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.

February 12, 2018

Breaking down stereotypes is important. As a bloke of numerous years then my daughters will confirm that I have ‘baggage’. Step forward Lieutenant Colonel Lucy Giles. She is the first female college commander (?) at Sandhurst. In a week when we were celebrating British women getting the vote then the BBC were talking to prominent women who have broken through ‘glass ceilings’. All good.

She came across as very personable and has seen service around various conflict zones. Through talent and a re-calibration of the way the Armed Forces respects and nurtures female talent then she has ended up in this senior role. The interview on The One Show went according to plan and eventually the presenter called an end to it and thanked her. She graciously responded but asked one favour. Of course? Can I just say hello to my two children who are watching the programme…

Talking of TV then I am not a great watcher of ‘who dunnits’. So when Anna watches the next murder frenzy being poured over by energetic yet dysfunctional detectives, often driving classic old British cars, I glaze over. I see other things in the episode.

Endeavour had the young detective attending a scene in heavy rain. The rain was falling like stair rods from a powerful hosepipe. It wasn’t British rain and the light was wrong – the sky darkens with rain. Not here: I was expecting someone to appear in sunglasses behind the collected plod under umbrellas looking at a prostrate form with a bolt protruding from his ear.

Added to this was the problem with the 1960’s classic cars. ‘Working’ cars are often dirty and, especially with busy policemen, neglected. These particular cars had small rivulets of water standing on their gleaming paintwork. The rivulets arise from the fact that the owners spend most of their waking hours rubbing Autoglym polish into the paintwork. Anyway, surprisingly, my first wife did not appreciate my informed commentary and I was invited to leave the room.

Going bald means more trips to the hairdresser. This is because what you have left doesn’t sit well on your head and you start to look like an elderly Geography teacher unless you keep it trimmed. As a man who has a ‘lot off’ then talking to Clare, my hairdresser, is not difficult but I tend to ask questions that interest me! We got onto who owns the Salon and the how the owners treat her. I heard of unpaid leave for a funeral, crumbling infrastructure, excess hours and the like.

All these things were batted away by the owners who by all accounts were professionals who had other responsible jobs and worked in large well resourced organisations. Regrettably Clare’s only ever raised these issues when they were passing through and she was brandishing scissors over a mane. So we discussed how she should properly corner them and discuss these issues in a heartfelt, list structured, practised but non-threatening way. I think it was a useful consultation but the haircut price remained the same!

Got to admit Elon Musk is an impressive nutter. Lord knows it is spectacular amount of dosh to burn on a trip up around the planet. It helps to be worth $21 billion but I was impressed with the sports car image. Sadly it wasn’t a Morgan.

The weekend saw me out of my depth. I attended a University of York Lifelong Learning course called “A Writer’s Workout: Part Two”. I think I can put pen to paper but compared to the other course members I felt like I was not in their league. Regular writing exercises punctuated the day. The lecturer picked on people to read out their work. One involved writing a postcard to your mother or father (and there is an issue at home). There were no other instructions or advice.

I composed something brief, uninspired and poor and it was handed to another course member to write back. Their postcard, handed to me, read:

“Dear Arthur, The police were around again today. Keep your head below the parapet, son. If anyone asks why you aren’t in the army, tell them you’ve got a bad heart – it doesn’t show. This lot will be over by Christmas and then it won’t matter. All the best, son – Dad”

How brilliant and creative. Another exercise was where we threw a dice with pictures on them and from here you constructed a character. My die were a parachute, a smiley face and a bee. I wrote some rubbish about a conman on the run. One lady took her die and pictures then wrote about a Santa Claus in a Garden Centre! Again, remember she had 60 seconds to think up this situation.

At 4pm I crept out of the classroom feeling wiser but feeling that I’d got away, by a hair’s breadth, from being humiliated.

(The doing away with ‘Men’ and ‘Female’ specific toilets in the University to gender neutral was a surprising development. My Favourite Eldest corrected my exasperated recidivist tendencies and confirmed that this is a good thing).

I’m sure you’ll share my disappointment at failing to procure Britney Spears tickets for her gig in Scarborough. I could have bought some but at £137 each I was not tempted. We saw her Piece Of Me show in Las Vegas in 2016. It’s fabulous and I hope the weather behaves for the Yorkshire fans who’ll turn up.

Recycling is a very good idea. City of York Council’s advice is that only plastic bottles can be recycled and placed in your recycling containers. The rest can be taken to various recycling locations around the city. The following guide is for York. Of interest is the triangle and number stamped on the bottom of most plastic containers – this secret unlocks the mystery of what you can do with your waste:

No, please don’t thank me…

February 2, 2018

I’ve sat in a lot of meetings at work where you’ve felt like a prisoner, that is, unable to escape. This is where somebody is probably covering worthy stuff but it is long winded, bureaucratic and bluntly of no interest. When it was over there was a great sense of relief and I may have inadvertently broken into a skip on the way out of the room.

Today I felt that type of emotion at the end of Pilates. Lou, the instructor uttered the magic words “just find a position that you can be comfortable in” and then she switched off the light. We all wearily came to a prostrate halt, flat on our backs on the mat. We knew the ‘one sided planks’, abdominal exercises, contortions to unlock your hip flexors or very unnatural movements to strengthen your gluteus maximus muscles had finished. Lying in the dark for two minutes we could reflect on the fact that probably Wednesday at 1.30pm would come around again quickly. However, for now, it was over. (Funnily enough a wet bike ride in 5°C over 50 miles appeals more than Pilates).

On the theme of pain then it seems appropriate to talk about the proposed Leeds United logo. It lasted six hours before the Managing Director, on the local BBC radio station, abandoned it and offered consultation over a new one. I still tend to think that large corporate decisions are usually reached intelligently. I know this naivety is akin to implicitly trusting policemen and thinking that banks are honourable. What happened with this sub 1930’s Italian Fascist aberration will be the subject of endless brand marketing courses for decades. It was simply inept and complacent. However it did bring all the fans together!

For those of your who peruse “Tony’s View Of The World’ you’ll see that I have been writing to Welsh luminaries about their brutal and short sighted parking regime. I’m not expecting any sympathy. However on another injustice then I had the opportunity to vent, in a calm yet destructive way, with Open Reach about our non availability of Superfast broadband last week.

This opportunity came about through our local MP, Julian Sturdy. He initially held a public meeting and then a supplementary meeting with Open Reach. A selection of local village representatives were invited to attend. We’re making progress on installation but they are a year behind schedule. Personally trying to cope with, at best, an internet speed of 1mb is difficult.

Open Reach turned up hoping to only ‘look forward’. They were a little taken aback at having to review the process and it’s apparent historic challenges. ‘The past informs the present’ I always find. However, we all finished up friends and we meet again in March.

For those who are detached from the political process then when your MP gets involved in the nitty gritty of your personal frustrations then they can seem very relevant and useful.

Talking about York then I learned that New York is not named with any direct connection to my fine city. It was in fact named after the Duke of York. This new name was in his honour when the British took over New Amsterdam in 1664. Don’t pretend that you never learn anything here.

January 8, 2018

When you meet other people, if you’re retired, they are often flummoxed as to what to ask you. After all, in their minds, you are close to death now and given that it is the winter and you cannot tend your garden or visit the bowls club you clearly must be at home in your slippers watching Jeremy Kyle drinking soup. What on Earth is there to talk about? However, if on the very rare occasion where they actually do ask you it is hard to know what to say you’ve been doing! This is because none of it adds up to anything very weighty or sounding important like, “Oh, I’ve been in Newport for two days talking to customers”. (Probably talking bollocks with no useful outcomes more like). So, anyway, I decided to wrack my brain and write up the diary for the week.

Saturday

All the daughters gone! Having the house back to ourselves meant that we could turn off the radiators in the spare rooms, clean the bathrooms, restock the fridge and get back to normal. Such pearls of ‘millennial’ wisdom will be lost until they next appear. Katrina observed, when making a ragu, that our fresh carrots were ‘out of date’. Never in all my long years have I worried about the ‘use by’ date on carrots. In fact they are usually boiled to death or made so small that any flavour is lost and it seems their age is not critical. However, we can all agree with “what do I know?” 

The Favourite Youngest’s best moment came when recalling one of her Christmas nights out in York. One of the party had brought along a dog to the nightclub. Not unreasonably the bouncer stopped her taking it in. At this point indignation, hurt and subterfuge kicked in. It was explained that Fido was a trainee guide dog. As part of its training then it was being familiarised with social situations. The sceptical bouncer relented. In fairness the dog had been a trainee guide dog but failed the programme and was now a pet. Kids eh?

One downside of the daughters’ departure is that I will have to watch Season Two of ‘The Crown’ on Netflix all by myself.

With this tranquillity I managed to write an album review for the Americana Music Show. In fact it became one of my ‘Records Of The Week’ – Grayson Capps. I had quite a lot of affection for this release not least because I nearly cycled past his home in Alabama. Another chore was thinking about renewing my car insurance. You will know the situation where a renewal quotation comes in the post. The new quotation is usually an uplift, over the previous year, of 25 to 30%. With this you go through the procedure of going back to the comparison web sites to get quotations from other insurance companies nearer your current cost. I’m used to this administration but I do hate them for it. Imagine the truly older folk who blindly renew and incur all these pointless extra costs.

Sunday

The Holiday Inn Express was our destination before a night at The Sage in Gateshead with Candi Staton. (You can see my review of the concert under ‘Music’). The hotel Reception was crowded with revellers checking in; one girl was stood there in full make up but with her hair in curlers! On the streets of Newcastle we passed smokers. However, it wasn’t tobacco but marijuana that they were smoking. The Geordies were dressed to the nines and many were not wearing a coat, hat and gloves (like this wuss). Before departing from Yorkshire my evening attire was discussed. Anna suggested a new favourite shirt that I recently bought from John Lewis. I did point out that the shirt was checked and that Candi was more Soul than Country & Western…

A wonderful night and one of our better New Year’s Eves for many years.

Monday

New Years Day saw all the shops shut! Anna had to abandon Newcastle city centre without a retail experience. Nothing was open on this Bank Holiday. We drove home by the resort of Tynemouth to Yorkshire. It had been a late night and so a few pints of beer were sunk. I made a decision to not drink anything for the rest of the week. (Friday night may see this pledge abandoned).

As always the football engages us and we were waiting for the Leeds United result – a disappointing draw at home to Nottingham Forest. The expectation of so many LUFC fans is so hard to fathom. If Leeds ever do get promoted then I think West Yorkshire will be alight.

Tuesday

I wrote sometime ago about a dodgy knee and it remains a priority to restore it to good health. I attended the local gym in Acomb. After lots of rehab then the recovery continues and the programme includes following a number of exercises, some on equipment and some on the mat; with a set number of repetitions or time allotments. All this progress allows me to dream of a summer pedalling through Europe. Bliss.

A bit more mundane was the task later to visit one of our rental properties to inspect a damp patch on a downstairs bedroom wall. Not a crisis but not a good situation. The resolution requires removing all the plaster, inserting a protective membrane and then re-plastering. Anything that involves old or new plaster is the filthiest job in construction. We’ve asked for a quotation and await the bad news.

Wednesday

I don’t like Pilates. The instructor, Lou, is fabulous and patiently answers all my questions about which muscle group she is attempting to reawaken with the latest convoluted stretching. I do it because it is vital to keep supple and keep you body in balance. However, when it is over I am happy to have another week between me and the floor mat. It seems to be the ladies who turn up. More men need to take this up. At £5.50 for an hour I may be saving the NHS a lot more in due course.

Some good friends, Jane and John, came around later for our thoughts on their planned holiday to Canada. It was good to share our recommendations and thoughts so soon after our trip.

Thursday

I felt that after a week off the road that I needed to get back on the bike. I set off well wrapped toward Cawood. The temperature fell to 2°C and steady rain became heavier and penetrative. As I started to literally freeze then an intended short cut via Ulleskelf wasn’t available due to road flooding (due to the River Wharfe rising). I ended up doing a painful and saturating 30 miles. When I got home my hands thawed with immense pain as I peeled off sopping wet kit and I then dived into the bath. I wonder why I cycle in warmer climes!

At W H Smith’s I picked up a copy of the end of year copy of Country Music People. It contained a couple of my reviews and had a full page of my end of year Top 10 records. Fame at last!

I went out early evening to a public meeting with our local MP (Julian Sturdy) about the delays in installing Superfast broadband in three local villages. Open Reach’s performance is beyond appalling and the meeting vented their feelings on the MP and a representative from the client (who appointed Open Reach). It was interesting to talk afterwards to the MP about the General Election result. At the meeting was an old Moores’ colleague who I’d guess I hadn’t seen for at least 15 years – Bob Redwood, our former Export Sales Manager. He and his wife looked well.

Back home I typed up some notes to circulate around neighbours about the meeting. I doubt most will care. Anna cares! She’s sick of me swearing at the computer as it seizes when opening a web page.

Friday

On the count down to the in-laws house being sold (they have moved to a rather splendid home in Pocklington) then it is all hands to the pump to facilitate the sale. I initially stayed at home to receive four items of furniture that were being relocated to our house by two chaps in a white van. Two pieces are apparently being stored for the Favourite Eldest, as and when she buys a property. I reckon they’ll be going to the charity or community furniture store in due course, as that will never happen!

Then I got to drive to their house across York to dismantle some large furniture that we cannot palm off on a charity shop. Either it has glass in it or they couldn’t get it down the stairs. Speaking to other people who have emptied houses then they were similarly rueful at letting things go to the Household Waste Site or charity shops. We would have loved to have passed several quite expensive items onto a good home of someone we knew. Sadly no one has the need or space. When I got to the Household Waste Site it had a long queue and some folk were still unloading Christmas trees.

The reward for all this was lunch at Café 68 located within Cycle Heaven on Hospital Fields Road. Talking to Piers, the co-owner, he regaled us with a story about stopping at cricket legend Geoffrey Boycott’s house in Boston Spa, with other cyclists, for a bacon sandwich recently. GB was the complete host and the invite came through him knowing one of the cycle party. In fact after a couple of hours they all wanted to get off whilst Geoff kept talking!

December 23, 2017

So when are you mentally in the perfect place? A large glass of merlot, the fire crackling in the hearth and a boxset? Sitting on a park bench watching the kids on the swings as they whoop and scream? Well, mine would be on the bike rolling along through the countryside with a podcast keeping my attention.

I remember, on my rides in the USA, listening to various podcasts. Such was the pleasure that I can tell you where I was when I listened to  the Word podcast with Rick Buckler’s story about The Jam (Interstate 61 in Louisiana), Ashley Hutchings talking about Sandy Denny (Natchez Trace Parkway, Tennessee) or Nicola Benedetti on Desert Island Discs (Interstate 50, Kansas). I can also tell you that I was climbing out of Gilling East on Thursday up a 10% gradient hill when I listened to a podcast about a book on David Bowie (David Bowie: A Life by Dylan Jones). It was an enjoyable ride but the gears kept slipping on the bike and the temperature was hovering at about 1°C.

There was one hilarious story about Bowie’s relocation to Switzerland (to avoid UK tax and his drug dealers) that resulted in him living up a mountain. However one night at 5.30pm came a knock on the door. “Hello David”. It was Roger Moore! A delighted Bowie invited him in for tea and they got on so famously that drinks and dinner followed. The next day – knock, knock. “Hello David”. This continued to the point that around 5pm most nights Bowie extinguished the lights and hid under the kitchen table to avoid “Hello David”. By this time I was on the outskirts of York but with no feeling in my fingers.

Christmas brings stupid time pressures doesn’t it? We have a leaking shower pump and needed to have a plumber visit to replace it. Eventually in time these things get resolved. However, close to Christmas tradesmen stop working and the arrival of guests over Christmas meant resolution was important. I’m pleased to say that a plumber did turn up but with the wrong parts and then had to make various calls and depart to Plumb Center to get the correct bits. (I shouldn’t complain as I made quite a decent living latterly trying to help organisations stop this type of wasteful running around). You’ll be relieved to know that in any case I had a fall back plan of fitting a rose to a hosepipe and sluicing down close relatives outside the back door.

Famous Belgians anyone? I was drawn to the headline that Hercule Poirot and his fellow countrymen were now stopping the Telegram Service. Apparently, it was now only used by bailiffs! In an age where even sending Christmas cards by post seems beyond obsolete then I can well remember telegrams that came for our wedding and even some when I was at boarding school. In fact who doesn’t enjoy the pleasure of receiving a long informative letter from a friend through the post? Along with vinyl records, dandelion and burdock, people domiciled in the UK on Call Centre phone lines and Huddersfield Town, in the top division of football, then I reckon they may be back eventually. No doubt some Californian 19 year old entrepreneur will think that the joy of having a bloke perspiring in a uniform (after leaping from his motorbike) delivering a message on paper from someone in Papua New Guinea might be quite thrilling. He’d be right.

The BBC Sports Personality Of The Year came around and the public voted for Mo Farah. I can’t be bothered to watch it (nearly three hours of Gary Lineker?) but I do take an interest in the winner mainly because it can rank up there with The Eurovision Song Contest for stupidity. I note that Chris Froome with four Tour de France victories and One Vuelta victory didn’t get the nod. Ten years ago we’d have given him an Earldom, let alone a trophy, for what he has achieved on the bike. Clearly there’s the small matter of being a bit liberal with asthma medication to overcome. I hope he does. I have to say that as a Kenyan he’s done us proud.  

Before I stop talking about cycling then I must report on feline developments. I subscribe to a Facebook Forum for cycle touring and you get some ‘dumb as bat shit’ stuff on here but my latest favourite was the following question:

Needless to say that as most of the correspondents are American then several took this very seriously (apologies to any US readers!) I was concerned about the cat’s safety and enquired as to how it would wear a helmet? Someone logically answered that this wouldn’t be needed because they always landed on their feet. Silly me, of course.

A pre-Christmas family tradition of a team event saw the four of us travel to Whitby (Yorkshire coast). There were sharp divisions on where to eat and more importantly what to eat. The ‘I’m virtuous and eating like a mouse’ faction were having nothing to do with Fish & Chips or a Full English Breakfast. Eventually the ‘normal and eat anything’ wing reached an amicable solution and father got his full English whilst the tallest of the offspring had a  sausage sandwich. Meanwhile the ‘virtuous’ nibbled toasted teacakes. However, this visit made these pages as the eldest spotted Mr & Mrs Lawson perambulating around the town. Alison and Peter were visiting relatives from Edinburgh. Peter and I used to work together, probably shortly after decimalisation, but more importantly we have cycled a few thousand miles together in Europe. They were intercepted for a cup of tea and a catch up. A lovely additional Christmas present.

The gym has hideous vacuous pop music playing music and TV’s showing the types of thing that you always wondered who watched them. So as I’m stretching and stuff I’m drawn to a Christmas film (Holiday In Handcuffs) that has a scene where a daughter is pleading with her father not to tell embarrassing jokes, like he does with waitresses in restaurants, when her boyfriend makes a planned appearance. Funnily enough I know a man like that…

Merry Christmas.

December 11, 2017

The present Mrs Ives leapt out of bed this morning and threw back the curtains hoping to see snow. In fact I think it is another BBC pre-occupation. Lord, how they love floods, torrential rain, drought etc. It seems a way of keeping the BBC regions busy in posting footage of weedy little presenters stood in the middle of nowhere against a backdrop of falling snow whilst a Land Rover manfully drags a Vauxhall Corsa out of a ditch. So I’m not impressed. Well I wasn’t until I saw a Deliveroo bike rider spinning down a slushy road as large wet flakes descended on him as he wearily pedalled toward to some residential location to deliver a cold pizza. I like riding a bike… but respect.

I keep seeing references to one of my favourite boxsets – House Of Cards. The story being that Kevin Spacey has been sacked and it will now battle on without him. Frankly, it was out on its legs as regards the storyline before he was ‘outed’ as a sexual predator. However money talks and Robin Wright will soldier on with dwindling viewing figures.

The point I wanted to raise was that Hollywood seems to have many empowered females and men who Tweet or end up on platforms denouncing Trump, most things Right of Centre and sometimes worthy causes like land mines, African poverty and the like. They most certainly have now come out against Weinstein, Spacey and a whole raft of US TV personalities. Quite right too. But we need to cut to the chase as to the credibility of all these keyboard warriors on their own lives and the abuse around them in the industry.

Spacey and Weinstein must have been known, to men and women alike, as horrid and intimidating people who have abused, at will, for decades. Did it suit all and sundry to turn a blind eye to this appalling state of affairs? Of course it did! It all damages how interested I will be when their next Tweet tells me about some unbelievable political outrage.

As regards giving the old boy an outing I was instructed to point the Merc toward Chatsworth House near Chesterfield during the week. This splendid stately home was holding a Christmas market in the grounds as well as presenting part of the house with a Dickens Christmas theme. As expected there were plenty of opportunities to buy stuff. However, I have to report that after Anna’s skirmish with Chinese made products in Canada she is now very skeptical about all these ‘local crafts’. After leaving the House we found a farm shop on the Chatsworth estate and bought some delicious fresh produce. In fact the shop is nearly worth the drive alone.

Talking about celebrities then I went for a bike fit recently. Andy Fraser was the man who took all my measurements and then sat me on a bike jig and with lasers tried to get me set up right. So apart from learning that I am shrinking (don’t tell my youngest daughter who’s convinced I am a dwarf in any case), that I have one foot shorter than the other and have the hip flexibility of an oak tree it was all good. For the perspicacious amongst you then will note that he shares his name with a legendary bass player (of Free). So we got to discussing music and he plays in a band. They had their moments in the spotlight including playing a festival in Sandbach. At the said event they went on stage after Ray LaMontagne. I have to say that I have all the albums by this American Singer Songwriter; he’s wonderful. A quick look at Wikipedia revealed:

“In 2009 LaMontagne paid $1.05 million for a 103-acre farm in Ashfield, Massachusetts, the former residence of U.S. Ambassador William C. Bullitt, where he lives with his wife, Sarah Sousa, and their two children in the farmhouse built in 1830”.

Andy, it could have been so different.

So how many of you have been to a World Cup Final? The recent appearance of the England Rugby League team in the Final against Australia brought to mind my attendance in 1970. The Final was played at the Leeds RL Club ground. The game is noted for England’s defeat and it being an almighty punch up.

Must go and feed the huskies.

November 27, 2017

I was exhorted by the present Mrs Ives to try and empty the garage. It is undoubtedly full to the rafters including bikes and a car. Under scrutiny was a large oak box (and lid) that I had kept with a plan to transform it from a crate to furniture. Despite her observation of woodworm then I was still wavering about its retention until she hit a nerve – “doesn’t the Morgan have wood in it?” At this point a quick decision was made to take the box to the tip.

As I continue to live with a less than perfect knee then I volunteered to go for an MRI scan. This was done at a unit attached to the University of York. So I spent 20 minutes lying absolutely still whilst I was slid into a tunnel. For my £310 the images now get despatched electronically to somewhere in the world where a musculoskeletal expert looks at it and then sends it back to my physiotherapist. The results were not all that bad and hopefully I can delay ordering a wooden leg for some time to come.

Friday saw me in London meeting up with four old friends. The first, of the party, Neil I met in 1974 when we shared digs as we attended Manchester Polytechnic. The others were added in 1978 (Paul, Tim and Peter) when I worked for Ford Tractor Operations in Basildon. We dined at The Hawksmoor at Seven Dials and ran up a bill of £314 and one of the party had only one course and left early! Needless to say we met in a pub beforehand and some of us adjoined to one afterwards!

(Four friends Tony? The picture shows three? I’d love to report that Crockford was under the table paralytic but less excitingly he was hauled out early to help his wife with her West End coat shopping).

There is frankly nothing but joy about a Royal Wedding. In the scheme of things then they don’t ordinarily work out well but in the first instance you have to be pleased for the happy couple. What Meghan is marrying into seems beyond comprehension. For an independent and wealthy woman her life will now be a tabloid hell until her first child. She must love him. After motherhood then a woman in her forties with a young family will not be of great interest. Hopefully, in the interim, she can keep a naked Harry out of Las Vegas hotel rooms with other nubile women carrying mobile phones.

Like the rest of the nation then I wish them health and happiness…  and a day off work for my daughters would be nice whilst we watch the wedding.

November 9, 2017

I’ve felt constrained of late about writing a journal. This was until the future ownership of Moores Furniture Group was sorted. I am a trustee of the pension scheme. The constraint was that I often get asked ‘what’s going on?’ at Moores and with the pension scheme. It felt very disingenuous to even discuss the subject let alone say ‘everything is fine’ whilst the company’s ownership was being changed.

My former employer has changed from being owned by Masco Corporation to Hilco, a Private Equity company.  Not a very exciting development but the employees’ pension scheme has got, in effect, a new sponsor. As a trustee this change was subject to some discussions and in five weeks I ended up in London twice, Manchester once and Leeds three times. It involved too many emails to be bothered to count and a few conference calls. To give you a comparison then being a trustee usually involves going to Leeds twice a year and a lot of reading in between. The outcome was acceptable to all the parties involved and we move on. However, it was interesting to engage the grey matter on the types of thing I used to do.

In other serious news then my in-laws relocated to a residential home in Pocklington. This has entailed the selling of their home. Anna has been very busy with all that entails. I am on first name terms with the folk at the tip with the carloads of surplus pieces of timber from the garage and old tins of paint that a lifetime accumulates. (There is a good argument for my family to maintain my health to avoid the house emptying that will be needed when they cart me off.

On Facebook I am back to producing a few more ‘York In 30 Second’ videos, please take a look. I’ve added one on cats and the Solar System so far! Yes, I know – not much of a sales pitch.

Music continues to be a pre-occupation with a trip to London to see Nile Rodgers (he, of Chic) at the present Mrs Ives’ behest. Quite something to get 20,000 people to stand up for two hours dancing to classic 1980’s disco. I was even throwing a few shapes (in the dark you’ll be relieved to hear). This concert was after seeing Brandy Clark in Manchester with the Favourite Youngest Daughter. Brandy is working her way up to large venues as she tours with three albums now under her belt. However it has been a long road for a lady now into her forties to get to this level of celebrity.

This progress brought to mind one of the albums that I recently reviewed for The Americana Music Show. Randomly from a list I picked a group of talented bluegrass musicians from Boulder, Colorado called The Railsplitters. It is a great album (Jump In) with beautiful songs sang by a vocalist with a voice not dissimilar to Lily Allen’s. As they try and grow their audience they have ended up at Selby Town Hall on February 9th. It seems quite unreal that this is on their path to stardom but good luck and I can’t wait.

I have written about the podcasts that I listen to and have been a devotee of Nothing But The Blues for over six years. It was a pleasure to pop across to Market Weighton to meet up with the presenter, Steve Jessney, and to see two studios – his home den where he pre-records the show and then go to the radio station (Vixen 101) to see another show going out live (where they played me a Soul classic on request).

 Prince Charles when pressed on who was his favourite ‘pop stars’ volunteered The Three Degrees. They performed at his 30th Birthday Party in 1978. So with this connection I was irresistibly drawn to follow, lead singer, 70 year old Sheila Ferguson on Twitter (cough) She is one of many artists who spend a disproportionate amount of the day seeking and re-Tweeting abuse for Donald Trump on the ‘echo chamber’ of Twitter. For all I know, it may a useful deployment of her time as all that lies ahead, at her age, are jigsaws, Strictly Come Dancing and Werther’s Originals. However, after her umpteenth re-Tweet of something derogatory she then Tweeted that there was such negativity in the world at the moment. I pointed out that she was generating it! Being a wise old bird she noted my advice. As you can see, I am now her mentor.

October 3, 2017

The week started with some hilarity. Hoovering out the car is not an obvious foundation for Comedy Gold. The present Mrs Ives had lost the plastic fitting that you can fit onto the end of the vacuum’s hose to poke into all the parts of the car that you need to reach. In order to resolve this shortage I rang the local shop and, probably poorly, described what I wanted.

“Ah, a crevice tool”.

Cue uncontrollable giggling in Acaster Malbis. Simple pleasures but hoovering the car will never be the same again.

In looking at Twitter I came across a superb image (and post) that immediately looked very amusing and likely to be popular. So despite approbation from the FED (Favourite Eldest Daughter) I lifted it straight onto Facebook (giving no credit to the originator). I think I might claim that it went viral. Over 1,704 Shares and 88 Likes.I also had strangers wanting to become my friend. I am big in Ohio now.

The end of the week brought a wedding – Catherine, my wife’s sister. As we were getting dressed up at my daughter and partner’s flat in West Didsbury I did ask the partners of my daughters why the fact Catherine was not getting married in a church held one main benefit? The received answers were to do with religion. No, I replied. The absence of a collection boys! What was also illuminating was their inability to tie a knot with their neckties properly. Seldom do they dress formally and so this was a challenge for them. Kids of today, eh? Mr Helpful was on hand however.

The ceremony took place in a theatre in Stockport and was a brilliant setting for the marriage, the wedding breakfast and a concert later by Jeff and his band, Catherine’s husband. Even little touches like providing a Laurel & Hardy and Bugs Bunny interlude for the guests in the theatre whilst the bride and groom were carted off by the photographer for endless snaps was delightful. By any standards then Catherine, above anyone I know, deserved a lovely day and a future happy life. One of her sons, Edward, stood up during the toasts and summarised this in such a magnificent way that we all had a tear in our eye by the time he had finished. A wonderful day.

Lastly, as a man who can appreciate a bit of furniture then I am blown away by what Luke Bussell has knocked up. He’s the son of some friends and this Imperial College Engineering under graduate made this kitchen unit for the children of a next door neighbour. Using softwood, not least so it isn’t terribly heavy to move, and then fashioning knobs and taps out of other types of hard wood he produced this in a workshop in his parent’s garage using wood working machinery. He had no drawings and just checked it out on Google and then proceeded accordingly. He’s likely to find a career in California working on electronics after graduation. A real talent.

September 5, 2017

I was enchanted by a story about my daughter at York Races during August. One of her friends was betting fairly blindly on various races and was taken with a pony called ‘Neigh Neigh’. In fairness we can be sure that having this name ticked one box and it was indeed a horse. Like all Millennials then making an appearance at a bookie is so “2005″ and so clicking their Apps a bet was placed on said nag to win.

The race was run and ‘Neigh Neigh’ didn’t make an appearance on the winners’ board. There was much disappointment but neither did he appear amongst any of the runners? In fact she’d bet on a race at Newmarket! ‘Neigh Neigh’ won!

Slightly younger then I felt for a poor teenager who was standing in a queue at Starbucks. He was brandishing a £50 note. Such is the rarity of sightings for such a note that I can remember when I last had one. It immediately seemed that this kid was unusual. As some of his friends drifted past him and out of the shop speaking German to him then it became clear he was a tourist. I can imagine his mother coming back from the Bureau de Change with his spending money thinking that a £50 note was fine. Needless to say he was bounced at the counter when the barista informed him that they didn’t accept such notes! Vorsprung Durch Tecnik.

In talking with my Favourite Eldest Daughter I enquired as to how she was spending the Saturday. She was doing ‘life admin’. Wtf? I was told that this again was Millennial speak for paying the window cleaner, buying a travel season ticket and no doubt speaking to your father.

On the weekend I was ‘down with the kids’ at the adidas sale at their warehouse in Stockport. The company clears out lots of stock periodically and employees can attend with two guests. I qualified as a father with the Favourite Youngest and discovered that I was at least 25 years older than all the other shoppers. You can see in the image below some of my booty. If I told you what this cost then you’d be suspecting theft! Tiger feet?

As you might expect then my vast disposable income will attract luxury brand manufacturers to approach me. To this end Porsche Cars Of Great Britain have invited me to an exclusive preview evening. I won’t go but if I was wavering about whether to attend then the letter made up my mind – ‘It is made for those who have the courage to forge their own path.’ Grant me strength.

Young Ted, son of my nephew, was over in York on Monday and due to Anna having to unavoidably be away, for a couple of hours, I got a shift. So we went to see the nice man to repair my iPhone 6 and then to the playground. Ted, 4, keeps a good chat going, only occasionally pausing for breath. I was soldiering on trying to deal with various observations and questions:

“Oh look there’s a JCB, they go on motorways”

“Well not really they are too big and slow”

“No, I’ve seen them on the motorway”

“Err.. well there might have been one on the back of a lorry”

“No, roadworks”

Lastly, sometimes people admit to ‘guilty pleasures’. These are things that are naff or out of character as to their regular tastes but somehow fit. ‘Cruising with Jane McDonald’ on Channel 5 is such an admission. Common as muck (and she doesn’t care), endlessly engaging and often hilarious. I usually want to sail on every ship she’s on or go to anywhere she visits.