Don't quote me!

It is nearly 34 years since Michael Fish made what has become the biggest gaffe in weather forecasting. He was a television weatherman and in October 1987 he told viewers that he had received a call from a lady worried that a hurricane was coming our way. He assured everyone that, although it would be windy, there was no chance of a hurricane. of course, winds did reach hurricane force and there was severe damage across much of southern England. And what does that have to do with me? Well, yesterday I wrote about the pleasure of walking over the Downs in high winds. In particular, I wrote, "It should be just as good this afternoon, with the added tang of a little damp in the air."

Yes, well. The winds increased to severe gale, force 9, and the "tang of a little damp" was heavy rain being driven horizontally. At times it was all I could do to stay upright, let alone walk into the wind. Fern, my dog, being lower and having four feet was quite happy. I think she prefers a wet and windy day to a dry, sunny one. Later, as the Old Bat and I set off for the supermarket, I was locking the back door when the OB was, quite literally, blown over as she walked to the car. Luckily, apart from to her dignity, there was no damage beyond a grazed elbow and laddered tights.

Today is calm and almost sunny but the rain is forecast to return tomorrow.

Invigorating

Yes, invigorating - that's the word. As I walked across the fields with the dog yesterday afternoon there was quite a strong wind blowing from the south-west. I could see squalls of rain being blown up-Channel, all of which, fortunately, passed to the south of me. It was only after I was back indoors that one of the squalls hit the fields I had been walking.

There's something about walking on high ground in a strong wind that I find enjoyable. The seafront is another place where a walk in a wind is great, but the top of the Downs is the place for me. It should be just as good this afternoon, with the added tang of a little damp in the air.

I know our winds and rain are as nothing compared with what people in eastern America have had to put up with but even so, yesterday the wind was forecast to rise sufficiently for ferries from the south coast to France were cancelled in advance. It's actually quite surprising that the weather is so poor this week. The children are back at school now and that's usually when the weather improves. I just hope it will be better than this while we are in France next week.

"At Home"

A couple of weeks ago the Old Bat received a letter. It was actually addressed in the old-fashioned, formal manner to "Mrs B S..." - my initial rather than hers. Inside was a printed card which read simply,

Mrs Robin W...
At Home

followed by a handwritten date and time. There was an address for a reply printed in the bottom left-hand corner.

We happen to know Mr & Mrs W - he is a Brighton Lion - and count them as friends but somehow we didn't connect Mrs R W being "at home" with Robin's recent birthday, his 80th. Nor did we feel we could ask other Lions if they would be going, just in case they had not been invited and would feel slighted. We bought Mrs R a box of chocolates and duly attended Truleigh Manor a few minutes after the appointed time - to find two other Lions parking their cars in the yard.

We made our way through the back garden and into the kitchen through what is now the usual entrance (I don't think the real front door has been used for years) and were immediately offered drinks and ushered into the lounge. What a pleasant afternoon we had: plenty of booze for the non-drivers and a good supply of food (two pigs were roasted on a spit) and a trad jazz band to provide entertainment. Fortunately, the heavy rain of the morning cleared up so we were able to get to the tent erected in the garden to eat our meal.

There were four other Brighton Lions invited among the crowd of family, friends and neighbours so we felt quite honoured to have been included. I was also flattered when asked to say a few words.


Although the farm is mentioned in the Domesday Book and Truleigh Manor obviously dates back a few years, it isn't that old.


Entertainment provided by a small group playing traditional jazz.


Cutting the cake, which was in the form and colours of Robin's old school tie.

Signs of the times

I got to thinking the other day. Yes, I know - that's always a dangerous thing to do, especially at my age. It tends to mean that while I am thinking I am paying no attention to my surroundings. I might walk into a tree or lamppost, or trip over the kerb or even walk in front of a bus. Fortunately, none of that happened to me the other day. I merely wandered off down some metaphorical side track and then down another equally metaphorical turning.

My thoughts had started by being musings on how modern pub signs are less amusing and/or artistic than they were in the days of my youth. Then I decided that this was due in part to the fact that pub names are less inspiring than they were. (In fact, on reflection I have decided that neither is true.) This led me on to thinking about business signs in general: a red and white striped pole for a barber, a bush for an ale house. And, more specifically, "at the sign of the spread eagle" for Barclays Bank or "at the sign of the swan" in such-and-such a town for an inn. I was musing about how much we miss these days by not having these signs when it dawned on me: we do have them, but they are in a different form. The trade marks and, more like the old signs, corporate logos.

But to get back to my original thoughts - pub signs. Whitbreads were especially good - as in the example above - but others were less imaginative and some just had a hanging sign with the name of the pub painted on it; no picture at all. Boring.

So I have decided to investigate. I will take a closer look at any pub sign I come across. Indeed, I might even photograph them and report back here at a later date. Of course, I could always investigate more thoroughly...

The saga continues

So when we returned from the MS centre yesterday, there was a message on the answering machine from the garage. The Old Bat's car would be returned during the afternoon and if no-one was at home the keys would be put through the letterbox as there would be nothing to pay. That was a bit different from the £250 we had originally been quoted. Anyway, the OB returned the call - goodness knows why; I'm not sure even she knows - and expressed surprise that there was nothing to pay. She was told the final bits were being put back even as they spoke and that the work was being done under warranty. Under warranty? The car is eight years old! Wisely, the OB decided keep her mouth shut.

Later, the phone rang. It was the garage. Their driver had been returning the car when the battery warning light came on indicating no charge. The electrics have now been sent away again as there is a short in the wiring. The will be no extra charge over and above what was first quoted.

So when the car will be returned is anyone's guess. As is how much, if anything, it will cost.

Still keeping busy

It was, I think, just over two weeks ago that the Old Bat's car failed it's annual roadworthiness test because the left turn indicator repeater light on the dashboard wasn't working.  It was ten days ago that the main dealer sent a man to collect the car so they could remove the dashboard and send the light cluster away somewhere.  (I should add that the light concerned is not an ordinary bulb but an LED.  I assume the rest of the warning lights are as well.)  The garage rang last Friday to say that the cluster had been returned but the indicator repeater was still not working so it all had to go away again.  We have heard nothing more.  Of course, there was a bank holiday last weekend (No, Skip! Don't start that again!) so it's perhaps not to be wondered at but it does mean that I am on chauffeur duty once again this morning.  And not just chauffeur duty.  I will also be expected to traipse round the supermarket.

And tomorrow I have to be at Lions Dene almost before I've walked the dog.  Being the first Saturday of the month, the Lions will be holding their book fair and I am on the rota as one of the setter-uppers.

My regular reader will be aware that I have been researching my family history.  Having ended up with more names than the local telephone directory, I decided I had probably gone far enough, seventh cousins three times removed not being overly interesting.  The trouble was that I got engrossed in the hunt rather than in the object of the hunt.  Anyway, I did make a start on putting the history together as a narrative rather than the more usual family tree.  With all the branches involved, a standard family tree wouldn't work anyway.  That start was made months ago and it's all I can do to average writing a paragraph a day.  At this rate they'll need to put all the papers in my coffin so I can finish the job.

Who is August Bank?

And why does he (or she) have a holiday named after him (her)? That was a question posed by my Californian friend with his tongue planted firmly in his cheek. So [sigh] here comes the history lesson.

It all began way, way before my time. Even before Skip's time. But not quite before we here in the UK had managed to shake off those pesky colonials. Back in the early 19th century - yes, nearly 200 years ago - the Bank of England had been getting out of hand and closing its doors on too many occasions. So Parliament decided to Act. And that's just what they did: the passed an Act of Parliament limited to just four the days in the year on which the Bank of England could close (in addition to Sundays, of course). That was in 1834. I have as yet not managed to find out just which days were those four but i suspect they were Easter Monday, Whit Monday, Christmas Day and Boxing Day. These four days, perhaps not surprisingly, became known as bank holidays as that was when the Bank was on holiday. Simples!

As time went by, other businesses started copying the B of E and closing their doors on bank holidays.

That was the situation until 1871 when a new act of Parliament was passed, the Bank Holiday Act 1871.

Now here I must confess to being somewhat bemused as well as confused. You see, what I have posted above is a summary of what appears in Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable under the heading "bank holiday". But according to Wikipedia, it was the 1871 Act which restricted bank holidays to just four in England and Wales and five in Scotland. Those four days were Easter Monday, Whit Monday, the first Monday in August (August bank holiday) and Boxing Day. Apparently Good Friday and Christmas Day were already recognised as holidays under common law so they are not bank holidays at all but are really public holidays.

Anyway, in 1971 two more holidays were introduced in the Banking and Financial Dealings Act: New Year's Day and May Day (this is nowadays celebrated on the first Monday in May). The Whit Monday holiday was cancelled and replaced with the Late Spring Bank Holiday on the last Monday in May. The August Bank Holiday had already (in 1965) to the end of the month.

(Surprisingly perhaps, one of the best sites for information about English traditions and customs is Woodlands Junior School.)