Christmas 2018

My Christmas greeting to all.

Grapes

We have a generally sunny back garden with a vine. Believe it or not we grew a large bowl of delicious looking grapes this year.
If only they tasted as good as they look.

Mixing with the great and the good.

So I had just parked up in Harrogate and noticed the man in front of me paying for his car parking at the roadside machine. Anyone who wears sunglasses on a relatively cloudy day needs looking at. So I did. 

Gareth Southgate lives near Harrogate and he drives a Range Rover (thanks Jan, beautifully composed) and he wears sunglasses on a cloudy day. His ticket took an age to come out of the machine and I asked if he needed some money. He laughed and I thanked him for the work that he was doing with the team.

He seemed pleased.

Provocation

I'm at my naughtiest first thing in the morning. We were both awake at 5.30 this morning and so to test her patience I asked Jan a question.
'What's the time difference between the UK and Japan?'
Now any self respecting woman would tell me to bugger off and go back to sleep. Not Jan who has the patience of a saint. She replied, '10 hours.' My gut told me that she was wrong but even I didn't want to start an argument at that time of the morning and was secretly laughing my head off at how ridiculous it all was.
To save you looking it up the answer is 8 hours.

Getting Old

For the whole of September and the start of October I have been ill. I feel like I have become officially old.

After guests left at the end of August both Jan and I have had the most horrendous hacking cough. Bad enough for me to have to use an asthma spray to be able to clear my lungs. Then, when that was coming to an end, I fell backwards and injured my hip and banged my head. I have never fallen in my life. Today I feel that my back problems are coming to an end, a bit like me!

I'm not really sure why I fell but I was down on my haunches checking the car tyres at a garage and it was a very windy day. I fell backwards and gave my head a really good smack against something hard. The lump has now gone as has every ounce of self respect.

Marrow?

It should be renamed 'marrow why'? God knows what anyone sees in this vegetable?
So I'm sitting there waiting for my beloved to cook lunch trying to guess what delicacy she has in store. Usually I can guess from the lovely smells coming from the kitchen. Finally I have to ask because I can't pick anything up.
You won't like it she said and then left the room. How's that as an intro to your one meal of the day? Deep down I thought she might be kidding and was going to serve up something quite delicious whilst enjoying my discomfort.
How wrong can you be! I do not like marrow. It's totally tasteless even if you 'stuff' it with meat. It's a 'waste of time' vegetable. It should be banned. End of.

Heart Age

Bloody hell. I've just done this and it tells me that I have a heart age of 95. Surely not. I must be well and truly fucked. And if you look closely I have tits as well. Normally I'd finish by saying see you soon but maybe I shouldn't. 

Now that's old

I have a very old car a 1997 VW Golf to be precise. As well as an 'old banger' (sorry Jan), I know a really good mechanic who has just spent the last two weeks sorting out two relatively minor reoccurring but irritating problems. On top of that he doesn't charge a fortune. How lucky is that?

Memories

What a weird week.

First of all Aretha Franklin dies, the only international artist who we (The Tropical Boot Company) supported at Reading University in the late sixties. Apart from liking her music I have always had a sneaking regard for her and in particular her appearance in the film The Blues Brothers.
Then out of the blue the lead guitarist of the aforementioned band, who I have not spoken to for 50 years, phoned to say hello.
Added to all that I got an email from my first ex wife.

Bloody hell a real trip down memory lane. And mostly good!

Feeling sick

We were walking the dog and passed the children's playground which had been invaded by several 15 years old boys. That's trouble I thought. A bunch of yobs.

One lad was sitting on a rocking toy meant for a 3 years old and he was carrying what looked like a bag of crisps. He dropped something and I noted that he picked up a half eaten carrot. That's not too bad I thought.
Another lad shouted that he felt nauseous on a small roundabout. Wow a youngster using the word nauseous. That's not too bad I thought.
As we moved further away another lad shouted 'what does nauseous mean?'
That's not too bad I thought, a lad who wasn't scared to admit that he didn't know what it meant.

My initial perceptions changed. Yob culture is looking up.

Weak Bridge

Just near Tunbridge Wells a roadside sign announces 'Weak Bridge'. I have passed this sign a few times now and am always puzzled. What am I supposed to do? What is anyone supposed to do? If I'm driving a very heavy lorry do I stop? If the bridge collapses does it give the local authority the right to say 'told you so'. Puzzling.

Flag waving

If you ever see an interview from outside the Houses of Parliament you will inevitably see a man waving the EU flag.
The though occurs to me how can he do this day in and day out? Who pays him? How does he support himself?

The Best

Reading a review of the world's best restaurants I smiled when I noticed that El Celler de Can Roca had been knocked down to second place. The story goes that we were in Barcelona and as a treat I stupidly thought that we'd eat at El Bulli on the way back to home in France. Stupid inasmuch as you had to book months in advance to get a table and I couldn't even get them to answer the phone never mind sniff a starter.
Anyway not to be outdone I found this restaurant in Girona which seemed to fit the bill. ECCA was ever so slightly posh but not yet numero uno so we got in. Frankly I can't remember what we ate but I do remember that we drank, a lot. We chose a tasting menu that included a specific wine with each course and by way of total overkill I'd ordered a lovely oak aged Verdejo which we had on top of it all. It came from Belondrade y Lurton and very, very nice it was too.
If anyone from ByL is reading this I'll take the wine (cases only).

The Bridge

We usually record series that we like and then watch each episode daily over a much shorter period. That way we don't struggle too much with characters and plot.
We have just watched the last ever episode of The Bridge and I admit that I'll really miss it. Saga Noren was a fascinating character not least because she was a clever police officer but also very autistic. Excellent.

Senegal

We watched a couple of minutes of the Senegal v Columbia match this afternoon. We both instinctively supported Senegal now that we know one of the families so well.

Senegal football team

Reading Alan Sugar's rather crass statement about the Senegalese football team in the papers recently reminded me of a recent incident in Naples. We were sitting outside a cafe having a coffee (what else?) when we were approach by a nice looking black African carrying some trinkets.
Hello, he said, I'm Sadio Manés brother (front left above) can I give you a gift?
Sure, I said, and Jan chose something from his hand. Give me something in return, he said. So I gave him 10 Euros. I was mugged by a street seller with a big smile on his face, the so called brother of a multimillionaire footballer currently playing at the world cup. Life is strange sometimes.

Aldi

We like Aldi. Everything we buy is good quality and at a very good price. We don't do a full shop there, preferring Booths, but everything we try we like. Then today what we thought was actual proof that they have made it, we couldn't find anywhere to park the car and decided to go back another day.

It later transpired that they had been closed for the previous three days for refurbishment so everyone was getting their fix when they reopened. It didn't look bad before and it looks even better now.

If anyone from Aldi reads this, I prefer cash.

Wallowing in Sentimentality

Is it me or is this country continually wallowing in sentimentality and ostentatious public mourning. It seems that everyday we have another reason to bang on about some event or other where people died or something awful happened. What happened to the stiff upper lip? We should try harder and search records for every day of the year and have a good old outpouring of grief everyday.
When Kate Spade's (me neither) death made front page news the other day I finally realised that the world (or the media) had gone mad. Even the English football team had black armbands on again the other night. Who the hell were they mourning? It's totally ridiculous.

King Mojo

Reading this morning that Pete Stringfellow has died reminded me that the band, of which I was a singer, 'The Tropical Boot Company' played at an all nighter in Sheffield in the 60's. The headline act was Georgie Fame and the Blueflames.

The club was called The King Mojo. I was probably about 17 years old. I remember it because when driving back at 6 in the morning I had my one and only car accident. I was following a lorry that pulled into the middle of the road for what I thought was to turn right. I started to undertake and needless to say he cut back and turned left. Happy days!

10 Reasons

Monarchy

It might be a sign of my age or something else but I have to say that I really enjoyed the royal wedding yesterday.
It was an excellent feel good affair and I never thought that I'd say that.
Jan, who has ancient republican sympathies, also enjoyed it.
Whilst I'm not an avowed monarchist and it's a system that is difficult to defend the argument about an elected president is easily shot down with one word.

Trump.

Dumb kids

So I'm driving through Ripon and get to a rather nasty pelican crossing which is set just round a corner. I think it's very dangerous. I've seen cars wizz round the corner and if there was anyone on the crossing they would have been wiped out.
On approaching said crossing I saw two teenage schoolgirls who looked like they were going to cross so I stopped. During the whole process both girls stared intently at their phones and cared not a jot what was going on around them. How stupid!

Polizia

One evening we were wandering back to the hotel a tad worse for wear when I decided, against Jan's better advice, that I would ask a couple of Carabinieri a question.
"I'm English and I know nothing," I said, "in England I never ever see police on the street. I'm here two days in Naples and I've seen at least five different police. What do they all do?"

I'd seen Polizia Municipali, Polizia di Stato, Polizia Stradale, Carabinieri, and the best of all Guardia di Finanza. All with guns and cars. I'd even seen a couple of soldiers with automatic weapons.

The taller Carabinieri was not happy and no doubt thought that I was taking the piss (he guessed right). The shorter sergeant who I suspected was his boss smiled and indulged me with some platitudes. If he hadn't been there I suspect that I'd have spent the night in the cells. Tall cop was not happy.

There's a bit of explanation here.

Anarchy that Works

After three lovely days and nights in Naples it's back to normality. It was a delightful and thoughtful birthday present from Jan.

We stayed at the Royal Continental on the seafront overlooking the bay of Naples and the Castel dell'Ovo. The picture above is the view from our bedroom. What had been overlooked was, like other European nations, it was the Mayday Weekend so the place was very, very lively. No problem. You don't go to Naples and expect it to be quiet or particularly relaxing.

I like driving but the drive from the airport to the hotel was uncomfortable and very frightening. Large sections of roads were cobbled and travelling at 70 mph 6 inches from the car in front and weaving between lanes is not my idea of fun. But we arrived safely. As Jan said 'he obviously knows what he's doing so leave it up to him'. Easier said than done.

The hotel was very good with great staff and good food. I speak Italian using the type of slang that they are used to in that part of the world so that helped and made the staff just a tad more helpful. I said I wanted to eat pizza, no problem said a waiter, turn right out of the hotel and go to Antonio Antonio but go to the second such named restaurant not the first. He obviously knew what he was talking about. The food was excellent and we ate there three times.

The hotel breakfast layout was huge and offered fresh ricotta a favourite with Jan, so she was very happy.
We taxied up to the centro storico (the old part of town) to see the duomo. What a magnificent high altar. So much art at every turn. Fabulous.
Then we wandered down a street that sells christmas nativity stuff all year round. Weird. I remember going there with my uncle Nino about 50 years ago. It brought back nice memories.

The taxi ride back to the hotel was just as fraught, the mixture of cars and bikes is horrendous but it just seems to work. Lots of cars do however have dents and scratches. Ignoring red lights is obligatory!

The next day was interesting. I want to do two things said the boss. There's a Sephora in town (a shop that sells makeup) which Jan happens to like. So we set off to find it but not before we crossed the Piazza Plebescito and thousands of union demonstrators. Remember it's May Day. Jan particularly like being frisked by the police at the barricades before we could move forward.

Having spent 20 euros on makeup we then battled against thousands of people travelling in the opposite direction to find the funicular up to Vomero. A posher and slightly quieter part of town.

Now forgive me but my idea of a funicular is a steep railway that gives you spectacular views not something that travels underground. But so be it.

It was definitely quieter up there and we wandered slowly looking for somewhere to eat. By chance we found it, Acunzo, but the gaggle of folks outside did not bode well. Have you booked he said (we didn't know the place existed) OK come back at 2 so we did. Have you booked he said, no you said come back at 2. Oh yes I remember wait there. 30 minutes later we were seated to a wonderful round of applause by the still waiting throng outside. My pasta was excellent and Jan said that her pizza was even better than Antonio Antonio. Success.

The taxi back to the airport the next day was eventful. The driver's phone rang and needless to say he answered it. The caller asked if he was OK and he said everything was fine. He then started to explain that it was his daughter checking up on him and he showed us her picture. He told us that his wife had just died and that she was checking that he was OK. He was very old so it was definitely possible but if it was a scam to get a bigger tip it was a brilliant ruse. He got a big tip.

The airport is way too small for the number of travellers. However where else would you see leather arm chairs and sofas? A first for me. If you ever pass through this airport you must shop at Garafolo which sells the freshest buffalo mozzarella and other similar excellent products.

A great few days. Thank you Jan.

Stormy for President

Do I believe Stormy or Trump?
After reading quite a bit about what Stormy said I have to believe her. Why would anyone pay her $130k to keep quiet if nothing happened?
Stormy for president. 

Stranger than folk

So I'm sitting in the cardiology department at Harrogate Hospital waiting for Jan who is in for a check up. A patient is called and his wife who was sitting right opposite me and who looked rather uncomfortable said, "he won't be a minute he's just outside smoking a cigarette." I burst out laughing at this and she looked at me in an 'I know' kind of way.

Anyway as I was sitting next to the receptionist I couldn't help but hear her conversation with a patient who had phoned with a query. The receptionist was explaining the procedure that the enquirer was asking about and finished with this statement, "no it's not dangerous." She put the phone down and we looked at each other and giggled.

Gomorra

It all started in France. During winter months after taking the dogs for a walk we would light a fire, close the shutters and watch another episode from our CD collection.
Having just finished all five series of the American version of House of Cards we have just switched to Gomorra which we have recorded on Sky Atlantic. Its a gritty and bloodthirsty account of Naples gangs. Not for the faint hearted. Anyway during last nights episode they featured a scene from a hotel in downtown Naples. Jan jumped up and said "that's where we are staying at the end of April."
A lovely birthday present for me which she had booked. My uncle (now deceased) who lived in Naples was a top flight lawyer and had (vague) Mafia connections. I wonder if I can resurrect some old friendships.
If I don't come back they probably weren't real friendships.

Wild Garlic

Having lived here for several years I can't count the number of times that Jan has promised to use the wild garlic that grows in abundance in the woods near the house. Well finally she has picked some and has made a delicious soup. Well worth the seven years wait.

Nationalisation

Between the ages of 11 and 18 I travelled between Harrogate and Leeds by train. A journey that took around 30 minutes. The railways were nationalised in those days and were frankly pretty disgusting. The trains were dirty and staffed with people who couldn't give a fuck.
It probably comes as no surprise therefore that I am against nationalising the railways. If you want a good example of what nationalising the railways can achieve take a look at France. SNCF runs at an annual loss of 3 Billion euros is 48 billion euros in the red has a workforce that can't be dismissed, with guaranteed jobs for life and retirement at 52. And they're still not happy.
Macron has a big job on his hands to create some order there. Bonne chance.

Cry Babies

And while I'm at it I found the public crying of the Australian cricketers really false and it did nothing to make me feel sorry for them. On the contrary I despised them. If the reports of these arrogant cheats are anything to go by, to see them crying in what I can only describe as self pity made me despise them even more. The first rule of cheating is do not get caught and the second rule is take your punishment like a man not a self pitying baby. 

Organic

Let me start by saying that I don't do organic. Whilst I can appreciate the sentiments behind the word organic I once read that 80% of the food sold as organic came from abroad where they have very different standards. So not organic. Organic has to me always been an excuse for charging more for food.
On the same theme, I always take my clean shirts 'from the left' and after 20+ years of being together I have finally persuaded Jan to hang any clean shirts on the right. This means that all my shirts get fair wear. If you do not do this it means that I always wear the same shirts (ask Jan). Right, so now that she's finally got the message (I can hear all you feminist bristling out there) I put on a new shirt today that I've never worn before. Never worn before as in the price tag was in pounds, shillings and pence (just kidding) and which told me it is organic linen. No doubt bought a long time ago in a moment of weakness or stupidity or both.

As a baby's bottom

At significant risk to my health I have to mention why I have not seen any comment on the obvious use of Botox by comrade Putin. It could be that he has achieved such a youthful looking face by other means but the fashion world needs to know. C'mon Vlad spill the beans.

Fountains Abbey Parkrun

Being of generous spirit I mention to Jan that we should pop to Fountains Abbey for breakfast before we nipped to the Post Office to pick up a parcel that couldn't be delivered because we were out.
Jan usually makes a BLT (and very good it is too) once a week and this was my somewhat feeble attempt to relieve her of that burden.
The cafe opens at 9.30 and it was raining gently so I looked forward to entertaining my beloved in the quiet whilst looking out over the lovely grounds.
There were a few people returning from what looked like a brisk (but wet) morning walk/run as we settled to chomp through a somewhat dry but nonetheless tasty bacon bap in the large cafe seating area.
And they came. There must have been over 200 of them (I know this because I asked how many the cafe could seat) and it wasn't in any way quiet or intimate. It was noisy a bit steamy and we were surrounded by a great many mud splashed individuals of all ages. We had just witnessed the end of the Fountains Abbey Parkrun.

20 Year Diary

It started many years ago with my first ex wife. We'd be having a heated discussion about some nonsense when she'd hit me with something that I'd said or done a long time previously. That started what I call the 20 years diary. Remembering some slight insult or rubbish said many years previously but remembered.

Anyway Jan and I were talking about something and I apologised saying, "that's something for your twenty year diary."

Quick as a flash she said, "don't worry it won't be going in."

After a suitable pause she said, "that one's already full."

The acceptable face of shit

I hate the word poo. I can understand parents of very young children using the word when talking to little ones but to continue using it as adults is totally pathetic. There are many quite satisfactory terms to express the meaning without continuing to use what I can only describe as a baby word. It's not as if a ten years old doesn't already use or know of any other word. Grow up world.

Dire Straights

A phone call from the individual involved, who I have not spoken to for 30 years ish, reminded me of one of the funniest incidents I can ever remember. I'm sitting chewing the fat with this man and an employee brings a loan application for £30,000 for approval.
'A' casts his eye over the information and starts to make negative noises. The chap who brought the deal immediately took umbrage and said, "but he's in dire straights."
'A' said, "I don't care what kind of fucking mess he's in, I'm not lending him £30 grand."

The applicant was Mark Knopfler.

Ikea

It might have had something to do with a promotion for a television programme but I said to Jan that we hadn't been to IKEA for a long time so why didn't we go? She chirped in with something about Swedish meatballs so off we went. Funnily enough I woke that morning considering what the meatballs were made of. Why are they called Swedish? I thought of elk and Jan suggested reindeer. I asked the lady behind the food counter and she said pork and beef. Not an elk in sight. I was rather disappointed.
Anyway in the twenty odd years we have been visiting IKEA I can only recall passing through the shop once and not actually buying anything. It took Jan just five seconds after passing through the front door before she popped something in the bag. Not a record just normal. A bit later I suggested a trolley but she who always knows best said no so we ended up carrying a bunch of stuff through the whole bloody store. That will be the very last time.

Oswaldtwistle

I have always wanted to go to Oswaldtwistle. Not a name to try and say when you're pissed. I needed a headlight for the Jeep and the main dealer quoted me £600 for a pair.
ACD of Lancashire sells second hand parts for a fraction of the price. £60 for one headlight to be precise.
Anyway I rang this morning mainly because it's quite a long drive, to check that they had one and whether they closed for lunch.
"Don't worry lad," he said, "we've got hundreds of 'em. Someone'll take your sixty quid whatever the time."  

Three Billboards

We went to see Three Billboards last night and I really enjoyed it. Recommended.

Therapy

I need therapy, hence the post.

It's been a busy few weeks which started with a 600 miles round trip for dinner. What started with a drive to the south coast to deliver kids presents for christmas turned into an overnight stop and drive back the next morning. I won't bother with the details but that's what happened.

Jan and I spent christmas on our own which made a change and then had visitors after christmas. This was followed by a few weeks of bad colds for both of us (mine was man flu).

Last week we drove to London to celebrate two special birthdays, mine of course and Jan's sister who lives in Petersfield. We're now back home with nothing planned and a well earned rest. Yippee.