FARE GAME

One of the main events in Haslemere at Christmas is the Christmas Fair.  It's that time when we all begin to get Christmassy and all the local producers gather to display (and hopefully sell) their festive wares - exotic pies of wild boar, pigeon, mallard, etc, local cheeses from Tunworth to Winslade, from Norbury to Tornegus and from Duddleswell to Olde Sussex, and all the modern produce too - curry sauces, chutneys and jams, not to mention gifts and decorations.  Needless to say, no need to buy lunch that day!

Here's part of the High Street

 

and some very Surrey stalls.

Hemingways gets into the mood

as does my favourite High Street shop

Now we just await the panto season to begin.  Here are two of the actors getting us all into the mood.

Even the cyclists are in the mood.

LEAVES HOME

I sat out in the garden this morning to eat my breakfast.  The sun was warm, the sky was blue and, yes, the trees are still green.

This is my garden.  And today is nearly the last day of October!  I'm not wishing for the early onset of winter, but autumn is my favourite season and I have this fear that it might be passed by this year.

Anyway it's so lovely out that we've decided to go down to the coast for a few days.  See you when we get back.

LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION

I have been talking to people recently about the new high-speed train we are planning to build.  It will, depending on who you believe, either provide essential fast links between London and the North, particularly for business, at a time when travel by other means has become congested and when migration to the south has become an increasing problem, or it will cost taxpayers a vast amount of money and increase the noise pollution in beautiful open countryside, providing an additional train service which no one wants and no one will be able to afford.  Whatever.

I am also conscious of the effects of the new A3 Hindhead tunnel that is just 18 months old.  The official figures seem to show that traffic flow along the A3 is no different from before the tunnel.  But these figures take no account of the hold-ups at Hindhead that plagued the road before the tunnel was opened.  Yes, the traffic flow is the same, but it now flows without delay.  The statistics also ignore the fact that about 25% of the traffic tried to avoid the Hindhead bottleneck by turning off the road before Hindhead, driving past my house and then onto the A3 again.  Most of that traffic has now gone and the effect outside my house is certainly noticeable.

And that's not to mention the ease with which walkers can now cross the A3.  The footpath runs right across the road and it was always tricky emerging onto a crowded 2-lane road and trying to cross.  Now, the road has gone!  I posted this pic recently.  That's the old A3, as it is today, running round the valley.

 

But one has to remember that for every group of residents who welcome the advent of the quiet, safe diverted road through the tunnel, there is likely to be some who feel the opposite.  There is a beautiful Elizabethan house near here on the edge of Hindhead.  Here it is

and here it is from the other side.

When it was built, I imagine the owners loved its isolated position in the quiet rural town of Hindhead, away from the noise and dirt of the road, yet just a short carriage ride to the main stagecoach route to London and Portsmouth.  The grounds boasted extensive woodland and a private drive off the road to the front door.  But the tunnel access road has taken away much of that woodland and sliced a chunk too out of the hill on which the house once nestled.

So zoom out and here's the house today.  It's now literally on the edge of Hindhead.

 I expect there will be houses like this along the high-speed train route.

TILES OF THE UNEXPECTED

While we were on holiday, the carpenter and tiler were hard at work in the roomFKA the scullery.  Before we came home (and too late to do anything about it), I discovered that the tiler was going to fix the tiles in a brickwork pattern.  Aaaagh!  I thought.  (At least it wasn't aaaaaaagh! so it can't have been too serious).  But had I been asked before we went away, I'd probably have said we wanted them fixed the usual way ie in columns and rows.  But what do I find, when I eventually see them?  They look great!  And what's more, I think this is actually the 'normal' way to fix this sort of tile.

So here's the next stage in the great kitchen revival.

The worktop looks rather good too.  Just my painting left to do then . . .

HOME MADE COOKING

I have finally finished my part of the kitchen remodelling.  It's been a labour of love, so I thought I had to share it with you.  You can go overboard with your praise and admiration if you like.  But no orders please. 

Here's how it was

 

and now.

 

 Then

 

and now.

Now we just have to get the worktop and tiles fitted . . .

VISITORS

It's August, almost without me realising it, it's time to think about a summer holiday.  We have a few things to do this week, but I think we'll drive off somewhere next week.  I don't know what happened to July.  I have a great calendar that someone bought me for Christmas, with photographs of roundabouts.  Here is July's that I have hardly had a moment to enjoy.

It's described on the caption as 'awesome'.

We have been visited again this month by deer.  I thought they had decided to leave us after I chased them off my gooseberry patch.

And he was here this morning.

But we have had an extraordinary number of butterflies.  And that just after a wildlife warning of declining numbers.  Mind you, I have no idea whether rarer species are in trouble and the vast majority of those here are large whites (which frankly we can do without).  But here's a comma

and a rather nice peacock.

KICKING THE HABITUE

You may remember me writing that I once went into a pub (wait for the rest of the sentence!  It isn't such an unusual event so far) and, whilst waiting for my drink, the barman suddenly shouted out, 'Hello Bill!  Happy birthday.'  All the locals had gathered to greet him and a jolly nice party atmosphere developed.  Everyone greeted Bill and offered him a drink.  In fact I suspect he didn't buy a drink all day.  I was so taken with that. 

Not with the free drinks I don't mean, although there was I admit a certain attraction in that, but it was the fact that the local community knew Bill, knew it was his birthday and wanted to celebrate it with him, and that moreover the barman also knew him well enough to greet him, that appealed and made my heart jump slightly with envy.  When I retire and settle down, that's what I want, I commented at the time.  I dearly want to live in a community, to visit my local and have the barman (or preferably an attractive barmaid) greet me with, 'Hello Neil.  Pint of the usual?'  I will feel I have arrived.

Part of the reason for this is of course that I have spent my life wandering the world (which I shall continue to do in fact, mostly because it is what excites and motivates me) and clearly there is somewhere within me a gene which hankers after being settled, retiring, not just from work, but from travelling too, from being forever unknown in strange cities or empty countrysides.

But, hang on a moment, I can hear you cry, you are retired.  Yes, OK, I don't engage in any salaried occupation, but I do drive for my local charity, I am getting more involved in the administration of my local bridge club, and I do lead walking groups around the world.  One day maybe I'll stop doing those things and just sit at home.  I could do that.  I'd probably last about a week before I started walking off somewhere, or learning a new trade, or building an extension to the house, or joining the local movie-making club, but I could do it.

But that feeling of belonging, when you walk into your local and people in there greet you by name . . .  Wonderful!  I must say it has begun to happen a little here.  I do now often meet people in the street who say hello.  But, when I wander into Hemingways or the Crown and Cushion, nothing -  beyond normal politeness (except for that lad with the bleached hair who keeps saying, 'no probs'; he needs to improve his customer friendliness I always think).

We went into Petersfield today.  It was market day and The George was packed at 10.30.  I counted 60 people in the bar and the garden was full, as were the few table outside at the front, so I reckon 100 people having coffee, breakfast, brunch, etc.  Well, I don't expect anyone there to remember me by name, but actually the atmosphere was really comfortable.  I wondered then whether what I really want is comfort instead of that frisson of awkwardness that you feel in an unfamiliar establishment.

But, no, I think it's the human contact, that sense that, not only do you feel have you been accepted into a community, but also that you have welcomed by its other members, a private club maybe in which strangers aren't included, however nice they are and however friendly the welcome, and one in which you don't just wear a badge or a T-shirt, but where the individual participants have interaction and genuine personal contact with each other.

With these thoughts as ever in my mind, the other day I went into the chemist.  'Hello Mr Hook.  How are you today?' smiled the pharmacist.  Not what I dreamt of for my retirement, but maybe I have now arrived?

AS ONE DOOR CLOSES

I don't actually need your advice or approval (or praise), but if you volunteer any, that'll be fine.

We have now worked our way around the house (refurbishmently speaking) and have reached the kitchen.  First, we got a quote for a new kitchen.  Then we got a quote for new cupboard doors only.  After that, I bought a pot of paint.

The problem is that, although our kitchen is not new, it does have solid wooden cupboards, or at least solid wooden doors.  So any new doors would probably be a downgrade.  On the other hand, it is a bit dark.  Here it is: 

Or at least one corner of it.  So I thought, before I spend several 1,000 pounds, I'll spent £50 on 2 pots of paint (one for the doors and one for the melamine carcassing) and see how it turns out.  The real concern was whether I could paint the melamine.

Here is the carcass after painting:

 

It's not bad is it.  So, buoyed by that success, I painted the doors.  Here's my workshop (AKA dining room):

And this morning I rehung the doors and fitted new handles.  What do you think?  New kitchen?

Now for the other 22 cupboards . . .  It would be nice if She Who Wants to Know When on Earth I'm Going to Finish would stop cooking for a day or two.

IT WAS JUST FETE

One other event that kept me busy in the last week or so was the Haslemere Festival.  They're always having festivals, so not sure what this was for, but we much enjoyed it.

Several gardens opened up to the public at the weekend.  They were all lovely or course, but not (IMHO) remarkable.  Big, yes, but remarkable, not really.  I just took one photograph:

 

See what I mean?  Well, I'm sure it took a lot of hard work to achieve this effect.  And I know there are at least 3 gardeners working there.  But, I don't know, a big hedge, a couple of saplings, some beds and a couple of pots . . .  Still, the tea and cake was delicious!

More importantly, in the evening there was a concert on the Green.  Sadly, you can see from the garden pic above what the weather was like, so, although there were a few hardy (and totally bonkers) people on picnic blankets, it was a more of a pop in and out type of concert than a pop event.  I popped in for the disco which I enjoyed for some reason.

 

As my house overlooks the Green, I'm afraid I then listened to the rest of the concert from my armchair with the window open and watched the fireworks from there too.

SPRING HAS SPRUNG A LEAK

I know it's spring, because the grass has begun to grow again.

 And the crocuses are coming out.
 

With windchill, it's apparently up to -7 tonight . . . .

FOR THE BIRDS

I try to keep bird feeders going in the garden and throw out bread and keep the bird bath clean, etc.  But all I seem to get is the neighbourhood cats.  A couple of weeks ago, I took part in the Royal Society for the  Protection of Birds garden survey, which involves watching the garden for an hour and letting the RSPB know which birds land there.  I only saw 4 birds all day!

Occasionally though, while the cats are all sleeping after lunch, I manage to attract a few garden birds which makes it all worthwhile.  Yesterday I had a surprise - a flock (?colony) of seagulls arrived and fed on the lawn.

As we're about 25 miles from the nearest coast, I guess it was stormy at sea.  Or do gulls feel the cold too?  I shouldn't have liked to dip my toes in the sea yesterday.  Or maybe they especially like stale white cobs?

DATE CHEQUE

I have just written a cheque.  Not many people do that these days, do they. 

We are making progress with refurbishing this house, slowly but slowly.  We finally had the last bedroom carpeted today (just the stairs and landing to do now . . .).  When it came to paying I had the choice of going to the shop with my card, telephoning my card details through, giving my card to the fitter who would then telephone, cash (unsurprisingly I don't have wads of cash in the drawer), or writing a cheque.  For once the cheque seemed the easiest method.

But when I came to write the date, I had to remember not only to write '2013', but also 'February'.  Time seems to pass very quickly these days (except in my method of paying bills); I don't know where January went (or 2012 for that matter).  But it is also a commentary on how rarely I need to write the date these days either.  Usually I get a bill on screen and just press 'OK' and type in my PIN.  The date doesn't come into it.  I think I only use a pen now to score at bridge and several places even have automated bridge scoring and wi-fi scorers anyway.

I used to joke that we would stop writing by hand altogether one day and just push buttons for predictive text and PIN numbers.  That would mean I wouldn't have to worry at all about days of the week or months or years; all I would have to remember is my PIN number (and luckily I have that written on my wrist).  Maybe the day I stop thinking is nearer than I thought.

LYTHE WAITERS

We went to visit a local farm today.  They have an interesting website - it said that there is a cafe, activities for kids and it's a farm.  With animals.  Just what we wanted for the grandkids - fun, educational and food to boot.  When we arrived, it was all rather quiet.  I rang the doorbell (marked reception) which connected by telephone with a lady somewhere who told me that the cafe and restaurant had closed a year ago and that there were no activities for kids.  Hmmm, seems like you can't believe anything you read on the net.

We drove around some country lanes for a while in an effort to make the outing worthwhile.  Then, on a whim, we stopped at the Lythe Hill Hotel for afternoon tea.  I think I've mentioned this hotel before.  It's just on the edge of rural Haslemere and the main building is 16th century.  Here it is in fact:

It is of course lovely inside.  But, as lunch was in progress, we went through to the modern part at the rear, where we sat in tranquillity, reading the day's newspapers and looking out onto the garden.  And the waiters?  we allowed them to scurry around and pamper and bring us sandwiches, scones and cakes, etc, when we wanted them.  Well, I reckon that made the outing worthwhile.  And the grandkids can always watch TV.

GAMBLING IN THE SNOW

I sat down twice last week to write something and then ended up writing about something else.  I wonder what it is I originally intended to write.  Do you ever do that?  Sit down to rant about something and then find yourself starting to write something else?  That's what comes of having so much to say that's important and world-changing I suppose.

I think I was going to comment on the boom in online gambling in this country.  Of course telephone gambling has been around for a while.  I believe betting on anything other than a set number of sports is still illegal in the States.  Here, you can bet on anything.  And I think it's legal for Americans to bet in the UK.  When I was working in London almost 20 years ago, I needed to keep abreast of public mood in the US during the Presidential elections.  One good indicator was the telephone betting from the States on one or other candidate.  I had a contact in one of the betting companies, through whom I 'knew' before many others that Clinton was going to win comfortably.

But the advent of mobile phone betting has transformed the industry.  I was going to say how interesting I found it that casino gambling is promoted by attractive young ladies, but football and poker is promoted by rugged males.  Bingo on the other hand is promoted by suggesting that there is some sort of fun community involved.  The truth is that it's a lonely old game - you lose your money in sad isolation, not in company with partying friends, or rugged men, and certainly not attractive females (family excepted of course).  Anyway, that's presumably the demographic - mature men gamble on football and poker, women on bingo, and young men on roulette.  The only issue here (apart from the morality of inducing people to gamble away their money) is that it appears to be legal to advertise on TV before 9pm.  I was trying to watch the Africa Cup of Nations this afternoon and was constantly bombarded with ads for gambling.  So kids are exposed to these ads too.

There has been an extraordinary increase in the gambling industry, perhaps underlined by all the ads.  If you watch football on TV, almost every ad is for gambling.  During early evening TV, most ads are for bingo sites.  And so on.  So no surprise to learn that Brits now spend £2b on online gambling (I'm not sure about the period of that payment, perhaps this is just the value of the industry?) and that there are now 500, 000 addicts.

Anyway, that's what I was going to comment on.  Despite the £2b industry, and the 1m people at risk of addiction, advertising has become even more seductive and frequent and earlier.  I don't know anything about the millions who do gamble online, but I suspect there are many young and many who can't really afford it.

I was also going to post some pics of my road.  Here are a couple and one on the main road.  I thought they were pretty.

 

 

 

I haven't, in the process, mentioned my holiday.  I'll try too post something later.

WELL I NEVER

I was aware of well dressing and blessing in Derbyshire, but had no idea that such a thing went on anywhere else.  Anyway, today was the dressing and blessing ceremony of the Haslemere well.

Haslemere well was in use from mediaeval times until the late 19th century.  The last watercarrier, Hannah Oakford, used to charge 1 penny per bucket to deliver fresh water to townspeople.  She died in 1898.

This is the well and the dressed plaque. 

Not quite up to Derbyshire standards I think, but interesting that we should wish to do this.  This is the blessing ceremony.

And here is the musical presentation.


Here are some close ups of the decoration.




Haslemere well is just off the present High Street.  As it was such a lovely day today, I thought you might also like to see the view from the well.

ALE AND HEARTY

 At last!  After nearly a year of argument and persuasion, she has finally agreed to my having a Threesome.  I have good stamina and a high level of fitness now, so I was convinced that now was the time.  We had to compromise in the end; this is the essence of a good relationship. 

Yes, while she went to the toy shop to buy things for grandchildren, I went to the Haslemere Beer Festival to try a pint of the Sherfield Brewery’s new golden ale, Threesome.

 

It’s called a Beer Festival, but it’s basically a lot of fat men standing around, drinking and discussing football and, every 15 seconds, mentioning sex.

Threesome BTW is a rather pale beer, with lots of hops.  Tasty, but a bit weak and lacking in malt for my taste.  I wanted to try Greensand from the Surrey Hills brewery, but they’d run out by the time I got there.  ‘Must be good then,’ said the barperson.  ‘WTF use is that to me?’ I thought.

Those of my age will know that Pressed Rat and Warthog is a creamy beverage.  It’s dark and chocolatey and plummy, like Moira Stuart.  Bucking Fastard, that I just had to try, is gold with a flowery taste and a kick.  Stopped Dancing, from Havant, is stronger than it seems – tastes of mowed lawns, but not remarkable.  Armada, brewed to celebrate the 400^th anniversary of the sinking of the Armada off the Sussex coast, is a much better bitter taste, but is even stronger.  And Hammerpot Woodcote is an old favourite, tangy and bitter.

Didn't try the other 45 beers.

Off to bed now.  On my own.

SCENTS AND SENSIBILITY

I have blogged before about the problems of my garden being considered a public convenience by most of the local animal population.  We have found the best solution is a product called Dog Off , which I call 'Fox Off', for the obvious humour value and for the reason that we actually want to repel foxes not dogs), which has a strong perfume that apparently confuses animals that rely on scent marking.  It seems to work on cats too.  But the last bottle bought had a 'new aroma' which turned out to be garlic, making our backyard smell like an Italian restaurant rather than a rose garden.  Not such a happy solution to the problem. Still, the other product that works quite well on the lawn is pepper, which actually goes quite well with the restaurant theme.

The problem though with these products is that they don't easily survive the present run of wet weather (the wettest June this century).  So we have supplemented olfactory deterrents with aural ones - PIRs with a high pitched sound emission.  I think the combination has been successful.  No evidence of animals for a while anyway.

This morning when I left home however, there was a dead fox on my doorstep.  My first thought naturally was that I have been targetted by a gypsy for some reason.  Can this be a warning to other travellers that I'm unlikely to give them 20p, even for a cup of tea?  Or a sign that I never  seem to want my kitchen knives sharpening?  Or maybe it was a death threat?  Or maybe it suffered from a garlic or pepper allergy.  But then the next thought was what do I do about it?  Fur collars and stuffed animals are not so much in vogue these days and there wasn't much meat on it.

But it was later that the paradox struck me.  I will spray my garden with Fox Off and chase away any varmints I see out there, but, when it comes to disposing of a body, my humane human instincts kicked in and I debated with myself where and how to bury it decently.

I had the same thoughts last night as it happened.  We had been out in the garden for much of the day with the house door open and the living room had filled with flies.  Normally I would swat them with a folded copy of Bikini Monthly, but there were so many of them that my stomach reacted to the thought of disposing of all the corpses and so I chased them back out the door instead.  Having done so, I did think it was perhaps an odd solution.  Maybe I should have just got out the Bug Off spray?

The same thoughts arose when I went to bed.  There, sitting on the bedside lamp, was the most enormous insect I have seen for a long time .  It was either a hornet or a queen bee, not too sure which.  I thought how fortunate it was that it had settled on the lamp and not the pillow where I might not have seen it until too late.  On the other hand, maybe it was the lamp that attracted it into the house in the first place.  Anyway, I found a tumbler large enough to hold it and a large card and carried it to the back door for release.  For some reason or other, it promptly flew back into the house.  Maybe it was in defence or attack mode.  Luckily it settled on the wall and I trapped it again and successfully liberated it.  How strange I thought though that my own defence or attack mode didn't activate and lead me to simply swat it.

Of course, like most of you no doubt, I am always carrying spiders safely outside in tumblers.  But I wonder where we normally draw the line.  I was reading an article in Cowgirl magazine recently about Clint Eastwood at home.  It caught my eye because I am often mistaken for Clint (a serendipity he has never used to his advantage incidentally).  But he apparently always rescues insects from the house and carries them outside.  Any insect, however small, which I thought at the time rather over the top.  But perhaps I tend to the same practice.

On the radio the other day, on the other hand, I listened to people ringing in with tips for disposing of slugs humanely.  Apparently, pouring salt on them works spectacularly, but is very painful.  Personally, I'm not sure I'm much bothered by the pain of slugs, but then I do leave out beer which they like so much that they drink themselves to death.  Perhaps that meets my humane side better than salting them.  There is something kind I suppose about giving unwanted pests what they desire and killing them with kindness.

Apparently foxes think of the houses/gardens they inhabit as home and, when injured, or otherwise dying, they make there way back before finally expiring.  That's probably what had happened in my poor creature's case, since it had no obvious injury.  Anyway, the balance of opinion was that the best way to dispose of it was to leave it in a woodland, so I took it into the copse where I think the rest of its skulk live, on the assumption that they might like to know what had happened to it and where Nature will hopefully take care of it.  If I now get murdered by didicoys, you'll know I misinterpreted the semiosis.

Tags: garden, signs, animals, haslemere

DIAMOND GEEZERS

As you all may know, this is the year of The Queen’s Diamond Jubilee.  All the main events happen around the date of the actual anniversary (2 June).  In fact the entire weekend is a holiday (some events are taking place on the Friday and I think the Monday and Tuesday are holidays too), so it should be a bit of fun.  I’ll try to report my involvement as it happens (I am doing something Jubilistic every day of the holiday I think). 

The High Street and main road into Haslemere (and indeed Petersfield and most towns I have visited recently) are decked from end to end with bunting and everyone's flags have been dug out of garages and lofts and erected everywhere you look.  I was a bit taken aback the other day to discover the flags of Zambia and Malaysia at the end of my road and have been trying to work out what the significance is.  But I see that all the Commonwealth flags are flying somewhere along the road, so perhaps it's just chance.

All of this (‘a party 60 years in the making’ is the strapline) has led to reviews of the life of HM and a look back over the last 6 decades.  I was amused, listening to the radio the other morning, when one of the presenters invited listeners to telephone in with thoughts on how lives had changed since the 50s.  One woman of 83 rang in and said, ‘well, for a start, in the 1950s you wouldn’t have got any 83 year olds ringing in because nobody lived that long’.  Good point!

But it did make me reflect too.  Yes, I can remember the Coronation, so I do have some sense of how things have changed.  I think my earliest relevant memory was of sweet rationing ending in 1953.  I only had a couple of pence pocket money in those days, but suddenly all those delights (long since disappeared, except in specialist confectionery shops), at 4 for a penny, became available.  Actually, it must have been a delight for my parents too now I come to think about it, because, after that, my father always came home on Fridays (pay day) with a bag of sweets for my mother.  It didn’t seem strange at the time, but I guess now it would be a bit odd to give your loved one a paper bag of sherbet lemons.

But what else happened then?  What strikes me is how momentous a time it was.  In the first 5 years of the 50s, the first credit card was produced (remember - there were no computers or Wi-Fi in those days, so this was pretty momentous for us to have an alternative money), the first organ transplant was undertaken, Mount Everest was climbed for the first time (I listened to a news programme on the radio the other day in which a mountaineer explained that climbers had recently lost their lives on Everest because there was now a queue at the summit and the last ones up were too late for the ‘climbing window’), colour TV was invented (most people were then of course buying their first B/W TV just to watch the Coronation; ours was a 12”!), World War II officially ended (one forgets that the Japanese didn’t surrender until 1951), seat belts were introduced for cars, the polio vaccine was developed (I had friends at school then still afflicted with polio), the King died (that of course hasn’t happened since), DNA was discovered, the first atomic submarine was launched, cigarettes were found to cause cancer (it seems amazing, doesn’t it, that no one knew that before 1954), segregation was ruled illegal in the US, and the MacDonalds company was founded.  This is a subjective list of course, but what extraordinary times we lived in!  And I was duly excited with each development.

I looked through a list of the main events of 2010 and 2011 to compare. 

2010 - earthquakes, volcanoes, plane crashes, oil leak, eurozone problems, iPad launched.
2011 - Arab spring, first artificial organ transplant, royal wedding, more earthquakes, volcanoes, floods, iPad 2 launched.

I don’t know, maybe there are more momentous events that I have missed, it is again a subjective list, but (apart perhaps from the Arab Spring) these don’t strike me as events that I will remember in 60 years time as being especially earth-shattering (and there’s a good chance I won’t remember anything in 60 years time anyway).

If you read a potted history of the 50s, apart from anything else, it is the politics of the time that are so significant, it is filled with references to Churchill, Stalin, Eisenhower, Chiang Kai-shek, Che Guevara, and a host of other famous names.  I wonder whether the famous persons of today will have the same stature in 60 years time. 

The BBC has attempted to answer this question by drawing up a list of the 60 British ‘New Elizabethans’.  Of course, they have to cover every aspect of Elizabeth’s reign, so there has to be a musician, a celebrity, a footballer, etc on the list, but you can imagine the problems the committee had whittling the list down to 60.  If Lennon and McCartney are on the list (as one person), should Bowie also be there?  And what about MIck Jagger?  Which politicians should be there?  How many painters or sculptors or playwrights are appropriate?  And so on.  I listened to one of the committee explaining this morning how they had negotiated between them to produce an agreed list.  Horrendously difficult, especially with a committee of persons each with subjective views. 

Anyway, the list is here, if you want to see it.  There are certainly some oddities there and I suspect many of them will be forgotten in 60 years time.  In fact I had to look up about a dozen of them now.  Interestingly, Richard Doll is on the list (he was the one who established the link between smoking and cancer) and Edmund Hillary is there too (he led the first successful Everest expedition), but Francis Crick (who discovered DNA) has fallen off.  Bowie got on in the end, and so did Goldie (bizarrely I think), at the expense of Massive Attack and Johnny Rotten who were both excised finally (I don't think Jagger was ever on the list).  There are of course quite a few politicians, some of whose importance I am unsure about, yet Edward Heath (who took us into the EU) fell off.  Is he less important than David Trimble?  There are also, in the end, only 2 sportsmen, George Best (no one would argue probably with his inclusion, but I suspect he is there because he was Irish) and Basil D’Oliveira (presumably because he was coloured, even though he was born in South Africa), but no other cricketers or footballers warranted inclusion (Beckham eventually fell off, even though he was on the original list more as a metrosexual than a footballer, and so did Bobbie Charlton), and there are now no athletes (Steve Redgrave and Kelly Holmes, the only female sportsperson, fell off) and all the rugby players, snooker players and boxers similarly fell at the last hurdle.  And I don't think any beach volleybal players were even on the first list.  Finally, in this personal review of the list, I am surprised that Tony Hancock is the only comedian or satirist on the list, unless you include Graham Greene and Barbara Windsor, (Morecombe and Wise, John Cleese, David Frost, and Ian Hislop were all dismissed eventually.  And what about Kenny Everett?); it makes Britain look a very serious country.  Perhaps this reflects the serious natures of the committee members.  Although it makes the inclusion of Goldie even more bizarre in that case.  There were at first also some 'trivial' celebrities; only right I think as a reflection of the times, if not their innate importance.  Don't you think there should be a 'celeb' who's famous for being famous, or a model, or a soap star?  There were examples of each initially.  And I saw immediately that Julia Bradbury is absent.

And, hang on a minute, I’m not there either.  Surely there should be a white, bridge playing, nomadic, blogger on the list?!

Tags: fame, royals, jubilee, julia bradbury, anniversaries, blogging, haslemere

BEING OF GOOD CHEER

I had a brainwave yesterday.  Yes, it can still happen.  I had one only a couple of months or so ago in fact.  Or was it last year?  Doesn’t time fly these days.  I can remember when I was a teenager, lying in the long grass, with a bottle of something and a packet of fags (no iPhone in those days), letting the sun warm my face, dreaming of where those planes overhead might be flying, with no worries about doing anything, about the next day or even about life.  Even those airliners seemed to be drifting slowly across the sky.  But now somehow, the days fly by.  How could I have found so long to laze around?  Of course it never rained in those days, which helped.  But I now have so much to do each day and so little time to get it done.  And I don’t even have a job to worry about now.

Where was I?  Oh yes – brainwave.  Technically, I had the brainwave the evening before, in the middle of a particularly dull film.  You know how, when you’re a little off colour, you just mope about the house, maybe slumping here, maybe lying down there, swearing at anyone who gets in the way, kicking the cat occasionally if you’ve got one.  And, no, I don’t want any more chicken soup!  I knew something wasn’t right, even if the Paracetamol had deadened the stabbing pains.  Whenever I ate something, you could actually hear the roars of approval and the gnashing of teeth from all the bugs in my stomach and feel their little knives and forks on the rugae.  So I thought, enough is enough.

And this is where the brainwave came in.  I got up yesterday in a positive frame of mind.  It was a front of course, I was just as depressed as before, but I thought, acting lively and gay (can we say that these days?) and sort of smiling, would help me defeat the depressing demons summoned up by the spirits that had possessed me.  And I ate a breakfast of toast smeared thick with Marmite.  This time there was a moment of silence when I finished eating and then a general screaming noise and scampering around inside my stomach.  I felt a whole lot better after that and I don’t think there’s anything living in there now.

So, the jury’s out on whether I started improving by channelling a positive flow of energy through my body or whether I just zapped the bugs with Marmite.  Anyway, here I am.

My good mood was boosted when the post arrived this morning and I thought I’d received a card from a 60s rock group.  But I realised later that it was just Samantha, of Samantha and Dave next door, who had shortened her name.

I walked down to the shops, which I hadn’t done for a while.  My friends down the road have been building an extension for over a year I think (of course it may be only 2 weeks, given the current speed of time) (hang on a minute, I mean it might have been 2 years, don’t I, if time passes faster now) and they shouted out that they hoped to be finished in time for Christmas (that’s 2 week’s away, isn’t it).  I put on my interested and pleased face.  I noticed that, to make it easier for the builders, they had painted the word ‘door’ on the back of the garage.  I think it was partly a hint to stop walking through the house with muddy boots and buckets of cement and partly because it looked more like a packing case than a door, rather than that the builders were exceptionally dim and kept walking into the wall.  Actually, come to think of it, if they were exceptionally dim, they wouldn’t be able to read I suppose.  But I thought, what a brilliant idea!  Before I get totally overtaken by Alzheimer’s, I should go round the house and paint ‘door’ on all the doors, and ‘stairs’ at the top particularly of the staircase, and maybe ‘teapot’ on, well you get the idea.  Mind you, I’d have to label a lot of things, wouldn’t I.  And I suppose it wouldn’t help if I still kept putting the teapot in the frig or thought the car keys were a tea bag.

Anyway, I then sent an e-mail to the Sunday Times.  No, not ‘grumpy of Haslemere’.  Although I am getting pretty fed up with next door’s cat pooing on my lawn, even if they are named after a great rock group.  It must be quite rare incidentally to have a neighbour with a pop group name, mustn’t it – Sonny and Cher?  Unlikely.  Sly and the Family Stone?  Probably not.  Jan and Dean?  Well maybe.  Chaka Demus and Pliers?  Hmmm, more like something you'd use to fix the sink.  But anyway I was responding to the radio columnist’s invitation to send in names for new radio programmes with titles made from the names of regular programmes with just one letter removed or changed.  For example, the Drive Programme is for people on their way home from work, with basically uninteresting stories about the day in sport, celebville or your town.  With the simple addition of one letter – making it The Drivel Programme – it could be a new programme, like the old one, but worse.  My suggestion was to change the name of the ‘Today’ programme, an early morning current affairs programme in which the presenter quizzes the Government closely and doggedly about its policies, and which I have been finding increasingly irritating first thing in the morning (until my new positive demeanour of course) to the ‘Toady’ programme, in which the presenter agrees with everything the Minister says and even compliments him on his excellent policies.  Well, it might help with my new plan to start the day in a calmer frame of mind.