a Perth (Australia) woman hiding some crystal meth from the Police by inserting it up her miniature dachshund’s anus, as reported in The Western Australian newspaper. Australians eh? A nation of independent thinkers and animal lovers. (You’ll be pleased to learn that the dog was unharmed and the woman prosecuted.) As we have an Aussie friend who’s on a round the world cruise and has been away from Brisbane for some time and maybe not abreast of all the important developments back home I forwarded the clip with the caption “Missing home?” A short while later he came back with a kindly paragraph about how he wasn’t missing Australia for various reasons. I was a little bemused as whilst I always wished him well it wouldn’t be me to enquire after his welfare as he cruised the high seas having a brilliant time, would it? It turned out the photo of the clip didn’t transmit with my question. Anyway, he now thinks I’m one helluva guy!

Record Of The Week # 157

Music

Dave Alvin & Jimmie Dale Gilmore – TexiCali

Alvin and Gilmore have long careers in American roots music with notable separate catalogues compiled within the Blasters, Flatlanders et al before striking out solo. Along the way Alvin collected a Grammy and Gilmore was nominated. Both artists have toured continuously over the years and upon a recommendation decided to pair up and have since toured together off and on. This is their second joint release of covers and original material. 

Alvin and Gilmore only duet on four songs: The Death Of The Last Stripper, Betty And Dupree, Down The 285 and We’re Still Here. The latter is a jaunty piece of rock n’ roll that acts as a homily to their longevity. With Gilmore in his eightieth year and Alvin having battled cancer there’s no doubt they’re survivors. The album’s an excellent mix of americana, blues and storytelling. Gilmore starts the album with Borderland, his composition with engaging lyrics about life on the Texas border. Gilmore has reedy vocals like Willie Nelson that seem deft at picking through a story. The excellence of the band (The Guilty Ones) immediately strikes you: fluid, discrete, sympathetic and able to switch between moods and sounds seamlessly.

The album title originated from the origins of the artists with Gilmore from Texas and Alvin from California, something both are proud to emphasise. Alvin’s sound is less americana with a blues tinge. Blind Owl sees him in Kansas in hot midnight rain after a gig contemplating the next town. With a chugging riff that develops into sleek rock whilst propelled by harmonica as Chris Miller on electric lead delights. Alvin delivers the vocal in his part talk and sing style. (‘Blind Owl’ refers to Alan Wilson, a member of Canned Heat until his early death, and a song Alvin wrote and has performed with Canned Heat.)

This is a beautiful listen by two accomplished troubadours with a fabulous band in support. It’s heartening to have a selection of songs with interesting lyrics that give up something new on every listen. Class will out, top drawer.

Record Of The Week # 156

Music

Johnny Blues Skies – Passage Du Desir

Johnny Blue Skies is Sturgill Simpson: a nickname given to him by a barman in Kentucky decades ago. He doesn’t now plan to release solo albums under his own name. Apparently he’s no longer that person. Given the twists and turns in his career then this decision is just another curved ball from this intriguing maverick.

He came to prominence with two Dave Cobb produced albums in 2013 and 2014 that were straight country with Outlaw vibes. What was clear was that his rich baritone could hold a tune and he could write one. Exhibiting an attitude and personality along with alluring musicianship the albums were rightly coveted. At this point a major record label seized him, promoted him heavily and his next release, A Sailor’s Guide to Earth, bagged a Grammy. Frankly, I found this release to drift away from the good work he’d done on his earlier efforts but it did demonstrate his ability to purvey more than country.

At this juncture Simpson produced two fabulous albums for, debutant, Tyler Childers, fell out with the music industry, released an anodyne rock album (Sound & Fury), got to a position where he needed to take time out due to substance misuse and all along dabbled in acting. In 2020 he was back with some splendid bluegrass on Cuttin’ Grass Volumes 1 and 2 before2021’s excellent The Ballad of Dood & Juanita.

His latest release takes him back to the 1970s with americana, Southern Rock and blue eyed soul. There are also one and a half tracks of country here: Who I Am, and the Jimmy Buffett pastiche, Scooter Blues. The rest takes me back decades and the tunes could have come from The Allman Brothers Band, Cate Brothers or even the Average White Band.

During its incubation he’s been travelling collecting his thoughts and creating space from the USA and the music industry. France was one destination and we start with an accordion and violin on Swamp Of Sadness. It’s seton the streets of Paris and the song builds to go gently electric to “Spend my days in a haze, floating ’round in the Marais / Nights under the bright lights at Mignon on Beaumarchais.” The French capital is where he wrote most of the album and hence the exquisite sleeve photograph. (Scooter Blues originated in another location on his sojourns, Thailand.)

The blue eyed soul of If The Sun Never Rises Again could have graced the charts both sides of the Atlantic back in the day with this slow lilting dance tune and a lyric about restoring his intended – “All we need is starlight in our eyes”. Jupiter’s Faerie is haltingly about a suicide and the mournful delivery reminded me of its virtual namesake Drops of Jupiter by Train replete with 80s strings. Mint Tea is straight Southern Rock and Simpson’s sparse yet tasteful lead guitar is a complete treat, it grabs the song and hoists it high for all to marvel. The soft rock of One For The Road wades in at just under nine minutes and is a cathartic love song with words such as “I wanna taste all the grapes on your vine / I wanna leave all your bottles empty and broken / I wanna say that you’re all mine / But words are often better left unspoke.”

He’s a complicated chap who’s cerebral about his view of the world and his place in it. Simpson can turn to treasure the music he makes; this album is another chest full. It’s an easy, mellifluous and delightful listen. Despite my protestation about its tenuous sonic links to country music I fear it’ll appear on some end of year lists but, hey, I lost that battle a long time ago. Enjoy.