Well, we've had the wedding. In fact, we've already had one of the funerals - and a very quiet affair it was, especially in comparison to what went a couple of days before it. The other funeral will take place shortly although, as far as I am aware, no date has been announced.
For the sake of posterity (Who am I trying to kid?) I should explain that the wedding took place between Prince William of Wales and Miss Catherine Middleton last Friday. Saturday's Daily Telegraph newspaper devoted no less than 23 pages to reporting the event which millions of people had already seen on television. It might seem a little strange that they have managed to fill only 16 pages today on the death of Osama bin Laden, the world's most wanted terrorist, at the hands of US special forces. It is his funeral that has already taken place, a burial at sea so there is no grave to become a shrine to his violent followers.
Bin Laden will not be mourned by many in the western world, nor, indeed, in the Arab world either. Sir Henry Cooper, however, will be. His death also occurred over the weekend. There will be many who have never heard of one of Britain's greatest boxers but there are equally as many to whome his name is synonymous with not only boxing but sportsmanship in general. I am not a fan of boxing although I have watched the occasional fight on television, usually because my father wanted to watch and I didn't happen to be out that evening. Somehow it was obvious that Henry Cooper, as he was then, was a natural gentleman. One of identical twins, he never lost his sarf London accent and always referred to himself as 'Enry. His well-deserved knighthood made no difference.
So, after a tumultuous four-day weekend (here in England), the world is both better than it was last week and poorer.
Tuesday, 3 May 2011
Monday, 2 May 2011
Torquay not for me
Torquay, Queen of the English Riviera - or so the locals would have one believe. I have actually been to the town three times but it is now a place I avoid. My memories of the town itself are not unpleasant; in fact, I have quite enjoyed my visits. But, despite my memories of the town itself not being unpleasant, the mere mention of the place certainly does give rise to memories that are less pleasant.
It was Friday's royal wedding that made me think of the town again. No, that's not really the case. It wasn't so much the wedding itself, but the fact that yesterday's news was that William and Catherine have postponed their honeymoon. I didn't spend my honeymoon in Torquay - well, not all of it. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
My first visit to Torquay was more than fifty years ago. I was just 12 and had been seriously ill with pneumonia. I think it was pneumonia that time: it might have been pleurisy - I had that as well - but I think on that occasion it was pneumonia. It had been bad enough for me to have been hospitalised, except that by the time it was realised I was that ill I was too ill to be moved. Quite why it took so long for the doctor to realise I needed hospital treatment I don't know. I was, in any case, too young to even think the question let alone ask it. Anyway, he - the doctor - told my mother that I needed a month on the French Riviera to convalesce. France was right out of the question on the grounds of cost but the English Riviera was accepted as a substitute. My father was at that time in the Navy and there was no chance of him taking a month's leave, so my mother, younger brother and I went off to a guest house in Torquay for pretty well the whole of May.
As far as I can recall, the weather was mainly fine and we spent much of the time on the beach. As a change, we would sometimes go into Tor Abbey Gardens where we might feed the ducks. The gardens were quite a long walk from our guest house and I certainly didn't enjoy that walk back after I had fallen into the duck pond one day.
I mentioned my honeymoon earlier and it was during that holiday that I visited Torquay once more. Torquay is on the south coast of Devon and we were spending our honeymoon in a village in the heart of Exmoor, which is in the north of the county. As I had sold my car to buy furniture, I had hired a car for the week we were away. The weather on one day was not good but we learned that it was fine on the south coast and we decided to drive across the county to Torquay. There were, of course, quite a few years between visits but I remembered a reasonable amount of the town despite the changes which had taken place. We drove on through Dartmouth and decided to take a route back to our village across Dartmoor.
We never did reach Dartmoor. We were driving along a narrow lane just outside Dartmouth when a lorry coming towards us pulled in to one side. In doing so, the driver managed somehow to bump the back of the lorry on the hedge or wall or whatever and it swung across the road, smashing in the bonnet of our hire car. We ended up leaving the car where it was and hitching several rides back across the county. At the end of the honeymoon we caught a train back to Brighton.
Years passed again before I went back to Torquay. This time I had not only a wife but three young children as well. We had for several years taken our holidays in a village close to Westward Ho! in north Devon, but the lady who provided bed, breakfast and an evening meal had given up so we had found a farm in south Devon that year. It was the sort of place we like - stuck in the middle of nowhere with a bus perhaps once a week. One day we decided to take the children to a larger town and decided on Torquay, some 30 miles or more from the farm. The children quite enjoyed the day, until we were on the Exeter bypass heading back to the farm, still 20 miles or so distant. It was then that the gearbox in my brand new car (just 3,000 miles on the clock) seized up. I got the car towed into a garage in Exeter and borrowed the telephone directory. Back then I was a Scout Leader so I looked up the local Scouts to ask advice on a suitable car hire company. The chap I spoke to insisted on leaving his meal and driving us all the way to the farm. This was kind of him, but it did mean I had to get somebody else to drive me back to Exeter the following day to hire a car. Once again I left a car in Devon only this time I had to go back for it two weeks later after it had been repaired.
I'm not prepared to risk Torquay again, nice as the town might be.
It was Friday's royal wedding that made me think of the town again. No, that's not really the case. It wasn't so much the wedding itself, but the fact that yesterday's news was that William and Catherine have postponed their honeymoon. I didn't spend my honeymoon in Torquay - well, not all of it. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
My first visit to Torquay was more than fifty years ago. I was just 12 and had been seriously ill with pneumonia. I think it was pneumonia that time: it might have been pleurisy - I had that as well - but I think on that occasion it was pneumonia. It had been bad enough for me to have been hospitalised, except that by the time it was realised I was that ill I was too ill to be moved. Quite why it took so long for the doctor to realise I needed hospital treatment I don't know. I was, in any case, too young to even think the question let alone ask it. Anyway, he - the doctor - told my mother that I needed a month on the French Riviera to convalesce. France was right out of the question on the grounds of cost but the English Riviera was accepted as a substitute. My father was at that time in the Navy and there was no chance of him taking a month's leave, so my mother, younger brother and I went off to a guest house in Torquay for pretty well the whole of May.
As far as I can recall, the weather was mainly fine and we spent much of the time on the beach. As a change, we would sometimes go into Tor Abbey Gardens where we might feed the ducks. The gardens were quite a long walk from our guest house and I certainly didn't enjoy that walk back after I had fallen into the duck pond one day.
I mentioned my honeymoon earlier and it was during that holiday that I visited Torquay once more. Torquay is on the south coast of Devon and we were spending our honeymoon in a village in the heart of Exmoor, which is in the north of the county. As I had sold my car to buy furniture, I had hired a car for the week we were away. The weather on one day was not good but we learned that it was fine on the south coast and we decided to drive across the county to Torquay. There were, of course, quite a few years between visits but I remembered a reasonable amount of the town despite the changes which had taken place. We drove on through Dartmouth and decided to take a route back to our village across Dartmoor.
We never did reach Dartmoor. We were driving along a narrow lane just outside Dartmouth when a lorry coming towards us pulled in to one side. In doing so, the driver managed somehow to bump the back of the lorry on the hedge or wall or whatever and it swung across the road, smashing in the bonnet of our hire car. We ended up leaving the car where it was and hitching several rides back across the county. At the end of the honeymoon we caught a train back to Brighton.
Years passed again before I went back to Torquay. This time I had not only a wife but three young children as well. We had for several years taken our holidays in a village close to Westward Ho! in north Devon, but the lady who provided bed, breakfast and an evening meal had given up so we had found a farm in south Devon that year. It was the sort of place we like - stuck in the middle of nowhere with a bus perhaps once a week. One day we decided to take the children to a larger town and decided on Torquay, some 30 miles or more from the farm. The children quite enjoyed the day, until we were on the Exeter bypass heading back to the farm, still 20 miles or so distant. It was then that the gearbox in my brand new car (just 3,000 miles on the clock) seized up. I got the car towed into a garage in Exeter and borrowed the telephone directory. Back then I was a Scout Leader so I looked up the local Scouts to ask advice on a suitable car hire company. The chap I spoke to insisted on leaving his meal and driving us all the way to the farm. This was kind of him, but it did mean I had to get somebody else to drive me back to Exeter the following day to hire a car. Once again I left a car in Devon only this time I had to go back for it two weeks later after it had been repaired.
I'm not prepared to risk Torquay again, nice as the town might be.
Sunday, 1 May 2011
May Day
As I walked down the woods this morning with the dog, I was mentally drafting what I would write today. It was a longish piece about why I try to avoid going to Torquay, inspired by the news that their Royal Highnesses the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, or Prince William and Princess Catherine as the Court has indicated they are happy for William and Kate to be called, have deferred their honeymoon and that William will be back at work this week. Then, as I arrived back home, I noticed that this rose is just in bloom. As today is May Day and the rose is Maigold it seems far more appropriate just to post a picture of it. If you look closely you may see a small drop of water left from the rain we had last night. Although it was welcome, we still need a lot more. This rose is the earliest one in our garden to come into bloom and it has a second bloom in late August and September. The bush is getting old - it must have been there for the better part of 30 years if not more.
Saturday, 30 April 2011
Scenic Saturday - Merseyside
Number 39 in the series.
This is one of the newer counties carved out of Lancashire and Cheshire and centred on the city of Liverpool. It covers part of the Wirral peninsula with the once-great shipyards of Birkenhead (previously Cheshire) and stretches up the (Lancashire) coast to reach beyond Southport. The county is split in two by the River Mersey under which there is a tunnel and on which there are ferries between Liverpool and Birkenhead. Lying between Liverpool and Southport is Formby with its sandy beach backed by dunes and woodland. The beach and dunes feature in this picture by Peter Heyes.
This is one of the newer counties carved out of Lancashire and Cheshire and centred on the city of Liverpool. It covers part of the Wirral peninsula with the once-great shipyards of Birkenhead (previously Cheshire) and stretches up the (Lancashire) coast to reach beyond Southport. The county is split in two by the River Mersey under which there is a tunnel and on which there are ferries between Liverpool and Birkenhead. Lying between Liverpool and Southport is Formby with its sandy beach backed by dunes and woodland. The beach and dunes feature in this picture by Peter Heyes.
Friday, 29 April 2011
It's a funny old day
Today is neither fish nor fowl: it's a public holiday but not a statutory one. That means that some businesses are working as usual, some are asking some staff to work but for no extra pay although they will get a day off in lieu, some workers will be offered overtime and a day off in lieu and some businesses are closed for the day. Certainly the streets were quieter than usual when I took Fern for her walk this morning so I guess that means most people have the day off to watch the wedding.
What wedding, you ask? The wedding of Prince William and Kate (or Catherine as we should call her now) Middleton. The papers have been desperate to fid something new to say about the occasion over the last couple of days and have been reduced to reporting numbers and betting odds. I have seen figures ranging from 8,500 to 12,000 for the number of media people in London and I forget how many miles of cabling, how many portaloos etc. The estimate is that about a million will be lining the procession route, some having been camped on the pavement since Monday and some having travelled in from the USA, Canada and even a whole family from Australia. The worldwide TV audience is expected to be 2 billion.
I do, of course, wish William and Kate every happiness. But I'm also pleased that we will have a worldwide audience for something we Brits can still do fairly well. Every wedding is theatre, but this one will be theatre on a truly grand scale. I don't think I am verstating the case when I say that there are few countries which can manage that as well as we can. I'm quite looking forward to watching.
What wedding, you ask? The wedding of Prince William and Kate (or Catherine as we should call her now) Middleton. The papers have been desperate to fid something new to say about the occasion over the last couple of days and have been reduced to reporting numbers and betting odds. I have seen figures ranging from 8,500 to 12,000 for the number of media people in London and I forget how many miles of cabling, how many portaloos etc. The estimate is that about a million will be lining the procession route, some having been camped on the pavement since Monday and some having travelled in from the USA, Canada and even a whole family from Australia. The worldwide TV audience is expected to be 2 billion.
I do, of course, wish William and Kate every happiness. But I'm also pleased that we will have a worldwide audience for something we Brits can still do fairly well. Every wedding is theatre, but this one will be theatre on a truly grand scale. I don't think I am verstating the case when I say that there are few countries which can manage that as well as we can. I'm quite looking forward to watching.
Thursday, 28 April 2011
What I should be doing
The grass needs cutting, I still haven't finished writing the minutes of last week's Lions meeting, I should have Jungle Jottings done by now, part of the vegetable patch still needs weeding, the runner bean seeds need to be sown, the car is filthy inside and out... All things I should be doing but I can't seem to summon up the energy or willpower to do any of them right now. It doesn't help that there is a stiff, cold, north-easterly wind blowing. To think that last Thursday I was in a short-sleeved shirt and wishing I had worn shorts. Today when I took the dog out I was wearing a shirt, sweatshirt and fleece and I wasn't over-warm by any means. In fact, by the time we got home my hands were quite cold.
Wednesday, 27 April 2011
Back home
What a splendid weekend of weather it was with wall-to-wall sunshine pretty well all the daylight hours. I had expected to be working for some of the time as I had been warned that the new fruit trees planted in the Pond Field had to have protection from the cattle. This would have involved constructing a fence around each tree - all 18 of them so far - but the ground is so hard that it would have been almost an impossible task to knock the posts in. So we left it for another time when rain has softened the earth.
On two evenings my cousin-in-law and I went on bat hunts. C-i-l is very interested in ecology and there is a roost of the rare greater horseshoe bat in nearby Brockley Hall. These creatures apparently follow well-defined routes when they leave the roost at dusk and their route takes them down the garden. Armed with a bat detector - a machine that converts the high-pitched "sounds" the bats emit when hunting - a bit like radar - into something that can be heard by the human ear. We weren't too successful on the first occasion as we had left it a little late, but on the second evening we saw and heard a good number.
It was quite an international weekend as well. I was walking a couple of the dogs (at that time there were four springer spaniels in residence) across one of the fields when I met c-i-l's elder brother who lives nearby. He had with him not only his wife, who is Dutch, but their four guests - two Dutch and two American. Then on Monday two other friends of the cousin and her husband arrived - one French and one Spanish. Quite an international gathering for a quiet corner of deepest Somerset.
I took a few pictures which I will post on Fern's blog.
We got home yesterday in the late afternoon to be greeted by our blackbird singing lustily from the sycamore (and he's back again this morning). But perhaps he has been singing all weekend and he wasn't really greeting us. Funny how, no matter how comfortable the beds when one is away, it's always good to get back to one's own bed.
On two evenings my cousin-in-law and I went on bat hunts. C-i-l is very interested in ecology and there is a roost of the rare greater horseshoe bat in nearby Brockley Hall. These creatures apparently follow well-defined routes when they leave the roost at dusk and their route takes them down the garden. Armed with a bat detector - a machine that converts the high-pitched "sounds" the bats emit when hunting - a bit like radar - into something that can be heard by the human ear. We weren't too successful on the first occasion as we had left it a little late, but on the second evening we saw and heard a good number.
It was quite an international weekend as well. I was walking a couple of the dogs (at that time there were four springer spaniels in residence) across one of the fields when I met c-i-l's elder brother who lives nearby. He had with him not only his wife, who is Dutch, but their four guests - two Dutch and two American. Then on Monday two other friends of the cousin and her husband arrived - one French and one Spanish. Quite an international gathering for a quiet corner of deepest Somerset.
I took a few pictures which I will post on Fern's blog.
We got home yesterday in the late afternoon to be greeted by our blackbird singing lustily from the sycamore (and he's back again this morning). But perhaps he has been singing all weekend and he wasn't really greeting us. Funny how, no matter how comfortable the beds when one is away, it's always good to get back to one's own bed.
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