March 1, 2019

Seems about time for a journal after all my writing in Sri Lanka. Which reminds me, if you didn’t follow my tonyives.wordpress.com blog where I wrote the holiday up. I can confirm I will transfer it to this site soon. It was a completely splendid holiday with great weather, lots to see, kind and interesting people and the odd wild animal or two.

However, I have transferred my ‘Bike ride across the USA’ blog to this site. It was a giant job with in effect 53 posts to upload. I’ve added an epilogue as well. Revisiting the trip was wonderful and I can genuinely remember much of the detail as if it were yesterday.

The broadband mast complaint has predictably gone nowhere. I escalated my complaint to the PLC which owns Quickline (the bastards in Hull who put up this 15 metre stick). I also wrote separately to the principal shareholder and non-exec chairman (who has an OBE no less). Of course they were all going to do nothing but having sat on the odd Board with non execs then my flurry of correspondence, my Twitter posts and the letter below in the local press (York Press) is not welcomed and there will be questions asked as to how the whole project was managed. If I was ever going to be effective then I needed neighbour support. Four did write to the local MP and I can well imagine that for one of these correspondents that the mast was not an issue, one was engaged and enraged but too busy to campaign and the most affected just shrugged their shoulders and accepted it. On this basis you are up against it.

Saw a Political Party broadcast on TV the other night. It was the regular ‘weaponising’ of the NHS’ financial state to garner votes. I so loathe this. I worked in the NHS as a management consultant and there is much to go at with the inefficiencies and not least the quality of the administrative staff. However, I fail to see how it can keep pace with all the demands on it. An ageing population and the increase in cures or improvements are difficult to cope with or fund. My 87 year old father-in-law found himself in York District Hospital again last night. When I got there to collect him the staff could not be kinder or more professional. The Senior Occupational Therapist who helped me get him into the car signed off by saying to him “Eric, it was nice to meet you”. A society that is continually outraged, offended and whinging need to spend some time occasionally in the real world. There is a lot to be very happy about.

We looked at Anna’s car and the fact that the finance was shortly to end. We decided to trade the car in and get a nearly new Fiesta. This isn’t a difficult project given that the UK is full of Fiestas, even Active X’s. So we were schmoozed by one dealer who found a car in West Yorkshire on the internet at another dealership in the group. The part ex on our old car was good enough and so what was the finance to cost? We started at an interest rate of 12.3%, which was ludicrous and after some hand wringing it fell to 10.9%. We walked.

Applying for finance  by using a money comparison website came up with a few bargains but we went for Marks & Spencers at 2.8%. With the dosh sorted we went to another dealership and they had a suitable car in Scotland. It was considerably cheaper than the other dealer and a lower mileage. All good? Well the catch came in the part ex. It was poor. Clearly one dealer sold at higher prices with higher part ex prices and then vice versa. Anyway we haggled the part ex price up and declined their special finance offer of 7.9%! We collected the car on Friday.

This whole negotiation requires sitting through a lot of tedious small offers – dent and scratch protection, ‘gap’ insurance, asset protection, car care packages etc etc. Next to us a couple with less credit (and will power) capitulated for all of these extra costs and probably are stuck with double digit percentage finance. I reckon a lot of folk don’t fully appreciate what the deal really is. They just see if they can cope with the monthly outlay. Somehow this all seems disreputable to me.

 Anyway I’m glad we’ve waded through this treacle and can now enjoy the new car.

Lastly, I noted with bemusement that Andre Previn’s passing included cursory references to the London Symphony Orchestra, being an accomplished jazz pianist or writing Oscar nominated songs. However prominent reference was made to his appearance on the Morecambe & Wise Show. I suspect he’s laughing wherever he’s gone.

January 21, 2019

I saw a thread on a cycling forum about cycling in Croatia. The gist, from the contributors, was that you needed to be part of a UN Convoy to reduce the risk of reckless drivers killing you. I’d ridden a few hundred miles there last summer and some of the busy congestion wasn’t much fun, however, I’d be happy to cycle there again.

A lot of cyclists are very nervous in traffic: I’m not but without doubt the UK roads are getting busier. Out during the week I pulled up at some temporary traffic lights outside a small town (Easingwold). The lights changed and I clipped my feet into the pedals and set off to be nearly grazed by a car barrelling through. The car had been a long way short of the lights when they changed; he sped through. So you think we’re talking about a busy sales rep hoping to make a crucial appointment? No, it was an old couple in some Korean hybrid no doubt risking my safety to get home for afternoon TV, a chocolate digestive and to let Rufus out into the back garden for a tiddle. Back in the centre of York, on Lendl, a tourist simply strolled across the central island to walk in front of me. In fairness she had her mind on other things as she was busy chatting on her mobile phone. Before impact I bellowed at her and she stepped back shocked. I was hardly inconspicuous in a hi-viz orange coat. No doubt her relatives in Beijing asked what the noise was? Let me help her – it was a call to keep her out of one of York’s unheralded attractions – York District Hospital.

Strolling round IKEA there was a desk that was so high I guess you stood at it. On the desk there was a prop: a sewing machine. Now over 50 years ago my mother had one but in 32 years of marriage my present wife may have had one but it is long gone by decades. They are about as ’current’ as slide rules, dandelion & burdock and Haircut 100. So why was one in IKEA? Well our local and large Yorkshire Asian community make their own clothes and IKEA have analysed their footfall and worked out a use for this piece of furniture. Great marketing.

IKEA is one retail member of the ‘High Street’ that’s surviving and now it appears that HMV has suitors. I’m so pleased about that: we need visible vinyl in the city. One of the dashboard knobs dropped off the Morgan and I lost the short grub screw to fix it. Thanks to specialist shops like Fastpack then you can find any fastener you need in volumes of one or two on a side street near you #boybliss.

The Favourite Eldest Daughter (FED) visited last weekend and dining was a priority for the one night of her stay. I volunteered a local delicacy, fish and chips. The quality of the Yorkshire takeaway is unsurpassed yet FED had some anxieties. Where to get them from and would the chips be good enough? There was a little ‘on line’ debate and (you’ll see my constructive and conciliatory comments in green below) on the dish. You’ll be palpably relieved to learn an emporium was eventually found and the transaction completed. Picky Southerners?

So how about the mast then Tony? Err, well it is still there and despite the network operator ignoring my letters then we have recently been in communication. I wrote to the principal share holder of the holding company and their non-executive chairman. After ignoring my letter for two months the CEO of the PLC holding company came back with a reply pronto!

He ‘parroted’ the balls I have had from the network operator and so I’ve written back offering images of where he could move this offensive stick to. I’ve copied his superiors again and at the very least the MD of the local company is now starting to be seen as a loser as he’s dragged these luminaries into my life. I also started to Tweet on the network operator’s Twitter posts. They blocked me but I changed my address and made comments on their posts again. The local Council were freaked by the ongoing dispute (and their social media involvement by being copied in). They raised the problem with the network operator again. Quickline said no due to technical reasons. So in summary it rumbles on and I am making their lives less comfortable by their original mistake.

Thinking about creating a website for all this next. If other people have the risk of a mast appearing then maybe I should ensure they are aware of what befalls them?

Lastly let’s imagine you are a member of the Police force and you are assigned to looking after the Duke of Edinburgh. An easy gig? He doesn’t go far and probably sleeps a lot: lots of time for cups of tea, chocolate hob nobs and playing games on your mobile? However, imagine your terror when the DoE declares he wants to go for a drive and you’ve go to accompany him.

December 22, 2018

Firstly a correction: In the last blog I said that I listened to 10 hours of music per week. What a load of rubbish! If it is 40 hours then I may still be shy of the true figure. Sat at my desk, driving my car, riding my bike, writing the blog and most other places, if I am by myself. See my ‘Records Of The Year 2018’ for the fruits of this labour.

It was a week of learning. I started with the surprising fact that due to Health & Safety rules a postman now cannot change a flat tyre on his van. Our local postie, Andy, was stranded for an hour whilst a ‘man’ was called to carry out this deed. If you wonder why a Second Class stamp costs £0.58 then it is to cover this type of requirement. (Andy was similarly unimpressed with hanging around for an hour!). 

Other education involved the loss of 30,000 men in a bloody battle about 10 miles west from our house. Anna and I went for a walk and look.

The Battle of Towton was fought in 1461. A reputed 50,000 soldiers converged on this small settlement outside Tadcaster. On one side was the English King, Henry VI and on the other side the other English King, Edward of York (to become Edward IV). One was a Lancastrian and the other was a Yorkist. These two Houses disputed the throne and a battle in The War Of The Roses took place here. The weather for March was harsh with snow and high winds. The superior Lancastrian armies were down wind from the onslaught of the lesser number of Yorkists who slaughtered many Lancastrians in a hail of arrows whilst the Lancastrian bowmen fell short with their missiles. The Lancastrians did briefly gain the upper hand but when reinforced by the Duke of Norfolk’s army the Yorkists won the hand to hand conflict and put the Lancastrians to flight. The Lancastrians were slaughtered. Their critical obstacle was a river at the bottom of a steep hill called the Cock Beck.

They couldn’t cross it and became easy quarry. The legend has it that the Beck ran red with Lancastrian blood and that one form of bridge that existed was the corpses in the Beck that others used to cross over.

Written history in the 15th Century was thin on the ground and seldom accurate. Accounts of the duration of the fighting and the casualties varies but historians believe the total numbers who fought are correct but that the death toll ranges between 3 to 30,000. The remains that are still being dug up today provide skeletons with horrific injuries as fierce and brutal weapons made holes in their skulls.

Today there is a walk at the battlefield with graphics that tell you about the War and the Battle. It’s tranquil and dog owners shout at their pouches to stay on the path and greet other walkers with friendly greetings. To think that the population in England was only 2,000,000 in the 15thCentury and that today’s UK armed forces only amount to 80,000 you can appreciate the scale of this conflict.

Whilst this, in effect, deposed Henry VI and the Yorkists took the crown it was only temporary as the Lancastrians eventually prevailed in 1485 with Henry VI reassuming the throne and merging both Houses by marriage.

In other observations then ‘camping’ students were evident in York. Not in tents or in wintery fields but in coffee shops down Fishergate. Here your average young millennial will buy a coffee and then open their laptop up and hog a table for two hours. I was not impressed when unable to sit in a favourite café. Neither can the proprietors be impressed as they expect these ‘tables’ to turn a decent revenue during the day. Again on York’s burgeoning student populations such now are a number of students of Chinese descent that means we have a number of shops catering to their grocery requirements. Quite a shock really but their money is no doubt welcome in the local economy.

Lastly I think we should end on a Christmas note. I was sleighed (see what I did there?) with a visit to Harvey Nichols with the Favourite Youngest Daughter. She was seriously evaluating a £500 pair of shoes. This worked out at about £50/square inch. I was amazed that a girl who once wore a sparkly top to a school fancy dress day where the pupils were encouraged to dress as farmers was now thinking of spending her hard earned salary on such footwear. Things, as they say, change.

 As any fool know then the brand is denoted by the red sole…

I’ve been to two Christmas concerts this year. One was a serious, thoughtfully compiled and complicated affair at The National Centre for Early Music in the centre of York. The other was a group of septuagenarians in Santa hats (and jazz hands) singing beautifully and having a ball at a shopping centre in Leeds. Guess which one worked for me!

Merry Christmas

December 17, 2018

I thought I’d list the books that I’ve read during the year. I am anything but a voracious, or a quick reader, but I do select my books with quite a bit of thought. There are some time gaps when I was cycling and not reading:

January – ‘The Chitlin’ Circuit and the Road to Rock n’ Roll’ / Preston Lauterbach

         The Chitlin’ Circuit was the name given to venues in the South of the USA where black artists would play to black artists                  up until the 1960s. Often fire hazards with shady proprietors would be the scene. Early blues acts cut their teeth                                and later stars such as Little Richard.

                  ‘Fats Waller’/ Maurice Waller & Anthony Calabrese

                An innovative American jazz pianist with a unique stride style. A talented musician who played The Cotton Club and was                          often  happy playing Classical. Iconic with an immense legacy.

February – ‘The McMillan Diaries Volume 2’ / Peter Catterall

                  Harold McMillan came to be PM after Anthony Eden’s turbulent premiership crashed at Suez. He kept diaries up until the                          time he resigned the leadership in the early 1960s.Observant and engaging if not always frank!

                    ‘Fats Waller – His Life and Times / Joel Vance

                      Another biography of the great man. Another book from my late father’s library.

March – ‘The Terri Clark Journals’ / Terri Clark

                 Terri Clark is a Canadian Country Music artist. She is, or was, a major star in mainstream US Country music at the turn of the                      millennium. A lightweight read I picked up in Canada the year before.

April – ‘Going To Sea In A Sieve’/ Danny Baker

                The ubiquitous cheeky chappy has been found on TV and radio over the last 30 years. A fabulous raconteur who writes about                   his early years. Seldom have I had such an engaging read.

May – ‘David Bowie A Life’ / Dylan Jones

               There is little that I didn’t think I knew about Bowie and more pertinently wanted to learn. However I heard the author                                interviewed on ’The Word’ podcast. His methodology of putting interviews together sequentially on Bowie’s timeline with little                added information made for an honest and revealing story through the words of those who knew him.

            ‘Finding My Voice’ / Elkie Brooks

           I had the records and had seen Vinegar Joe live in 1973 but my fascination came about through having heard her calamitous                   interview with Michael Parkinson some decades ago on radio. There was a complicated story in there? There was certainly a life               with considerable highs, lows and impressive striving. Also there were some stories about a couple of fabulous solo albums I                   needed to know.

July – ‘Going Off Alarming’ / Danny Baker

           The sequel to his first book. This took us further into his career. Still a great read if not as compelling as the first book. 

August – ‘Why I’ve Stopped Talking to White People About Race’ / Reni Eddo-Lodge

                  This book still sits in the best seller lists. My Favourite Eldest Daughter suggested I should read it. (I think we might guess                          why!) Part informative, part indisputable and part self serving for a certain political stance. Frankly if someone has a                                    characteristic that you cannot experience e.g. colour or sexuality I think it’s correct to hear it and quietly think about it. I think                    we can agree the way ‘forward’ is complex.

October – ‘Éamon de Valera : A Will To Power’ / Ronan Fanning

                    After attending a course at York University of Ireland between 1823 and 1923 I was interested to pick up the history from                           there. de Valera was a player in the struggle for Irish Independence before the creation of the Free State and remained in                        power until the 1950s as it’s President. A life of austerity, controversy, conservatism, an iron will and astute political                                     manoeuvring was the picture I gained.

               – ‘A View From The Foothills – The diaries of Chris Mullin / Chris Mullin

               Mullin was a Labour MP for Sunderland South and was Left Wing and a known novelist. His early career was as a journalist                        and his pursuit of getting justice for the convicted Irish who were incarcerated for the Birmingham bombings. The diaries are                    a great read. He is tempted into Government as a very junior minister (which muzzles him) and we hear about the boring                          jobs  and ultra controlled ways of New Labour. Humorous, self deprecating and permanently conflicted between his own                          politics and that of his Party.

November – ‘Decline & Fall’ / Chris Mullin

                         In effect sacked from Blair’s Government and never likely to join Brown’s he writes from the back benches as Labour                                  implodes. He left Parliament at the end of Brown’s Government.

                    – ‘Reporting The Troubles’ / Compiled by Deric Henderson and Ivan Little

                   Decades after the end of the Northern Irish Troubles this book contains short essays from journalists who reported them                           about people, usually ordinary, they met who were caught up in the death, hate and destruction.

December – ‘Untold Stories’ / Alan Bennett

                         I’d been meaning to read one of this great playwright and actor’s books and this appeared in a charity shop and was                                suddenly mine. Over 600 pages of a diary of his life and events. A man of a certain era with clear thoughts and immense                            powers of observation and recollection. A right riveting read….

December 7, 2018

Despite listening to probably about 10 hours worth of music per week I seldom listen to it on the radio, I listen to speech. I try and listen to intelligent stuff like the news or podcasts but occasionally I can’t get to turn the dial quick enough to avoid some tosh. Listening to BBC Radio 5 Live there was some *snowflake* slot about parenting. They were bemoaning that we all turn into our parents. This rueful reflection was coming out of old timers who were having anxiety attacks about turning 35.

Out of all the illustrations such as getting great pleasure at irritating your kids with banal and unfunny jokes at their expense came the observation that like their father one of them now had a dedicated stick that they kept for stirring paint. I’m guilty, as charged.

On a trip to London I was taken with some headphones Matt has that are wireless, that is, they don’t plug into a device, and pick up a bluetooth signal instead. I bought a pair and they can be a bit temperamental but there is no looking back now! On a bike there are challenges of where to put the device so that you can cycle and listen through headphones. This overcomes all this.

 (Yes, I know one school of thought is very anti wearing headphones when riding a bike. Frankly I can provide a long list of things more dangerous. I don’t listen during traffic congested urban areas.

So how do you get to sleep? Frankly amongst the many challenges we all face then this is not one for me. I become comatose very shortly after shutting my eyes. This is a considerable bonus when camping. However I always do something that I once read in a book. I start to think back during the day and think of the 10 positive/pleasing things that happened. This can be a telephone call, something complicated that you sorted out, the surprising delight of a breathtaking view in the countryside, finding that elusive item in a shop or, often, a superb bike ride where I rode well. Try it.

Brexit? Weirdly I’m enjoying the latter stages of the debate, it’s like a boxset with no end in sight. Every day a new position or information becomes evident and so each side either attempts to suggest it means nothing or the other side suggests it does. In the meanwhile it is a feeding frenzy for TV News Channels, newspapers and social media on a 24/7 cycle. 

I enjoy the tactics of the Government whether harnessing Cabinet ministers, the EU or the Bank of England, on separate days, to keep hammering home their point of view whilst pretending to be ‘honest johns’ just telling you the way it is. The Opposition who really don’t seem as a Shadow Government to mind Brexit but want to press and harry the Government into an Election or jettisoning the Prime Minister and just take every opportunity, irrespective of the merits of the argument. After this you get the implacable Brexiteers or the Remainers MP’s who I suspect mainly speak for themselves rather than the public. We as the spectators have a sketchy grasp on whether it is all doom and gloom. Whichever way it still has some way to go. I’ll pull up a chair.

 In attempting to save the planet we have moved from real Christmas trees to an artificial one. We haul this out of the loft every December. Not that I wish to be grumpy but assembling it takes as long as the 18 mile round trip to B & Q to buy and then stick into a base and push into the corner of the lounge. The artificial tree comes with every branch separate and needing to be hooked into the central shaft/trunk. Anyway we can all agree it looks very pretty.

Lastly on Christmas, Anna and I went to the local pub on Saturday night with other neighbours for our annual Christmas dinner. It was very convivial and the conversation and drink flowed. One neighbour recounted a less than happy Christmas Day lunch at his house last year. His new partner’s children attended. 

One daughter was very dismissive of his considerable efforts to produce a splendid meal. This didn’t bode well for an easy afternoon. The daughter, who by all accounts is carrying way too much timber, bemoaned her weight problem. The neighbour appearing sympathetic volunteered he knew what her problem was. All faces turned toward him to listen to his considered opinion. “Well you’ve got an over active knife and fork!” I’m not sure if she’s coming around for Christmas lunch this year.

December 1, 2018

The siting of an enormous broadband mast close to our garden boundary has interested our local MP, Julian Sturdy. As a consequence he’s written asking them to move it. Quite a splendid and supportive letter given our anger. I’d written to the Managing Director (MD) of the network operator and the Chief Executive Officer of the parent company; I’ve not had the courtesy of a reply. I also rang the MD’s office to no avail. Cowboys come to mind. In addition I attempted to get the local residents interested and circulated widely any correspondence I received or generated. I also kept contacting the Council asking ‘supplementary’ questions following their initial advice that there was nothing they or I could do. Eventually the Council’s patience was tested and in the end I got a terse email advising the ‘matter is closed’!

I’m convinced we’re stuck with this monstrosity but if there is any comfort in knowing that I pushed it as far as I could then I know I have. The change in recent legislation that allowed network operators to put up 15 metre high masts without seeking Planning Permission is the problem. The argument for doing this was that delays were being experienced by involving planning permission. I can’t believe that the relaxation of this part of the Town and Communities Act was to upset residents and for network operators to stick up these things where they pleased.

I don’t think I’ve really complained about all the heat that I’ve cycled through this year? Last summer saw me cycle every day in France in temperatures of 35°C (95°F). There are challenges of avoiding getting sun burnt, sun stroke, running out of water and forever seeking shade when on the road. However there is no comparison to riding in the cold. 

I went out this week for a 50 mile spin and the forecast said it was around 5°C (40°F) but it turned out to be 1C (34°F) falling beneath freezing on several occasions. Not only does this become very slippy on the road but being the UK I set off in soaking drizzle. 

I was well ‘sealed’ apart from my leggings/tights and gloves. Both these got sodden and I got progressively colder despite cycling continuously and regular climbing. About an hour from home I was losing the feeling in my hands which made changing gear and braking difficult. Blissfully I got home and whipped off the gloves. The pain was excruciating as blood returned to the hands. Even after this interlude there wasn’t sufficient feeling or strength to undo my overshoes or shoes. I suppose the upside was eating like a pig to replace the carbs and to warm up before a soaking hot bath. Roll on warmer weather.

On the grey matter front I bowled up to the University Of York for a Saturday course: “The History Of Jazz”. I know a lot about jazz but how all the different styles and eras fit together was an interesting thing to discover. So for over around six hours with the help of Spotify we went through 70 years of jazz. All the way from The Original Dixieland Jazz Band to Glenn Miller and on to Miles Davis. Fabulous and yet another long list of stuff to hear or buy. 

This time using my hands more than brains I took a bicycle to the outskirts of York for another Saturday course to be taught how to expertly adjust or fit various gears, bottom brackets and headsets. This time it was a Council run course. The guy running the course spent some time as a professional bike rider, running a bike shop and now has an IT business. Apparently he still turns his hand to being a bike mechanic on some of the professional tours. This year he’s been in the Gulf working at the Tour of Abu Dhabi. These races are used by the professional teams to get fit and limber up for the European season. 

Truth to be told I think a couple of people on the course were hoping to get some free maintenance on their own bikes. He illustrated the techniques by taking your bike and dismantling it before re-assembly. On one bike he simply couldn’t remove the pedals such was the corrosion. As regards the gears he did a demonstration on my bike before de-tuning it all so that I could practise my skills putting it right. Frankly I’d prefer if he’d left mine alone as it was working well before I went!

November 2, 2018

So I typed most of this on the veranda of a whitewashed villa in Playa Blanca. Yes, gruelling, I know. We departed to an island just west of the Morrocan coast: Lanzarote en famille. Please note the daughters’ Ryanair ‘in flight’ picnic packs (beautifully packed by yours truly).

Now you could be forgiven for thinking that two mature (old) people were being supervised and entertained by their energetic millennial daughters. Both sprogs turned up with no resemblance to Duracell Bunnies and by 8pm seemed broadly to be behaving like they did as 8 year olds – slumped in front of the TV but protesting to be wide awake and not remotely ready for bed. They did eventually get to staying up later and one of the party did go for a jog/fast walk with her mother most morning whilst the other transferred from her bed to lie prostrate on the veranda furniture!

Despite our sojourn to a hotter climate then York continued to be a hive of visitors in our absence. The inevitable Chinese photographers clutter the main thoroughfares and whilst I would encourage them to devour our architecture and heritage I have visions of some unfortunate relatives on the 18th floor of a tower block in Shanghai having to sit beside someone whilst they flick through c870 photographs.

York also attracts blokes on elderly motorcycles and hundreds of BSAs, Vincents, Triumphs and more recent Japanese models flooded the streets. If the bikes were gleaming then I was impressed with the riders who donned clothing to match the era of the bike. This often entailed 1950s tweed sports jackets and shirts and ties. I would have loved to get a photo of those who motored along with pipes in their mouths.

Anna  and I love our sport and have taken in major events when we can. Leeds United has not been deemed a ‘major event’ due to the club in recent times being run like an implausible soap opera; the football being awful and expensive to watch. Given the recent upturn in form we were lured to watch them despatch Preston North End 3-0, marvelous. Howerver it all matters too much and once we opened ourselves up to the reckless hope that they could continue this form it started to dominate our lives. We have been to concerts and spent a lot of time checking the scores in the dark whilst those seated around us wonder what these ‘saddos’ are doing. I have confidence that by Christmas we will be heading for mid table obscurity.

Lanzarote offered some great cycling with bright hot sunny days and well surfaced roads with light traffic. I ventured out and did 54 miles in up to 35˚C heat and climbed no less than 1100 metres. Feeling fairly pleased with myself I ambled through Playa Blanca back to our villa and overtook a couple on urban bikes who were weaving along the road looking at the surroundings. I then hit a steep hill and found that any ‘legs’ I had were now gone. To ruin a great bike ride these two cyclists then powered by (to prove a point, I think). I am researching contract killers on the island – I’m sure there must be some Russian or Saudi residents here.

So the holiday went well but there was excitement well until the end.

…it was rancorous amongst the family as we passed through Security to the Departure Gate at Lanzarote Airport. All four of us rose successfully at Stupid O’Clock for our 7:05 flight to Leeds Bradford. However, the major challenge of returning the rented car to the Airport with a full tank of fuel loomed. Having done this successfully before then it shouldn’t be a problem to find a petrol station open early in the morning?

Wrong! We’d stayed too far from the Airport to replenish the tank the night before to be able to return it full. No fuel could be found on our drive in. The proverbial last throw of the dice was finding fuel at the large Airport complex. No joy. 

So I’m contemplating heading back out onto the main road in search mode when the other three loudly remonstrated about simply paying whatever cost the car rental company would impose for the shortage and therefore enabling the ‘passengers’ to successfully get to the flight in a relaxed timely fashion. Very grumpily I acquiesced, parked up in a dark deserted car park and dropped off the car keys at the closed car rental counter via a letterbox in the Terminal.

So near the Gate I looked for my wallet to buy a coffee. At this point I remembered that it was left in the hire car. I’d put it beneath the dashboard for when I found that petrol station. Crisis – the wallet contained cash, credit cards, my driving licence, my EU health card etc. Future communication on my return to the UK with the car rental company would be hopeless. I’d already suffered at their hands on earlier calls when the car needed replacing earlier in the holiday – poor English, unsympathetic and short staffed.

So I decided to try and go and retrieve the wallet. Getting back through Security proved easy but could I get the key back out of the letter box?

No, I couldn’t. My hand was too fat to slide through the box to retrieve the key lying tantalisingly on view. I had tried and forced my hand into the box until it hurt the back of my hand badly. Nightmare. Fortunately a lady was depositing keys at an adjacent counter. I asked would she kindly see if her hand fitted? Let’s face it I could have simply been a thief needing an accomplice? It did. The key was retrieved.

Another sprint into the dark car park hoping that we’d got the correct key. We had. Door opened and the wallet grabbed. Another dash to the counter to post the car keys and then back though Security to the Gate to join the depleting queue at Gate 4 as Ryanair loaded the ‘plane.

I think I need another holiday to recover.

October 2, 2018

Slipping into the seat Jessica’s first question is whether I am a ‘number 2’ or a ‘number 3’. She refers of course to which attachment I would like run over my head. Always a number 3.

“So how are you, Jessica?” I address her in the strange manner people address those cutting their hair: through the large, unflattering mirror screwed into the wall, my neck suddenly locked up for fear of admonishment should it shift even an inch.

I’d say that she’s only 26 years old and from earlier conversations I know that she has two daughters and a partner. Her life is so different to mine (and my twin millennials of delight in London and Manchester). I do admire her ability to cope with a low wage, a family and run a home. Down to earth, phlegmatic and ‘just getting on with it’ is more than a fair analysis of Jessica.

“Well it was going alright until my daughter had to go to A & E at the weekend.”

Not really the opening I expected. I thought I’d get complaints of a slow day, a change in shift pattern due to absences at the salon or maybe a saga of repeated calls to Vodaphone to resolve a mobile phone contract. “What happened?”

“Well I was taking my mother and grandma for afternoon tea in Strensall when I got a call that she’d cut her chin at her aunt’s house. So I picked her up and off we went to hospital.”

“Cut her chin?”

“She cut her chin on some chicken wire. This wire is at the bottom of my aunt’s garden. She was playing with her cousins, who are older and little twats. They unlocked a gate in a fence that they were told not to go through. She’s such a goody goody that she wouldn’t but she looked through a gap and caught her chin on the wire. Off we went to A & E and spent three hours there”.

She displayed no outrage at this detour. (I wondered whether she had simply kicked into the caring mother mode where your time and priorities immediately switch or whether this was a typical weekend). I was concerned as this was distressing for anyone let alone a small child.

“They see you quickly to assess the injury and then you have to wait for the doctor? Was she bleeding heavily?”

“Yes, they gave us some bandages to stop the bleeding. When it was her turn they wanted to stitch it there and then. But she screams at the sight of blood and I wasn’t letting them give her a local anaesthetic.”

“Even worse was that my partner was in the hospital. Eddie was in another ward on a drip. So I was fucking about between both of them and that was why she was with her aunt rather than him”.

Eddie on a drip? This was a whole new storyline. Awful news, poor chap! However, I avoid exploring this interesting sub-plot.

(I’ve been known to swear (cough). So I’m not particularly offended but I worry that this is part of her everyday lexicon with all those who come into her life – including casual acquaintances plonked in her ‘office’).

“So what happened with her chin?”

“Six stitches, they did a very tidy job. She had to go back on Sunday morning for a general anaesthetic. That meant waiting fucking hours. After the five minute operation she was left for an hour and a quarter to come round.”

“Gosh, that made a mess of the weekend.”

There was a small time gap whilst she attended to my scalp and then stepping back said:

“That wasn’t the end of it.”

Wondrous timing.

“Really?”

“My sister in law. Err… well Eddie and myself are not married but you know what I mean. She keeps sending fucking texts that wind me up. This time she’s off on one about my looking after the kids. So I’ve had a right weekend and I’m sick of her with all this. So I decided to drop a bomb.”

“A bomb?”

“I told her that her partner had been sleeping with her best friend for the last two years.”

“Whoa” (Sinks lower in chair). I’ve been generous to Jessica, up to a point, with my description of her lot but you now start to get a closer a look at the mayhem that seeps into her and her family’s life. All these episodes make them more dysfunctional. Or maybe she’s just letting you know the stuff others keep secret?

“How did that go down?”

“Well everyone knows that I don’t give a fuck and say what I think about ‘owt.”

Well quite, I was starting to get a clear picture of her take on most things. “That’ll take a while before you’re speaking to each other again!”

“It got worse.”

She must be winding me up now knowing that I write a blog. This is comedy gold.

“Worse?”

“The police contacted me. She contacted them to say I was committing slander.”

Ah, the bar room lawyer in me now takes over. I might know something about this after other contretemps I’ve been in. “Oh, that’s going nowhere. You’ve got to prove injury”

“Yeah, well the police had to make the call and we agreed that anyone on Facebook would be breaking the law if they looked at it for slander (libel).”

Unfortunately at this point my haircut was complete and I had no time for the story to continue. I gave her a couple of pounds tip as it was the least I could do.

(Thanks again to Matt for his review, editing and additions)

September 19, 2018

Matt Gray

Another entertaining piece in this occasional series by Matt about the challenges of writing… or not

Bzzzzz

There is a fly buzzing somewhere in the room. You can hear it, but you cannot see it. You stop what you are doing and turn your head away from the task at hand and attempt to search it out. Whilst looking, however, you realise the buzzing has stopped. How odd… You turn back to the task at hand, the page before you, and you consider the next move. You find that a part of you longs for it to begin again. Then you hear it. A gentle thud suggests it just dozily bumped into the window pane in an attempt to flee and thus you jerk your head to the window in a swift movement. On and on this little routine goes, this little dance between yourself and the shadow-fly. Eventually you simply abandon your task and take to searching for it. You intend to swat it, to erase it, to free your mind up. There is a slipper in your hand and you silently patrol the room on high alert. If it buzzes again you will get it. 

You just wait for the buzz. It has done its job. 

We all have flies in the room. Those little annoying creatures that distract us from being productive. Now, sometimes, this takes the form of an actual fly, but more often it takes the form of something else. Social media is the 21st century culprit for many people. The constant connectedness we feel, especially whilst at our computer desks, means that distraction is never more than just a double click away. The Twitter feed… the news page… the YouTube video that you were told you had to watch because it’s the funniest clip ever made and simply cannot wait. Oh, have I got any emails? No? Let me check my spam folder… Oh, I’m on Google now, let me type my name in and see what that entails…

Procrastination is not quite the same as distraction but they are cousins who get a little too close during the family Christmas dinner. To procrastinate is to actively seek out means by which to defer work, whereas distraction is the fly buzzing in your ear when you are trying to focus. It’s like being told there is a chocolate digestive hidden somewhere beneath the water biscuits. 

I will admit I have fallen prey to both, like most of us have. Even writing this piece, I have procrastinated by scouring Spotify for the perfect soundtrack to writing, and have been distracted by the sounds of Richie Rich playing on the television in the next room. While I can close the door to Richie Rich (thankfully) there are other distractions that are trickier to shut out. There is the constant desire to have a break, to begin reading my book, or to make a cup of coffee. All serve the same function in delaying the time I have to sit down and write this piece.

So what advice can I give to people in the modern age who wish to minimalise distraction? Whilst procrastination is something that cannot be advised upon easily (it’s simply a mindset), there are means I take to reduce the amount of distraction while I write. I still procrastinate, but I know I’ve done my best to ensure that when I do, I cannot blame anyone but my own ping-ponging attention span.

1) WRITING SETUP. When I write, I use a program that utilises a full screen mode. Word has a full screen mode, but there are still distractions, even then. You have banners inviting you to fiddle with font type and size, to adjust spacing between the lines and to even change the font colour for crying out loud. No, these are not what I want to be staring at me, winking their devilish winks and luring me into distraction. I am writing this with Ulysses, which is a markdown software which aims to make writing solely about the words. You have to go through two different menu clicks before you can change anything other than font size (and even that is simply a keyboard shortcut and not a glowing neon button). When in full screen mode, the whole of my screen is black and white, the page and the words. There are no windows, the internet may as well be a distant memory, out of reach. Now, when I write, I am simply as one with the words.

2) BACKGROUND SOUNDS. I find it very difficult to write in complete silence. I think most people do. This is why so many aspiring novelists tuck themselves away in coffee-shops; the clattering of mugs, the generic hum of conversation and the burr of the coffee grinder stop your own thoughts from creeping in, making you less self aware of what you are doing. And, if I have learned anything, if a writer pauses for even a second to consider that they are actually writing, they halt, like the bee who was wondered how she could fly and then fell from the sky. Any one of these sounds, isolated, could be a problem, but melded, their sweet cacophony produces an almost zen-like environment, and you find yourself sinking down, away from awareness, and you lose yourself. 

I appreciate that not all writers can, or even want to, do this. At almost three quid a pop, that would make writing your novel fuelled by coffee-shop visits a bankrupting endeavour. Fear not, because there are means by which to aid this, and not all of them, thankfully, rely on you actually having to fire up the internet. You can, of course, go to YouTube and search for rainstorm music, or anything like that, but there are apps (some free, others very cheap) which you can fire up which emulate a variety of soothing situations. The one I use, Noizio, has adjustable bars for ‘Deep Space’ (great for writing that SF epic), ‘Coffee Shop’ (great for bringing you Costa without the cost), and even, bizarrely, ‘Farmyard Sounds’ (great for… writing that stable boy/ lady of the manor romance?). You are at risk of procrastination when you begin playing with different combinations. For example, mix a bit of Deep Space with Farmyard and you have Cows in Space.

Outside of this, I would recommend movie soundtracks which closely match your chosen genre. Lyric-free music is always recommended, as you wish to avoid music that means you can be easily distracted by. 

3) DISCONNECT. Oh, how easy it is to simply click the little wi-fi icon in the top corner and deactivate your system’s connection to the internet. Simple, but we rarely do it. This not only prevents you from easily keeping updated on your feeds, but also prevents the annoying notifications that pop up, the digital equivalent of a mermaid’s siren song. 

There is a fly in the room. You can hear it, but you cannot see it. 

August 29, 2018

So after having been away for six weeks holidaying then unsurprisingly it takes a while to get back into the swing of things and it’s only now that my mind turns to the chores that make up a lot of life. More happily a festival of sport marked my return.

Firstly we attended a Premiership football match – Leicester City versus Wolverhampton Wanderers and then the cricket Test Match between England and India in Nottingham the next day. The football was excellent and Wolves will do well in the league this season despite their loss 2-0 on the day. Leicester City has a splendid ground and reasonable prices for their fans. However, despite their pride and loyalty the atmosphere was limp. I can only imagine the buzz at the first home match of the season if Leeds were in the top flight.

The seats we had at Trent Bridge were fabulous and so we could assess the quality of the bowling and batting brilliantly behind the bowler’s arm. If that was brilliant then England’s performance was worthy of several sackings. Inept decisions from after winning the toss to their abject first innings batting. India are well are truly back in the Series and I expect they might win it. Despite all this it was a great day out.

On my bike ride then sartorial elegance was not a priority. I washed and wore three sets of clothes in rotation over a 25 day period. Back home then I can scrub up quite well with a suit but the schedule and activities I keep only necessitate jeans and a T shirt with some sort of fleece top. It does seem a long time ago since I spent considerable sums at quality Gents outfitters on suits, ties and shirts. However, that was a work situation and I suppose I cared!

So accompanying Mrs Ives in Leeds during the week I was wandering around half contemplating buying some shorts when I strolled into some clothes shops and was accosted by a fairly care worn figure staring back at me from full length mirrors. This chap was 60’ish wearing unforgivably baggy Levi 501’s that looked well past their best, a routine collared shirt and blue pullover. In fairness then compared to men of his age he was quite slim and had short hair. (The latter over coming that elderly man preference for having lots of grey hair on show nicely combed over the bald patches).

Anyway, despite my wife’s protestation that delights abounded at a discount at the Designer Outlet outside York I bought a jacket, jeans and shorts. Most of this at John Lewis. Even more wisely I did consult people less than half my age what might be jean alternatives and received good counsel.

By way of revenge Anna was quick on our return to select candidates from my wardrobe for eviction. Which reminds me… If and when I appear on the BBC’s Desert Island Discs and Kirsty asks what my luxury item is to take to the desert island I will take a 40 year old coat that I use to wash the car and garden in. My explanation will be that as soon as I am out of her sight entrapped on this Pacific idyll then she will be rummaging through the cloakroom to dispose of this coat. Such is her desire to dispose of it I have wondered whether I might offer this solution to her as a future Christmas present.

I finish with a heavy heart about what I saw in a supermarket. After shopping for various groceries I was proceeding down the aisles to the checkout when I saw, with others, a youngish, tall but slightly dishevelled man taking the contents of his shopping basket and pile them into a rucksack behind a pillar. It looked very suspicious and was. He just hauled the rucksack on his back and briskly walked toward the exit with £80 of booze on his back. Theft in broad daylight.

You’re left in the bat of an eye thinking what you could have done, safely, to prevent this. Then others questions arise – why didn’t the supermarket electronically tag the alcohol, recruit store detectives (especially around the alcohol), did the supermarket just accept this shrinkage as an overhead, how many times a week this happened and why was this wretch doing this – to support his own addictions by either selling or drinking it? Depressing and maybe just a regular occurrence I am lucky enough not to witness very often.

Lastly I can advise that Costco is already in the vanguard of preparing to lift your money with Halloween essentials.

July 3, 2018

I suppose when you amass the age of 27 then you’ve reason to think you’re fully grown. This isn’t how your parents view you.

The Favourite Eldest returned from London for a busy family weekend celebrating The Favourite Youngest’s 26th birthday (see below). On Sunday evening she clambered into the Morgan (with some of our surplus party food )for the journey back to the Capital. Ahead, back in London, was a busy week with lots to do.

I steered the car toward Selby to pick up the train. The car was a delight with the hood down for the drive South. Nicely in time we got to the outskirts of Selby to find, inexplicably, that a major road to the nearby motorway, had been shut. This master stroke meant that this motorway traffic was diverted through Selby town centre.

This disaster meant we crawled for a couple of miles to the railway station reconciled to now having missed the 19:22 to Kings Cross. We eventually pulled up to the station at about 19:24. A train was in the station….yippee! Bags were grabbed, farewells were said and Katrina sprinted toward the train. Phew!

I trundled North and got home. I got in the door and Anna received a text saying the train she’d leapt on was the wrong one and going in the wrong direction. Visions of missing key meetings in London flashed before her as well as being stranded in Hull in a deserted station on a lonely Sunday night. Hull is 50 miles to the East of Selby and London is 200 miles to the South. Anna wanted to speak to her as lots of advice or alternatives were available e.g. we’d drive to Hull and collect her, she could get a train from York before 6am the next day and whatever the cost we’d pay, she should leap on any train from Hull and don’t worry about not having a ticket (the Ticket Office was shut) etc.

She had a failing battery life but also explained that she couldn’t talk because she was in pieces. At this point you want to do everything you can to assist your child and takeaway the problem (not least when you’re partially responsible for putting her on the wrong train).

Without doubt she is more than capable of sorting out this misstep but our hearts reached out. As for her emotion then when I asked her the next day if she’d had to pay more then she explained that when asked by the Ticket Collector for her, obviously wrong ticket, she was let off any supplement because she burst into tears. (A tactic I will now employ for all future demands for money).

Anyway changing in Doncaster she got to London and then slowly found her way back to Muswell Hill by public transport and got in her front door at 00:11. Life’s trials.

Overweight people can struggle with exercise regimes. Not something that they want to do, not something they look good when doing and something that can be postponed/avoided. In a field, in our village, I joined many portly men and women in stretching, bending and a little walking. They were undaunted in persisting with this for at least 30 minutes in stifling heat. Their travails were often punctuated by mouthfuls of refreshing fruit.

We currently have ‘Pick Your Own’ strawberries and raspberries in season at a local farmer’s. The customers were not skinny things.

The heatwave continues and after being thrilled about the dry hot weather for a number of days then us Brits are now fretting about drought, dying vegetation, hosepipe bans and sunstroke. I feel however that we should maintain our stiff upper lips in the face of this adversity because… it will rain and be cool and miserable very shortly.

This next month I will accumulate my 58th, 59th and 60th countries visited. We fly to Croatia and whilst there we will drive into Bosnia. Later I will cycle through Slovenia on the way home. Anna will fly home and I will cycle back via Slovenia, Austria, Germany, France and Belgium. My route seems a bit lumpy with the Balkan terrain to overcome and then the Alps! I whinged about my website provider in my last Journal and they don’t offer a very functional blog solution for iPads. I shall use www.tonyives.wordpress.com for regular updates of heroic cycling, surprising natives, gasps of awe at the sight of many beautiful coasts, mountains and towns. I will post on Facebook and also send out some links by email. As always I hope you join me and will be my extra set of gears to help on some of the long days and the 1,500 miles to get home..

June 18, 2018

Firstly on the theme of feathered friends then I was painting the jetty earlier today and became very popular with the local wildlife. (No the jetty does not signify that I have a yacht tethered for trips around the Mediterranean but I do have a small part of a very muddy lake near York). I believe that I would have been even more popular had I been a loaf of bread. And before you ask I was wearing waders.

Our second eldest nephew visited from London and asked, whilst sat in the lounge, why we had such an old TV? As a man who prides himself on how hip and cool he is then I was taken aback but eventually regained my composure and said that it works perfectly and the picture, albeit not HD, seems adequate.

In fact one of the reasons for being in the 20th Century is the weary task of sorting out an updated satellite box for HD and buying the TV. As regards the latter then the choice is mind boggling. However, I hacked out time in a busy schedule to put this problem right. We checked out a few HD TV’s and went from no knowledge to a bit more than zero. Regrettably the selecting and organising the replacement digital box did seem like a project akin to scaling Everest. I gathered my rope and crampons and put my first foot onto the bottom of the mountain.

I called Sky and an Irish lad told me that I could get all this plus a new TV at a heavy discount. Apparently an ‘entry level’ (remember where I was born) box was no longer available but this new one that could do lots of things (I cared little about) and would be mine for a one off charge of £199 and then £12 extra per month until Leeds United got back into the Premiership. Well I wasn’t paying that after having been a customer for 19 years. So I went on ‘hold’ whilst he beetled off to talk to someone. In another lifetime he returned and chirpily advised that I was indeed a loyal customer and I could have this for a one off £20 charge. The total monthly subscription would remain broadly the same because whilst the new box attracted a new monthly charge he would reduce the cost of one of my subscription packages to offset. So we then went through the TV UHD deal (£249) and seemed to be making progress until we came across my new friends called ‘HDMI’. Did I have them? How would I know?  I rang off to find someone 35 years younger to discuss it with.

Indeed I did have it! So ten days later I rang back. My first contact heard my story of my understanding of what was the offer and then said would I hold? Of course. He eventually returned to advise that as I was a loyal customer then there may be a better deal in the offing. Where had I heard this before? I was transferred to another department and a nice young lady tried to help me. I say tried because she was in ‘Technical’. Why I was sent here only the first chap knows. We went round the houses with her discussing the merits of buying an additional digital box for another room. I rejected this and talked about the suggestion that there would be no subscription charge changes. This was according to the first chap because he was going to replace one ‘package’ with another ‘package’ to offset. However, I would lose all the Kids channels (will my daughters ever come home again?) She knew nothing about this but because we were talking about deletions put me through to the ‘Cancellation’ department. Still following all this?

(Anna went to fetch alcohol for us at this stage).

Ewan put us on hold four times whilst he attempted to get me the digital box and the TV deal. As he was in ‘Cancellations’ his role in life was to give potentially departing subscribers discounts. I liked him instantly although I never sought a reduction. Anyway after 1 hour and 23 minutes I gave him £289 and he gave me a box and TV and reduced my monthly subscription from £91 to £75. Of course I will only believe all this when it all arrives and I see the first bill.

Also I’m not boasting as I expect someone out there has the Sky Q box, Sports package, Entertainment package, broadband and telephone for a lot less. I’m just hoping that this TV and digital box out live me.

You’ll see elsewhere my blog for a week cycling in France. This was a spin up from Toulouse to the Dordogne River and back. With old time pal Tony Franco we made it! Worryingly then despite the hills, heat and 360 miles I put on weight. 

The present Mrs Ives has little affection for a ride in the Morgan but I lured her into the car and the coast when the Yorkshire branch of the Morgan Sports Car Club organised a lunch and a trip to the Bird Sanctuary at RSPB (Royal Society for the Protection of Birds) Bempton Cliffs on the Yorkshire coast. Sadly the mission of seeing puffins proved elusive although she said she saw one out of thousands of gannets, guillemots, kittiwakes and a lot of seagulls. I was surprised to see so many seagulls despite the absence of a nearby fish and chip shop!

I must rant about the BBC and the World Cup Football (soccer) coverage. If having several days of presenter Gary Lineker wasn’t an atrocity in its own right then they appear to have literally hundreds of TV and radio presenters over there along with the various engineers and production people. How many ex-footballers does the taxpayer need to fund? They just blather on with such vacuous insights as ‘he’s got a sweet left foot’? However the real unforgivable oversight by the BBC is the fact that Russia has invaded its neighbours, continues to suppress political opposition to Putin, stokes mass migration from Syria (and supports Assad) also has attempted and successfully assassinated in the UK. However this is all right for the BBC as it has won large media coverage rights. So we are really happy to be in Russia for the duration of the competition. Hopefully they will revert to portraying the Russian Government as the children of Satan when it finishes.

Saw the TV interview this morning with Mr Markle – the Duchess of Sussex’s father. Apparently Harry has never met him in person. It doesn’t seem unreasonable to meet your father-in-law in the flesh, not least as he was pencilled in to bring your future wife down the aisle. Apparently they did talk on the phone, which was nice of Hazza to find the time to call long distance.

So when Thomas tells them he’s off into hospital for heart surgery then maybe Meghan should have known about his health? Or if he was a bit suspect at ever showing up then maybe someone should have put in an appearance South of the Border to check him out. Good luck Meghan this is the remote and odd Clown Show you are joining.

Lastly, I like the look of my web site but the provider Wix are pants. The site is very slow to update or move around as regards editing and uploading. Maybe our appallingly slow broadband doesn’t help but this crowd are not people I’d use again if starting from scratch.

May 16, 2018

With TV personalities Ben Turnbull and Stephen Fry going public on their battle with prostrate cancer it is something that crosses the mind of all men of a certain age. In fact a dear ex-brother in law has been dealing with this challenge for some time. Like most readers then I can think of at least 5 other friends with the condition. So when urinary issues arise and you feel should go to the doctor it is not the happiest event. I trooped in and despite reassurance that the tests for prostrate cancer and possible diabetes were precautions then I went through a difficult 10 days before I sat in front of him again to hear the results. The upshot was that I was fine as regards the big questions. Some things had changed and pills were prescribed. Frankly I’m not sure if I’ll take the pills as I’m just so damn glad that I’m as well as I am. As everyone says then you need to be vigilant and pro-active about these matters. You do.

I don’t have much affection for small animals (although I did enjoy my daughters when they were under three foot tall) yet I am grateful to puffins. The present Mrs Ives is very sniffy about a ride in the Morgan. The lure of the wind in her hair, a country pub and the admiring glances from all and sundry doesn’t overcome the cramped space, the nigh on yoga position to exit the car or the absence of suspension. However the Yorkshire chapter of the Morgan Sports Car Club circulated details on a trip to Bempton on the East Coast to have a spot of lunch and view various birdies: she was very enthusiastic. Heaven forbid there aren’t any there.

My Southern daughter has an expensive taste in champagne. Despite celebrating her birthday with Prosecco I was despatched by my first wife to Waitrose, with the Favourite Eldest Daughter (FED), to buy a ‘proper drink’. Bollinger was on offer. Unsurprisingly it was sold out by the time we reached the aisle and so we selected some Pol Roger at the discounted (!) price of £37.50. Of course you know that it was Winston Churchill’s favourite champagne. If it’s good enough fro Winnie then it was good enough for FED.

She does dip in her pocket on occasion and with her sister (FYD) she took her mother and I to afternoon tea at Claridges. It is a truly delightful setting with attentive service where seemingly nothing is too much trouble. There were endless sandwiches and cakes as well as a glass or two of champagne (again!). This was our second visit and it was as wonderful as before and I expect it won’t be our last trip either.

What’s the fuss over a Blue passport? Who doesn’t have one (or a cravate)?

Steve Jessney of Nothin’ But The Blues fame on Vixen 101 had a spare ticket for a gig in Hull and we went across for a splendid blues night with Ian Siegal. I was stood there thinking that I should be making notes on the artist and then submitting the copy to The Americana Music Show or Country Music People but I decided to have the night off. With his whiskey and cigarette voice he worked his way through a brilliant set with some fabulous guitar playing by his sideman, Dusty Ciggaar. He’s toured the UK many times and opined that the towns he had visited over the years had changed. Some of the rougher towns such as Liverpool, Belfast and Hull were now gentrified in their appearance. I think he was a little rueful and so was I.

Pick ups? As a man who likes the odd Country Music song then maybe I should be happy about the increasing number of pick ups trundling through our city centres? I’m just bemused at their UK popularity. They have minimal practicality and fuel efficiency. As regards having useful storage facility then they are limited and the space is exposed. (In North America, in the summer, when it rains then an hour later it’s dry and anything you put in the back isn’t damaged or stolen. In the UK this is hardly the case). The size is inappropriate for UK roads and parking bays. Yes, they are bright and shiny and go like hell but to think that there are some tax advantages for the tradesman who is showing off with a fast lorry for his weekend shopping is infuriating. At the moment the choice is limited but if every sparky or farmer buys one then the manufacturers will launch a wider choice, reduce prices and we’ll have more of these things. In the USA the most profitable vehicle Ford sell is their F-150 pick up. You’ve been warned.

March 20, 2018

I go quite a long way back with Whitby. We used to own a flat there and still the family has considerable affection for the little former fishing town on the Yorkshire coast. I know it on so many levels – restaurants, best bike rides, best pubs, mini golf, walks up to The Abbey and the type of folk who holiday there.

I was invited to go across and join an old friend and his pals. They turn up every year, stay at his apartment and partake of serious exercise and even more serious drinking! I joined on Stage 2 of this two day tour. It is about 50 miles away from our home and the weather was desperate. Snow, ice and unbelievably cold. In our British weather forecasts we now have a new description of hell, namely, ‘chill factor’.

The ‘old friend’, Peter, is a skinny and fit Wearsider who lives in Edinburgh but works in London. At the age of around 56 he’s made the decision to retire. He’s a little giddy about taking the yoke off in July and starting to get under his wife’s feet. In fact a wild guess as to why he decided to abandon the Ministry of Defence procurement effort was the probable insistence of Alison to do up and sell the 15 or so bicycles languishing in his garage. Another two wheeled project includes firing up a motorcycle that hasn’t been run for 5 years. Knowing Peter I expect the garage might have 20 bicycles in it by Christmas.

The second of the party is Mike. A taller and wider unit but, like Peter, a very keen cyclist and walker. He’s just retired in his late 50’s and has come back from a month in Vietnam. (Ideal warm weather training for a quick break in Yorkshire). Mike had a successful career in construction management and now seems to be in perpetual motion on holiday. I think I’d not be maligning Mike to say he likes to party.

Poor old William, the last of the Three Musketeers, is still working. However, this is a price you have to pay for being a lot younger than everyone else. Looking lean and fit he works in Finance. If this sounds onerous then when you add that he’s a Motherwell fan you can but marvel at how he copes.

I suppose I must add, as they will complain otherwise, that this gathering, which usually includes William’s brother Andrew, is called ‘FBA’. No I’m not going to explain other than ‘A’ stands for Association and Mike’s in charge of toilets.

Anyway I got there whilst the chaps were attempting an impersonation of Lawrence ‘Titus’ Oates on the famous Scott of the Antarctic expedition of 1910. You may recollect he made the ultimate sacrifice by venturing out of his tent intending that his colleagues could push on toward safety without him as a burden. Their trauma included a long walk in the North Yorkshire Moors that included horizontal wind blowing icy snow into their faces. On getting back to the car they had anxiety as it uncontrollably slipped down steep treacherous roads.

(Subsequent BBC News reported that on the same afternoon, nearby, an ultra marathon was abandoned with Mountain Rescue teams retrieving souls. There were 30 runners treated for hyperthermia. A spokesman for Cleveland Mountain Rescue said “The wind was blowing snow across and it was very cold, with the wind chill it could have been around -8°C”).

With cheery stories they eventually got back to Whitby ready to defrost and party. These Scots are hard.

Most groups would dress up for a night on the town but it would be fair to say that the FBA looked smarter after a day in sub zero temperatures on the moors than they did as they strode out into the frozen night. All our kids and wives would not have been impressed. Old blokes left to their own devices do not reach for their best clothes.

The first port of call was ‘The Endeavour’. For those who don’t know the history then Whitby’s most famous son, James Cook, sailed to Australasia in said ship. It was here that he discovered New Zealand and Western Australia. It was a long way to go in a ship that had a shallow draft. This was in order to land on beaches and had been designed to carry coal from Newcastle to London in the 18th century. Jimbo made it until his 50th birthday before being killed by natives on a Hawaiian beach.

The pub was buzzing as we claimed our seats and put £20 each into the kitty. William held this money. (He’d been allocated the job of Quartermaster and Bursar by the FBA. He was given a title which I forget. With this responsibility came a large plastic bag for holding the change). He was despatched to the bar as the elder members of the Association found a seat.

I shall never forget the delight that spread across their faces as I invited them to take a proffered biro. After this came my quiz sheets. At this unexpected development Peter’s face assumed the kind of confused contortion that a person has if you ask them to perform the mental arithmetic of dividing 16.69 by 5.275. However he brightened up when he saw that the first 10 questions were about the ways to ride a bicycle faster (according to the June 6 2013 Cycling Weekly magazine).

The other 10 questions were placing the multiple choice birthplaces to leading British politicians. It was bad news for Scottish Labour as none of the two Scots or the Englishman, domiciled up there, had heard of him! William smashed the quiz with 6 out of 20. He looked humbled by his prize of 5 Cadbury Creme Eggs. For these services, like in the New Years Honours awards, I was bestowed with the moniker of ‘Biro Meister’. (I never did establish Peter’s title but let’s say Managing Director as well as Hotelier, Chauffeur and Entertainments Secretary).

After this distraction there was a long haggle about who would go next door and buy the fish and chips. ‘The Endeavour’ allow patrons to bring their take away meals into the pub. I’d like to say Mike gave in gracefully but in reality he was harangued into it. Off he trudged with the kitty/plastic bag and the requirement for 3 haddock, one cod and two mushy peas.

Katy, on holiday, then made the fatal mistake of planting herself in Mike’s vacated spot and was relieved of her life story by Peter and myself. A charity worker from Leeds she was married to Stephen who worked for a biscuit company. She passed this section of the assessment and we were just progressing to the ‘best three things about your marriage?’ when Mike returned with the dinner and also got to know Katy (see the photo -answers on a postcard as to why he was dressed like that).

So after about 3 or 4 pints in (I was starting to blur) and with a bloke strumming The Killers back catalogue painfully in a corner I was separated from a useful supply of draft Brew Dog Punk IPA and led into the night. I was discovering that amongst this revelry was an annual routine and a plan where deviation was not an option. So trudging across the bridge that joins the north and south of Whitby across the mighty Esk we proceeded to ‘The Elsinore’. It was here that I made the acquaintance of Camerons Strongarm – the beer, not a person.

Mik was on microphone and sang with a taped backing track. And as if by magic Disco men appeared. Mike morphed into a younger Bruno Tonioli, albeit one who had spent his formulative years playing rugby league: large, agile and yet menacing. William worryingly looked and danced like the little bloke from Bronski Beat with the high pitched voice: energetic and frenetic. Peter became the ‘Love Machine’: irressistable to the fairer sex and it has to be said that as the night ended then he wouldn’t be sleeping alone (more later).

In the scheme of things then Mik played and sang good tunes but had a tendency to take a break when the dance floor was heaving and things were in full swing. He offered no reasons for his surprising departures but I suspect it may have been a matter of stamina or a desire to have a Woodbine and pint.

And yourself Herr Biro Meister? As for dancing then the comment I once read in Record Collector magazine comes to mind. The guitarist of a famous American band was asked, amongst several questions, ‘what would get him up and dancing at a wedding?’ he replied ‘a shotgun’. So I jigged about looking like my feet were stuck to floor with a bonding agent yet the top of my body was attempting to run to the door with a series of lunges and spasms.

Peter’s strategy paid off handsomely as Dave, a complete stranger, bought us all a drink (a little to our embarrassment). Dave was having a great time in our company and wanted to say thank you. Dave and Margaret, under earlier interrogation, revealed that after his wife’s death he’d been out and about with his sister when socialising. Her pal Margaret tagged along. Things progressed so that they became an item and now he was in ‘The Elsinore’ smiling as Peter entertained his wife. There are a number of photographs of Peter acting as a babe magnet:

Not all questioning was well received. One patron reacted badly to my enquiring as to what he did for a living and what was his favourite music? He complained that he felt he was being interviewed for a job. William, sensing tension, quickly intervened to smooth things over. I think the Russians would call this a ‘distraction strategy’.

I wisely kept quiet although I was tempted to add that “we thanked him for attending and that we’d be in touch next week to tell him if he was the candidate who most closely matched our needs”.

Finishing with some Bob Marley then Mik declared that he needed to stop (probably to facilitate a blood transfusion) and so we said our goodbyes and headed back to the flat. Mike was detailed to supervise the elderly on the short walk back. I’m afraid whilst he did help me up then he didn’t stop me slipping on a steep icy patch and I ended up on my backside. I think that alcohol may have added to the treacherous weather as a problem…

However after having self medicated, to remove pain, with Brew Dog and Camerons then it wasn’t until the next day when I discovered a pulled quadricep. My memory was now completely fading as William opened some red wine. Fortunately the flat beneath was empty as a Scottish chorus bellowed out Belter by Gerry Cinammon, being played loudly through the sound system, he is a young man who hails from Glasgow. Who says Scottish culture doesn’t travel?

At sometime after 1 am, the Duracell batteries had run flat for the FBA bunnies and things ground to a halt.

Peter’s double bed partner you ask? Err… me. Apparently I got the nod over Mike (which may explained why he was a little miffed). He wriggles too much in bed. I must remember to wriggle more next time so William gets promoted.

Next day a manly walk up the pier blew away the cob webs on what was another bitterly cold and windy morning. ‘The Marine’ served up a splendid breakfast. Two of the party were begrudging about eating a ‘Full English’. By way of retaliation, they enjoyed pointing out England’s loss to Ireland in the rugby the day before.