Hello readers, I just wanted to ask a favour. Since starting this Blog about my adventures and observations on life in general I have had, to date, 800 visitors to the pages. Admittedly many were purely accidental but many are deliberate and repeated. I think that of this 800 there are a number of returning visits - the stats break them down in detail. However, I would love to see some entries made in the comments link at the foot of each Posting - I don't mind what you say so you can print your name or not, it's entirely up to you. Please leave something that I can respond to if possible as I like to make the content worthwhile.
Here for example is the list of places my visits have originated:-
381 United Kingdom
27 United States
26 Spain Spain
18 Europe
15 Germany
6 Canada
3 Australia
2 Netherlands
2 Portugal
2 France
2 New Zealand
2 Finland
1 Denmark
1 Oman
1 South Africa
1 Ireland
1 Belgium
1 China
1 Switzerland
1 Austria
1 Sweden
1 Czech Republic
1 Romania
1 Israel
1 India
1 Norway
Many thanks to my readers... I also accept requests (not about where I should stick my Blog either!!)
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Friday, 28 November 2008
Sunday, 23 November 2008
Highs, Lows and Lemon Legs!
GOODBYE TO AN OLD FRIEND
It's been an odd start to the week in terms of events and emotions, which for me started on Tuesday with my old friends funeral. Clearly a sad event made more so by the very poignant choice of music by his three children and their heartfelt little poems in tribute to their dad. It was a bright sunny day to start and the Chapel was full with his many friends, acquaintances, work colleagues and family each in their own way remembering the many happy things about David. I will miss the many jokes we shared and the lectures I gave him and the often sound advice he gave me in return, we never fell out.
The remaining week was full of less important things yet I found myself embroiled in the usual events ranging from queue jumping, the store detective who always seem to follow me around when he should be looking for the real dodgy shoppers and of course the TV show “Strictly Come Dancing” (aka “Dancing with the Stars” in America) that cause me to rant in my blog here.
Picture this, you have just joined the end of a rather long and slow moving queue in any one of the coffee outlets, Costas, Starbucks and dear old Marks and Spencer (M&S), when a couple join behind you and immediately spot a vacant table in the seating area. The male member of this duo is the one that then sends his dutiful female partner to occupy this table thus preventing you from sitting there once you have collected your coffee. Now this makes my blood boil because they may as well have simply walked into the place and stepped in front of you to order their lattes and Americanos and jumped the queue. Now I think they send the female because she is unlikely to be challenged by anyone as she sits primly waiting for her coffee to arrive. The most irritating place for this practice of queue jumping is in M&S where it is performed with such openness that M&S now try (not very well as it happens) to police the queue or tables that are occupied by a lone person. I confess that in once nearly came to blows with an oaf behind me sent his wife off to sit at the only available table in the cafeteria that was unoccupied and just as we were about to collect our coffees and sit down. “So, why not just go ahead and jump the queue” I asked to which he replied “so what” ….. it was at this point that “mild mannered Clark Kent”, went white with range and the fight bit beat the flight bit to my brain. Only the timely intervention of Mrs H tugging firmly at my sleeve prevented bloodshed but just who's blood we cannot be sure!
To conclude, “queue jumpers” of the world please give some thought to the actions you take, if you only waited to be served and then went to find a table you would have no trouble at all because of that magic word “turnover” …. yes, a table would have become free! Queue jumping is not only ignorant, ill mannered and selfish, it is just NOT British!
DRAMA ON THE HIGH STREET
Strolling though the busy Southsea branch of John Lewis my attention was drawn to the rather flamboyant if rather slightly dumpy young woman with very long and wild jet black hair, black clothes and acid lemon coloured tights who was browsing the jewellery counter. I soon lost any further interest in her as I was heading to the menswear department to have the electronic tag surgically removed from the new sweater I had bought the previous day in the stores Southampton branch and although not removed had not sounded alarms as I left the building! Anyway, the staff in Southsea had enormous difficulty removing the tag so they called for the stores “odd job man” or more likely their head of maintenance who was asked to assist and promptly disappeared for 10 minutes to no doubt use a hacksaw to get the flaming thing off. It was during this spell of hanging about looking suspicious and carrying an empty John Lewis carrier bag that I noticed the acid lemon legs flashing by me followed closely by a male companion who was hurriedly hanging up a shirt on a nearby rack. They left the shop closely pursued by the store detective, who in my opinion is far to short and overweight to be a threat to any would be shoplifter. That was the end to that I thought, shirt not stolen and potential thieves scared off and it was with this in mind that we left the store to head for a coffee (and some queue jumping no doubt). Only two minutes outside the shop and there was an almighty crash as the male member of the thwarted “gang of two” sent some tables and chairs outside a cafe in all directions as he fled the grasp of the diminutive store detective plus another much younger an more agile one from another store in hot pursuit. Well the stumpy one gave up the run and came gasping back to make an “arrest” of the lemon legged accomplice which should have been the easy bit... this was not to be the case!
Picture this, short fat store detective grabs lemon legs by the arm, “you're under arrest” he gasps, she shrieks “what for, gerrof me, I aint done nuffin, (screams loudly) , help, get 'im orf me I'm pregnant” .. well, the throngs of shoppers came to a stand still as the store detective grappled none to successfully with lemon legs who was making a dash to a parked car. Now at this point I thought I can see her getting away from him, I think I will go an help him. But, at this stage two women shoppers rush to his aid... NO!!! They break his grip on lemon legs who escapes swiftly escapes to her car, store detective breaks free of misguided dogooders and manages to get to the getaway car before lemon legs runs down 20 shoppers in her efforts to escape. By this time the second store detective has returned from his pursuit (without the male) and snatches the keys from the car .. excellent, its all over? No, because now enters the father of a young boy who had been caught with a blow in the face during the initial attempt to arrest the male at the cafe earlier. The new entrant to this farce now grabs the hapless store detective by the neck and once more nearly allows lemon legs to escape – I have surely had enough by this time and without thinking that I may end up on the wrong end of a right hook, I stepped in and pulled the injured boys father away from the the dumpy detective. By now everyone was on the phone to the police including lemon legs who was now trapped in her car. I gave up trying to get people to see sense after several vain attempts to get anyone to realise who the store detectives were, I eventually got through to one member of the vigilante group who looked puzzled and said, “oh, I thought they were mugging her” .. OMG!!! We gave up and went home after “ Another exciting day in Southsea.”
STRICTLY COME DANCING
This has been a daft event and one which only could have happened during a period of financial woe and I am sure that was gave the long running saga legs. Certainly John Sergeant was a terrible dancer and should have been booted off the series within a couple of weeks. But alas no, he stayed for nine weeks and saw off some much better dancers. However, this view is certainly not shared by a large number of people and it has managed to take up almost as much news print as the world financial crises. Anyway, at the end of the week he retired from the contest but alas my favourites are gone... such a shame, but I am glad he's out even if we wont see the lithe movements of his Russian dance partner!
Keeeep Watching!
It's been an odd start to the week in terms of events and emotions, which for me started on Tuesday with my old friends funeral. Clearly a sad event made more so by the very poignant choice of music by his three children and their heartfelt little poems in tribute to their dad. It was a bright sunny day to start and the Chapel was full with his many friends, acquaintances, work colleagues and family each in their own way remembering the many happy things about David. I will miss the many jokes we shared and the lectures I gave him and the often sound advice he gave me in return, we never fell out.
The remaining week was full of less important things yet I found myself embroiled in the usual events ranging from queue jumping, the store detective who always seem to follow me around when he should be looking for the real dodgy shoppers and of course the TV show “Strictly Come Dancing” (aka “Dancing with the Stars” in America) that cause me to rant in my blog here.
QUEUE JUMPERS
Picture this, you have just joined the end of a rather long and slow moving queue in any one of the coffee outlets, Costas, Starbucks and dear old Marks and Spencer (M&S), when a couple join behind you and immediately spot a vacant table in the seating area. The male member of this duo is the one that then sends his dutiful female partner to occupy this table thus preventing you from sitting there once you have collected your coffee. Now this makes my blood boil because they may as well have simply walked into the place and stepped in front of you to order their lattes and Americanos and jumped the queue. Now I think they send the female because she is unlikely to be challenged by anyone as she sits primly waiting for her coffee to arrive. The most irritating place for this practice of queue jumping is in M&S where it is performed with such openness that M&S now try (not very well as it happens) to police the queue or tables that are occupied by a lone person. I confess that in once nearly came to blows with an oaf behind me sent his wife off to sit at the only available table in the cafeteria that was unoccupied and just as we were about to collect our coffees and sit down. “So, why not just go ahead and jump the queue” I asked to which he replied “so what” ….. it was at this point that “mild mannered Clark Kent”, went white with range and the fight bit beat the flight bit to my brain. Only the timely intervention of Mrs H tugging firmly at my sleeve prevented bloodshed but just who's blood we cannot be sure!
To conclude, “queue jumpers” of the world please give some thought to the actions you take, if you only waited to be served and then went to find a table you would have no trouble at all because of that magic word “turnover” …. yes, a table would have become free! Queue jumping is not only ignorant, ill mannered and selfish, it is just NOT British!
DRAMA ON THE HIGH STREET
Strolling though the busy Southsea branch of John Lewis my attention was drawn to the rather flamboyant if rather slightly dumpy young woman with very long and wild jet black hair, black clothes and acid lemon coloured tights who was browsing the jewellery counter. I soon lost any further interest in her as I was heading to the menswear department to have the electronic tag surgically removed from the new sweater I had bought the previous day in the stores Southampton branch and although not removed had not sounded alarms as I left the building! Anyway, the staff in Southsea had enormous difficulty removing the tag so they called for the stores “odd job man” or more likely their head of maintenance who was asked to assist and promptly disappeared for 10 minutes to no doubt use a hacksaw to get the flaming thing off. It was during this spell of hanging about looking suspicious and carrying an empty John Lewis carrier bag that I noticed the acid lemon legs flashing by me followed closely by a male companion who was hurriedly hanging up a shirt on a nearby rack. They left the shop closely pursued by the store detective, who in my opinion is far to short and overweight to be a threat to any would be shoplifter. That was the end to that I thought, shirt not stolen and potential thieves scared off and it was with this in mind that we left the store to head for a coffee (and some queue jumping no doubt). Only two minutes outside the shop and there was an almighty crash as the male member of the thwarted “gang of two” sent some tables and chairs outside a cafe in all directions as he fled the grasp of the diminutive store detective plus another much younger an more agile one from another store in hot pursuit. Well the stumpy one gave up the run and came gasping back to make an “arrest” of the lemon legged accomplice which should have been the easy bit... this was not to be the case!
Picture this, short fat store detective grabs lemon legs by the arm, “you're under arrest” he gasps, she shrieks “what for, gerrof me, I aint done nuffin, (screams loudly) , help, get 'im orf me I'm pregnant” .. well, the throngs of shoppers came to a stand still as the store detective grappled none to successfully with lemon legs who was making a dash to a parked car. Now at this point I thought I can see her getting away from him, I think I will go an help him. But, at this stage two women shoppers rush to his aid... NO!!! They break his grip on lemon legs who escapes swiftly escapes to her car, store detective breaks free of misguided dogooders and manages to get to the getaway car before lemon legs runs down 20 shoppers in her efforts to escape. By this time the second store detective has returned from his pursuit (without the male) and snatches the keys from the car .. excellent, its all over? No, because now enters the father of a young boy who had been caught with a blow in the face during the initial attempt to arrest the male at the cafe earlier. The new entrant to this farce now grabs the hapless store detective by the neck and once more nearly allows lemon legs to escape – I have surely had enough by this time and without thinking that I may end up on the wrong end of a right hook, I stepped in and pulled the injured boys father away from the the dumpy detective. By now everyone was on the phone to the police including lemon legs who was now trapped in her car. I gave up trying to get people to see sense after several vain attempts to get anyone to realise who the store detectives were, I eventually got through to one member of the vigilante group who looked puzzled and said, “oh, I thought they were mugging her” .. OMG!!! We gave up and went home after “ Another exciting day in Southsea.”
STRICTLY COME DANCING
This has been a daft event and one which only could have happened during a period of financial woe and I am sure that was gave the long running saga legs. Certainly John Sergeant was a terrible dancer and should have been booted off the series within a couple of weeks. But alas no, he stayed for nine weeks and saw off some much better dancers. However, this view is certainly not shared by a large number of people and it has managed to take up almost as much news print as the world financial crises. Anyway, at the end of the week he retired from the contest but alas my favourites are gone... such a shame, but I am glad he's out even if we wont see the lithe movements of his Russian dance partner!
Keeeep Watching!
Thursday, 20 November 2008
Ding, ding, ding went the trolly!
Well that's what my new sparkling satnav did as I sped though the lush and green prairies of Eastern Southampton, the sweeping green fields and soaring oaks.... OK I know, I am hallucinating! Anyway, it was my satnav warning me of the neat little, well perhaps not so little, "safety camera" as these money spinning speed cameras are so quaintly called, that was just ahead of us on the road.
I only wish that these devices would be set at the traffic lights in Portsmouth where amber gamblers and the local Kamikaze drivers who fly through the red light a good 2 - 4 seconds after it has changed to red would be singled out and shot, sorry.... heavily fined for their foolishness. Placing these cameras on a perfectly straight road with no pedestrian crossings and no junctions is a pure insult to our intelligence and a blatant and unnecessary means of drumming up cash for HM Government PLC.
Anyway, back to my Satnav. Several times on our journey it warbled into life with a "ding dong" and a small image of a yellow box popping up on the screen that in its self nearly sends you careering off the road with excitement as you start jabbing at the screen with your finger while shouting "there's another one, look"! I will really have to calm down as the subscription to this little service ends very soon and I had promised NOT to switch the feature on when I installed the satnav in the car in the first place. I will just have to watch my speed.
The best thing about this new toy or mine, sorry it's not a toy, it's an advanced in car navigation device. The best thing about it is, I can barely contain myself now, Bluetooth!! Yes, don't we all drool at the prospect of never having to touch our mobile phone again. Are we now safe in the knowledge that we are truly "hands free". We can call people from the satnav, we can receive calls and although we have to shout above the radio and the traffic noise we can talk to anyone who decides to call us when we are flying over the lush green valleys.... Ok, sorry I was off again.
I am the gadget manufacturers gift, phones, satnavs, cameras, watches (not gone there yet) and computers of every shape and size. Although with mobile phones it's so funny to hear two men proudly saying to each other "ohh, mine is much smaller than yours", certainly a conversation and admittance well worth recording !
Off to test the satnav now, quick drive round the block so that I can listen to the dulcet tones of the rather husky voiced "navigator" ordering me left and right...... Oh, and mine is not smaller than anyone Else's, my satnav that is.
Back soon with more reports from the Hampshire hinterlands.........
I only wish that these devices would be set at the traffic lights in Portsmouth where amber gamblers and the local Kamikaze drivers who fly through the red light a good 2 - 4 seconds after it has changed to red would be singled out and shot, sorry.... heavily fined for their foolishness. Placing these cameras on a perfectly straight road with no pedestrian crossings and no junctions is a pure insult to our intelligence and a blatant and unnecessary means of drumming up cash for HM Government PLC.
Anyway, back to my Satnav. Several times on our journey it warbled into life with a "ding dong" and a small image of a yellow box popping up on the screen that in its self nearly sends you careering off the road with excitement as you start jabbing at the screen with your finger while shouting "there's another one, look"! I will really have to calm down as the subscription to this little service ends very soon and I had promised NOT to switch the feature on when I installed the satnav in the car in the first place. I will just have to watch my speed.
The best thing about this new toy or mine, sorry it's not a toy, it's an advanced in car navigation device. The best thing about it is, I can barely contain myself now, Bluetooth!! Yes, don't we all drool at the prospect of never having to touch our mobile phone again. Are we now safe in the knowledge that we are truly "hands free". We can call people from the satnav, we can receive calls and although we have to shout above the radio and the traffic noise we can talk to anyone who decides to call us when we are flying over the lush green valleys.... Ok, sorry I was off again.
I am the gadget manufacturers gift, phones, satnavs, cameras, watches (not gone there yet) and computers of every shape and size. Although with mobile phones it's so funny to hear two men proudly saying to each other "ohh, mine is much smaller than yours", certainly a conversation and admittance well worth recording !
Off to test the satnav now, quick drive round the block so that I can listen to the dulcet tones of the rather husky voiced "navigator" ordering me left and right...... Oh, and mine is not smaller than anyone Else's, my satnav that is.
Back soon with more reports from the Hampshire hinterlands.........
Sunday, 16 November 2008
Getting from A to B
Since my last faithful old SatNav was stolen I have been toying with the idea of buying a new one and have been swinging (Not swinging as in a "Swinger" !!! ) back and forth between yes and no. Do I need one these days as I don't go anywhere or do I need one these days because I MAY go somewhere or do I just need one because it has been a pain in the butt reading poor maps and A to Z guides getting around locally. Long and the short of it.... I am buying a new one, indeed a replacement. Just as I thought the search would be straight forward I discover that it isn't. Just how many combinations of function in one small electronic device do I need?
What I need is a portable, pocket sized PC/Phone/SatNav/Camera/Personal Organiser, yes that's it! Oh, I have just seen one ..... it's called a iPhone, but wait, there is a competitor called a Blackberry Storm and also an LG... and .. oh... ahh.... No!! No more..!
It's back to the drawing Board!
- Essential to have UK and European Maps - I will be going to Ibiza again.. by road?
- Voice directions - Oh Yes, don't you just love those commanding feminine tones?
- A large display - Yes, my age demands so.
- 3D - Not sure if I need to know that the building is vertical
- MP3 Player - No, I have a radio
- Traffic information - Yes a must if I am to avoid the traffic jam I am already in.
- Speed Cameras (I am not going to call them Safety Cameras!!) - Yes if only to use it to make me rant in advance
- Free Map updates - Yes a must for all pensioners
- Here's a good one... Dynamic Routing!!! - Must have that (But what is it?)
- Bluetooth.. I am in two minds about this... do I need to use the device to use my phone? Lets wait and see shall we.
- Full Post Code search
What I need is a portable, pocket sized PC/Phone/SatNav/Camera/Personal Organiser, yes that's it! Oh, I have just seen one ..... it's called a iPhone, but wait, there is a competitor called a Blackberry Storm and also an LG... and .. oh... ahh.... No!! No more..!
It's back to the drawing Board!
Monday, 10 November 2008
Meet me under the clock at Waterloo
"Meet me under the clock at Waterloo" was exactly the arrangement that Bernie and I made on arrival in London on Sunday for the Remembrance Sunday Parade at the Cenotaph. And so, we did indeed meet under the clock and made a leisurely walk on a cold dry morning across the Thames and Trafalgar Square to Whitehall where we soon joined the throng of veterans of all ages making its way to Horse Guards Parade to form up in their various contingents.
There were men and women of all ages wearing a variety of headgear from berets, Glengarrys and Gurkha Hats, their blazers and overcoats festooned with medals from campaigns from all over the world. We presented our tickets to smiling and polite Customs Officers in uniform and then stepped between lines of police officers onto the hallowed gravel of Horse Guards Parade and made our way across the square to find Colonel Browning, our contingent coordinator (political correctness here stopping him being called contingent commander no doubt) who was standing rather self consciously holding his plastic covered card bearing our marker number B12. He, unlike us, was sporting the obligatory Bowler Hat but proved to be a charming and welcoming gentleman who had travelled up from Amesbury for the occasion, "don't I know you he asked me" - I told him "no, it's that I have one of those faces" He grinned broadly and and replied "Yes, shame isn't it" as we shook hands warmly.
There were only six of us representing our Corps but for some time we were worried that the two of our members from Birmingham were not going to arrive but with time to spare they did at last arrive. Our contingent represented the Birmingham Branch, the Vehicle Specialist Branch and of course the largest RAOC Branch of all, RAOConLIne. We formed up columns and found ourselves between the REME Apprentices Association and the Home Guard Association who were dressed for the period with one rather elegant gentleman looking oddly like Cpl. Jones form Dad's Army.
I suppose we were all feeling a little self conscious about marching and I for one donning a beret with RAOC badge for the first time in many many years. But once we had stepped off and shuffled rather than marched in to Whitehall under the arch of Horse Guards and the watchful eye of the Sentry I for one started to feel a little more comfortable.
As we stood about waiting for the event to start I noticed there were some odd dress codes about despite requests from the Royal British Legion to "dress appropriately", with two of the REME contingent in jeans and coats draped rakishly over their shoulders and one ex member of the Army Air Corps in an anorak and beret with the longest beard and pony tail on parade!
We then stood for some half an hour waiting for the ceremony to start which did so but caught us by surprise due to the fact that whilst we were not far from the Cenotaph (actually directly in front of the Horse Boxes) we could not hear or see anything. We did however have a piped commentary coming from a speaker close by and a very large TV screen just ahead (I could have stayed at home for this I thought during one freezing foot stamping moment).
The Artillery round fired to commence the 2 minutes silence was deafening and not as it seems when broadcast on TV and many old veterans jumped out of their skins. One poor fellow was taken ill just prior to this and had to be taken away by paramedics and I dare say may not have reacted at all well had he been present when the gun fired, it may gave done him for good! Two minutes feels like a long time as you stand and ponder the passing of so many friends and loved ones and it is odd how many names run through your head but it is also somehow uplifting once you hear the bugles call to end the silence. It is a personal time and should be more respected in this country on every Remembrance Sunday and on every Armistice Day - 11th November.
So the Service started and we all sang our hearts out and then the moment I think we had all been waiting for came, the March Past and Salute, first at the Cenotaph and then again at the rear of Horse Guards. The words of command were shouted and we stepped off at 100 paces to the minute. Keeping the step was a nightmare as (1) We had no one to call the step and (2) the Home Guard contingent coordinator was calling the step, but very badly and without rhythm, and sin of all sins, "left left, left, left right left" No no no we thought that's not the way it's ....!! Left Right Left Right left right" - but then we clicked as just short of the Cenotaph we picked up the beat of the drum from the Massed Bands and as we slipped into rhythmic step, chins up, shoulders back arms swinging and taking our lead from the REME group we had fallen in with (our single rank of 6) - marched smartly past the Cenotaph amid cheers and applause that came so unexpectedly I nearly stumbled and lost the step. At this point I felt somewhat a fraud and not in any way deserving of such a welcome but soon realized that really the cheering and applause was really about those soldier who are in Afghanistan and Iraq now and who are the Veterans of the future.
It was also odd so see rows of police officers standing and applauding with the crowd, I held my head high and with my shoulders still back marched as if my old eagle eyed Sergeant Major was watching my every step!
An so it was down Whitehall into Parliament Square and then right in the Horse Guards for the columns to march past the saluting dias. The pace had picked up now and we had remembered how to "step short" again and how to eyes right with a flourish and look the saluting officer directly in the eye... in this case it was the grey, sour faced John Hutton Secretary of State for Defence and the "mystery" Royal who turned out to be The Earl of Wessex (Prince Edward) in the the uniform of Royal Honorary Colonel of the Royal Wessex Yeomanry - What surprised me more though was his complexion as we passed him.. it was oddly flawless and without a single blemish or wrinkle and the colour somewhat of a pale tan... very odd indeed.
I have lasting memories of general friendly banter among the 8500 veterans and 1500 civilians who marched, of old soldiers resplendent in row and upon row of medals which in some cases were theirs and the fathers medals worn proudly across their chests. Of The many foreign veterans from all races and corners of the world, particularly the Gurkha contingent with their officers looking so dashing in their broad brimmed hats turned up on one side and so many small children wearing the medals of the dead hero fathers from these current wars all marching with pride in their smart little blazers so sad it was hard not to feel the tears trying to escape.
Once we have reassembled back on Horse Guards we started to make our farewells and reflect on what had been a wonderfully fulfilling if tiring morning most of which was spent standing about waiting to do something - a soldiers life after all. But we all were firm in our desire to do it all again next year!
My companion for the day and I went for a drink in a pub just off Parliament Square which was full of smartly dressed impossibly young naval officers, ageing parachute regiment veterans and equal numbers of younger members of the Parachute Regiment also. Even as we stood outside the pub among the throngs, foreign tourists stopped and asked many of these medal festooned veterans to pose for photographs and seeing a 76 year old former para being photographed in front of a 25 year old serving para sporting a chest full of medals was a sobering thought... so many more men and women to die and so many more medals to wear.
I am sincerely glad I made the effort to go and it was wonderful to meet the other old comrades and friends and spend that two minutes of quiet reflection but I feel even more resentful of those in our society who decry this moment of remembrance and claim it celebrates war - It does not!
Sua Tela Tonanti
There were men and women of all ages wearing a variety of headgear from berets, Glengarrys and Gurkha Hats, their blazers and overcoats festooned with medals from campaigns from all over the world. We presented our tickets to smiling and polite Customs Officers in uniform and then stepped between lines of police officers onto the hallowed gravel of Horse Guards Parade and made our way across the square to find Colonel Browning, our contingent coordinator (political correctness here stopping him being called contingent commander no doubt) who was standing rather self consciously holding his plastic covered card bearing our marker number B12. He, unlike us, was sporting the obligatory Bowler Hat but proved to be a charming and welcoming gentleman who had travelled up from Amesbury for the occasion, "don't I know you he asked me" - I told him "no, it's that I have one of those faces" He grinned broadly and and replied "Yes, shame isn't it" as we shook hands warmly.
There were only six of us representing our Corps but for some time we were worried that the two of our members from Birmingham were not going to arrive but with time to spare they did at last arrive. Our contingent represented the Birmingham Branch, the Vehicle Specialist Branch and of course the largest RAOC Branch of all, RAOConLIne. We formed up columns and found ourselves between the REME Apprentices Association and the Home Guard Association who were dressed for the period with one rather elegant gentleman looking oddly like Cpl. Jones form Dad's Army.
I suppose we were all feeling a little self conscious about marching and I for one donning a beret with RAOC badge for the first time in many many years. But once we had stepped off and shuffled rather than marched in to Whitehall under the arch of Horse Guards and the watchful eye of the Sentry I for one started to feel a little more comfortable.
As we stood about waiting for the event to start I noticed there were some odd dress codes about despite requests from the Royal British Legion to "dress appropriately", with two of the REME contingent in jeans and coats draped rakishly over their shoulders and one ex member of the Army Air Corps in an anorak and beret with the longest beard and pony tail on parade!
We then stood for some half an hour waiting for the ceremony to start which did so but caught us by surprise due to the fact that whilst we were not far from the Cenotaph (actually directly in front of the Horse Boxes) we could not hear or see anything. We did however have a piped commentary coming from a speaker close by and a very large TV screen just ahead (I could have stayed at home for this I thought during one freezing foot stamping moment).
The Artillery round fired to commence the 2 minutes silence was deafening and not as it seems when broadcast on TV and many old veterans jumped out of their skins. One poor fellow was taken ill just prior to this and had to be taken away by paramedics and I dare say may not have reacted at all well had he been present when the gun fired, it may gave done him for good! Two minutes feels like a long time as you stand and ponder the passing of so many friends and loved ones and it is odd how many names run through your head but it is also somehow uplifting once you hear the bugles call to end the silence. It is a personal time and should be more respected in this country on every Remembrance Sunday and on every Armistice Day - 11th November.
So the Service started and we all sang our hearts out and then the moment I think we had all been waiting for came, the March Past and Salute, first at the Cenotaph and then again at the rear of Horse Guards. The words of command were shouted and we stepped off at 100 paces to the minute. Keeping the step was a nightmare as (1) We had no one to call the step and (2) the Home Guard contingent coordinator was calling the step, but very badly and without rhythm, and sin of all sins, "left left, left, left right left" No no no we thought that's not the way it's ....!! Left Right Left Right left right" - but then we clicked as just short of the Cenotaph we picked up the beat of the drum from the Massed Bands and as we slipped into rhythmic step, chins up, shoulders back arms swinging and taking our lead from the REME group we had fallen in with (our single rank of 6) - marched smartly past the Cenotaph amid cheers and applause that came so unexpectedly I nearly stumbled and lost the step. At this point I felt somewhat a fraud and not in any way deserving of such a welcome but soon realized that really the cheering and applause was really about those soldier who are in Afghanistan and Iraq now and who are the Veterans of the future.
It was also odd so see rows of police officers standing and applauding with the crowd, I held my head high and with my shoulders still back marched as if my old eagle eyed Sergeant Major was watching my every step!
An so it was down Whitehall into Parliament Square and then right in the Horse Guards for the columns to march past the saluting dias. The pace had picked up now and we had remembered how to "step short" again and how to eyes right with a flourish and look the saluting officer directly in the eye... in this case it was the grey, sour faced John Hutton Secretary of State for Defence and the "mystery" Royal who turned out to be The Earl of Wessex (Prince Edward) in the the uniform of Royal Honorary Colonel of the Royal Wessex Yeomanry - What surprised me more though was his complexion as we passed him.. it was oddly flawless and without a single blemish or wrinkle and the colour somewhat of a pale tan... very odd indeed.
I have lasting memories of general friendly banter among the 8500 veterans and 1500 civilians who marched, of old soldiers resplendent in row and upon row of medals which in some cases were theirs and the fathers medals worn proudly across their chests. Of The many foreign veterans from all races and corners of the world, particularly the Gurkha contingent with their officers looking so dashing in their broad brimmed hats turned up on one side and so many small children wearing the medals of the dead hero fathers from these current wars all marching with pride in their smart little blazers so sad it was hard not to feel the tears trying to escape.
Once we have reassembled back on Horse Guards we started to make our farewells and reflect on what had been a wonderfully fulfilling if tiring morning most of which was spent standing about waiting to do something - a soldiers life after all. But we all were firm in our desire to do it all again next year!
My companion for the day and I went for a drink in a pub just off Parliament Square which was full of smartly dressed impossibly young naval officers, ageing parachute regiment veterans and equal numbers of younger members of the Parachute Regiment also. Even as we stood outside the pub among the throngs, foreign tourists stopped and asked many of these medal festooned veterans to pose for photographs and seeing a 76 year old former para being photographed in front of a 25 year old serving para sporting a chest full of medals was a sobering thought... so many more men and women to die and so many more medals to wear.
I am sincerely glad I made the effort to go and it was wonderful to meet the other old comrades and friends and spend that two minutes of quiet reflection but I feel even more resentful of those in our society who decry this moment of remembrance and claim it celebrates war - It does not!
Sua Tela Tonanti
Thursday, 6 November 2008
Today I lost an old friend
When I first moved to Chichester in 1975 it was the days when the "man from the Pru" used to come to the door to collect your insurance premiums and of course sell you some more policies if he could.
One night the door bell rang and there was our man from the Pru with a colleague he was introducing as the area rep. He was a stocky bloke with a crewcut in a suit rather like one of those worn by Alexi Sale, very tight and all the buttons done up. His name was Julie! This was my introduction to the Pru and one which would be far different and has nothing to do with why we moved to Selsey.
But it was in Selsey that the new man from the Pru (yes, a man) called at the door one night to introduce the new area rep. and no, it wasn't the androgynous Julie either it was a short, smartly dressed little man with a beard and looking remarkably like a diminutive Steven Spielberg, called David and we were to become good friends over the next 20 years.
David and I were to learn a lot about each other even to the extent that we went to the same school in London and that we had a shared sense of humour. So I took a chance and when I left IBM in 1992 I went to work with David for a short while, remained firm friends even after parting company and my return to mainstream work in IT.
Today, sadly, David died leaving three children and a large gap in everyone's lives who knew him, laughed with him or were exasperated by him at times. For a small man he had a huge personality and a wealth of apparent confidence as well as a head that held a vast amount of detail about insurance.
During a conversation we often had about a new "career" he was seeking which ranged from taxi driving, train driving, being a postman or selling cars he always ended up staying where he was, in Insurance. I told him once that he must be one of the worst people you could ever possible have working for you... we fell about laughing and then... he agreed!
One thing is for certain, above all else in his life his three kids came first, he loved them dearly and they will all miss him terribly. But David is now free of his demons and at peace at last after what must have been an awful year for him.
I will miss him enormously as will his family.
One night the door bell rang and there was our man from the Pru with a colleague he was introducing as the area rep. He was a stocky bloke with a crewcut in a suit rather like one of those worn by Alexi Sale, very tight and all the buttons done up. His name was Julie! This was my introduction to the Pru and one which would be far different and has nothing to do with why we moved to Selsey.
But it was in Selsey that the new man from the Pru (yes, a man) called at the door one night to introduce the new area rep. and no, it wasn't the androgynous Julie either it was a short, smartly dressed little man with a beard and looking remarkably like a diminutive Steven Spielberg, called David and we were to become good friends over the next 20 years.
David and I were to learn a lot about each other even to the extent that we went to the same school in London and that we had a shared sense of humour. So I took a chance and when I left IBM in 1992 I went to work with David for a short while, remained firm friends even after parting company and my return to mainstream work in IT.
Today, sadly, David died leaving three children and a large gap in everyone's lives who knew him, laughed with him or were exasperated by him at times. For a small man he had a huge personality and a wealth of apparent confidence as well as a head that held a vast amount of detail about insurance.
During a conversation we often had about a new "career" he was seeking which ranged from taxi driving, train driving, being a postman or selling cars he always ended up staying where he was, in Insurance. I told him once that he must be one of the worst people you could ever possible have working for you... we fell about laughing and then... he agreed!
One thing is for certain, above all else in his life his three kids came first, he loved them dearly and they will all miss him terribly. But David is now free of his demons and at peace at last after what must have been an awful year for him.
I will miss him enormously as will his family.
1960's Fashions - British Style Genius
I caught a programme on TV this week called British Style Genius which was covering a range of fashion styles that have sprung from these British shores. I was particularly interested in the fashions of the 60's because that was my era.
I had gone through the trauma of being taken to Burton's the Tailor near Tottenham Court Road in London for my first suit. I ended up at the tender age of about 12 wearing a dark blue, double breasted pin stripe suit that made me look exactly like my own grandfather. I hated this suit with a vengeance as I had already been forced to wear some sort of ginger coloured tweed suit that was rather like the uniform worn by the Park Keepers in London during up to the late 60's. I have a photo of me standing or should I say, cringing in it while posing in our back garden. I remember the humiliation of having to wear these suits in public praying that I would not meet anyone from school. However, that made no difference really as most other kids who had never seen my in their lives before still almost stopped dead in their tracks when they spotted me be led down the street in the shadow of my grandfather. At this time in his life he had adopted a strange sort of fashion style of his own, a light grey double breasted suit with a brown felt trilby and brown suede chucker boots. To this day I have not the slightest idea why he chose to dress like one of those "wide boys" that used to appear in films about war time Britain flogging silk stockings and ration coupons. Anyway, once I got my hands on the princely sum of £22 or about £840 in today's money I sped off with my grandmother (who clearly had an eye for fashion in young men) to Soho!! I will get to the point soon so just bear with me....(the windfall was from a small book of War Bonds that had been saved up just for me!!)
There was a small tailors shop in Brewer Street just across the road from the infamous Windmill Theatre in Great Windmill street where I was given the task of selecting some proper clothes to go away in when I joined the army towards the end of 1961.
Well, I purchased a rather nice V neck sweater, a shirt and tie and some shoes plus a mid blue suit - MADE TO MEASURE! It had all the style I could want for the era complete with an electric blue lining, single breasted with three buttons and a single vent. I served me well through the entire 1960's until in Cyprus I bought my first mohair suit for £16 made to measure - £420 NOW!!! Impossible? Well I was only earning £9 a week so it was nearly two weeks pay - a made to measure suit now would probably cost more than two weeks pay!
Imagine my shock then when I took stock of my present wardrobe of suits (I have stopped wearing them now I am not at work) only to discover that the one I wore most recently at work is the exact copy almost to my first real suit purchased from that tailor in Soho in 1961!! This time it was from M&S .....
Watching the TV programme was very enlightening and its not until now that I realise I was a "Mod" !!! So out comes the suit on the 9th for Remembrance Sunday in London, my shoes polished to a gleaming shine as I join the veterans for the annual service of Remembrance at the Cenotaph... watch for me on TV .. I will be the one in the 1960's suit!!!
I had gone through the trauma of being taken to Burton's the Tailor near Tottenham Court Road in London for my first suit. I ended up at the tender age of about 12 wearing a dark blue, double breasted pin stripe suit that made me look exactly like my own grandfather. I hated this suit with a vengeance as I had already been forced to wear some sort of ginger coloured tweed suit that was rather like the uniform worn by the Park Keepers in London during up to the late 60's. I have a photo of me standing or should I say, cringing in it while posing in our back garden. I remember the humiliation of having to wear these suits in public praying that I would not meet anyone from school. However, that made no difference really as most other kids who had never seen my in their lives before still almost stopped dead in their tracks when they spotted me be led down the street in the shadow of my grandfather. At this time in his life he had adopted a strange sort of fashion style of his own, a light grey double breasted suit with a brown felt trilby and brown suede chucker boots. To this day I have not the slightest idea why he chose to dress like one of those "wide boys" that used to appear in films about war time Britain flogging silk stockings and ration coupons. Anyway, once I got my hands on the princely sum of £22 or about £840 in today's money I sped off with my grandmother (who clearly had an eye for fashion in young men) to Soho!! I will get to the point soon so just bear with me....(the windfall was from a small book of War Bonds that had been saved up just for me!!)
There was a small tailors shop in Brewer Street just across the road from the infamous Windmill Theatre in Great Windmill street where I was given the task of selecting some proper clothes to go away in when I joined the army towards the end of 1961.
Well, I purchased a rather nice V neck sweater, a shirt and tie and some shoes plus a mid blue suit - MADE TO MEASURE! It had all the style I could want for the era complete with an electric blue lining, single breasted with three buttons and a single vent. I served me well through the entire 1960's until in Cyprus I bought my first mohair suit for £16 made to measure - £420 NOW!!! Impossible? Well I was only earning £9 a week so it was nearly two weeks pay - a made to measure suit now would probably cost more than two weeks pay!
Imagine my shock then when I took stock of my present wardrobe of suits (I have stopped wearing them now I am not at work) only to discover that the one I wore most recently at work is the exact copy almost to my first real suit purchased from that tailor in Soho in 1961!! This time it was from M&S .....
Watching the TV programme was very enlightening and its not until now that I realise I was a "Mod" !!! So out comes the suit on the 9th for Remembrance Sunday in London, my shoes polished to a gleaming shine as I join the veterans for the annual service of Remembrance at the Cenotaph... watch for me on TV .. I will be the one in the 1960's suit!!!
Sunday, 2 November 2008
Finding a house
The house hunting saga started with the weather getting increasingly colder and now continuing to get colder and wetter. The falling house prices and the reluctance of people to try to sell their houses is giving us a headache, mainly because there is a shortage of houses in the mid price range. There are plenty below the Stamp Duty level (which we don't want) and a tired batch of sad looking places in rather dirty streets with no parking. The ones we want are most likely subject to negative equity so not readily available or grossly over priced given the sinking house prices.
I think a large tent or a vast camper van is perhaps the answer with enough luxury goods to make travelling the world the answer. I don't see V being too keen on that though so I will avoid such thoughts. I have tried to convince her to come on a trip to Libya with me so that she can share my reliving my six months in the desert there back in the 60's. Surprisingly she expressed in very strongly worded terms that I was not going to take her anywhere to share a tent and the joys of a Libyan diet. Perhaps I will stick with Albert Road as these days you can conjure up the North African feel without leaving Portsmouth.
I have been very enthusiastic this week in terms of Ebay - I rooted though all my bits and pieces to see what I had been hoarding for all these years for no good reason and bunged the lot on Ebay. So far I have sold six items with another five to go. It's been a bit slow but it will pick up, it always does.
I recently auctioned "my anger at being robbed" with 100% of my winning bid being passed to the Help For Heroes Charity - I can tell you that I didn't get one single bid, not one. At least the X Factor raised some instead.
I think a large tent or a vast camper van is perhaps the answer with enough luxury goods to make travelling the world the answer. I don't see V being too keen on that though so I will avoid such thoughts. I have tried to convince her to come on a trip to Libya with me so that she can share my reliving my six months in the desert there back in the 60's. Surprisingly she expressed in very strongly worded terms that I was not going to take her anywhere to share a tent and the joys of a Libyan diet. Perhaps I will stick with Albert Road as these days you can conjure up the North African feel without leaving Portsmouth.
I have been very enthusiastic this week in terms of Ebay - I rooted though all my bits and pieces to see what I had been hoarding for all these years for no good reason and bunged the lot on Ebay. So far I have sold six items with another five to go. It's been a bit slow but it will pick up, it always does.
I recently auctioned "my anger at being robbed" with 100% of my winning bid being passed to the Help For Heroes Charity - I can tell you that I didn't get one single bid, not one. At least the X Factor raised some instead.
Spanish Officials - A dissapoinment ?
Getting back to the old wound called "being robbed" I just thought I would bring you up to date on my efforts to raise the issue of the useless teenagers with guns in Ibiza, also known as the Guardia Civil. I went to the considerable trouble of writing to two officials on the Island in an effort to get someone to actually investigate and then once they had investigated and arrested a few suspects actually looked to see if they had anything that resembled our lost precious possessions. This forlorn hope of mine has clearly not happened!
So, I wrote to the Directora Insular de Ibiza y Formentera, Dna Sofia Hernanz and the Capitan de Cuartel de la Guardia Civil de Ibiza, Captain Rafael Rosique Colom initialy in English, because I was not able to find a translator. In any event I thought that two people occupying such senior positions in the Island Government would be able to speak some English or at least enough to understand the letters. So after two months of silence from them I decided, rather wickedly to write to them again but this time using the Google translation tool with some adjusting where the translation was obviously stupid. Here we are now some three weeks on and still nothing from either source not even a letter to say "thanks we got your letter".
This illustrates to me not how busy they are but how little they care about foreign nationals living in their country and how little interest they have in be helpful.
I have nothing further to say about them that won't land me in a Spanish gaol!
So, I wrote to the Directora Insular de Ibiza y Formentera, Dna Sofia Hernanz and the Capitan de Cuartel de la Guardia Civil de Ibiza, Captain Rafael Rosique Colom initialy in English, because I was not able to find a translator. In any event I thought that two people occupying such senior positions in the Island Government would be able to speak some English or at least enough to understand the letters. So after two months of silence from them I decided, rather wickedly to write to them again but this time using the Google translation tool with some adjusting where the translation was obviously stupid. Here we are now some three weeks on and still nothing from either source not even a letter to say "thanks we got your letter".
This illustrates to me not how busy they are but how little they care about foreign nationals living in their country and how little interest they have in be helpful.
I have nothing further to say about them that won't land me in a Spanish gaol!
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