No thanks!
I have been lucky enough to visit cities and towns the length and breadth of England, sometimes at my own expense, sometimes on business of one sort or another. In fact, I think I have visited a town or city in every English county - except for Shropshire. A visit to that county is long overdue and, who knows, maybe I will be able to cross it off the list at sometime or another.
Many of my visits to those towns and cities have been fairly brief affairs and, given that I was quite frequently on business, my opportunity to do the tourist thing was often limited, more often (perhaps) non-existent. Some of those places I would be happy to revisit, about most I am ambivalent. There is one town, though, that I have determined never to set foot in again. And it is the town in which I have spent more time than in any other, apart from the towns in which I have lived.
Torquay is Basil Fawlty's town - not that the television programme has anything to do with my dislike of Torquay. Indeed, I don't actually dislike Torquay. I have fairly pleasant memories of the month I spent there when recuperating from pleurisy. Or perhaps it was pneumonia. I had both pretty severely as a child. It was when I was 12 that I had an attack of one of those lurgies and our doctor recommended that my mother should take me to the south of France for a month to recuperate. Back then, for suggesting that my family should spend any time in the south of France, let alone a month, was tantamount to suggesting that we should travel to the moon. OK, said the doctor, the English Riviera then. Torquay. And so it was that my mother, my younger brother and i spent a month in a guest house high above the harbour.
As I said, I have memories of pleasant times on Torr Sands, in Torr Abbey Gardens, Babbacombe, Cockington and Kent's Cavern. Somewhat less pleasant are the memories of the gulls snatching the ducklings in the Gardens - and me falling in the pond and having to walk back to the guesthouse about a mile away in dripping wet clothes. But that didn't deter me from returning to Torquay shortly after the Old Bat and I were married.
I hired a car for our honeymoon and we drove to the small village of Exford, deep in the wilds of Exmoor, where we stayed in the village pub. The White Horse, was it? It must have been on either the Wednesday or Thursday of our week that the weather in north Somerset was grotty so I suggested that we drive to the south Devon coast in the hope of some sun. We headed for Torquay, then made our way to Dartmouth, intending to swing north across Dartmoor and back to Exford that way. Shortly after leaving Dartmouth, driving along a narrow lane, we met a lorry coming in the opposite direction. The lorry driver pulled hard over to give us room to pass, but somehow the back of the lorry hit the bank and swung across the road. I could see it coming but was powerless to stop in time to prevent it smashing into the front of the car. We left the car there and hitchhiked back to the pub, travelling back to Brighton by train.
Fast forward a few years. We have three children, the eldest 10, the youngest 4, and are on holiday on a farm in south Devon, not far from Ottery St Mary but really in the depths of the country. One day we decide to visit Torquay instead of spending time on the beach at Sidmouth. On our way back to the farm, as we were on the Exeter bypass, the gearbox seized. The car was towed into a garage in Exeter - but we still had several miles to go with three children and all the paraphernalia that entails. Fortunately, I was able to use my contacts to get a lift back to the farm and I hired a car the next day But I still had to use the hire car to get home to Brighton and back down to Exeter to collect my own car when it was repaired.
As a side note, that car was almost brand new, just a few months old and with only 3,000 miles on the clock. I was advised that the pre-delivery inspection must have been skimped and so I asked the garage where I bought the car to reimburse my expenses. I ended up taking them to court and eventually got my money back.
And since then I have avoided Torquay at all costs!
Sunday, 16 November 2014
Saturday, 15 November 2014
That's another thing to go wrong
My new car - well, it was new to me just before Easter this year and so it still counts as new even though it is more than a year old - has three things I have never had in any previous car: built-in sat-nav (I've never had any sort of sat-nav before), a beeper that sounds as I get close to anything when reversing (do they call that parking assistance?) and a rear-pointing camera that shows a picture on the screen when I engage reverse gear. And, rather to my surprise, I have found all three gizmos useful at one time or another.
But then, this week, I saw an ad for a car that few would consider a luxury or top of the range model, and that car had a self-parking system. The ad also said, I am reasonably certain, that the car would also find a parking place - but I might have imagined that bit. I don't consider myself any less than average - all right, above average - when it comes to parking, but I would love to give that gizmo a try.
I have quite often been heard to say that the more gizmos there are in a car, the more there is to go wrong, but I was thinking about the changes there have been in cars over the 50+ years since I learned to drive. Back then, people sitting in the back seats were quite often asked by the driver to wipe the rear window, there being no such thing as a heated rear screen. There were no such things as self-cancelling direction indicators. Most cars had a clunking great switch just under the centre of the windscreen; the driver rotated this switch according to which indicator arm was to be turned out. Then flashing indicators were invented and cars had one at each corner. Later, a timer was inserted so that the indicators were cancelled after about 30 seconds.
Cars back in those days came equipped with just one mirror - the internal one. Many drivers - myself included - bought wing mirrors at car accessory shops and carefully drilled holes in the front wings. After that, one really needed an assistant so that the mirrors could be correctly aligned before being screwed tightly into place. The next refinement was mirrors on the two front doors, with little knobs protruding into the car to realign the mirrors. Now, there is a multidirectional button to do the job electronically.
And thinking of electronics, we used to have to wind a window down with a crank handle.
There's that, too. Cars came equipped with crank handles that would be inserted into slots under the radiator grills to turn the crankshaft if by some chance the self-starter failed or the battery was flat. And, of course, we had to pull out the choke before trying to start the car when cold - and remember to push it in as the engine warmed up!
Now we have windscreen wipers that come on when it rains, lights that come on when it gets dark, cruise control, electronic parking brakes that come on when the engine is turned off and release themselves when the accelerator is pressed . . .
Things have certainly changed - and yes, there is more to go wrong. But would I go back to those cars of the late 1950s and early 60s? No thank you!
But then, this week, I saw an ad for a car that few would consider a luxury or top of the range model, and that car had a self-parking system. The ad also said, I am reasonably certain, that the car would also find a parking place - but I might have imagined that bit. I don't consider myself any less than average - all right, above average - when it comes to parking, but I would love to give that gizmo a try.
I have quite often been heard to say that the more gizmos there are in a car, the more there is to go wrong, but I was thinking about the changes there have been in cars over the 50+ years since I learned to drive. Back then, people sitting in the back seats were quite often asked by the driver to wipe the rear window, there being no such thing as a heated rear screen. There were no such things as self-cancelling direction indicators. Most cars had a clunking great switch just under the centre of the windscreen; the driver rotated this switch according to which indicator arm was to be turned out. Then flashing indicators were invented and cars had one at each corner. Later, a timer was inserted so that the indicators were cancelled after about 30 seconds.
Cars back in those days came equipped with just one mirror - the internal one. Many drivers - myself included - bought wing mirrors at car accessory shops and carefully drilled holes in the front wings. After that, one really needed an assistant so that the mirrors could be correctly aligned before being screwed tightly into place. The next refinement was mirrors on the two front doors, with little knobs protruding into the car to realign the mirrors. Now, there is a multidirectional button to do the job electronically.
And thinking of electronics, we used to have to wind a window down with a crank handle.
There's that, too. Cars came equipped with crank handles that would be inserted into slots under the radiator grills to turn the crankshaft if by some chance the self-starter failed or the battery was flat. And, of course, we had to pull out the choke before trying to start the car when cold - and remember to push it in as the engine warmed up!
Now we have windscreen wipers that come on when it rains, lights that come on when it gets dark, cruise control, electronic parking brakes that come on when the engine is turned off and release themselves when the accelerator is pressed . . .
Things have certainly changed - and yes, there is more to go wrong. But would I go back to those cars of the late 1950s and early 60s? No thank you!
Friday, 14 November 2014
Bingo!
It's bingo for me tonight. Not playing it - I can think of little more boring than that - but calling for the old wrinklies. Mind you, I've a feeling that some of those wrinklies are actually younger than me! It's one of the Lions' service activities. That being so, we charge the old ducks just 50p a game and pay out magnificent prizes - all of £3 for a line and (whisper it) £6 for a full house. Then what ever they have paid is used for the prize money for the last, free game. This can mean a payout of £30 or more for the house.
Which seems very small beer indeed when compared to the £1 million a couple I know have won on the lottery this week. Even that sounds quite petty when you think that some people have won many millions, including one who scooped £108 million. I think I could probably cope with a million, but a hundred million? No thanks!
It might seem a little strange, but I would find it difficult to cope with that sort of money. OK, so I would give some to each of my children - but not too much! I would possibly splash out on a few things - but even after all that I'm sure there would still be more than £100 million left to give away. And that's where the difficulty would come, deciding how to split that much money and which charities should receive how much.
As I was instrumental in setting up Leo House, which provides a hospice in the home service for children in Sussex, I should probably give them some. Cancer research would also be a beneficiary, as would Macmillan nurses, but after that I start to get overload. Still, as I never buy a lottery ticket, this is one problem I shall never have to face.
Which seems very small beer indeed when compared to the £1 million a couple I know have won on the lottery this week. Even that sounds quite petty when you think that some people have won many millions, including one who scooped £108 million. I think I could probably cope with a million, but a hundred million? No thanks!
It might seem a little strange, but I would find it difficult to cope with that sort of money. OK, so I would give some to each of my children - but not too much! I would possibly splash out on a few things - but even after all that I'm sure there would still be more than £100 million left to give away. And that's where the difficulty would come, deciding how to split that much money and which charities should receive how much.
As I was instrumental in setting up Leo House, which provides a hospice in the home service for children in Sussex, I should probably give them some. Cancer research would also be a beneficiary, as would Macmillan nurses, but after that I start to get overload. Still, as I never buy a lottery ticket, this is one problem I shall never have to face.
Thursday, 13 November 2014
Bull's eye!
After travelling for 10 years and covering 4 billion miles,the probe named Philae has landed on comet 67P some 316 million miles away. (BBC report here.) What a fantastic achievement. It is quite beyond me to comprehend the detailed planning that had to go into that.
Space: the last frontier - or something like that. but without wanting to inject any negative thoughts or to detract from this achievement - far from it! - it must be said that this exploration has nothing in it to compare with the courage of men like Columbus, Magellan or Frobisher. So it took 25 years to plan, but from the safety of offices.
Understandably, there are plenty of people who will say that the money spent on this project - £1.1 billion - could have been better spent. Just think how many cataract operations that would pay for in developing countries or how many children could have been inoculated against measles or what could have been achieved in researching a cure for cancer is what the critics will argue.
But on the other hand, who knows what will come of this? Could it lead to the discovery of a new source of energy so that we no longer have to rely on fossil fuels? Or some matter that could be the basis of a new wonder-drug?
Either way, it is a magnificent achievement.
Space: the last frontier - or something like that. but without wanting to inject any negative thoughts or to detract from this achievement - far from it! - it must be said that this exploration has nothing in it to compare with the courage of men like Columbus, Magellan or Frobisher. So it took 25 years to plan, but from the safety of offices.
Understandably, there are plenty of people who will say that the money spent on this project - £1.1 billion - could have been better spent. Just think how many cataract operations that would pay for in developing countries or how many children could have been inoculated against measles or what could have been achieved in researching a cure for cancer is what the critics will argue.
But on the other hand, who knows what will come of this? Could it lead to the discovery of a new source of energy so that we no longer have to rely on fossil fuels? Or some matter that could be the basis of a new wonder-drug?
Either way, it is a magnificent achievement.
Wednesday, 12 November 2014
Feeling itchy
I don't mean that I'm constantly scratching, as though I have fleas, but there's something niggling away at me. It's not that I'm bored - or not really - but I'm itching to DO something. The trouble is, I don't know what!
It's not as though I have nothing to do. I have plenty, but nothing that I have waiting to be done appeals to me. I want something different.
As I said, it's not boredom as such; more a general lassitude, ennui. And when that feeling hits, there really is only one answer; plug on at those things that should be done and wait for the feeling to pass.
That was this morning. Since then I have crossed a number of 'things that should be done' off the list, either having done them or decided they didn't really need doing anyway. I felt the better for that. This afternoon's walk helped clear the cobwebs as well. A fresh breeze blowing off the Channel, clear views across the splendid South Downs and out to sea, big splodges of blue amid the clouds - the perfect elixir.
It's not as though I have nothing to do. I have plenty, but nothing that I have waiting to be done appeals to me. I want something different.
As I said, it's not boredom as such; more a general lassitude, ennui. And when that feeling hits, there really is only one answer; plug on at those things that should be done and wait for the feeling to pass.
That was this morning. Since then I have crossed a number of 'things that should be done' off the list, either having done them or decided they didn't really need doing anyway. I felt the better for that. This afternoon's walk helped clear the cobwebs as well. A fresh breeze blowing off the Channel, clear views across the splendid South Downs and out to sea, big splodges of blue amid the clouds - the perfect elixir.
Tuesday, 11 November 2014
They shall grow not old
I suppose it is natural for us in England to think almost exclusively of British servicemen killed in the trenches of Flanders and the Somme during the First World War, but it would be wrong for us to overlook those men from the colonies and dominions who came to fight for us. Many of them were Indians and it so happens that the Royal Pavilion and the Dome in Brighton, those pastiche Indian constructions, were turned into hospitals for Indian soldiers who were wounded on the Western front. The funeral pyres for those whose religion required that their bodies pass through the flames were built on the Downs north of the town. After the war, a memorial, known as the Chattri, was built on the site of the funeral pyres.
It was only a few years ago that the names of those soldiers were discovered and engraved on a new memorial stone.
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| Almost in the centre of the picture |
Monday, 10 November 2014
Wasn't that fun?
I've known for quite some time that it needed to be done but if prevarication was an Olympic event, I would be almost a permanent gold medal winner. After all, age is no barrier when it comes to excelling at that! My problem - and it is more of a problem than a challenge - is that I can always find something else more interesting to do. And I can usually persuade myself that that something else is more urgent as well.
As I said, I have known for some time that it needed doing, but as I have been the only one to go to the freezer for at least two months, I thought that the Old Bat hadn't noticed that the ice had become more than an inch thick in some places and that two of the three moveable baskets were no longer moveable. And then on Friday, she suddenly asked, "Shall we defrost the freezer on Monday?"
What could I do but agree?
And so, this morning, after I had walked the dog, helped the Old Bat get up and dressed and had another cup of coffee, She Who Must Be Obeyed gave me my instructions. This, this and this was to be put in the cool box, along with that, that and that if there was room. The rest would be put in the insulated bags which were in the cupboard under the stairs just beyond the wine rack, and the de-icer spray she had bought was in such and such a cupboard and the plastic spatula . . . Well, you get the idea.
I muttered under my breath about the original suggestion being that WE should defrost the freezer. Was this, I grumbled to myself, the extent of the OB's involvement, the issuing of instruction? Well, not quite. When I had managed to extract those baskets from the ice - a task only slightly less arduous than freeing the Endeavour from the Antarctic ice - the OB washed them. And dried them. I, meanwhile, removed three tons of ice (well, it felt like it) and cleared up the stray blackberries, peas and sweetcorn from the floor of the freezer, along with three of those twisty closure thingies and several labels that had fallen off bags. Fortunately, I was able to keep one foot on the floor as I dealt with the rubbish at the bottom.
Surprisingly, it only took a couple or three hours. But the Old Bat's happy on two fronts: we did something together (even if it was mainly me doing something while she watched or read the paper) and we now have an ice-free freezer.
We must do it again sometime - but not for several months!
As I said, I have known for some time that it needed doing, but as I have been the only one to go to the freezer for at least two months, I thought that the Old Bat hadn't noticed that the ice had become more than an inch thick in some places and that two of the three moveable baskets were no longer moveable. And then on Friday, she suddenly asked, "Shall we defrost the freezer on Monday?"
What could I do but agree?
And so, this morning, after I had walked the dog, helped the Old Bat get up and dressed and had another cup of coffee, She Who Must Be Obeyed gave me my instructions. This, this and this was to be put in the cool box, along with that, that and that if there was room. The rest would be put in the insulated bags which were in the cupboard under the stairs just beyond the wine rack, and the de-icer spray she had bought was in such and such a cupboard and the plastic spatula . . . Well, you get the idea.
I muttered under my breath about the original suggestion being that WE should defrost the freezer. Was this, I grumbled to myself, the extent of the OB's involvement, the issuing of instruction? Well, not quite. When I had managed to extract those baskets from the ice - a task only slightly less arduous than freeing the Endeavour from the Antarctic ice - the OB washed them. And dried them. I, meanwhile, removed three tons of ice (well, it felt like it) and cleared up the stray blackberries, peas and sweetcorn from the floor of the freezer, along with three of those twisty closure thingies and several labels that had fallen off bags. Fortunately, I was able to keep one foot on the floor as I dealt with the rubbish at the bottom.
Surprisingly, it only took a couple or three hours. But the Old Bat's happy on two fronts: we did something together (even if it was mainly me doing something while she watched or read the paper) and we now have an ice-free freezer.
We must do it again sometime - but not for several months!
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