The Banbury Man

Lambing Day 6 - Saturday

2012-02-19T12:24:00.000Z

Saturday came, and, with it, no more lambs! In the morning, we headed up to theplantation, three or four fields that were planted a few years ago with a mixof indigenous trees. Some have grownperhaps twelve feet tall, others are a couple of feet high, still single sticksaplings. Others are branching outencouragingly. It will be a great woodone day, which is the general idea. Theother good thing about it is that it means that there are no sheep in thesefields. Lugging a bucket of feed throughthree or four fields, all uphill, and in the rain, is not the cheeriest ofmatters.

A muddy walk was taken to Lamorna in the afternoon but Idecided to stay in and did some writing. After a few board games and games of cards, we went off to the local pubwhere a blue grass band was playing. Now, I really am an advocate of live music. Even something I might not sure about in recordingis often very good live. It is all partof the experience, the interaction between audience and musician, seeing theskill of playing, and the heart of singing.

The band was called Flats & Sharps andconsists of four young (very young, young enough that I could be their father)men playing a mandolin, banjo, guitar, and bass, and singing. The musical standard really was pretty good –in my opinion, the banjo playing and the voice of the bassist really stoodout. Each had a chance to shine and theinfectious enthusiasm and sharing of the limelight really enhanced theperformance. They did covers, includinga Kings of Leon song, which sounded very different. Some songs they had written themselves, andthey were good. I think they need tolearn more about each other, and a little more about performing to an audience,but I was most impressed. I think theywill go a long way with some nurturing. I certainly think they would fit in well with The Fairport Conventionfestival, and other festivals around the country. A most enjoyable night.

But still no lambs, even though I drank pear cider in thesure knowledge that my repose would be disturbed!

Lambing Day 5 - Friday

2012-02-18T09:23:00.001Z

Friday was a wasted day, and yes, there were no morelambs. As I had found it difficult toget back to sleep after my middle-of-the-night foray to the barn, I flounged inbed for a few hours and did not get up until about 11am. A large part of the gang was just heading outfor a cream-tea at a local National Trust property, and that suited me justfine. I sat and played the piano for awhile.

The piano on the farm has one of the brightest tones ofany I have heard. As it is always tunedjust before lambing, it is a joy to mess around on it. Over the years, I have progressed fromabysmal, through appalling, to pathetic, (not even pathetique alas) and so Iworked through a Lloyd-Webber song-book, playing some of the more reflectivesongs from Phantom of the Opera and Jesus Christ Superstar. The parrot approved of this also, and gotonto his swing to sway in beat with the music.

Later that morning Mrs Farmer came back from getting themessages and dropped a box of eggs. Onecannot break an egg without making an omelette, so our lunch solution wasbefore us. Sheep continued to eat in thebarn, getting even larger, and bottoms beginning to swell and go pink whichshows promise of some lambs. So duly,after dinner (fish on Friday, in the finest Methodist tradtion) a game ofScumbags entertained us.

Scumbags is a game of uncertain provenance. I was taught this game by two brothers atUniversity. About half of my third-yearwas taken up with a long and bitter tournament in my room with three friends,one of whom was a power-crazed Durham lady. Since I learnt this game, I have taught it to friends throughout theyears and it always provides much amusement. If you want to know how to play it you had better ask, but the basicpremise is one of ranks being established, and those in the upper ranksexchange their lowest cards for the highest cards of those in the lowerranks. It is based upon right-wingtheory, but differs, as there is an opportunity for people to work their way up(or indeed down) the ranks. It really isgreat fun for three or more players – the more the merrier.

No night shift tonight J

Lambing Day 4 - Thursday

2012-02-17T14:20:00.000Z

Day four is mainly notable for its lack of lambs onceagain. In fact, this is fast turning intoa holiday diary of trips to the shops and feasts at home.

Such leisure afforded us the opportunity to take a tripto a local picture house (the oldest continually operating one in the country)where we watched the Muppets film. Itdid not reach the dizzy heights of the shows from my childhood, but it was anexcellent entertainment, completely and properly hammed up by the actors in it,and with some great cameo appearances. After a milkshake at the local deli, we returned for a diet ofCountdown.

The Young Miss arrived to hold court, much to the delightof her nephews, and so there are now twelve at the table. After dinner, I learnt a new game – Jok R Ummy which is like rummy, but with specialsecret missions to be achieved. I was onthe night shift again, but simply could not get back to sleep, so it was a longtired night followed by a slumberous morning. One or two ewes are now beginning to look uncomfortable, so I feelhopeful about the next day or so.

Lambing Day 3 - Wednesday

2012-02-16T15:04:00.002Z

Once again, another day without lambs! This meant there was a chance to head up toPenzance where Studge and I could visit the charity shops, and, under thesuspicious eye of the twinset and pearl brigade, we raided the bookshelves forbargains. I was most frugal and made nopurchase, choosing not to buy a volume based on the memoirs of the dentist ofthe Empress Eugenie.

After a rendezvous at a coffee emporium, and afternoonnap, we sat down to a birthday feast of Blytonesque proportions. Salads, meat, quiche, sausage rolls, andcakes of all kinds assailed us, and it was a heavy journey up the stairs.

I had a night off from the three am watch, so a good longsleep ensued. Will the sheep ever lamb?

Lambing Day 2 - Tuesday

2012-02-15T14:32:00.000Z

Tuesday started with a nice lie in until 8am. I never get up that late normally, butsomehow, the comfortable beds, and different hours of the countryside lendthemselves to a later morning. Onceagain, nothing was happening with the sheep, who are all resolutely chompingaway on hay, and looking contented and sleek.

After feeding, I strawed them up, just so any lambsdropping to the floor have a nice clean landing, and we popped into town to getsupplies in for the hungry hoards due later tonight. Moments of leisure are best snatched whenpossible, although I suspect there will be many more. Countdown, and a game of scrabble (where Iscored 92 with headings) all added to the enjoyment of the evening, before anold friend (who I had not seen for perhaps fifteen years) came around. A pleasant chat ensued over a cuppa on thejoys of deanery church politics, and the interbreeding of Welsh cathedraltowns.

Later on, four more friends arrived for a few days, justas I retired.

I was, as I normally like to do, on the 3am watch. This means going to bed at a reasonable hour,and setting the alarm for 3am. When,after seemingly being in bed for five minutes, the alarm goes off, one then hasto lie in bed for ten minutes, cursing the hour, feeling tired with that nauseaone always has in the middle of the night, and contemplating turning over andgoing back to bed. As usual, Ieventually purposed to get up, and dress quickly, before going out to inspectthe sheep.

As one walks across the yard to the barn, it is importantnot to take the sheep by surprise and startle them, else they will all jump upand look alarmed, and it is much harder to see if any of them are inlabour. So, muttering aloud to myselfabout the state of the Croatian economy, I arrive at the barn and put the lighton. Most of the sheep are sitting aroundhalf asleep, chewing and keeping an eye on me. Normally, just a couple of minutes is enough to know if anyone warrantsattention, but tonight one of the sheep is suspicious enough to need looking atfor a while, and I wait to see if she really is in labour, or is just a bit ofa plain Jane. Duly reassured, I trudgeback to the house, hoping the cold wind has not woken me up too much, so Icould settle back down to sleep.

I got into the porch, took my coat off, and my shoes, andopened the kitchen door, whereupon I realised I had not put the lock on thesnib and was well and truly locked out. No small panic gripped me. In thefirst place, I was desperate to answer the call of nature. I was cold out and I had been up for half anhour. Finding a quiet place, I took careof this and considered my options. Icould shout and wake up the house – but that was unlikely to work, and unfair. I could go to the draughty barn, but therewas nowhere to sit. I could go thelambing pen – more sheltered, and with a gas fire, and with legions of enormousspiders waiting to crawl into my mouth for a warm moist holiday, as soon as Ifell asleep. Happily, Mrs Farmer’s carwas unlocked, so, if I could not get in, that was clearly the place where Ishould spend the night – uncomfortable and noisy (there was quite a wind)though it promised to be.

I then remembered the conservatory, and the laundrydoor. Both involved walking around thehouse, full of sticky branches, cobwebs, and stone steps, but it was not toodark a night, so I gingerly stepped around the side of the house until Ireached the conservatory. Happily, thiswas open, and so too was the door from the conservatory to the house. With no small joy, I entered the house andreturned to bed to ponder the near domestic miss.

Scottish Independence

2012-02-15T13:50:00.002Z

Some weeks ago, plans for a referendum on independencefor Scotland were announced. TheScottish Nationalist Party, in power in the Scottish Parliament at last, havelong made Scottish independence their chief aim, and promised a referendum whenthey achieved government. The situationhas changed somewhat over recent years. At long last, Westminster has devolved some powers, so that there is aScottish Parliament now. This parliamenthas enjoyed being governed by progressive parties (often in coalition) with theresult that a traditionally poorer part of the UK has achieved some impressiverise in living standards, and even an increase in life expectancy – althoughthis is still the lowest in the Western world.

Because of devolution, I think some of the heat has comeout of the debate. No longer is Scotlandtotally under the thumb of Conservative England. And this makes the referendum by no means acertain result. The current Westminstergovernment, languishing under the ConDem coalition, has attempted to meddle inthe wording of the question. This ismore likely to backfire, as Scots will resent such interference.

On the contrary, I think that the Scottish Parliamentshould set the wording of the question, and set it before the Scottishpeople. Westminster should thenrecognise the decision made, and legislate appropriately. Many questions layahead – what happens if the vote is close? Should an alternative short of complete independence be offered? What currency will the new nation have – itmight not be advisable to join the Euro right now. Who would be head of state (I presume theQueen, as she is for Canada etc.).

In short, I support wholeheartedly the opportunity togive the people of Scotland the chance to decide their fate, and will supportthe decision they make. It is mypersonal hope that they remain in the UK, as the prospect of a Tory controlledEnglish state alarms me. I would ratherthere were more powers devolved to Scotland – which, after all, does not enjoythe levels of autonomy that some regions in Spain, and states in the USA do –and to keep the Union functioning. Ibelieve it is not a good time for a relatively small nation to be formed.

How would you vote?

Lambing 2012 Day 1 - Monday

2012-02-14T14:54:00.000Z

On day One, I duly arrived after my five hour trainjourney, and went to inspect the sheep. Today is their due day, but the rams had been put in at the end ofSeptember, when there was an unexpected heatwave. Although the ewes were all on heat, the ramswere far too tired to chase them around, and so it appears that more of thesheep may have been caught the second time around, twelve days later.

As it was, the sheep were all in the barn chewingcontentedly and regarding my arrival with a mild alarm, but not so much thatthey jumped up excitedly.

Therefore, I duly inspected the labour ward, to ensureall was in readiness, expressed alarm at the increasing size and boisterousnessof my two godsons, and settled down to watch University Challenge – an Oxfordcollege beat a college from the Other Place, which always gladdens theheart. Happily, the three am watch alsoyielded no results too. Hopefully, more news will follow......

A crowded train

2012-02-14T14:16:00.002Z

Whenever I travel to or from Cornwall, the trains arealways hopelessly crowded. Given that Itravel outside of peak times, and join the train at its starting point at bothends, I think this is poor – people are standing in the corridors andthroughout the carriages. This train hasa two hundred mile break between stops, and so folk are guaranteed to stand forjust over two hours. It is half-termtoo which makes it even busier.

As the prices can be astronomical for travelling thisway, I think this is poor. I am on an eight carriage train. Three carriages are first class, and theseare all but empty. The other five arejam-packed – to the point that I cannot see out of the other side of the train,as there are about twenty people standing in my carriage. First Great Western Trains need to get theiract together. Services from Cornwall toLondon are infrequent and over-crowded. There is often a three hour gap. Last time I came, I had to change at Exeter, and join a two carriagecoach train for the remaining three hours. I had to have my suitcase on my lap.

Alas, though, while they can keep running the amount oftrains they do, and cramming people onto the trains, First Great Western haveno incentive to run more trains, so people can get a seat. As they are the only service provider toLondon, everyone hates them, but no-one has a choice. At least, I guess, their share-holders arehappy.

Lambing 2012 - the prep

2012-02-13T19:13:00.001Z

And so lambing 2012 begins. I think is is seventeen years since I firstcame, and I have generally come most years since then. It is a good way of keeping in touch with myfriends down in Cornwall – how ironic it is that with the means ofcommunication multiplied, it seems to be harder than ever to maintain contactwith people. It is also a wonderful timeof the year to take a break – the dark days of winter are beginning tolengthen, although the coldest weather is often in February. Lambing is so different from my dailyroutine, with an increased physical effort, lots of fresh air, the countryside,and also lots of free time (labour ward permitting) and so it is a real tonicto me. And, I guess, in addition tohaving to feed me, and listen to my desolation of the piano, it is good to beable to help out a little at a busy time on the farm.

The first preparation for lambing comes about a yearbefore – usually at the previous lambing season. This is when I get the college timetable outand we start plotting when the next lambing should happen. There is usually a three week placementduring the winter term, and this moveable feast is governed by the date ofEaster. Once this is established, it isthen possible to set a good time for coming lambng. Dates are then made in the diary for when therams should be put in at around the end of August.

The next preparation is to urchase the traintickets. Penzance, at the end of theline, is a good three hundred miles from London. If I were to merrily turn up on the day and buymy ticket, it would cost me the best part of two hundred pounds. But, even worse, I would most likely not geta seat. But an advance ticket, bookedbefore Christmas, can yield fares of £15 each way. And with that, you get a seatreservation. As, this year, lambingcoincides with half term school holidays, this really is essential. I write this as we vleave Readng, when thenext station is two hours away, and may people are standing.

The last preparation, apart from packing, workingridiculous hours to be able to leave work behind, and remembering to tell folkwhen I am actually arriving, is to get a haircut. You do not want a lot of hairwhen lambing – it can get too hot, and, when you are mucking out, assisting ata delivery, or pushing a wheelbarrow along, you do not want to keep stopping tobrush hair back off your forehead – especially when your hands may be coveredin all sorts of biohazardous material. To the bemusement of my local barber shop, runby a pair of friendly Kosovan brothers, I generally have my hair cut twice ayear. This means that I turn up at thebarber shop, and take my seat, replete with a full head of hair that isbeginning to wave, and is not far short of a Bee Gees cut. Once I take my seat on the mechanicallyoperated chair, have the cape fitted, with the edges pushed into my collar, andthe seat is pumped down so I am at a suitable working height, I am asked whatcut I want.

“Number four all over please” I reply to the alarm of thebarber.

“Are you sure? That is very short, almost a skinhead, and you have such lovely hair!”

“Oh yes. I onlycome twice a year, and you said the same last time”. Re-assured by me declaration that I know whatI am letting myself in for, or, perhaps more to the point, satisfied that hehas attempted to dissuade me from what will be a disastrous cut, and thereforefree of blame when I behold in horror what he has done, the barber, with nosmall relish, tackles the longest part of my hair first, causing enormousclumps of hair to fall down onto the cape in front of me.

Normal service is then resumed. For my February cut, wenormally talk about the cold, about how mad I am to cut my hair short at such acold time of the year, and then about lambing and why I am cutting myhair. I am informed that there are somesheep in Kosovo but that they have bad tempers. My September cut normallyfeautres the excessive heat, and then the beginning of the term. I am reminded that this barber is cheap,close to the college where I work, and good at fashionable haircuts. Pointedly, I am reminded that students likehaving their hair cut a lot, which is good for business.

So, hair cut, head cold, I head out, this year with atrimmed beard too, regretting the cold, assailed by complments about how youngand handsome I now look (to which the only answer is “wow, you must havethought I looked very old and ugly yesterday” and looking forward to the nowimminent lambing.

The Diamond Jubilee

2012-02-06T18:41:00.000Z

Today it is sixty years since George VI, father of the Queen, died. When the anniversary of my father's death comes around, it is a day of sadness, and remembrance. But, for the Queen, the national celebration of sixty years on the throne impinges. In this land, only Queen Victoria has exceeded this.

I was going to write a long post, reviewing whether or not monarchy is a good thing, whether or not Elizabeth II is a good monarch, and picking out highlights from her long reign. But, to be honest, a lot of people will do this, and I don't have the time right now.

So, all I will say is this: I believe the Queen has not done a bad job. She has a remarkable devotion to duty, something characterised by her generation, and all but missing in later generations. She has made mistakes. She has had luxury. But she has worked hard, and even at 85, continues to do so. I am impressed.

Enough said.

Stephen Lawrence Murder Re-trial

2012-01-08T09:58:00.000Z

This week, two people were convicted and sentenced forthe murder of Stephen Lawrence. Lawrencewas a black teenager, murdered in a racially motivated attack in London in1993. At the time, suspects werearrested, but later released without charge. There were charges that the Metropolitan Police had not handled thiswell, and in 1999, the MacphersonReport found the police force was “Institutionally Racist”, and alsorecommend that the law on double jeopardy, which prevents someone from beingtried twice for the same crime, be changed to allow re-trial in certaincircumstances – and this was done in 2005.

This report had profoundly affected the attitude ofpolice forces to racism and racist crime. Although perhaps the conclusion of MacPherson came as a surprise to veryfew people, the open admission of inequality, and the subsequent efforts tochange the culture of the police has led to a more equal and open culture inforces throughout the country. Allegationsof racial prejudice are investigated rather than dismissed, and racial commentsor jibes are viewed with public outrage in today’s society (even if, for many,racism still exists at an instinctive level).

It would be fair to say that justice has at last beendone. The crime, the poorly handledinvestigation, the private law-suits brought by Lawrence’s family, variousinquiries, investigations, allegations of corruption, and quashing of appealsmade most of us feel uneasy – that somehow a murder had gone unpunished, andthis because of the colour of the victim. I myself felt most alarmed at the repealing of double jeopardy, which Isaw, and still see, as a vital human right in the exercise of justice. However, re-tried in the light of new andpressing evidence, especially including DNA evidence not available at the timeof the original investigation, two of the killers (and there may be more) haveat last been called upon to pay for their crimes. That this has happened 19 years too late is atragedy for justice. It has all but destroyedthe Lawrence family, who have fought, at enormous financial and personal cost,for 19 long years. Many of us have beenalarmed at the racism, corruption, and unfairness apparent at so many stages ofthe process. Had the killers beenconvicted originally, they would have served their sentences now, and could,perhaps, be living as rehabilitated members of society.

But for me, there is one shocking element in allthis. In 1997, following an inquestwhich found the five suspects guilty of Lawrence’s murder, the Daily Mail releasedwith their names and pictures, under the headline “TheMail accuses these five men of killing. If we are wrong, let them sue us.” This was an illegal act, and the Daily Mail certainly opened itself toaccusation and law suit. However, theywere not sued. Public opinion wasstirred up by this, and it is fair to say that this was one of the decisive developmentsthat led to the final conviction. I canquote the editor, Paul Dacre, speakingafter the conviction this week: “Idon't think it's an exaggeration to say that if it hadn't been for the Mail's headline in 1997 – 'Murderers: The Mail accusesthese men of killing' – and our years of campaigning, none of this would havehappened. Britain's police might not have undergone the huge internal reformthat was so necessary. Race relations might not have taken the significant stepforward that they have. And an 18-year-old A-Level student who dreamed of beingan architect would have been denied justice. The Daily Mail took amonumental risk with that headline. In many ways, it was an outrageous, unprecedentedstep.”

Make no mistake about it – I thinkthe Daily Mail (or Daily Hate Mail as I usually call it) has been responsiblefor a lot of scaremongering, xenophobia, homophobia, Islamophobia, and generalspreading of fear and right-wing small-mindedness. But here, it has done good, and in the nameof racial equality and justice. Almostnothing is completely bad, or completely good, and it is only just to recognisegood, wherever it originates. As myfriend Tony said, on the hallowed pages of Farcebook: “the Maildoes represent a lot of values I don't agree with, but it raises a number ofissues about freedom of the press and freedom of speech. The Mail consistentlyopposed the Iraq war from the word go, it speaks up for Middle England (whohave a right to representation), it speaks up for older members of society (whoare ignored appallingly by our youth-worshiping world)...”

Quite!

Toilet Humour

2011-12-31T22:53:00.003Z

Here are some notices I have seen in toilets lately:

1. Toilet paper only should be put down thistoilet. I read this a bit too late.

2. Maximumload: 20kg. As I weigh more than 20kg,and most other people do, there is only one rather alarming conclusion as towhat this means. Let me just say, thatif you find yourself breaking this rule, please eat more fibre.

3. Nomore than five persons in this cubicle at any time. I had struggled to get in and close the door,so narrow was this bookshop toilet cubicle.

4. Colddrinks may not be consumed in this toilet. But, I guess, one can take a latte in there.

5. Pleasedo not put sanitary towels on the toilet roll holder. Again, rather alarming. More so as this was not even a unisex toilet,but a gents in a department store.

Happy sitting.

The cost of food

2011-12-24T10:22:00.002Z

While we have all been in a credit crunch for some years, but this is the first year that I really beganto notice this myself, despite the constant flow of bad news, the excellence ofthe PM programme Upshares, Downsharesand, of course, the new doom and gloom inflicted on us by a banker-preservinggovernment. There are some reasons forthis – it is only in the last eighteen months I have been a householder. I don’t have a mortgage. I am not a rich person who has savings. But most of all, I did not used to do foodshopping.

Food does not really constitute a huge part of one’s budget,but the increasing cost of food, coming at a time when money is short, and whenluxuries have been cut, is really beginning to pinch. The first thing that struck me when startingto shop again, was just how expensive some of the basics are – milk, bread,eggs. Conversely, plain local vegetables are cheaper –potatoes, carrots, onions. The pack oflong life milk I buy was £3 in June 2010. Now it is £4.20 – a rise of 40%. Food over all, according tothis article has risen by 7.5% in 2011. But, as the article highlights, coffee has increased by 21%, wine 14%,butter 20%. Some items have clearlyfrozen, or even gone down. Others haveincreased enormously.

This, of course, has made life that little bit harder. I by cheaper brands, and eat less meat anddairy than before, instead having more carbo-hydrate, and more vegetables –probably all a good thing. I do notspend hours checking prices, but if something I regularly use is buy one getone free, then I will. The supermarketsare all at war, and checking each other’s prices. Today, being at home, I took the Mother toSainsbury, and they gave me a nasty little printed slip with my receipt,informing me my shopping would be cheaper at Tesco (which does not surprise me,I thought their prices were high). Amoney off coupon for the difference was on it, but, of course, I am sure theyhold their prices higher so they can do this. The average shopper, coming out with a coupon, feels happy. I am not the average shopper and would ratherhave not paid more in the first place, nor be given a coupon so I have to visitagain.

So, with wage rises cancelled out by rent and foodincreases, we all need to be a bit more careful. I shall give you some tips on how I havemanaged to cut costs – although I guess one is Good Food Does Not Cost Less atSainsbury’s.

The 56 Rejected Monarchs

2011-12-17T17:20:00.001Z

In 1714, Georg Ludwig, Elector of Hannover, became, on the death of Queen Anne, King of Great Britain. Yet 56 others were in the line to inherit before him – Catholics disinherited due to the Act of Settlement. Here are the ones who came before him:

1. James Stuart, called the Old Pretender 1688-1766. He was the son of James II, whose birth (following a long string of miscarriages and short-lived children) secured the Catholic succession and thus prompted the Glorious Revolution which ousted his father. James remained in Exile, and married Maria Sobieska, a Polish princess, and fathered Charles (Bonny Prince Charlie) and Cardinal Henry Stuart, who was the last remaining male member of the house of Stuart. Had James inherited after the death of his father, James II, he would have reigned for 65 years.
2. Anne Marie of Orleans, Duchess of Savoy and Queen of Sardinia 1669-1728, daughter of Henrietta Anne, daughter of Charles I, who had married Philippe I, Duke of Orleans, brother of Louis XIVof France and her first cousin. She married Vittorio Amedeo II, Duke of Savoy and King of Sardinia.
3. Vittorio Amedeo, prince of Savoy and Sardinia 1699-1715 (son of No 2).
4. Carlo Emmanuele III, later duke of Savoy and King of Sardinia 1701-1773, son of No 2. He married firstly, Anna, Princess Palatinal of Sulzbach, then Polyxena of Hesse-Rheinfels-Rotenburg, and finally Elisabeth Theresia of Lorraine (number 20). Through his descendants comes the current Jacobite claimant, the de jure King of Bavaria.
5. Louis, prince of France, later Louis XV King of France, 1710-1774. He was the son of the late Marie Adelaide of Savoy, daughter of number 2, who had married Louis, grandson of Louis XIV of France. Louis married Maria Lesczynska, a Polish princess.
6. Luis of Spain, later Luis I, King of Spain 1707-1724. He was the son of the late Maria Luisa of Savoy, daughter of number 2, who had married Felipe V, King of Spain. He later married Louise Elisabeth of Orleans (number 15).
7. Felipe of Spain, his brother 1712-1719.
8. Fernando of Spain, his brother, later Fernando VI, King of Spain, 1713-1759. He married Mara Magdalena of Portugal.
9. Elisabeth Charlotte of the Palatinate, daughter of Karl I Elector Palatine (who had married Charlotte of Hesse-Cassel), the son of Elizabeth, daughter of James I, who had married Friedrich V, Elector Palatine, and King of Bavaria. Elisabeth lived from 1652-1722 and married Philippe I, Duke of Orleans, who had previously married Henrietta Anne, daughter of Charles I, and who was the father of number 2.
10. Philippe II, later Duke of Orleans 1674-1723, son of number 9. He married his cousin, Francoise de Blois, illegitimate daughter of Louis XIV.
11. Louis I, later Duke of Orleans 1703-1752. He married Augusta Maria of Baden Baden and was the great-grandfather of Louis Philippe, King of the French, from whom the current French claimant descends.
12. Marie Louise of Orleans, Duchess of Berry 1695-1719, his daughter. She married her cousin, Charles, Duc of Berry.
13. Marie Louise Adelaide of Orleans, her sister 1698-1743.
14. Charlotte Aglae of Orleans 1700-1761, her sister. She married Francesco III Maria of Este, Duke of Modena, number 49.
15. Louise Elisabeth of Orleans 1709-42, her sister. She married her cousin Luis I King of Spain (number 7)
16. Elisabeth Charlotte of Orleans, Duchess of Lorraine 1676-1744, daughter of No 9. She married Leopold, Duke of Lorraine.
17. Leopold, prince of Lorraine 1707-1723, her son.
18. Franz, prince of Lorraine, 1708-1765, his brother. He later married Maria Theresia of Austria, Queen of Hungary and Bohemia, and was elected Holy Roman Emperor (and was the father of the famed Queen Marie Antoinette).
19. Carl, prince of Lorraine, his brother, 1712-1780. He married Maria Anna of Austria.
20. Elisabeth Theresia of Lorraine, his sister, 1711-1741. She married number 4.
21. Anne Charlotte of Lorraine, her sister, 1714-1773.
22. Ludwig Otto, Prince of Salm 1674-1738. He was the son of Carl Theodor of Salm, who had married Luise Maria of the Palatinate, daughter of Eduard of the Palatine and Anna Gonzaga. Eduard was son of Elisabeth, daughter of James I. Ludwig Otto married Albertine of Nassau-Hadamar.
23. Dorothea of Salm, his daughter, 1702-1751. She married Nikolaus of Salm-Salm, and had nineteen children.
24. Elisabeth of Salm, her sister, 1704-1739. She married Claude Lamoral II de Ligne.
25. Christina Anna of Salm, her sister, 1707-1777. She married firstly Joseph of Hesse-Rheinfels-Rotenburg, and secondly, Nikolaus of Salm-Salm (husband of her sister, number 23).
26. Eleonore Christine of Salm, sister 22, 1678-1757. She married Conrad d’Ursel.
27. Anna Henriette of the Palatinate, aunt of 22, and daughter of Eduard of the Palatinate, son of Elizabeth, daughter of James I, 1648-1723. She married Henri III, Duke of Bourbon-Conde.
28. Louis of Bourbon- Conde, later Duke Louis IV of Bourbon-Conde 1692-1740. He was the son of Louis III of Bourbon-Conde (son of No 27) and Louise Francoise de Bourbon, illegitimate daughter of Louis XIV of France. He married firstly, Marie Anne of Bourbon-Conti, number 40, then secondly, Carolina of Hesse-Rheinfels-Rotenburg, then thirdly, Armande de La Porte-Mazarin.29. Charles of Bourbon-Conde, his brother 1700-1760.
30. Louis of Bourbon-Conde, his brother, 1709-1771.
31. Louise Charlotte of Bourbon-Conde, his sister, 1700-1754. She married Nicolas Etienne de Changy
32. Marie Anne of Bourbon-Conde, her sister, 1690-1760.
33. Louise Elisabeth of Bourbon-Conde, her sister, 1693-1775. She married Louis Armand II of Bourbon-Conte, number 39.
34. Louise Anne of Bourbon-Conde, her sister, 1695-1758.
35. Marie Anne of Bourbon-Conde, her sister, 1697-1741. She married Louis de Melun.
36. Henriette Marie of Bourbon-Conde, her sister, 1703-1772.
37. Elisabeth Alexandrine of Bourbon-Conde, her sister, 1705-1765.
38. Marie Therese of Bourbon-Conde, daughter of 27, 1666-1732. She married Francois Louis of Bourbon-Conti.
39. Louis Armand II of Bourbon-Conti, her son, 1695-1727. He married number 33.
40. Marie Anne of Bourbon-Conti, his sister, 1689-1720. She married number 28.
41. Louise-Adelaide of Bourbon-Conti, her sister, 1696-1750.
42. Anna Louise of Bourbon-Conde, sister of 38, 1676-1753. She married Louis of Bourbon, illegitimate son of Louis XIV of France.
43. Louis Auguste of Bourbon, her son, 1700-1755.
44. Louis Charles of Bourbon, his brother, 1701-1775.
45. Louise Francoise of Bourbon, his sister, 1707-1743.
46. Marie Anne of Bourbon-Conde, sister of 42, 1678-1718. She married Louis II of Bourbon-Vendome.
47. Benedikta of the Palatinate, sister of 27, 1652-1730. She married Johann Friedrich of Brunswick-Calenberg.
48. Charlotte Felizitas of Brunswick-Calenberg, her daughter, 1671-1710. She married Rinaldo II d’Este, Duke of Modena.
49. Francesco Maria Este, her son, later Francesco III Maria, Duke of Modena, 1698-1780. He married No 14.
50. Giovanni of Este, his brother, 1700-1727.
51. Benedicta of Este, his sister, 1697-1777.
52. Anna Amalia of Este, her sister, 1699-1778.
53. Henrietta Maria of Este, her sister. She married firstly Antonio Farnese of Parma, and secondly Leopold of Hesse-Darmstadt.
54. Wilhelmina of Brunswick-Calenberg, sister of 48, 1673-1742. She married Holy Roman Emperor Joseph I.
55. Maria Josefa of Austria, her daughter, 1699-1757. She married Friedrich II, Elector of Saxony and King of Poland.
56. Maria Amalia of Austria, her sister, 1701-1756. She married Holy Roman Emperor Karl VII, Elector of Bavaria. He was the main candidate against Franz I (no 18) in the War of the Austrian Succession.
57. Georg Ludwig, Elector of Hannover, son of Ernst Ludwig, Elector of Hannover, and Sophia of the Palatinate, daughter of Elizabeth, daughter of James I.

To put this into perspective, the current 57th person in the line of succession according to http://www.britroyals.com/succession.htm is Maximilian Lascelles, one of the numerous descendants of Mary, Princess Royal, the daughter of George V. He is actually the last of the descendants of George V, and, after him, the line continues to the descendants of the daughters of Edward VII. The King of Norway is Number 65 now. The heiress of the King of Rumania (himself banned by marrying a Catholic) is No 88.

What is your story?

2011-12-05T16:49:00.002Z

One of the things I love to do is to talk with people, and hear their story. Everyone has a story to tell. Sometimes it is the general narration of someone you have just met. Sometimes it is a deeply personal account from a close friend. Triumph, tragedy, interesting anecdote, mutual experience, heart-warming, or tear jerking, the story can feature some or all of these things. By sharing the stories of our lives with each other, we get to know one another more, and we can find common ground as we realise interests and experiences have been shared, we can have the assurance that others have been on a similar journey, and we can share tips and advice one with another. This can be particularly powerful when speaking of the deeper things in life - matters of faith, of love, of life and death.

This weekend, I went to a meeting where someone told his story. I shall not name him; his identity is not relevant here. But at that meeting, I was again reminded of the truths of the preceding paragraph. I came to the meeting expecting to hear from a man of whom I had heard something, but knew little. I left thinking about the experiences of someone who I knew more, but, more importantly, who I felt I understood, who was indeed a sibling in my human existence. I was flushed with the beauty of such commonality, and took something away to meditate on, to act on, and to shape future thinking.

The man who spoke was not someone with whom I can agree one hundred per cent. Differences in outlook were highlighted. But, as I saw his human side, these became, somehow less important. And here, I think is the true benefit of all this. For meeting people and talking with them is not just about nice feelings and the Banbury Man waffling on again telling us to be nice to each other. It strikes me that xenophobia, homophobia, Islamophobia, anti-Semitism, and other form of discrimination become much more difficult to practise when one knows the object of one’s prejudice. It is all very well to read the worse excesses of the press and believe immigrants to be a thoroughly bad lot. It is harder to believe this when one meets an immigrant and hears their story.

So, be it for the sake of friendship, personal interest, warm feeling, or even world peace, take the time out to hear someone’s especially if you know it is a person with whom you do not always agree. You might even learn something about yourself!

Remembrance: what we have forgotten

2011-11-13T08:27:00.002Z

Today in the UK it is Remembrance Sunday. In towns throughtout the land, wreathes of poppies will be laid at memorials. The Queen will lay hers at the Cenotaph in London, remembering those who gave their lives in the two world wars, and other conflicts, defending the liberties we enjoy today. Last Friday, the actual anniversary of the Armistice on 11th November 1918, many paused at 11am for two minutes silence to remember the dead. It is a good and right thing to do.

The First World War, or Great War as it was first called, claimed the life of a young man from nearly every family in the UK. A whole traumatised generation, bereft of much of its men, full of women who would never find husbands, took solace in national annual acts of remembrance which had a bitter personal twist. Later came the Second World War, a more deadly global conflict, but not one so costly in terms of young British life. This was a conflict more of ideals, seen as a battle against an evil ideology in the form of Nazism. Other conflicts have occurred since, some without justice, but all with loss.

I find it hard to know how to respond to Remembrance Day. I have no problem remembering the fallen in the wars, no problem being grateful that I am in a nation that is largely free, such freedom often bought with the blood of soldiers. But Remembrance Day has sometimes had a slight tang of glorifying war about it - more so twenty years ago than today. I think it is not a British day, and nor should it be. On Remembrance Day, I remember all the fallen in the wars. Is a German life worth any less than a British one? Does a German mother grieve less for her son? And what of the civilian who have died in wars? What of the Jews/disabled/homosexuals/gypsies who all perished in death camps during World War Two? What of the thousands who have perished in Iraq to satisfy Western demands for military hegemony?

I remember all the dead on the Remembrance Day. Only then can I be filled with a horror of war, and truly desire peace. Because of this, I do not wear a poppy. I have no problems with those that do, even though it is becoming a necessity to be seen displaying it from the end of October onwards, and anyone daring to appear on television without one is immediately seen as a heartless pacifist. The moment wearing a poppy becomes a duty, we lose some of the freedom that previous men have died for. With, or without a poppy, I remember.

Ropey Soap!

2011-10-18T14:27:00.002+01:00

Yesterday I dropped my soap in the shower. Notwithstanding the fact that dropping soap in the shower is a staple of prison dramas, and, no doubt, various questionable entertainments also, I find nothing at all entertaining about dropping my soap in the shower.

Firstly, you have to bend down in a small space to pick it up. My shower cubicle is not large. It is large enough for me to comfortable shower; I do not find myself feeling cramped, or getting tangled up in the shower hose, despite my traditionally proportioned figure. However, it is not large. It is quite impossible for me to bend over without my body touching the sides. And when a wet body touches cold tiles, it is not a pleasant thing.

Add to this the difficulty of picking up soap in a shower. Hot water rains down on you as you bend over, trying not to slip. At last, having transferred most of your body heat to the walls of the shower, you finally reach out for the soap. And it slips. Usually between your feet and just behind you. You turn around and repeat the painful process, again, with the shock of cold tiles, and hardly able to breathe as hot water runs down your nose, and blood rushes to your head.

After five grabs, the soap is finally obtained. How wonderful it would be if soap were not slippery. You would never drop it. But then, it would not be soapy. Soap is supposed to be slippery. It gets wet, and then it slips. That is what it does. How wonderful it would be if soap were in non-slip shapes. But then all soap ends up the same shape once you have used it a bit. Again, not a triumph. Then I had the brainwave....

What if soap came with some sort of string or rope handle, so you could fasten it to your hand, and lather away without fear of dropping it. I dried myself (a major task) and warmed (literally) to the idea. Then, later on that day, I mentioned it to a friend
"Oh yes, like soap on a rope Yes, of course - everyone used to get that for Christmas.

Frustrated by my lack of orginal thought, and horrified by the memory of foul festive cosmetics, kept in wrapping paper for months, until given to the church for jumble sales or tombola prizes, I returned to the shower this morning and soaped myself somewhat more carefully.

Westfield Stratford

2011-10-10T17:49:00.001+01:00

Westfield has gone east, and opened a new shopping centre in Stratford, between the station (or regional station as we should say) and the new Olympic site. Intrepid as ever, the Banbury Man went to investigate, and see if a new hideout could be added to my London files.

Westfield Stratford is supposed to be the biggest centre in the EU, taking into account the inside and outside portions. It is a crescent shaped (just wait for the Christian Institute and the Daily Mail to hear about that) building with three levels. Outside there are further shops, squaring up the whole arrangement. There is a nice walkway from the regional station, and it is close to Stratford International (where no international trains call).

I do not normally care very much for large shopping centres, but do find them convenient, and a suitable place to shop on cold days. Brent Cross is conveniently near, and, although dour and in the worst seventies style, is a handy place to visit when the local shops of Finchley do not suffice. Westfield Shepherds Bush is a nice shopping centre – airy, well-spaced, a pleasant place to wander, caffeinate, and eat – in short, everything that Westfield Stratford is not. The new building is too dark, too cramped, and rather claustrophobic. There are few escalators, laughably small toilets, and very loud eighties music stifling conversation. It was not particularly busy when I was there, but felt it. Some escalators have vending stalls at the bottom, causing little bottle-necks. There is no large central space, and even the food venues seem pushed out of the way. Outside, a minimalistic black and white setting, replete with lurid begoniae, and, disturbingly, some strange blue and purple glass lights flickering on and off, with speakers reproducing the tinny sound of running water (when not drowned out by Hot Chocolate or Bros).

Perhaps this was not to my taste. Perhaps I had expected something more like Shepherds Bush. But I found this not to be a restful place, and possessed of little architectural or aesthetic charm. This is an opportunity missed, and I shall keep away – even once the shops have all opened. Something nicer near the Olympic site would have been better – perhaps it was designed by the same mind that created the disastrous Olympic logo – I am not sure the 1980’s design of it is retro enough to avoid appearing dated. Best go west!

An Indian Summer

2011-10-03T13:42:00.001+01:00

Whenever there is a warm spell in September or October, everyone starts talking about an Indian summer. This year, in the UK, there has been a particularly hot spell at the end of September, and beginning of October with the warmest ever October day recorded in the UK on 1st October at 29C (85F). As a child, I would hear of Indian summers, and thought it had something to do with the Indian subcontinent, but it is actually a (rather politically-incorrect) term from USA, where it refers to a warm spell after the first initial frosts of autumn. As such, the current spell in UK is not therefore an Indian summer.

All this notwithstanding, the current warm weather is a welcome respite before the damp dark days of autumn. We are possessed of very short memories with reference to the weather. Everyone in the UK is complaining about our dreadful summer, but only August was cooler than usual, and the spring was exceptionally warm. If there is an exceptionally hot or cold day, we instantly blame global warming, rather than the fact that unusual weather can occur at anytime. This is the glory of British weather. Extremes are rare; the climate is drier than most people expect (being much drier than most parts of the USA) but the weather is always famously unpredictable, so that rain, or sunshine, can occur at anytime of the year. I love this climate, and refuse to join those who carp and complain.

So then, a warm spell, with hot nights, humid afternoons, and copious drinks is a suitable farewell to summer. The oddest thing was walking in a hot Holland Park on Saturday evening at around 6pm; it was hot, but leaves were falling and it was getting dark: a strange mix of the seasons. Nicest of all was being able to wear shorts for a few days. Today might be the last day in 2011 I do so, much to the relief of some, and the sorrow of others. Farewell summer!

Why does everyone keep squeezing by me?

2011-09-09T15:52:00.003+01:00

What a good question, madam. Why does everyone keep squeezing by you?

Maybe it is because people don't notice you. You are wearing blue, and the chairs on the bus are blue.

Maybe it is because people don't like you. You do look a bit odd, and that is a big frown on your place.

Maybe it is because people are just inconsiderate. No-one has any respect today. If we brought back National Service, and stopped paying benefits to the poor and needy, and introduced compulsory sterilisation for all council house tenants, people would be more respectful.

Maybe it is because you are blocking the aisle, instead of moving down through the bus where there are seats, and more place to stand. As you have your head in a book and refuse to move, it is difficult for people to squeeze by.

Maybe it is none of these. Maybe it is all of these. I did not stop to discuss it with you, and examine the available evidence. I would have, but you seem a bit angry, and I don't really care. I just want to sit down out of the way instead of blocking the entrance. Maybe everyone else does too.

Salade Canadienne

2011-07-21T21:56:00.003+01:00

As everyone knows, any recipe has to have a French name in order to be taken seriously, and sound suitably poncy and pretentious. Back in Boog days, the in-hall dining experience at RHBNC, sausages would have fried onions put with them, and become sausages lyonnaise, and even cauliflower would be ennobled as cauliflower polonaise, although the sharpest eyes in Athlone Hall could not find anything other than boiled cauli in this dish.

I have therefore named this salad dish Salade Canadienne after the Canadian pal that prepared it in my kitchen when he came to visit. Canadians are an agreeable breed, possessing none of the jingoism of their smaller neighbour to the south, but still appearing exotic and foreign and monstrously demonstrative to English people. Sensibly, they tend, on the whole, to spell things correctly, and succumb to fewer outlandish names for things.

It came as some surprise, therefore, that that rocket (sometimes roquette) is called arugula in Canada, and I cannot begin to imitate the curious emphasis in the way it is pronounced (think oregano). However, odd names notwithstanding, this fiery leaf salad makes a superb starter or light meal, and, with several variations, I have enjoyed it quite a few times since my friend's visit.

Ingredients
A good large helping of rocket/roquette/arugula leaves
Pecan nuts, lightly toasted in a frying pan with a little sugar to caramelise.
A crumbly goats cheese, crumbled into small pieces.
A soft pear, diced.
Dressing

Method
Mix.
Eat.
Enjoy.

Variations
I have eaten this without pear, with feta instead, with walnuts, with raisins. The dressing needs to be a slightly sweet afair, but with some acid - a nice balsamic and pomegranate (Canadian pomegranate) one did the job for me - bought, I am sorry to say.

Let us all hope for more salad days!

Concert Review - Yaniv d'Or

2011-07-21T21:22:00.003+01:00

It has been a long time since I blogged, and one of the reasons is that I have been busy doing things. One of the things I have done was attend a concert by countertenor Yaniv d'Or at the splendid Wigmore Hall, arranged by a Canadian pal who was visiting the Mother Country.

I have always liked the countertenor voice, and hoped that this would be a further feast of favourites, but it was not the usual concert of Handel and Bach operatic and oratorio arias. Berg, Schubert, Wolf featured on the programme. d'Or has a typically pure voice, with a slightly aetherial quality, well-suited to the Berg. I awaited Schubert with some trepidation, thinking that alto lieder should be attempted only by busty contralto hausfraus but it worked so well that I was forced to look at the songs in a new light.

Altogether, I mused smugly during the interval, as I sipped a bottle of water, this was a pleasant discovery. But the second half had more in store, for here, d'Or paired up with the Ensemble NAYA. This is a group formed of viola da gamba, the ridiculously long-necked theorbo, percussion, mandolin, and oud. This unlikely combination accompanied d'Or on Monteverdi, and some traditional Sephardic and Yiddish pieces. For a group so recently formed, they worked well together, and the times of improvisation on solo instrument, accompaniment, and movement between pieces were quite beautiful.
The spiritual pieces were sung with an intensity and sincerity that had the Hall holding its breath and listening in rapt attention. Even the stoniest of hearts was moved by laments of such longing and desolation. In all, I had never heard anything quite like it. d'Or is a name we shall hear more of. I hope we also hear more of Ensemble NAYA - this unusual group, and this talented singer made for a concert that was not just enjoyable, but somehow spiritual. I was, and remain, quite moved.

Privacy

2011-05-28T17:21:00.001+01:00

There has been much talk in the press lately about injunctions, most notably in the case of Ryan Giggs who was eventually named in Parliament by an opportunistic back-bencher. It appears he has been having an affair and had an injunction against the media from reporting it.

There are several things to note here. Firstly, if one is put in the spotlight as a celebrity, for whatever cause, one has to expect that details from one’s private life will become known to many, perhaps to the nation. It is only to be expected. Indeed, many celebrities court the media, and so they must expect to burn their fingers while they play with fire.

However, when should something remain private? Does the fact that Ryan Giggs was having an affair relate at all to his playing of football? I think not. It is, quite simply, irrelevant. I was quite surprised at the venom showed to Tiger Woods after details of his numerous liaisons came out – the media and population as a whole can be very self-righteous. Now, if there are allegations of corruption or bribery attached to an affair, it can be different. At the time John Major, Prime Minister of the day, was putting forward an agenda of “back to basics” and a return to traditional family values, he was committing adultery with a married member of his cabinet. That too is a public matter, I would suggest. However, the sex lives of celebrities, football players, actors/actresses and even politicians, should, I believe, remain private – irrespective of whether I personally agree or disagree with their lifestyle. It simply does not matter. So a football player has an affair. So what? Can he play football? That is the question.

Osama bin Laden

2011-05-28T17:15:00.001+01:00

I have not blogged much lately, and one or two matters of import have occurred about which, naturally, I have an opinion. So, out of time or no, I shall have my say here...

By now, the news is old that Bin Laden was captured and killed in Pakistan. At the time, there were mixed reactions. Some celebrated the fact that he was dead – even rejoicing, although they were the first to criticise those who rejoiced in the 11/9 atrocities at the World Trade Centre and elsewhere. Others felt there were sinister movements afoot, and that he had not been killed, and this was encouraged by the botched attempts of the American military to downplay their gun-ho approach. Yet others quoted Martin Luther King, and then spent time arguing about whether the quote given had been wrongly attributed.

There is not much for me to say. For all Bin Laden did, and his involvement in many deaths and much hatred around the world, he was a human being, and I regret the typically heavy-handed tactics of the US army. Only one man ever brought good by his death. I mourn the death of yet another person in these wars of hatred in which we find ourselves. To have brought Bin Laden to justice through an international court, although not without its dangers, would have been far more satisfactory. That said, I cannot but be relieved that he is no longer alive to vent his hatred, although I suspect others will place him.

Not a win-win situation for anyone it appears. I want peace. More deaths do not bring it.

A mathematical problem

2011-05-27T22:43:00.003+01:00

When I lived in Banbury, if I had to wait less than 20 minutes for a bus or a train, I counted myself lucky. Living in London, if I wait more than five minutes for either, I start wondering what is going on, and if there is a problem on the line. One of the glories, and the irritations of my local tubeline, the Northern Line, is that there are two branches. This means that you very often have to wait for the second, or even the third train, to get you where you are going. About a year ago, I commented to a friend that it always seemed to be the second train I had to catch, and rarely the first. Moreover, I declared that my branch (High Barnet branch) of the line seemed to have more trains going via Bank, than via Charing Cross. My friend pointed out, not unreasonably, that I was more likely to remember a frustrated five minute wait for a second train, than I was to remember walking onto the first train that arrived.

The gauntlet was thrown. In order to prove the truth of what I said, I purposed to make a note, each time I caught a southbound train from Finchley Central, of which train came first. This would not only help, I thought, to prove me right once again, but also to give me an opportunity to get the truth out there, and also demonstrate I am not totally opposed to mathematics and statistics, soulless though those sciences undoubtedly are. Here are my findings:

I recorded 100 journeys from Finchley Central. 68 of those journeys I wished to go via Bank. Of the Bank journeys, on 20 occasions I caught the first train, and 48 occasions I caught the second train.

32 journeys were made via Charing Cross. Five times I caught the first train, 21 times I caught the second train, and on six occasions, it was the third train I caught.

Therefore, out of the hundred journeys, on only 25 occasions did I join the first train that came along – a nice and tidy one in four. I was three times more likely to get the train first time for the Bank branch, and it seems obvious that there are more Bank trains therefore – which is good, as two thirds of my journey prefer that branch.

What I cannot understand, however, is why I managed to get the first train so few times. I cannot pin down a regular time for me to catch a train, nor can is there a pattern as to when I like to travel to each branch. Is there a mathematical reason for this? I think a sample of 100 journeys seems to be enough to show a pattern. Or is this just a statistical blip? Either way, it all seems a bit beyond my CSE maths. Any answers anyone?

Heading off to Banburyshire

2011-05-27T22:43:00.001+01:00

Today I am on a train to Banbury. I love living in London; it is my home now, I work there, have friends there, go to church there. But there is something special about coming to Banbury. It is my homeland.

Yes or No

2011-05-05T13:42:00.001+01:00

Rarely for me has a political decision been reached with such difficulty. The referendum on the voting system takes place today, and I have wrangled with the arguments for some weeks.

Firstly, I need to tell Christians that this is not about the AV. Apparently, thousands of change-phobic Christians have been campaigning yes to AV in the belief that the King James version of the bible will be restored to their churches. Quite apart from the anomaly that such people are actually saying yes to anything, they are unwittingly campaigning to change our voting system.

I will not go into how First Past the Post (FPTP), Alternative Voting (AV), or Proportional Representation (PR) work. There are leaflets and you-tube videos ad nauseam about this. What I will do is state why I have come to the conclusion I have.

My conclusion is that a no vote is the best way forward. This kind of goes against the grain, especially as the Conservatives are also campaigning no, but I cannot let a hatred of Conservatism guide what I should do.

Here are my reasons, in no particular order:

1. AV means that some people get their vote counted more than once, some get their counted only once.
2. AV often leads to anomalies, such as that in Australia where the party that came third in the election is in power.
3. AV has only been adopted by 4 countries. 32 have rejected it in referenda.
4. AV will only affect about 15% of constituencies and will little change the outcome in the rest.
5. A change to AV now will put to bed electoral reform for years to come, meaning better systems (like PR) will not be adopted.
6. The referendum has been arranged at fairly short notice, without a commission being set up to investigate, and only as a condition of the LibCon/ConDem coalition.
7. The referendum also seems to be change for the sake of change, particularly following the expenses scandal.
8. The complications of AV will actually make fewer people understand our electoral system, and make fewer people feel their vote counts. AV has led to a drop in voter turnout in all countries where it has been adopted. In my view, poor voter turnout is the biggest problem in UK politics.

I do not say there are no benefits. But I believe these disadvantages far outweigh them. Please, if you have not voted, think hard.

Blue Peter Tea Bread Recipe

2011-03-29T21:41:00.002+01:00

This is one of my favourite recipes, and I got it off Blue Peter in the mide 1980's. It is so simple, and very good. The result is a firm cake/bread that is fat free. The cup used is not a typical kitchen measuring cup, but is a teacup (not mug) size.

Ingredients

2 cups raisins
1 cup sugar (soft brown is best, but you can use normal granulated sugar)
1 cup of hot strong black tea
2 cups self-raising flour
1 egg

Put the sugar and raisins in a bowl. Pour over the hot tea, and soak for 15 minutes.
Stir in the flour. Beat in the egg. Pour into a greased two pound loaf tin and bake in a preheated oven at 190C (or equivalent) until a skewer comes out clean - about 50 minutes.

Lovely sliced with butter. Try adding mixed spice, or using earl grey tea for an alternative.

Lovely :-)

Consort Queens of England Quiz

2011-03-21T22:39:00.000Z

Here a list of facts about the queen consorts of England since 1066. I have tried to find facts that unique to each – although a couple of questions will have more than one right answer. However, there is one way to successfully tick all the queens off the list.

– never once set foot in England.
– a famous kleptomaniac who stole ornaments and jewellery from every house she stayed in.
– persuaded her husband to start a war that cost him his head.
– born Edith, daughter of a saint, brought up by a nun.
– brought Calais to the English crown.
– the first queen to be previously married to a prince of Wales. He was not the husband she became queen by.
– the second queen to be previously married to a prince of Wales. He was not the husband she became queen by.
– Queen consort for 57 years.
– daughter of the King of Naples and Jerusalem.
– turned down a proposal from her husband who turned up to church, dragged her out, left her in the gutter, and purportedly left with her heart.
– imprisoned for witchcraft.
– did not consummate her marriage to the king.
– a wife but not queen, she bore her first child at twelve.
– another wife but not queen, she never came to England. Her husband divorced and imprisoned her for 32 years for adultery.
– another wife but not queen, she produced eight children in eight years for her husband, and persuade him to convert to Catholicism.
– had a palace named after her.
– daughter of a previous king.
– queen for a thousand days, her sister had previously been mistress to her king.
– niece of her predecessor. Took an active part in murdering her husband.
– had a brother called King Wenceslas.
- jilted her fiancée at the age of twelve to marry the king. Married her fiancee’s son sixteen years later.
– queen at five, widowed at ten, married again, died at twenty.
– was unable to walk until she was nine years old
– famously the first queen to live for 100 years.
– brought Bombay as her dowry, England’s first possession in India.
– brought the largest English inheritance to the crown.
– forty-three years younger than her husband.
– married to the king in secret; he only owned up to his councillors when she became pregnant.
– her life in danger in childbirth, her husband was asked to save either her life or her child. He chose the child.
– a grandmother at thirty-six, she famously pleaded for the life of six burghers of Calais.
– married in proxy, with her husband’s illegitimate son escorting her to England.
– sister of a previous queen. After being widowed, she secretly married her groom and founded a dynasty.
– married at eighteen, she was cousin to a predecessor and shared her fate.
- married to provide her husband with an heir. Married to him for fourteen years with no children, then remarried and produced seven children.
– only Italian queen of England.
– slept with her husband once on her wedding night and produced a daughter nine months later. He had the doors of Westminster Abbey shut in her face at his coronation.
– married four times, the king in question being her third husband.
- one of four daughters who were all queens.
– married firstly to the king of France, and she owned more of France than he did.
– had seventeen children and has a London railway terminus named after her.
– brought up in the court of her stepfather who tried to poison her.

Here is a list of consort queens of England. You get a point for marrying them to the right king, and an extra point for matching her up to the right fact:

Matilda of Flanders
Matilda of Scotland
Adelicia of Louvain
Matilda of Boulogne
Eleanor of Provence
Berengaria of Navarre
Avisa of Gloucester
Isabella of Angouleme
Eleanor of Provence
Eleanor of Castile
Margaret of France
Isabella of France
Philippa of Hainault
Anne of Bohemia
Isabella of Valois
Mary de Bohun
Joanna of Navarre
Katherine of Valois
Margaret of Anjou
Elizabeth Woodville
Anne Neville
Elizabeth of York
Katherine of Aragon
Anne Boleyn
Jane Seymour
Anne of Cleves
Katherine Howard
Katherine Parr
Anne of Denmark
Henrietta Maria of France
Katherine of Braganza
Anne Hyde
Mary of Modena
Sophia Dorothea of Celle
Caroline of Ansbach
Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz
Caroline of Brunswick
Adelaide of Saxe-Meiningen
Alexandra of Denmark
Mary of Teck
Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon

Answers will be posted in a few days.

Lambing 2011 - day 10, the last day

2011-03-06T14:17:00.001Z

Day 10 was the last day. I had got up in the night and carried out an uneventful three am check, and therefore emerged at about ten am, to find nothing of note occurring, and indeed, the sheep were all sweetness and light, enjoying their newer quarters still, and giving very little cause for concern (except Inky, who was looking down in the mouth, but otherwise unsuspicious). It was therefore time to pack, reflect upon the stay, and get ready to catch the 17.39 to London (the last train to London) which was a six hour marathon journey away.

Only seven out of thirteen ewes lambed while I was there – meaning I left them almost two weeks overdue. This was unusual and made me feel I had not done much to earn my keep. That said, sheep and lambs had needed feeding and moving, and I had carried out some late night checks, so I guess I had been of some use. The trip was, as ever, a good chance to catch up with the Farming Family who I had known for about seventeen years. It is a good time of the year to take a break – there are not hordes of tourists around, it is a warm and fresh break at a gloomy time of year, and it is so utterly different from my usual existence. It would be mistaken to say I could always live in the country – I have a healthy fear of spiders, and get exhausted much more quickly than my rural brethren when heaving around is required but I enjoy the time, and it reminds me of a different way of life that we have forgotten as we purchase our wrapped items from sterile supermarkets. Someone, somewhere, is growing veg and fruit, and nursing animals to fill our plates. We all rely on farming. It was good to see where some of my food comes from.

An announcement is made

2011-03-05T21:12:00.001Z

As the train begins to pull out of Penzance:

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is your train manager speaking. Welcome aboard the delayed 17.39 service to London Paddington. This train calls at St Erth for St Ives, Hayle, Camborne, Redruth, Truro, St Austell, Par for Newquay, Bodmin Parkway, Liskeard for Looe, Plymouth, Totnes, Newton Abbott, Exeter St Davids, Tiverton Parkway, Taunton, Bristol Temple Meads, Bath Spa, Chippenham, Swindon, Didcot Parkway, and arriving into Reading at 23.06 and London Paddington at sometime around 23.50. First class accommodation is situated in the front of the train in coaches F, G, and H, standard class accommodation may be found in coaches A through to E in the rear of the train. Passengers in coach B have access to entertainment screens and on screen safety bulletins throughout the journey. Coaches A in Standard Class and F in First Class have been designated as Quiet Carriages. Please do not use mobile telephones in these carriages and keep noise levels here to a minimum. Safety cards are displayed by all seats. Please study these carefully. These are also available in Braille – please stop me as you see me passing through the train if you wish to have one of these. This is an important security announcement. Please keep all your luggage and belongings with you at any time. Unattended items may cause delays to the service. If you see any unattended items, or witness any suspicious behaviour at any point throughout your journey, please alert one of the onboard staff members immediately. We are sorry that this train is running approximately ten [actually it was eighteen] minutes late. This is due to the late running of the previous service. Thank you for travelling with First Great Western.

One minute later:

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is the steward speaking. I would like to inform all customers that the Express Cafe is open for the duration of tonight’s journey and offers a selection of hot and cold meals and snacks, confectionary, tea, coffee, hot and cold drinks, beers and other items. The Express Cafe is situated between standard and first class accommodation in coach F. Please note that as we do not have an oven on board tonight, we are not offering meals or hot snacks.

One minute later:

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is the train manager speaking. We shall shortly be arriving into St Erth. St Erth is our next station stop. Please change at St Erth for stations to St Ives. Please note that this station is formed of short platforms. Customers in coaches A, B, and C should make their way to coach D to alight. When leaving the train, please ensure that you have all your belongings with you, and take care to mind the gap between the train and the platform edge. Thank you for travelling with First Great Western. We wish you a safe and pleasant onward journey.

One minute later:

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is your train manager speaking. Welcome aboard the delayed 17.49 service to London Paddington. This train calls at Hayle, Camborne, Redruth, Truro, St Austell, Par for Newquay, Bodmin Parkway, Liskeard for Looe, Plymouth, Totnes, Newton Abbott, Exeter St Davids, Tiverton Parkway, Taunton, Bristol Temple Meads, Bath Spa, Chippenham, Swindon, Didcot Parkway, and arriving into Reading at 23.06 and London Paddington at sometime around 23.50. First class accommodation is situated in the front of the train in coaches F, G, and H, standard class accommodation may be found in coaches A through to E in the rear of the train. Passengers in coach B have access to entertainment screens and on screen safety bulletins throughout the journey. Coaches A in Standard Class and F in First Class have been designated as Quiet Carriages. Please do not use mobile telephones in these carriages and keep noise levels here to a minimum. Safety cards are displayed by all seats. Please study these carefully. These are also available in Braille – please stop me as you see me passing through the train if you wish to have one of these. This is an important security announcement. Please keep all your luggage and belongings with you at any time. Unattended items may cause delays to the service. If you see any unattended items, or witness any suspicious behaviour at any point throughout your journey, please alert one of the onboard staff members immediately. We are sorry that this train is running approximately ten [actually it was eighteen] minutes late. This is due to the late running of the previous service. Thank you for travelling with First Great Western.

One minute later:

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is the train manager speaking. We shall shortly be arriving into Hayle. Hayle is our next station stop. Please note that this station is formed of short platforms. Customers in coaches G and H should make their way to coach F to alight. When leaving the train, please ensure that you have all your belongings with you, and take care to mind the gap between the train and the platform edge. Thank you for travelling with First Great Western. We wish you a safe and pleasant onward journey.

One minute later:

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is your train manager speaking. Welcome aboard the delayed 17.53 service to London Paddington. This train calls at Camborne, Redruth, Truro, St Austell, Par for Newquay, Bodmin Parkway, Liskeard for Looe, Plymouth, Totnes, Newton Abbott, Exeter St Davids, Tiverton Parkway, Taunton, Bristol Temple Meads, Bath Spa, Chippenham, Swindon, Didcot Parkway, and arriving into Reading at 23.06 and London Paddington at sometime around 23.50. First class accommodation is situated in the front of the train in coaches F, G, and H, standard class accommodation may be found in coaches A through to E in the rear of the train. Passengers in coach B have access to entertainment screens and on screen safety bulletins throughout the journey. Coaches A in Standard Class and F in First Class have been designated as Quiet Carriages. Please do not use mobile telephones in these carriages and keep noise levels here to a minimum. Safety cards are displayed by all seats. Please study these carefully. These are also available in Braille – please stop me as you see me passing through the train if you wish to have one of these. This is an important security announcement. Please keep all your luggage and belongings with you at any time. Unattended items may cause delays to the service. If you see any unattended items, or witness any suspicious behaviour at any point throughout your journey, please alert one of the onboard staff members immediately. We are sorry that this train is running approximately ten [actually it was eighteen] minutes late. This is due to the late running of the previous service. Thank you for travelling with First Great Western.

One minute later:

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is the steward speaking. I would like to inform all customers that the Express Cafe is open for the duration of tonight’s journey and offers a selection of hot and cold meals and snacks, confectionary, tea, coffee, hot and cold drinks, beers and other items. The Express Cafe is situated between standard and first class accommodation in coach F. Please note that as we do not have an oven on board tonight, we are not offering meals or hot snacks.

One minute later:

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is the train manager speaking. We shall shortly be arriving into Camborne. Camborne is our next station stop. Please note that this station is formed of short platforms. Customers in coaches G and H should make their way to coach F to alight. When leaving the train, please ensure that you have all your belongings with you, and take care to mind the gap between the train and the platform edge. Thank you for travelling with First Great Western. We wish you a safe and pleasant onward journey.

Two minutes later:

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is your train manager speaking. Welcome aboard the delayed 18.02 service to London Paddington. This train calls at Redruth, Truro, St Austell, Par for Newquay, Bodmin Parkway, Liskeard for Looe, Plymouth, Totnes, Newton Abbott, Exeter St Davids, Tiverton Parkway, Taunton, Bristol Temple Meads, Bath Spa, Chippenham, Swindon, Didcot Parkway, and arriving into Reading at 23.06 and London Paddington at sometime around 23.50. First class accommodation is situated in the front of the train in coaches F, G, and H, standard class accommodation may be found in coaches A through to E in the rear of the train. Passengers in coach B have access to entertainment screens and on screen safety bulletins throughout the journey. Coaches A in Standard Class and F in First Class have been designated as Quiet Carriages. Please do not use mobile telephones in these carriages and keep noise levels here to a minimum. Safety cards are displayed by all seats. Please study these carefully. These are also available in Braille – please stop me as you see me passing through the train if you wish to have one of these. This is an important security announcement. Please keep all your luggage and belongings with you at any time. Unattended items may cause delays to the service. If you see any unattended items, or witness any suspicious behaviour at any point throughout your journey, please alert one of the onboard staff members immediately. We are sorry that this train is running approximately ten [actually it was eighteen] minutes late. This is due to the late running of the previous service. Thank you for travelling with First Great Western.

One minute later, I decide that with six hours and eighteen more intermediate stations before I reach London Paddington, to ignore the announcements, unless the command to “brace, brace, brace” is given.

Lambing 2011 - day 9

2011-03-05T21:07:00.000Z

Day 9 was a lovely sunny and bright day. Nothing was happening with the sheep who were very happy in their pre-natal quarters. We moved them into the upper pre-natal ward which was smaller and more suitable for their diminished numbers. We hoped the resulting fuss and jockeying for position in the new ward might result in a labour or two. The larger middle labour ward was now ready to be emptied out of about eight inches of straw/manure and then strawed up for mothers and lambs from the post-natal ward. However, before this could be done, the manure pit needed to be emptied out onto the garden for the summer, to make room for this new batch, so Assistant Shepherd and Co-Lamber got on with this task. Shamefully, I had forgotten to set my alarm and did not wake up until 11am. At this point, everyone was in the post-natal ward, tagging and tailing sheep.

Every sheep born on the farm has a lot of numbers. Some of these are requirements of legislation, and have to be tattooed inside the ear. Some, although part of this, are local to the farm for identification purposes. Each year, starting with the letter a, the lambs are numbered in the order of their birth. Then a colour is assigned for each year, beginning with the requisite letter. When I first started lambing, we were at the letter I – Indigo. Each lamb would have a colour tag fitted eventually in the main primary colour and with the number. We journeyed through jade, khaki, and lemon, and, finally, in the last few years, we had gone back through the alphabet to sweep up unused letters, resulting in Quartz, aZure, and Xanthic (yellow). The idea is to start the letters again.

When lambs are part of a multiple birth (which most will be), the first lamb born has a dab of blue sprayed on its head, with red for the second and green for the third. Orange is used for quads, but, generally, with quads, it is rare for all to be alive. Triplets themselves are a bit of a disaster, as one at least will need to be fed to prevent one weakening due to lack of milk. So, once in the post-natal ward, the lambs have their numbers sprayed on their backs in blue, and the lambs’ numbers are sprayed on the mothers too. This helps to identify everyone easily.

At this point, tails are also castrated. If this is not done, sheep would generally have a tail that reaches well below their knees. Such a long tail soon gets soiled and tatty. By fitting a tight plastic ring to the tail in the first week of life (which sounds painful but is not), the tail is shorted as the last bit dies and falls off. There are rules about when this should be done (first week of life) and the length a tail can be shorted to is determined by sex and breed. The newer Portland breed has longer tails prescribed than the older Texel breed that was previously the mainstay of the farm.

Tagging and tailing is also a good opportunity to look out for common disorders in the lambs and their mothers. At one time, many of the lambs suffered from entropion, where the eyelashes turn inwards, and this can result in cloudy eyes and eventually blindness if not immediately treated. Luckily, this has been bred out on the farm. If a lamb (typically a single lamb) feeds and grows very fast, it can become gangly due to a selenium deficiency. Again, this has not happened in recent years, particularly with the smaller Portland breed. Dirty bottoms, uneaten concentrates, and indifferent mothers can all be spotted and observed at this stage too. Happily, most lambs, within three or four days of birth, are becoming increasingly curious and saucy, and start springing around and looking much larger than their younger brethren.

Satisfied that no one was in labour, we took a trip to the nearby Trengwainton national trust property and enjoyed a walk around some rather more impressive gardens and a lovely sit in a very warm sun. Later that evening, one ewe did go into labour, and, once ensconced in the labour ward, duly produced a large ewe lamb with no difficulties whatsoever. This is a Good Thing.

The Ginsters Christian

2011-03-05T12:20:00.000Z

Cornish pasties are a wonderful food. Great slabs of pastry, crimped along the side with a knot at one end, cover over piles of swede, potato, and steak. These are meals in themselves, and, when eaten hot but not piping, are a heart-warming repast for a hungry worker. Of course, all sorts of things are called Cornish pasty. It is possible to buy globs of cat-food sealed in a pastry case that is crimped along the top. In fact the tradition in eastern Cornwall and Devon is to crimp the pasty on the top. Ginsters is probably the most famous widely available brand, and do indeed seem to contain the right ingredients, although not in the least resembling the real thing in taste or texture.

In the news this week came tidings that the Cornish pasty has been given a protected status, much in the way that champagne, Brie, crème-fraiche d’Isigny and Melton Mowbray pies have. All pasties called Cornish now have to be crimped on the side, contain the key ingredients, and be made in Cornwall. Ginsters have cleverly placed their factory just over the border in Cornwall, so, amazingly, their product is entitled to be called Cornish pasty.

I went to church with the Farming Family this week, which was also a useful opportunity to check up on the progress of my two godsons. This was a new church to me, and I was very impressed with the set up, the faithfulness of proceedings, the obvious energy and commitment, and a passion for outreach that shames most churches. The sermon concerned the Ginsters Christian, and focussed on the importance of authenticity in the Christian’s life. The news of the week about pasties fell into the preacher’s lap, and he asked us if we are real of if we are Ginsters (which no Cornishman would ever regard as real, European rulings notwithstanding) Christians, and providing useful illustrations from the call of Peter and his cronies. I found it all distinctly uncomfortable and not a little pointed, which is, of course, a Good Thing. Are you Ginsters or the real thing?

Lmabing 2011 - day 8

2011-03-05T12:15:00.000Z

Lambing today was a much quieter affair. All three sheep were lamb-napped into the post-natal ward, and we cleaned out the pens in the labour ward ready for the new patients. Apart from this, the sun began to shine in strength, so we took a trip into Penzance, and visited Morrab Gardens. As I am usually in Cornwall for the lambing season, I rarely get to make trips anywhere – we are usually dependent on the sheep and there is usually too much to do, and too much rain to make any sort of outing possible. Morrab Gardens, in the centre of Penzance, is a free park, billing itself as sub-tropical, and it certainly is that. Much of the south west of England boasts palm trees, and, the south west tip of Cornwall very rarely gets a frost in the winter – although the record-breaking -10 (16F) temperatures of last winter had taken their toll. There were camellia and magnolia in bud and slight bloom, ferns, palms, mulberry bamboo and a little pond with huge clusters of frog and toad spawn, some of which was about to hatch out. It was a very pleasant walk through the park – and nice to feel some sun on one’s face. But with regard to sheep, this was a very quiet day.

Lambing 2011 - day 7

2011-03-02T21:46:00.000Z

At 5am, I rose and went to check the goings on. I bottle-fed the lamb (actually, alas, in my drowsy state, the wrong one), and went to the labour ward to check on Faker. We had been a little concerned about her showing all the signs of labour but not progressing. This was perhaps more than just annoying – a previous sheep who had done this was found to have interlocking triplets, that had been dead for some time and were putrescent – not an outcome any of us relished.

However, Faker had lived well and truly up to her name, and was in her labour ward with two lovely well-licked and contented lambs, and moreover had delivered her afterbirth, so there was clearly no need to check for further lambs. Although we would have wanted to be there and also spray the navel (this is done one birth, with a purple spray, to prevent infection), this was a Good Result.

Alas, I spent the rest of the day feeling most tired after a two hour night! I was rather pleased that no further lambing occurred after such a busy night.

Lambing 2011 - day 6

2011-03-01T20:20:00.001Z

This was a much more typical day. In the morning, we fed the sheep, who were all cheery, with the suspicious exception, and checked everyone out and an easy morning followed. Just at lunchtime, one of the sheep began to show signs of being in labour – she was lying on the ground, pushing her foot out and clearly having contractions. Although no sign of membranes was forthcoming, we decided to move her across due to the frequency of these contractions. She did Not Want to go, and went with some heaving and pushing.

Once safely in the labour ward, her heaving and pushing stopped, and she bellowed angrily at the indignity inflicted upon her. This does sometimes happen, due to the upset, so we left her and hurried in for some lunch. At feeding time, at 4pm, she still was not progressing very much but was labouring on so we left her and fed the sheep, noting that Faker was not eating much.

I got on with preparing some dinner while Chief Shepherd went to fetch Tall Friend from the station. As soon as we had dinner, we then moved Faker into the labour ward. She too did not want to come but did nonetheless get moved over, and, as I write, is there having a glaring match with the other occupant of the labour ward. Meanwhile, the ante-natal ward seems to have been disturbed by all these goings on and needs to be left to rest and gossip. So, with a spot of lamb-napping to make free another bed in the labour ward, we retired to tell stories of Albanian royalty in the lounge.

At 11pm, I performed the night check to find one sheep pushing out a large bag, with a head and only one foot in it, and Faker faking as ever. I hastily awoke and summoned Chief Shepherd and we arrive at the labour ward just in time to see a lamb springing forth – one foot back but safe nonetheless. The mother was a very good one, and immediately began to lick her lamb – this removes the birth fluids from it, warms it up, stimulates the breathing, and aids to bond mother to the lamb. However, within fifteen minutes, mother began to be distracted and it was clear another lamb was on the way. Eventually, Chief Shepherd inspected and found a lamb presenting upside down and with its head back. Once this was altered, the lamb was soon delivered at five to midnight. Mother had difficulty multi-tasking with two bleating lambs, but, with a little towelling assistance, soon had them dry and happy.

Meanwhile, Faker continued to labour in a most unconvincing way, but nonetheless distinctly pushing and panting. As it was nearly one am, we decided that everyone could be left until I got up for the three am shift, which we moved to five am. So, tired, and succoured by a ginger drink, I retired, and promptly fell asleep without fitting my mask (a Bad Thing).

Lambing 2011 - day 5

2011-02-28T19:48:00.000Z

During the night, another sheep lambed in the pre-natal ward, producing a large ram lamb, and then was led to the labour ward, where a little ewe lamb was delivered with some assistance. This all happened at three am, which is not how it should be. This particular sheep has an enormously enlarged udder, which, unfortunately, was only giving milk on one side, so these two lambs need supplementary feeding every few hours. If she had had one lamb it would have been ok, but two lambs fighting over one teat is not suitable.

I was, happily, sleeping through all this, and spent the day going to church, and eating, which is how things are on Sunday in west Cornwall. Altogether, a lovely day, although I did nothing with the sheep other than check the pre-natal ward a few times.

Lambing 2011 - day 4

2011-02-28T12:02:00.000Z

Day 4 was the first sunny day of the lambing season. It was nice to move around the farm and be able to see across the valley. I had been on the 11pm watch the night before, and I will explain what this involves. Throughout the day and night, someone needs to check the pre-natal pen to see if any of the sheep are in labour, and, if they are, to transfer them across to the labour ward, where they can be under closer supervision and give birth in cleaner circumstances. Sometimes you find a ewe with a membrane bag dangling, or lying on the ground pushing hard. But often it is less obvious. They might be off their food at feeding time. They may have demanded and obtained a corner of the pen, even if they are relatively low in the pecking order. Eyes might be a little wider and staring, cud will not be chewed, and they may lift their upper lip or grind their teeth. Some sheep are far less obvious, and so, at my 11pm watch, I stood and watched them for some fifteen minutes as Faker, who likes to imitate the upper lip movement, was playing up, but she began to fall asleep, so I could do the same too. I went up to bed, hoping the 3am watch would be quiet for the Young Miss.

In the morning, we lamb-napped the ewes from the labour ward over the tractor shed. The lambing shed has five pens, and is warm, and kept relatively clean and sterile. Once the lambs are dry, suckling happily, and mother is used to them, which generally takes the best part of the day, they are moved over to individual pens in the tractor shed, to continue bonding with the mother. The lambs are carried over to the shed, bottoms held aloft, and at mother eye level. The mothers generally bellow and follow, full of indignation that this atrocity, thought to be scaremongering from the older ewes, is indeed perpetrated.

After sheep are transferred, the beds in the labour ward need preparing for the next patient. Dirty straw is sacked up, buckets of disinfectant water are poured over the walls and floor, and all is scrubbed ready for the next patient. This done, I took an afternoon nap, peeled 15lb of potatoes, and helped prepare sausage and mash for supper before acts of beer in front of Zoolander.

Lambing 2011 - day 3

2011-02-26T20:42:00.000Z

Day 3 began with the discovery of general chaos as a lamb which had naughtily been born in the main barn, wandered up and down the pathway there, unable to get back into the main pen, much to the distress of its bellowing mother, and annoyance of the other ewes, who consider this a disgrace at 7am, and want to return to sitting around feeling fat, thank you very much.

Chief Shepherd hastily picked up the lamb, put his bottom under the nose of mother (which is the way sheep identify their lambs, by sniffing their bottoms), and she followed her into the lambing shed. The rest of the pre-natal ward settled down, protesting about such noise at such an hour. I was summoned and came and held the sheep while her second lamb was sorted out. As I have said, lambs should come with their head and two feet first. This one was coming the right way round, but with the head back. It therefore had to be pushed back in (against powerful contractions pushing it out), corrected, and, due to its size and the longer labour, ropes were tied around the feet to bring it out. It did not respond at all when being repulsed (they usually suckle on a finger) so we had supposed it was dead, but it came to life, and was another fine boy – 10 and 8 pounds. The mother was a particularly sensible and matter of fact ewe who pushed well, licked her lambs well (this drys and warms them, stimulates them to breathe, and bonds the mother and lamb) and was most attentive. Not very straightforward but not too disastrous.

The rest of the day was spent in reading, writing, and generally chastising the occupants of the pre-natal pen, who, while occasionally acting slightly suspiciously, generally sat around getting fatter, dirtying the pen, and showing no sign of getting on with it and producing lambs!

Silly Statements

2011-02-25T19:07:00.001Z

Here are some silly things I have seen and heard lately:

“More fun, less emissions” – written ad nauseam on various adverts for the latest Fiat confection. Less, or fewer?

“We serve alcohol only between 10am and 8pm” -written in Sainsburys at Paddington station. It is a good job I had gone in for my sandwich before 10am!

“The cold plunge at saunas should only ever be attempted by persons who have successfully plunged before without ill effect” – instructions at the local swimming baths, for a dying breed of plungers.

“Vote Liberal Democrat” – seen in many places. I have no explanation for this one.

“Prayer meeting at 9pm. All are warmly welcome” – various church notices on a newssheet. Warmly welcome? Will be warmly welcomed?

“Please note that this is the Paignton train, not the Bristol train as per the platform screens. If you want the Bristol train, please leave and proceed to platform four.” – an announcement on my train to Cornwall as it was pulling out of Reading station.

“The seven o’clock news follows this programme at seven o’clock tonight on Channel 4.” A helpful announcement.

“This train is being held at a red signal. We are expecting this signal to change”. We passengers breathed a sigh of relief at this glimmer of hope.

Lambing 2011 - Day 2

2011-02-25T18:43:00.001Z

Day two of lambing, and, with some excitement, things began to get underway. In the evening, one of the sheep, one wearing a pessary due to a previous prolapsed, showed signs of being in labour. Due to the pessary, she needed to be moved to the lambing shed quickly. A pen was duly made ready, and we all dressed up, excited by the possibility of something to do at last. However, as we hurried into the barn, it became clear that all that was really up was a touch of constipation, and the potential mother was busy settling into a corner and eating hay, casting a sweet but mocking glance at us.

A peaceful and uneventful night followed, as did feeding in the morning. I sat inside massacring some Handel on the piano, and Chief Shepherd went out to check on the mothers, and shimmy them along. Alarmingly, she discovered a ewe with a breech lamb protruding. This is pretty disastrous. Lambs need to come out with their forelegs and heads first. Any other position is in danger of not being delivered at all. If the lamb is a breech, with the back legs coming first, then the lamb, which needs to breathe as soon as it passes through the pelvis. If it is not born immediately, it has a very good chance of dying – especially as it is usually in distress due to a long labour. Miraculously, the lamb was pulled out, and was alive, and soon recovered. However, the ewe then pushed out her afterbirth and uterus. This is nothing much short of a calamity. I was hastily summoned to hold the sheep while attempts were made to pull the afterbirth away, and push the uterus back in. The Young Miss called the vet, and I held the uterus in while Chief Shepherd attached a pessary (it looks like a plastic coathanger) and attempted it to tie around the sheep.

Two lady vets duly turned up, gave her an epidural, stitched her up, and praised the efforts of Chief Shepherd. The ewe, a first time mother, was utterly bewildered by the whole affair, and later, had to be shown how to suckle her lamb, a fine large girl of ten pounds. This does seem to be a bit of a happy ending to a rather calamitous birth – not the best way to start the lambing season

Lambing 2011 - Day 1

2011-02-23T16:35:00.000Z

Lambing season is here again, and, as I have often done, the Banbury Man has journeyed down to Cornwall to stay with some friends on their farm, and help out a little. Cornwall is always an exciting journey, and, carless as I am, this was a journey undertaken by train. I travelled in some comfort on an express from London Paddington to Exeter, but then on a two-coach rattly thing all the way from Exeter to Penzance. Really, First Great Western, three hours on such a tiny train is not good enough. People were standing all the way until Truro, and then from Camborne onwards. Cornwall is not a branch line!

Anyway, I am now safely at the farm, being subjected to lovely home cooking, acts of beer, the Cocktail Hour, and generally feeding, strawing, and haying the pregnant ewes, who enjoy the service, and, despite being a few days overdue, have decided to stay on the pre-natal ward, and wait a bit to produce their lambs. I have duly had strict words with them, and threatened all manner of withholding of treats, and also told them about the super new roof and extra comfort in the labour ward, but, as yet, to no avail. So it is back to blogging, reading, playing the piano, and being terrorised by two of my godsons. More lambing news will follow, I hope.

Salt or mothballs?

2011-02-23T15:04:00.001Z

Christians are called to be salt. This does not mean, or course, that they must transform themselves into white crystals, and go around raising the blood pressure of those they come into contact with, but it is rather the qualities of salt that they must imitate.

Salt preserves. It stops things going off. It halts infection, corruption, and putrefaction. In the days before refrigeration, it was a valuable and vital commodity. It bought food to the table that would simply not have been available. So Christians should preserve too. They should help to stop that which rots and decays. When society is in danger of infection, they can help prevent or slow down. They can preserve and protect that which is good. They do this by following the teaching and example of Christ, by confronting ignorance, hypocrisy, selfishness and hatred, and preventing these things from spoiling all that is around then. They do this by seeking after the good things – faith, hope, love, peace, human kindness, and seeing to preserve them.

Salt flavours. It enhances the taste of things, without drawing attention to itself. A pinch of salt in a recipe can bring out the flavour or the good things present, without making them taste salty. It enhances. Christians should do this. By bring present in the good things of this world, and by exercising them, they can make them “taste better”. A little kindness goes a long way in life. The love of Christ demonstrated in words and actions can improve the recipe of daily living an awful lot. A few good things can enhance the whole.

Mothballs preserve. Their purpose is to prohibit the moth from destroying. Fur coats, woollens, tweeds and natural fibre clothing, hung up and locked away in wardrobes needs mothballs to keep away the hungry creature which would create holes and spoil. Mothballs do not enhance the clothes. They are not there for the sake of the clothes. They are there to prevent the moth. They are there to preserve and hide away clothes that are never worn. They smell, and make clothes unwearable. They are old fashioned and increasingly unnecessary. Clothes that are worn regularly (which is the purpose of clothes after all) do not need mothballs. Clothes protected by mothballs are dowdy museum pieces, and of little use today.

Some Christians are mothballs. They seek to preserve “historic values”. Their purpose is to prohibit the moths of society from destroying. Tweeded Christians are locked up in churches to keep away the ravages of society that would bring change and the end of the great old values held fast to. Mothball Christian do not enhance society. They are not here for the sake of society. They are here to prevent change. Like their ancestors the Pharisees, they are here to preserve the Christian who is never exercised in society. Like mothballs, they leave a nasty smell and taste in society. They are old fashioned and completely unnecessary. They cast off the teachings of Jesus for the traditions of the church. They demand the right to smack their children, to harangue Moslems, to withhold services from homosexuals, and hearken back to a supposed golden age of Christianity, demanding legal rights, and having a right wing vocal minority that spews hatred, not love. Mothballs Christians are not seen in society and do nothing to spread the message of Jesus (which is one of the purposes of Christians after all). Mothball Christians are dowdy museum pieces, and of little use today.

What flavour are you?

Uncle Mike

2011-02-22T15:19:00.001Z

As a child, on Saturday mornings, we used to go Down Town. Whereas now, with the family all grown up, and reproducing prolifically, we might meet at one of the many coffee shops in Banbury, and chat over a latte, in those days, there were only four places to have a coffee in Banbury – Littlewoods cafe (pronounced caff), Wimpy, the bus station caff, and Auntie Jean’s. So it would be off to Auntie Jean and Uncle Mike’s house, where we children could sit and watch the bubbles rising through the demijohns of home made wine, the patterns made by the smoke from Uncle Mike’s pipe, and express our terror or delight as the cats, Tiger (fierce) and Kipper (friendly) made their home on our laps. There was a ridiculously large fire in the grate in the winter, and a passage through to the cool garden in the summer. If you dared, you could use the toilet, complete with its poster of someone flushing themself down. Those feet emerging from the toilet, and the hand reaching up to pull the chain were the subject of many a childhood terror. A noisy parrot sat on his perch and terrorised all children. Through all this, Uncle Mike sat in the corner, puffing on his pipe, shelling crayfish, or chopping wood, or burying cob nuts. He collected all manner of old things – Victorian postcards, marble stopped bottles, toby jugs, and a collection of ancient and weird musical instruments, including great-grampy Stone’s cornet of ancient and sacred provenance.

He always had a story to tell, and often with a wicked twist. His fascinating tales of Victorian life (he was only born in the 1930’s), hunting for hazelnuts near Brackley, life at Banbury Buildings, and the enormous spiders that lived in Gran’s garden shed and which would bit small children thrilled, fascinated, and terrified us. Once in a while, he would get his brushes together and sweep Gran’s chimney, always telling me it was a good job I was too fat to fit up the chimney or I would be sent up it to make sure all the soot had gone, as he had done in his time. He made alarmingly hot pork vindaloo curries, and his wine was legend – being only eight when I sipped some, I thought it was horrid. Best of all, there was something not quite adult about him – rather than busily shushing noisy children, and getting on with adult things, he had time for children, and a sense of almost subversive mischief. I remember at my niece’s wedding in 2006, that he turned to Jean, his wife of 46 years, and said “we must get married one day, my duck”. The last time I saw him was at a surprise party at my cousin’s, thrown for his golden wedding anniversary. He sat drinking beer in the garden, sucking the juice out of crayfish from a huge bucket, and joking and jesting as normal. It is a nice way to remember him.

Hot, Wild, and Free

2011-02-15T21:41:00.001Z

Hot, Wild, and Free is a magazine being launched by a friend of mine. True to its name, it aims to be hot, by being relevant and up to date, wild, by voicing opinion that cares not for convention, and free – free to the user and free of corporate control. As an anarchistic liberal minded man who is deeply concerned with social justice for all, you can well imagine that this appeals to the Banbury Man’s sensibilities. I therefore eagerly went along to an evening of entertainment aimed at publicising the new magazine, but also at celebrating its spirit through independent artists singing, speaking, and generally entertaining the good gathering there – pictures are on the above link.

Live music and entertainment has an immediacy and rawness not available to those who tune in to polished performances on dvd or cd. It was great to hear two different guys sing songs they themselves had written and two different styles served to take us along with them in songs that spoke of journeys and human experience. One song, about the perils of dating, raised the biggest laugh of the evening. Live comedy also took place, and a gang of students took it in turns to entertain us. I must be honest here, and say that they were not especially funny in my opinion, but I think I am probably too old to have appreciated many of the references.

In short, with good company mixed in, a fermenting bottle of tomato ketchup (I will tell more if you ask), and a nice cold drink, it was a great evening. I look forward to more each month, and to reading more of this magazine, especially as it makes Human Trafficking one of its themes this year. This liberal thinker anticipates...

Transport for London Weekday Engineering Update

2011-02-14T14:52:00.000Z

The following services are subject to change during Monday to Friday of this week:

Jubilee Line
A bus replacement rail service will run between Stanmore and Stratford. Trains will replace buses throughout the entire line. Passengers wishing to travel should make their way to the nearest tube station to continue their journey. Special staff will be available at bus stops to give directions to confused travellers.

Circle and Hammersmith and City Lines
The entire lines will open. Delays may occur as our train drivers learn to drive along the entire route. Travel from the east end to the city will be restricted to three eastenders per carriage to prevent an outbreak of crime in the west end.

Overground
The overground lines will remain closed as TfL officials seek to understand the operation and routes of these lines. As these lines serve economically disadvantaged areas, no disruption will occur.

Northern Line
The Edgware Branch will be closed from Camden Town to Edgware. No works will be taking place on this line, but it is time these stations were closed as well.

Waterloo and City
Trains will not call at Bank station all week.

Bank Station
Due to continuing escalator work, access between the Central and Circle Lines will be via a subway running through Liverpool Street station via Epping.

Arsenal Station
Arsenal will be closed as no-one likes you. Travellers should avoid this area.

A local celebrity

2011-02-11T18:34:00.004Z

Every day on my way home from work, I go past an estate agent. It is on the corner of a road, and so I can see in the side. Typically, there is an older man at the back desk doing some work. At the front, there is a young woman with long black hair and a power suit, who invariably is texting on her 'phone and looking board. At the side, there is a young man who has been given hair-straighteners for Christmas and has used straightened (and scruffed) his hair so he looks like he has been pulled through a hedge backwards, but without the natural look this would give.

To my surprise, when putting on Mary Portas I was amazed to see this man's spikes jabbing her in the face. She was reporting on that hated breed, the estate agent, and aiming to introduce an element of customer service to proceedings. This young man seemed to represent everything we all dislike about agents, but did appear to take on some of her advice, and start treating people with respect, and eschewing jargon.

Of course, such jargon was the main target of Portas, but it was, as ever, an entertaining watch. I have to say, she seemed to lose sight of the fact that the vendor, not the buyer, is the customer of the estate agent, but it was refreshing to see a little more honesty and genuine customer service. I hope it continues!

Old Friends

2011-01-30T08:32:00.000Z

There is something rather interesting about meeting old friends. You wonder if they will look just the same. You wonder if you will both be able to pick up the friendship and talk to one another. You wonder if there might be long uncomfortable silences as you both realise you do not really have anything in common anymore. Even if you have maintained contact via email or even Facebook, there is still that element of uncertainty when you meet.

This weekend, among other things, I met up with an old friend who I have not seen for about 12 years, and not regularly seen for 18. I sensed that we would continue to get on and chat well, and this proved to be the case. In fact, as we sat at an Indian restaurant, musing over the menu and picking at poppodums (is the plural poppoda?), chatting away, I felt exactly like I had just called in on him on my way back from work (something I used to do). The greatest friendships are surely those where you pick up exactly where you left – as if you had seen each other the week before. Although there were many events, good and bad, to catch up on, we instantly felt safe and comfortable with one another. A precious thing indeed.

Working with the enemy

2011-01-23T15:45:00.001Z

Politics in the UK continues unabated as the ConDem coalition seeks to govern amidst mounting dismay and criticism, particularly of the Liberal Democrats, as they find themselves pushing a regressive agenda of protection of the rich at the expense of the majority. Nowhere has the venom seemed more toxic than in the arena of student finance and tuition fees. The Lib Dems had been the only party that had a truly progressive approach to access to university education, and now they are part of a government passing measures to impede access to university for working class would-be students. This bubbled over in demonstrations that became violent in London, reflecting the strength of feeling. Certainly, the more progressive members of the Lib Dem party have been noticeably quiet, even while their leader seeks to squirm his way out of every promise ever made. Being a Lib Dem cannot be comfortable at this current time, and it seems certain that electoral obliteration will ensue.

However, it occurs to me that things might not be as black and white as they would seem. We do have a conservative right wing administration. They are, as one might expect, pursuing their own agenda in government. However, they are doing so in coalition with a centre left party. This must mean that their policies are being diluted. Even as dismay hits the country with news of more cuts in public services, and further concession for high earners, perhaps things would be different without the Lib Dems in power with the Tories. Perhaps being in power, even with a party one opposes, means that one can influence policy, and do some good – more good than being in opposition. Perhaps it is not as self-serving as it would appear.

In conclusion, perhaps it is best for the Lib Dems to take this chance at power. Maybe they do feel they are doing the right thing. I feel that, as a progressive party, their natural partners ought to be the other progressive party, Labour, but I understand that a Labour-led government would have been unpopular, as they were not the largest party. My biggest hope is that the coalition falls apart soon, and that an election follows, with a Lib Lab coalition ruling (if Labour cannot achieve outright victory). Either way, I am given much food for thought, and need to continue to chew.

The F Word

2011-01-22T10:13:00.002Z

There is a word that good decent people do not utter. It is a word that causes great embarrassment. It is a word for which all manner of euphemisms have been invented. Some are subtle, others less so, but all help the speaker from uttering the f word, and distressing the hapless listener. I am going to discuss this word today. If you are of a sensitive nature then click away now. If you find the f word distasteful, then indulge me. It is important that this matter is discussed and brought to light. I make no apologies for doing that.

The f word is, of course, fat. Anyone who knows that Banbury Man will know that I am portly, large, big-built, large-boned, traditionally proportioned, cuddly, podgy, chubby, overweight, and fat. Why should this be, you ask. Is there a problem with my glands? Do I possess a slow metabolism? Is it because of my genes? Was it a deliberate life-style choice? Do I have an unhealthy fixation with Mars bars? The reason, dear reader, for my fatness, is quite simple. Like 99% of fat people, I take in more calories than I expend. That is the simple reason for my fatness.

Now, of course, there might be many reasons for this. Maybe I eat the wrong sort of food. Maybe I sit at my desk too long. Maybe I do not exercise enough. I suspect the truth is in all of these partly. And, of course, genes can make it more likely that someone is predisposed to fatness. The main issue for me is exercise – I sit down all day, and exercise little. I eat healthily, but am subject to unhealthy lunches during the week. I never snack which is good. I used to weigh less when I was on my feet more at work. I remain fat because I do not expend the calories I take in. Until I redress that balance, I will remain fat.

As we live in such a visually-orientated society, where physical attractiveness is the chief criterion for judgment, it is, of course, a major disability to be fat. Although I have not been as obsessed with my weight as might be expected, I have spent many unhappy hours considering my body, feeling disgusted with it, realising that no-one would ever like me, knowing that I repulsed everyone who saw me, terrified of being caught eating in public, and confirming the opinion of me as a glutton, looking with envy on those lucky enough not to be fat, keeping well away from swimming pools and beaches, lest people saw my horrid body.

Oddly enough, people rarely criticised my fatness, or made clear their repulsion. Since leaving school, where a little teasing did occur, the only person to criticise me and make me feel uncomfortable was actually an elder in a church I attended! Clearly, most of the difficulty with being fat was in my head. As part of a general process of personal development, I have finally become comfortable with being a fat person. I know it is not good for my health, and so I want to lose weight for that reason. I know when I do weigh less, I feel better in myself, and better able to walk around etc. However, I refuse now to link my fatness to my character. Being fat does not mean I am morally, spiritually, or socially deficient. If I am, it is not because of my fatness. If people do choose to make such conclusions, they may. If I want to go swimming I will. I do not go to look at other people’s bodies and make conclusions about their characters. If others do, they may.

Of course, the irony is that since I came to these conclusions, then I have actually lost a bit more. And I hope I will continue to lose, so I can maintain my good health into old age. But if you are fat, then take heart. Yes, you may need to lose weight. Yes, you may need to look at why you are fat, and make some changes to your lifestyle. But you are not a bad person because you are fat. Love yourself. You are worth loving. If you are not fat, but know someone who is fat, think about how you speak to them. Do you make them feel accepted and comfortable? Or do you lecture them? Or pity them? Or avoid them? Surely you can do better! If they are suffering from a lack of self-worth, make sure it is not because of you.

Concert Review: John Barker (saxophone) at the Wigmore Hall

2011-01-10T21:31:00.000Z

On Saturday, I made my debut at the Wigmore Hall. This is a small hall north of Oxford Street, and ideally suited for recitals. Also making his Wigmore debut was John Barker, saxophonist. I will freely admit to not taking the saxophone very seriously as a classical instrument, although I had heard Barker playing Bach on a previous occasion, and had begun to change my opinion. The programme ranged from serene Bach, through impressionist Debussy to the rather strident Boutry. Most of the numbers were transcriptions, skilfully done, and the performance of such different genres was masterful. In the second half, some rather more fun items by Piazzolla and de Rose dominated. Alternating between soprano and alto saxophones, we heard the almost clarinet like mellowness of the higher notes, a reedy oboe tone, and the more familiar lower ranges. Playing to a packed hall, Barker must be proud of his debut, and it is to be hoped that further engagements follow. He was ably assisted by Tim Sidford on the piano, who also played some solo pieces to give Barker breathing space, and Bamber Gascoigne’s love child turned the pages. A splendid evening, enhanced by meeting an old friend for coffee before hand, meeting several Banbury friends at the concert, and the enjoyment of the suspicion caused by my female companion. A great night out.

Resoved to be resolute.

2011-01-01T23:17:00.002Z

New Year is the time for making resolutions. All over the world, people are resolving to lose weight, give up smoking, find Mr/Miss Right, get a new job, and any other number of resolutions on similar themes. Gyms will be packed out in January, supermarket shelves will be heaving with low fat yoghourt, dating sites will treble their memberships and several relationships will break down under the strain of cold turkey nicotine withdrawal.

Sadly, in February, most of those resolutions will be forgotten. Self-discipline is not an easy thing to exercise, and most resolvers will feel disappointed in themselves. I used to be sent on pointless training in a previous work existence, and one thing I do remember is that goal (and resolutions) must be SMART or they will not be achieved. SMART stands for Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Relevent and Targeted. Don't aim to lose weight, set a specific achievable target weight, with steps on the way, and go for it - you get the idea.

However, I do find all this resolving and resolution to be rather introspective. Of course, the Banbury Man is, from time to time, somewhat given to introspection, but to have a whole population gazing at their collective navel will result in a lot of people bumping into each other. Instead, I have decided to have some different resolutions this year, based on looking outwards, rather than inwards.

My reasoning is this - what can I do to improve the life of those around me. Is there a kind word, a small deed, a word of encouragement that can cheer up or help a friend. Am I living my life with an eye (and a hand) to the disadvantaged in my own society and others. Am I giving of my time, money, and energy to help others. My resolutions will be based on this. I will not publish them, but will tell you about one I made last year - and kept - which was to hand-write a letter to someone each week. I will keep and double that. As for the others, I will not say.

What are you resolved to do this year? How will your resolutions help others?

The Banbury Man's 2010

2010-12-31T20:07:00.002Z

Of course, it is now customary for me to write my annual review of the year, and to apologise for the general confusion caused by my previous letter. As ever, I have received anguished and concerned notes asking me why I had not updated people on my family progress. This causes me much amusement.

I started the year suffering greatly from general insomnia and exhaustion. This was finally diagnosed as sleep apnoea, and I now have a wondrous machine that I plug into each night, which is catchily called a continuous positive airway pressure (CPAP) machine. It makes me look like a Doctor Who monster, but it works! I started the year averaging two-three hours of sleep a night. I finish it on about seven hours a night, and I feel more energetic than I have felt for perhaps twenty years – this had obviously been creeping on without me being aware; I had been aware for some years that I was slowing down, but attributed this to being in my thirties (now, alas, my late thirties), and being composed of a traditional figure.
Being ill also gave me an opportunity to see a side of friends that I had not seen. Sadly, a small group of people who ought to have known and done better, made light of my illness, or made no attempt to contact me, even when I was in bed for a fortnight at one point. But, overwhelmingly, I was made aware of just what good friends I have, both close by and afar. It makes me all the more grateful for those people in my life, who are kinder than I deserve, more solicitous than I ever thought possible, and who stood by me in a period of trial. There were some pleasant surprises in this, and this is what I take from my illness most of all.

The main event of the year is that the Banbury Man no longer lives in Banbury, but in Londonshire. Although I have been named the Finchley Fellow, I am still the Banbury Man and see myself as an expat, an exile, a sojourner in another land. That other land is in north London, fifteen minutes’ walk from work, two minutes from the tube, and half an hour from the delights of the city. Having my own little flat, with all the independence that affords, being close to work after travelling so far, and being able to catch with old friends, and make new friends, has been a wonderful opportunity for me. I love the multi-culturalism and liberalism of London. It is easy to find friends from all kinds of people, and the joy of cooking for myself (notwithstanding cholesterol-laden vegetable free lovely meals at work) and my new vigour has resulted in a pleasing weight loss – ironically at the time I became accepting and comfortable with my traditional proportions! The only thorn in the side is ironing which I loathe, but have discovered it is a good thing to do when a friend is around, as I iron and chat, and forget what I am doing. If you want to come round to watch me iron and have dinner, let me know.

2010 started most unpromisingly but ends well. I am contented, looking forward to the future, excited about a new church, about new friendships, about some writing I have been doing, and even about my birthday this year, when I shall enter my extreme thirties (i.e. forty). Even the ConDem misgovernment cannot allay my joys. Here is to a happy 2011 to you all!

The Twelve Marks of Christmas

2010-12-26T16:51:00.000Z

1. Getting a Christmas card and present from mother with your name spelled in three different ways on the gift tag, envelope, and card.

2. Mother opening a gift of a jar of marshmallow fluff to the general surprise and outrage of a family who never knew that such decadent things existed.

3. Nephew number one grunting more than three words in a row upon opening the fifth toiletry set in a row.

4. Numerous bags of presents all over the lounge.

5. Every new visitor bringing more bags, and sorting through the old bags and creating zones in the lounge for each section of the family.

6. Thinking it is quiet because there are only five people around for a meal.

7. Everyone under eighteen sitting on the floor.

8. Everyone complaining about what rubbish is on the television, but watching it constantly anyway.

9. Watching the Royle Family Christmas Special and realising how like your own family they are.

10. Cold turkey, cold ham, and mountains of chips on Boxing Day.

11. Three presents left in the house without tags, and with no clues as to the giver or recipient.

12. The lounge is too warm for the only day of the year.

Nigel's Christmas Newsletter

2010-12-25T20:26:00.002Z

My dear friends,

Once again it is time for us to send our little newsletter out with our festive greetings and family news. I think it is fair to say that it has not been an easy year, and so it is always good to stop and remember the things for which we can be thankful. I write from a winter wonderland scene as our little village has been cut off from the rest of the county by deep snow. Charlotte, as ever, has been completely resourceful and found some ready meals at the bottom of the freezer in the garage. I had hoped for a home cooked meal for a change, but as Charlotte pointed out, she has been busy giving cookery lessons all year to eager housewives, and can hardly be expected to slave over a stove herself.

Most of you will have seen Charlotte on the television. Because of her, the term “housewife” is once again something to be proud of, as she teaches women everywhere how to be domestic goddesses. Her little series has done very well, and she has a book coming out in the spring. Of course, she is far too busy now to do chores around the home, so I have had some instruction myself, and been doing my fair share of cleaning. Some people have rather unkindly speculated on high earnings and a new lifestyle for the family. What they do not understand is that Charlotte has had to plough any profits back into the business, and the all-important networking – she has to be seen living a champagne lifestyle and the children and I are happy to make little changes to our lifestyles in order to get the Housewife Project on the go.

As you will know, the firm I work for was involved in a merger in May. This was a very difficult time. It is an odd thing to be working alongside people who were once our fiercest competitors. Many of my colleagues have left, or refused to work for the new management, but I felt I had to keep earning during these straitened times. I have to say, I am disappoint in Mick Dreg, our MD, who now works as VP for the new firm. I did hope he might prove a good influence and prevent the new management taking things too far, but he seems to be more concerned with keeping in with the new management and driving his new company car. I am working in the new Centralised Administration Management (CAM) department, but I do not enjoy the new company culture. We are all taking paycuts in order to finance the refurbishment of the senior management suite. I have also had to let Elzbieta, Shamir, and Giulia go, as the new management do not like us employing immigrants. These are difficult times.

Max (12) is well, and, as we speaking playing some game on his wee with Gordon Watkins-Jones from up the road. I am pleased he has a new pal as he does not really have anything much to say to us lately, other than a few grunts and rants. I made the mistake of asking why Aloysius never came around anymore, but I have learnt to keep my nose out of such things now. I am a bit concerned about some of the games they play on the wee machine, and Max’s black clothes, but I am sure it is all just a phases.

Amelia (11) is quite the proper lady now. Her ardent feminism burns on and she now insists on being called Ms Redford and quite supports Charlotte’s use of her maiden name in professional circles. I continue to be a “Neanderthal misogynistic oppressor” which is so amusing. When Cousin Anthea asked her to be a bridesmaid, Amelia was quite fiery about it. Charlotte thinks she shows independent spirit, but I worry that she will not be able to find herself a good husband.

Jasper (9) is, as ever, astounding all his teachers with his genius. He has lately, shown a particular interest in Middle Eastern History, and tells me he is quite the guru on Whickypeedia (whatever that is) on the Lebanon. He is also talking about internet enterprise, and wants to do something with computers he grows up. He is always on the computer, but I have one of those net nanny things that stops him accessing anything unsuitable. He is very supportive of this, and actually changed the password to a more secure one; this is good, as I can never remember it.

Well, we have had difficult times, but everyone seems to be content. As Charlotte says, I am far too old-fashioned to understand progress, but I do my best to muddle along. I hope you all have a wonderful holiday (Amelia will not let me use the exclusive Christmas) and look forward to a better 2011.

Nigel, Charlotte, Max, Amelia, and Jasper.
Amelia has asked me to point out that this is a random name order, and is nothing to do with male hierarchical systems.

On my way to church

2010-12-01T18:19:00.001Z

As I was walking to church the other day, I passed a man on the floor, at the bottom of a long line of steps. He had clearly fallen down them, and was lying on the floor in a dishevelled heap, with blood dripping down his forehead and his arm in a sickeningly awkward position. He was barely conscious, but looked up at me, and put his good arm out to me, offering his hand in supplication. I looked down at him, wondering what I should do. I think he wanted me to take his hand, but it had blood on it, and the soil of the street where he had fallen. Maybe he was even begging, although I think he only wanted help. But what help could I give? I was not medically trained, he probably needed medical help. Who was to say it was not already on the way. What could I do?

Besides, I began to wonder why he was there in the first place. After all, people don’t just fall down steps in town. Maybe he was wearing inappropriate footwear. Perhaps he had been careless, and descending too quickly. Maybe he was even drunk. It would not be appropriate to have offered him assistance if it was his own fault he had fallen. I suppose he could have been pushed, but then, why was he at the top of the steps in the first place. No. I withdrew my half-stretched out hand and hurried on. There was no point putting myself out to help someone out of a mess of their own making. Besides, I did not want to be late for church.

Does this sound a bit strange to you? Do you think I was unfair? 1st December is World AIDS Day. Would you put your hand out to help someone with AIDS? Or will you give them a questionnaire first? Rush by and let someone else do it? I am committed to helping all those suffering, especially those stigmatised by society, the church, and their families. If I do, I am following in good footsteps.

A trip to Banburyshire

2010-11-27T19:41:00.001Z

This weekend the Banbury Man left the warmth of Finchley and journeyed to freezing Banbury to catch up with family and friends. It was indeed cold in town, and so it was a pleasure to meet a pal and catch up over coffee, and where better to do it than the new cafe bar Pinto.

Pinto has just opened and so we went to investigate. It is that curious invention, a cafe bar. It looks like a bar, with lovely wooden panelling, and distressed decor, but serves brunch, tapas, sandwiches and meals, as well as having coffee and pastries. There was a friendly greeting at the door, newspapers, board games, crayons and paper.

Comfortably seated on a large pew (cushioned) we drank hot-chocolate and ate carrot cake and put the world to rights. After a while, we gave in and had tapas and another drink. We had shredded five-spice pork, sweetcorn fritters, and stuffed peppers. They were freshly made, authentic, and lovely, and served with warm ciabatta. I will certainly come back and have a meal there – the meals looked good, and the brunches looked wonderful. There is a plate of eggs Benedict with my name awaiting my next visit!

A little mystery.....

2010-11-17T22:44:00.001Z

I need some help working something out. Some of you may find this post a bit mischievous, inflammatory, offensive even. I am not trying to be any of these. I just want a genuine answer to something I do not understand.

Most of my readers will not find it hard to work out that the Banbury Man is decidedly left-wing in his politics. Most of my readers will also know that I am a Christian. For me, my Christianity influences my political beliefs. Like anyone else, in formulating my political views, I look at society, and ask what the problems are, what needs to be done to make life better. And it seems obvious to me that a fair society is one where all are cared for, where opportunities are equal, and where the poor and disadvantaged are especially helped. To me, this seems to be a continuation of Jesus’ example, and of the teaching of the New Testament. I believe it is a duty of society to care for the poor, the widow, the sick, the unemployed. It is the duty of the rich to contribute towards this. This is how my mind works. This is why I would call myself a socialist, which I do not see as a dirty word.

But so many Christians seem to be right wing! The right wing philosophy seems to be about rewarding the hard working (which seems fair enough to me) but often at the cost of the poor. The idea of a small state and no society dominates. Quite why so many Christians should be right wing is a matter of mystery to me. Is it because Christians naturally dislike change, and are conservative (with a small c)? Is it because socialism has sometimes been atheist in its outlook? Is it because of moral issues (which seems to be the case in USA) such as sexuality, abortion, or family politics? I really do not get it. Ridiculous organisations like America’s Tea Party seem to me to be utterly opposed to Jesus’ teaching.

So here is my challenge. I know and respect many Christians who happen to be right-wing. But I just don’t get it. If you are one, tell me how your faith informs your political opinion. Are you comfortable with the disregard for the poor that I see in right-wing politics? I am not so foolish as to say all Christians should be left wing, but it seems inevitable to me. I do not say this to be mischievous. Not do I want to be “converted” to right wing thinking. Am I so wrong in my compassionate liberal socialism? Answers on a post-code please!

PS – and if you can explain the paedo-baptist position as well, you will solve another mystery for me! ;-)

Tea-time!

2010-11-15T13:57:00.001Z

Tea-time!

A Canadian pal of mine is frequently confused by the mealtimes in England, and, having considered the matter, I must say I agree. If someone says come around for dinner, when should you go? If you are invited for tea, what sort of meal should you expect? It all depends on what class you are, or, more accurately, where in the country you are. However, as middle class people live in the south, and working class people in the north, it is safe to say either. Here then is a brief guide to meal times in England.

Middle Class/Southern England:

1. Wake up drink. A pot or cup of tea is served as soon as one wakes. This is generally prepared by one’s staff.
2. Breakfast. This is served between 7 and 9 am, and consists of fruit juice, cereal, and toast. At the weekend, eggs may be taken, or even a full English (see below). Three cups of tea are taken.
3. Full English Breakfast. Middle class people only take this when staying at bed and breakfast establishments. It consists of fruit juice, cereal with fruit and yoghurt, toast, eggs, bacon, sausages, mushrooms, black pudding, hash browns, bubble and squeak, tomatoes, devilled kidneys, smoked kippers, mushrooms, and baked beans. Several cups of tea are used to wash this down.
4. Continental breakfast. This involves bread and jam and is becoming increasingly popular among the middle classes, although tea is not normally taken at this meal.
5. Morning coffee. This is taken between 10.30 and 11.30 and consists of coffee with a light biscuit.
6. Brunch. This is a heavier sort of breakfast served between 11 and 12.30. Classic items such as kedgeree, eggs Benedict, and kippers may be served, or a mixture of items from the full English. Four cups of coffee or tea follow.
7. Lunch. Taken between 12 and 2 (three on Sunday), lunch is a lighter meal ranging from sandwiches and soup, through to salads, or lighter baked items. On a Sunday it is consists of a Sunday Roast (see below). Dessert will typically be fruit, yoghurt, or cake. Two cups of tea follow (in Devonshire, three cups are generally taken).
8. Sunday Roasts (Middle Class). This consists of a roast joint of meat or poultry, roast potatoes, roast onion, carrots, broccoli, asparagus, leeks in white sauce, Yorkshire puddings (if beef is served), stuffing (if chicken or pork is served) and gravy. Only one cup of tea is taken after this meal.
9. Afternoon tea. Taken at 4pm, commonly known as tea o’clock. This is a cup of tea with a cake or biscuit.
10. Tea. Taken between 4 and 5pm, this consists of small sandwiches, bread and butter served with a variety of jams, and a selection of home-made cakes, scones, and biscuits. Five cups of tea are served with this meal.
11. High Tea. Taken between 4.30 and 6pm, this is a heavier version of tea, and includes meat, and a hot element, such as cheese on toast, or quiche. Because water or a cold drink may be served with this, only three cups of tea are taken at the end.
12. Dinner. Dinner is the main meal of the day, and is served between 6.30 and 8.30pm. It consists of a sherry, a starter, a main course, dessert, mints and coffee, followed by port. Formal dress is normally required.
13. Supper. Supper is a lighter evening meal of only two courses and is served from 6.30 to 9pm.
14. Evening snack. The evening snack involves a light meal of one course served with tea, or cocoa.

Working Class/Northern England

1. Breakfast. Taken between 5am and 8am. Cereal, perhaps toast, or some elements of the Full English Breakfast taken with fried bread and seven cups of tea.
2. Elevenses. Taken at 11am, this consists of a kit-kat biscuit and two mugs of tea.
3. Dinner. This is any meal served between 12 and 2pm. Two mugs of tea accompany this.
4. Sunday Dinner – roast meat, peas, carrots, sprouts, Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, oxo gravy and trifle.
5. Tea. This is any meal served between 4 and 7pm.
6. Supper. This is a snack taken immediately prior to bedtime.

More Finchley News.....

2010-11-13T21:47:00.003Z

The Banbury Man has been busy with other things so is dropping by with some snippets to stop you all complaining. Here is the news:

1. I have registered with and visited a local dentist. The senior partner (not my dentist) after whom the practice is named is a Dr Fang. Priceless.

2. I am utterly sick of ironing and have lots to do.

3. I am scandalised at the price of intimate stationery products (toilet tissue). It is very expensive!

4. Starbucks Via is fantastic.

5. My email inbox at work is down from 1500 to 150, a 90% reduction.

6. I have a bad feeling the spirit of the eighties is returning.

7. I am sleeping about seven hours a night.

More to follow.

Finding a perfect church?

2010-10-27T13:48:00.000+01:00

The Banbury Man, having moved to London, is looking for a church to attend. Even now, you are wondering how hard it can be to find a church in a land full of churches, and in a city where every kind of church is available. The answer – not so easy.

I am not hard to please. I want to go to a church that teaches the truth. I want to go to a church were people love one another. I want to go to a church that is serious about engaging with its local community. Sadly, it seems to be the case that churches are interested in truth or love – not both. Many churches are good at teaching the truth, but fail to apply it in love for their neighbour. Some are better, and have an internal warmth and love, but fail to engage with those outside the church, often trying to hide in an anachronistic hole, lest anyone enters and changes things. Many have no concern for the truth whatsoever, but are friendly and loving, and reach out to those around them. Add to this the complication that I have a lot of contact with churches through work, and have no desire to take a working break every Sunday morning. Here are some of my experiences:

The Church for Families – not family.
I went to this church with two friends. The people seemed friendly enough. The service was conducted reverently and the teaching was faithful and relevant. One lady spoke to us beforehand: “we do not normally get a group of men here. Why have you come?” She meant well, but betrayed the belief that a single person is a pre-married person. We were the only people there not in a nuclear family.

The Busy Church
I was interested in going to one church nearby, but could not find out when their services were. I emailed from their website and got the following reply “thank you for contacting us. We are currently very full in our building, and, as you live more than half a mile away, would encourage you to find a more local church”. Message received.

The Gentle Church
I went to another church. There was a friendly hello on the door, and I was given a welcome sheet which said “we want newcomers to feel welcome, but do not want you to feel swamped with questions. We are here if you want to talk, but respect your right to privacy and silence.” This is also meant well, but meant I had to do the work of approaching them, instead of them welcoming me.

The Correct Church
I quite liked this church. Everything about the service seemed agreeable and correct. I spoke to a leader who was very friendly until he found out where I worked. “Oh yes, we know about that college. I am afraid we would not be the sort of church you are looking for”. I guess I am not the sort of attendee they are looking for.

I find this all rather depressing, especially after some difficult church times. Why cannot churches be more Christian? What can be done to make people feel more welcome? Any ideas? - or church recommendations!

Tube Quiz - answers

2010-10-24T14:00:00.000+01:00

Last week’s tube quiz has elicited a lot of interest. Some questions were answered correctly by many of you; others, no-one has got correct, showing that my mind does indeed work in a strange way, especially when I am bored on the Northern line. The answers are as follows:

Q1 – Fenchurch Street is the only London terminus not to have a tube station named after it. Broad Street, closed in the Thatcher cutbacks, was another.

Q2 – Lancaster Gate is the only station inside the circle line that is only on one line, and is surrounded by stations that are only on one line.

Q3 – the only line not to have changed since 1970 (when the final part of it opened) is the Victoria line. All the other lines have had sections added, closed, or transferred to other lines.

Q4 – the following stations are unique for these reasons:
• Pimlico, apart from being the only station not to contain any letters of the word badger, as Mr England informs me, is also the only station on the Victoria line not to have any interchange with other lines or national rail/overground.
• Edgware Road is now the only station to have two separate stations on the tube map (many others do but they are not labelled on the map). Shepherds Bush shared this distinction until recently.
• Edgware Road is also the only terminus on the district line not to have interchange with national rail.
• London Bridge is the only tube station to contain the name London

Q5 – Charing Cross and Piccadilly Circus are the only interchange stations on the underground which are surrounded by only interchange stations. Of course, what we now call Charing Cross was once two separate stations called Trafalgar Square and Strand. This is why it is such a bad place to change lines at, with a long subway between the two. The station now called Embankment was once called Charing Cross.

Q6 – the Jubilee crosses the Thames no less than four times, three of them very close together. Two other lines cross the Thames twice, and several others just once.

Q7 – the line with the most stations south of the Thames is, ironically enough, the Northern line.

Q8 – the four Monopoly Stations are Liverpool Street, Marylebone, Fenchurch Street, and Kings Cross. These can all be reached from Paddington, Embankment, and Baker Street. I did not allow Edgware Road as it is two separate stations.

Q9 – Mornington Crescent and Lambeth North have both had their places swapped on the tube map. Mornington Crescent lies to the east of the Bank Branch of the Northern Line, and Lambeth North lies to the west of the Charing Cross Branch of the Northern Line.

Q10 – no-one got this. The busiest interchange station on the tube is Camden Town – as it is situated at the meeting of the branches of the Northern Line, it is the busiest place to change trains. The next busiest for changing is Oxford Circus. The busiest station in terms of entries and exits is Victoria, which suffers from poor connections on the London Underground.

If you got more than four, well done. Sorry if this was too difficult. More quizzes will follow.

Tube Quiz

2010-10-17T20:57:00.000+01:00

Today I was on the tube, and had no reading material with me. In the absence of interesting fellow passengers to examine from the side of my eyes, I entertained myself by studying the little map of central London tube lines. I have devised a wee quiz for you. Some of the questions have to do with the map itself, and do not need any knowledge of London to answer. Others do need a little knowledge or guess work. I shall put the answers up in a week. Good luck!

Q1. Which is the only rail terminus in London not to have a station named after it?

Q2. What is unique about Lancaster Gate and its relation to the Circle Line.

Q3. Which is the only line not to have changed since 1970?

Q4. What is unique about the following stations:
• Pimlico
• Edgware Road (two unique things)
• London Bridge

Q5. Charing Cross and Piccadilly Circus share unique properties. What?

Q6. Which line crosses the Thames most?

Q7. Which line has the most stations south of the Thames?

Q8. There are three stations whence one can reach all four of the Monopoly stations. What are they?

Q9. What oddity to Mornington Crescent and Lambeth North share?

Q10. At which station do more people change trains than any other?

Nige's cold cure

2010-10-16T15:50:00.000+01:00

I have recently been suffering from a light head cold, but it is getting better now. Once you have begun to rise from the nadir of a cold, here is a helpful curative to oil the road of recovery:

1. Drink a large strong coffee and have a couple of chunks of fine chocolate with it, for energy.
2. Melt a large knob of butter in a thick-bottomed saucepan, over a low heat.
3. Finely slice an onion and add to the butter. Cover and simmer for 15 minutes.
4. Add one teaspoon of caster sugar, and one teaspoon of vinegar (balsamic if you have it). Cover and simmer for 15 more minutes.
5. Cut up 4oz of mushrooms and add.
6. Put three sausages in a frying pan (no fat to be added) and cook over a low heat, turning occasionally.
7. Beat two eggs in a small jug.
8. Put some beans in tomato sauce in a microwave dish, ready to heat up.
9. When the sausages are cooked (about 15 minutes), add them to the mushrooms and onions, and put three rashers of bacon in the pan, to cook in the sausage fat.
10. When the bacon is cooked, also put in the pot with the other items. At the two eggs to the frying pan and cook over a high heat.
11. Heat up the beans in tomato sauce.
12. Add a handful of grated mature (USA: sharp) cheddar to the egg. Fold the egg over and cook for another couple of minutes.
13. Assemble all the ingredients on a plate. Serve with hot sweet tea.

Afterwards you will feel VERY full. Clean your teeth and lie down for an hour. Get up and drink some orange juice. You will feel energised.

The News from Finchley

2010-10-15T19:51:00.000+01:00

The Banbury Man has seen some events of import occur in Finchley. Radio 4 Man, having so recently reclaimed his position as the ground-floor cultural attaché in Finchley Mansions, has moved out. He has been replaced by Mother with New-born Baby. Mother seems friendly enough, and takes great delight in organising the blue and black recycling boxes, which is a useful thing for the rest of the residents.

Grunting Smoker turns out, rather surprisingly, to be a piano teacher, and therefore worthy of approval after all. I have heard him playing and he plays well. I have heard his pupils playing; they do not play well. He has been smoking less of late, but says hello rather than grunting now.

Middle Eastern Electrician has had a lady move in with him, and this is a Good Thing, as his post now gets picked up. I even heard the sound of hoovering from their flat last time I passed by.

Most intriguing is Eastern European Lady on the first floor. She has always seemed very friendly, and was quite understanding when one of my visitors barged into her flat, rather than opening the adjacent doorway which leads to my rooftop apartment. I have known for some time that she is a Dr, as her post is addressed thus, but her post normally consists of the Times Literary Supplement, and other literary reviews and so I am curious as to the nature of her doctorship. A medical doctor could not possible show interest in the arts, so I am hoping she has a doctorate in Polish literature, or something equally erudite and obscure.

As colder days arrive, the Banbury Man has employed the central heating facility from time to time and found it more than sufficient, which is encouraging for the approaching cold months. Other activities have included some more writing, and another new writing project which is proving rather difficult, but interesting. Some thoughts on the difference between Banbury and Finchley will be forthcoming from the desk of the Banbury Man, and also a small political commentary on the new climate. Stay tuned on Channel Banbury Man for more news after this short break.

Busy doing nothing

2010-10-13T22:09:00.000+01:00

Sometimes in this busy life, it is nice just to spend time not doing much at all. This does not come easily to the Banbury Man, who, even on holiday, has to go and see everything, and charge up and down mountains, village streets, and church aisles. But this evening I have had a studied lack of industry and it has done me good. It is good to stop and think. It is good to stop and not think.

Silly things I have done

2010-10-06T21:51:00.001+01:00

We have all done absent minded things. The other week, I went to post a postcard to mother, as a good dutiful son should, and ended up posting the postcard into the litter bin next to the pillar box. As I retrieved it (much to the delight of a coach of old ladies going by, who were appalled, no doubt, by the blatant scavenging of the homeless), I mused upon some foolish things I have done in my time:
• Brushing my teeth with savlon cream instead of toothpaste. It does not taste good.
• Putting deep heat spray under my arms instead of deodorant; this is not to be recommended, even on the coldest day.
• Tried mixing cheese with raw eggs before scrambling them. The result is rather rubbery,
• Going to a rest room in the USA and cheerily greeting a woman washing her hands at the sink before I get to the cubicle and realise my error.
• Going to a bookshop and buying a book that I have already got. The day I bought the first one. And not realising my mistake until I get home and realise I have two identical books.
• Voting Liberal Democrat in order to keep the Tories out (how stupid can you get?)
• Putting a teabag in a chicken stew instead of a bouquet garni.
• Being persuaded to have a meal in Taco Bell. If we had counsellors in the UK, I would still be seeing one.
There are more, but some I am too ashamed to repeat. What silly things have you done?

In two minds.....

2010-10-05T19:48:00.002+01:00

I am in two minds about the latest pronouncement of the ConDem government. Child benefit is to be cut for top rate tax payers. Part of me rejoices at this. It seems daft that top earners should receive state benefits. Even though this is not redistributive (the money being saved going to the people who need it most), it seems right.

But child benefit is a universal benefit. It had previously been inviolable. And with such a move being made by a government which has a policy of seeking to destroy the welfare state, and keep the rich rich, and the poor poor, I am alarmed. Already, the inequalities of this change have been noted, so that two parents both earning just under the allowance will keep the benefit, whereas one earner just over, earning about half the amount, will lost it. I am also very aware that the Cons look after their own, and will be sure to give back to the upper middle classes what they have taken, and to seek to remove help from the most vulnerable.

This is not political, it is philosophical. The way out of the recession is to increase public spending, and make taxes more progressive and redistributive. I am utterly disappointed with the Lib Dems who have thrown all their policies out of the window for a chance of government. I only hope people see this for what it is.

Life's little luxuries - toast

2010-10-04T20:41:00.001+01:00

Toast a simple slice of bread toasted until golden brown. Yet how much more than a slice of bread is a slice of toast. Bread (especially if stale, or, horror, the sliced bread that I understand some people use), is transformed into a quick and ready snack, ready to be anointed with butter and eaten as it is. Marmite, marmalade, cheese, pate, baked beans, all these can be added to make a simple meal that is not just for breakfast. At university, we fashioned toasters out of coathangers, and made toast on our gas fires for a two am treat. Everyone enjoys a bit of toast. Here is a toast to toast!

Papal Visit

2010-09-17T12:58:00.000+01:00

The Pope is visiting the UK and everyone has something to say on the matter. As you would expect, the Banbury Man has been observing events, and has been rather struck at the strength of feeling toward this visit.

Some Protestant fundamentalist groups hearken back to the day when England was a fully reformed state, ruled over by a fully reformed monarch, and claim that the Queen has broken Her coronation oath by meeting the Pope.

Atheists such Hitchens and Dawkins (the most intolerant of people) are outraged that a religious leader should be welcomed to the country at all.

Liberty fighter Peter Tatchell points to the record of the Catholic church in the extensive child abuse cases, their contribution towards the spread of HIV, and general suppression of basic human rights worldwide.

Hapless tax payers bemoan the £13 million bill, and wonder what all the fuss is about.

What does the Banbury Man think? Well, I share some sympathies with all of these views, but not much. The Pope still maintains he has power over nations, and over Britain. He regards the Archbishop of Canterbury as apostate. He is head of a church that turns biblical teaching on salvation upside down. He consistently refuses to apologise and make reparation for child abuse, and is more concerned with the reputation of his organisation. His church is rich beyond all measure, yet presents the UK with a huge bill for his visit.

All these things are true. But I am saddened by the venom shown towards the Pope. I agree with him on little, admittedly. That does not mean he should be treated so badly. Even though his spokesman has been most rude about the UK, and the Pope has refused to apologise, we should not return wrong for wrong. For the sake of those who do want him to come, let him come. Like it or not he is head of a state, and there are equally roguish heads of state who visit the UK. Sectarianism is not what this country needs. Let us agree to disagree, and let people follow their consciences, whatever the Proddy Right-wingers, Catholics, or atheists say.

B

2010-09-15T20:59:00.000+01:00

Bees are amazing. Honey bees live in structured society where every member has a function. A queen lays eggs, workers collect nectar, turn it into honey, nurture the new births. Whenever I come to Cornwall I get a glimpse into the wonderful world of these creatures, as I get to help out a little with the apiaries. This time of year, honey extraction is taking place, but there is not much honey this year, as the weather has been rather unsettled of late, and so the combs of honey were taken rather earlier this year, lest the bees eat it all. Extracting honey involves gently cutting a thin layer off the combs (which requires a steady hand and is therefore totally unsuitable for the Banbury Man) and then carefully placing the racks in a spinner, to remove the honey by centrifugal force. The honey is then subject to several painfully slow filtrations to remove wax and dead earwigs. I therefore get to don the beekeeper outfit, to visit angry bees in hives, and to help out with various stages of honey extraction. At every stage, the wonderful behaviour of the bees is explained, and it informs the actions one must (or must not) take.

One of the most amazing things about bees is surely honey. Honey is complete nutrition for the baby bee and delicious on a piece of fresh bread and butter. When you think how many flowers a bee has visited to create one single drop of honey! What else do we eat that is created by insects? Honey has all sorts of nutritious qualities, and is prized the world over. Who could invent such a thing?

A minor tragedy

2010-08-31T20:15:00.000+01:00

No lambing trip to Cornwall is complete without a trip to Porthleven. This is a nice little town on the Lizard peninsular of Cornwall. It is not the quaintest place, but has a pleasant harbour and nice little emporia along the edge. The first time I was taken there, we discovered a Christian bookshop that had recently opened, and took time to peruse its excellent stock and sample the delights of the coffee shop at the back of the store. Since then, there have generally been annual outings. As I do not live near a Christian bookshop, it is a nice time to browse through things and pick out one or two bargains or new authors.
Alas, a closed store greeted our dismayed faces. Christian bookshops and publishing have been in trouble for some time, with the collapse of Wesley Owen, STL, and SPCK. The ease of ordering books on Amazon has further squeezed operations. This is a pity, but understandable. I do not wait for my annual lambing trip to purchase Christian books. Even though my job largely involves purchasing theological volumes for the library, I never get to see a bookshop, and enjoy the occasional outing. Sadly, we now have to go to Redruth to make such purchases, and did so today. No coffee shop there, alas.
We forlornly wandered to the beach, before returning and taking the obligatory ice-cream. The end of an era.

Life's Little Luxuries - clean sheets

2010-08-28T12:40:00.000+01:00

Another of life’s little luxuries is getting into a bed with clean sheets. Why this should be so lovely is difficult to understand. It is not as if my sheets get so dirty between washes that there is a palpable difference in the feeling of them. Perhaps it is the smoothness of clean sheets, which have not yet been laid upon and crumpled. Whatever the reason, getting into a bed with nice clean cotton sheets, and running your legs and feet over them, is a lovely, although rather regular, treat.

High Speed One

2010-08-26T10:15:00.000+01:00

One of the advantages of living in a town to the north or west of London is that you will generally have a decent train service to and from London, as trains will call on their way to more distant destinations. However, a town that is 50 miles to the south or east of London will often be nearer to the end of the line, and so will have a much slower service into the capital. Towns in Kent, while only 60 or 70 miles from the capital, are often two hours away by trains which creak through southeast London and stop every ten or fifteen miles as they pass through commuter belt territory.
However, this has all changed with the arrival of High Speed One, which runs trains out of London on the international route to Paris and Brussels from St Pancras. Trains have run to the Continent for a couple of years on this route, reaching Paris in a little over two hours. Now Southeast Trains run trains into Kent along the same route, joining the local routes after Ashford. This means that Ashford, 65 miles from St Pancras, is now 36 minutes away, rather than 75. This is a huge improvement.

I went to visit a friend in Canterbury and took the high speed train. These are impressive dark blue affairs with a bullet shaped front. While they only go 140mph, and so are not that much faster than the current expresses running elsewhere, nonetheless, they have an impressive acceleration and reach speed very quickly. I certainly enjoyed the trip, and, coupled with a nice time with a friend, and a good pub lunch, made for a nice day out. I hope that the plans for further high speed routes are not ditched in the current foolish round of government spending cuts. Train travel needs to become a fast and affordable alternative to road travel. This is the age of the train.

A little trip to Cornwall

2010-08-25T18:08:00.001+01:00

The Banbury Man has been making occasional trips to friends at the far end of Cornwall for about 18 years now. These trips usually occur during lambing season, but this year, as that was during term-time, the Banbury Man has made a summer trip. It is unusual to be here when everyone else is here, and the amount of tourists milling around when I journey east to Penzance is quite surprising. The warmer weather, the luxuriant growth, and the longer days all seem odd. One thing that is not so good about coming this time of year is the ubiquity of the spider. My friends here live in an ancient farmhouse which has long been designated a Special Reserve for all spiders with a leg span greater than eight centimetres. These arachnids and their evidence are everywhere to be seen, and you would think that this would reduce the Banbury Man to a trembling wreck for the duration of his stay. However, I am somehow able to switch the usual twitchiness off. Unless an arachnid is running towards me, is somewhere I want to be, or is the especially thick and black variety, I can cope with this. Scenes of spider activity that would have me running from the room in more civilised parts of the country leave me relatively undisturbed. Of course, total comfort is never possible, for at any time, hoards of large hairy arachnids are waiting to walk all over me, but I always feel relaxed and calm. That said, I am glad I am not sleeping in the honey hut.

Old Womens' World Records

2010-08-24T20:23:00.002+01:00

Car Parking

The smallest kerbside space successfully reversed into by a woman was one
of 19.36m (63ft 2ins), equivalent to three standard parking spaces, by Mrs.
Elizabeth Simpkins, driving an unmodified Vauxhall Nova 'Swing' on 12th
October 1993. She started the manoeuvre at 11.15am in Ropergate,
Pontefract,and successfully parked within three feet of the pavement 8
hours 14 minutes later.There was slight damage to the bumpers and wings of her
own and two adjoining cars, as well as a shop frontage and two lamp posts.

Incorrect Driving

The longest journey completed with the handbrake on was one of 504 km (313
miles) from Stranraer to Holyhead by Dr. Julie Thorn (GB) at the wheel of a
Saab 900 on the 2nd April 1987. Dr. Thorn smelled burning two miles into
her journey at Aird but pressed on to Holyhead with smoke billowing from the
rear wheels. This journey also holds the records for the longest completed
journey with the choke fully out and the right indicator flashing.

Shop Dithering

The longest time spent dithering in a shop was 12 days between 21st
August and 2nd September 1995 by Mrs. Sandra Wilks (GB) in the Birmingham
branch of Dorothy Perkins. Entering the shop on a Saturday morning, Mrs.
Wilks could not choose between two near identical dresses which were both
in the sale. After one hour, her husband, sitting on a chair by the
changing room with his head in his hands, told her to buy both. Mrs. Wilks
eventually bought one for 12.99, only to return the next day and exchange it for the
other one. To date, she has yet to wear it. Mrs. Wilks also holds the
record for window shopping longevity, when, starting September 12th 1995,
she stood motionless gazing at a pair of shoes in Clinkard's window in Kidderminster
for 3 weeks two days before eventually going home.

Jumble Sale Massacre

The greatest number of old ladies to perish whilst fighting at a jumble
sale is 98, at a Methodist Church Hall in Castleford, West Yorkshire on
February 12th 1991. When the doors opened at 10.00am, the initial
scramble to get in cost 16 lives, a further 25 being killed in a crush at
the first table. A seven-way skirmish then broke out over a pinafore dress
costing 10p which escalated into a full scale melee resulting in another 18
lives being lost. A pitched battle over a headscarf then ensued and
quickly spread throughout the hall, claiming 39 old women. The jumble sale raised
£5.28 for local boy scouts.

Talking about Nothing

Mrs. Mary Caterham (GB) and Mrs. Marjorie Steele (GB) sat in a kitchen
in Blackburn, Lancs. and talked about nothing whatsoever for four and a
half months from 1st May to 7th August 1978, pausing only for coffee, cakes and
toilet visits. Throughout the whole time, no information was exchanged and neither woman gained any new knowledge whatsoever. The outdoor record for talking about nothing is held by Mrs. Vera Etherington (GB) and her neighbour Mrs. Dolly Booth (GB) of Ipswich, who between 11th November 1983 and 12th January 1984 chuntered on
over their fence in an unelightening dialogue lasting almost 62 days until
Mrs.Booth remembered she'd left the bath running.

Gossiping

On February 18th 1992, Joyce Blatherwick, a close friend of Agnes
Banbury popped round for a cup of tea and a chat, during the course of
which she told Mrs. Banbury, in the strictest confidence, that she was having an
affair with the butcher. After Mrs. Blatherwick left at 2.10pm, Mrs.
Banbury immediately began to tell everyone, swearing them all to secrecy.
By 2.30pm, she had told 128 people of the news. By 2.50pm it had risen to 372
and by 4.00pm that afternoon, 2774 knew of the affair, including the local
Amateur dramatic Society, several knitting circles,a coachload of American
tourists which she flagged down and the butchers wife. When a tired Mrs.
Banbury went to bed at 11.55pm that night, Mrs.Blatherwick's affair was common knowledge to a staggering 75,338 people, enough to fill Wembley Stadium.

Group Toilet Visit

The record for the largest group of women to visit a toilet simultaneously
is held by 147 workers at the Department of Social Security, Longbenton.
At their annual Christmas celebration at a night club in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne
on October 12th 1994, Mrs. Beryl Crabtree got up to go to the toilet and was
immediately followed by 146 other members of the party. Moving as a mass,
the group entered the toilet at 9.52pm and, after waiting for everyone to
finish, emerged 2hrs 37 mins later.

Film Confusion

The greatest length of time a woman has watched a film with her husband
without asking a stupid plot-related question was achieved on the 28th
October 1990, when Mrs. Ethel Brunswick sat down with her husband to watch
'The Ipcress File'. She watched in silence for a breath-taking 2 mins 40
secs before asking "Is he a goodie or a baddie, then, him in the glasses?",
revealing a staggering level of intuition up to that point. This broke her
own record set in 1962 when she sat through 2 mins 38 secs of '633
Squadron' before asking "Is this a war film, is it?".

Single Breath Sentence

An Oxfordshire woman today became the first ever to break the thirty
minute barrier for talking without drawing breath. Mrs.Mavis Sommers, 48,
of Cowley, smashed the previous record of 23 minutes when she excitedly
reported an argument she'd had in the butchers to her neighbour. She ranted
on for a staggering 32 minutes and 12 seconds without pausing for air,
before going blue and collapsing in a heap on the ground. She was taken to
Radcliffe Infirmary in a wheelbarrow but was released later after
check-ups. At the peak of her mammoth motormouth marathon, she achieved an
unbelievable 680 words per minute, repeating the main points of the story an amazing 114 times whilst her neighbour, Mrs. Dolly Knowles, nodded and tutted. The
last third of the sentence was delivered in a barely audible croak, the last two
minutes being mouthed only, accompanied by vigorous jesticulations and
indignant spasms.

Life's Little Luxuries - milky coffee

2010-08-22T17:22:00.000+01:00

This is an occasional series where I introduce some of those little luxuries which, although cheap and simple, make life better.

Milky coffee – or rather instant coffee made with hot milk only. This was a Sunday morning treat at Granny’s but one I repeat at least twice a week. Even instant coffee tastes good when made with milk, and with the arrival of the microwave, it is even simpler to sit down and enjoy a book with a scalding hot simple coffee.

Spot the difference

2010-08-16T21:33:00.000+01:00

I am really exercised lately about whether or not I make a difference in this world. Before you think that this all sounds very worthy, or super-spiritual, or pointlessly philosophical, I simply mean this: do I leave people better off than I find them? Have I helped anyone, comforted, provided assistance, advised or encouraged? Most importantly, have I stood up for those in need of justice, compassion, and material help? It is easy to help my friends and those I like. What am I doing for those who have no friends? These are hard questions.

A ray of hope

2010-08-15T14:55:00.002+01:00

In house news, there is a ray of hope concerning Radio 4 Man on the ground floor. It has always been a comfort to hear The Today Programme coming from his flat as I pass through the main hall each day. There are not enough Radio 4 listeners in this world. However, during the football world cup, I was sorely disappointed to hear sounds of football watching, and even cheers, coming from the flat as I passed one Sunday afternoon.

Yesterday, I arrived home at 10pm. As I stood in the hall, looking through the post, I heard the unmistakeable sound of one of the songs from the fabulous French film Huit Femmes (8 Women). Perhaps the football was an aberration. Perhaps it was the sop to a visitor. Either way, this was a relief and gives hope that commercial television and populism may not have won out.

Independent or Chain?

2010-08-13T22:21:00.001+01:00

As any regular readers will know, I am a great lover of coffee shops. Until about ten years ago, having a coffee out in England meant sitting in a cafe with a pot of horrid coffee; if you were lucky, it might be frothy coffee. When I went to Italy on a school trip in 1986, I had a cappuccino in Sorrento, and was hooked. Nowhere in England could such delights be had until 1989, when, upon changing trains at Reading on my way to university, I discovered a Costa coffee shop on the station concourse. Every journey to uni or home included a stop off for a real cappuccino and maybe an almond macaroon. I devoured Frasier, and dreamt of a life discussing art in Cafe Nervosa.

Now it is totally different. Coffee shops are everywhere. Plastic seating at horrid tables has been replaced by wooden panelling and floors, with comfortable chairs, even sofas and armchairs. Whereas one could have coffee once, now, one has latte, cappuccino, flat white, Americano, one can add syrups, chocolate, skinny or soya milk, extra shots, and there is a huge array of iced blended frapped and generally crushed varieties. Three chains – Costa, Starbucks, and Caffe Nero dominate the scene with their own particular styles. Costa does a decent coffee which will please all. Starbucks tends to be a little weak, but has a nicer variety of cakes and iced drinks. Caffe Nero has the best strong latte and the freshest pastries.

But what of the indie coffee shop? These are often the best, and once discovered, are rarely forsaken. They are often cheaper, but sometimes less comfortable – although sometimes luxuriant in their seating. They can be smaller, but the coffee will be fresher and more individual. They have a bohemian atmosphere. If you find one of these in your home town, you are lucky indeed, and should patronise it as often as possible. I miss Cafe Buzz in Banbury, but found another indie this week, which seemed very pleasant and was situated conveniently near Banbury Cross. But in another town, it is difficult to find a decent independent. One can sometimes guess from the way a shop looks if it will be good – as I did in Marlborough late last year. But otherwise, it is simply a gamble, and, when away from home, and in dire need of refreshment, it might be a gamble one does not wish to take. Certainly, if you are in a shopping centre or mall, as I am now, a chain is the only recourse for the thirsty shopper. I am in Brent Cross at the Starbucks, enjoying an almond latte, which is a new coffee for me. A chain is also a good thing if you are abroad. When in the USA, where coffee is frequently weak and disappointing to European tastes, a Starbucks offers a safe choice, reassuringly familiar. I also discovered Seattle’s Best, which frequents the Borders bookstores there, and their latte is the best I have ever had.

In balance, I like to find a good independent shop. I have discovered Jo and Al’s, and Barista in Finchley – wonderful independent shops serving good coffee, who I shall visit regularly. But it is nice to have the choice of a chain when elsewhere and in a hurry. There is room for both in this world. Which is your favourite?

Town Review - a day trip to Brighton

2010-08-12T21:14:00.001+01:00

For most of July, TFL ran a splendid cheap days out offer with the oyster card. I took advantage of this three times in my first week off, and the first trip was to Brighton, for only £5. I had been to Brighton many years before, when I looked around the Pavilion, and sat on the beach. I had once taken Phyllis, a dear old lady up the road, there, as a trip down Memory Lane. This time, I was visiting my friend Mark, for a day which promised lots of tea-shoppery and intelligent conversation.
Our first visit was to a splendid independent coffee shop. This was situated near the Pavilion and had that bohemian liberal feel that permeates the whole town. Brighton is a place where people are less concerned with what you are, or who you are, than with allowing you to be what and who you are, whilst not falling into the cheap decadence that often accompanies this attitude. Later on, we visited Mark’s church, which had been the local church of Queen Adelaide in days gone by, and was built in the splendid Georgian fashion, complete with naval colours. A said Eucharist was about to take place, and we stayed and participated.
I had never been to a said Eucharist, and some of my readers will raise an eyebrow at this. I will suffice to say that nothing was said with which I could not agree, nothing was done I could not do. In fact, I found the words of the prayer book, not familiar to me, most meaningful and this was a service which was more than the ritual taking of bread and wine. Also, the congregation communicated one another, which I felt was more true to the spirit of the original Eucharist, than the rather sacerdotal traditions of a priest or elder handing out the elements.
We then walked along the front, enjoying some chips en route, and the pleasant sunshine, before returning to a splendidly art deco tea shop where tea was taken. I said on a period sofa which was for sale, as was all of the furniture in this shop. It was a lovely place to sit and chat over a spot of Lapsang (well, it was hot!).
After visiting one or two pubs for a light drink and chat, I got the cheap train home, having had a splendid day, made more enjoyable by good company. It is rare indeed to find someone with whom one can discuss politics, sex, and religion without getting in trouble for your views on at least one of these. A super day!

A very wise thing...

2010-08-01T20:23:00.002+01:00

I am interrupting the flow of the posts I already have written up to be posted to recound something a very wise man said to me today:

"The problem with fundamentalists is that they use the bible much as a drunkard uses a lamp-post - for support, rather than illumination"

Wise words.

A very English kind of adventure

2010-07-31T21:48:00.002+01:00

Working term times means that you are rather restricted in when to take your holidays. But it does mean that longer holidays in the summer are available, and so the Banbury Man sat back in March wondering how to spend nearly four weeks of holiday. At that time, many possibilities were on the table – a trip back to the NW USA to visit pals again, a trip to Spain, a holiday in Crete, a city-break or two with an old uni pal, even a trip to Northumbria, a part of the UK I have never visited. However, moving into a new flat, with its concomitant expenses, has enforced a more frugal form of excursion. You might this think that this would be a big disappointment, but I happen to think that the UK is a wonderful country, with much to see that I have not yet see, and much that is worth another visit.
The Banbury Man, newly in possession of his driving licence, therefore set forth intrepidly on an English odyssey, seeking the very cheapest of holidays. Here, in short, is what I did; some reviews of places visited will come later:
Saturday 1
On this day, I awoke early and drove up to Banbury, to finish off some prep for the Sunday
Sunday 1
I had my last preaching engagement in Banbury – something I had dreaded for some reason, but which I enjoyed after all. I found it challenging, but it was especially wonderful to be back with my church family, two of whom entertained me very well.
Monday 1
Coffee with some of my family, and a trip to the florist with my sister to pick up the flowers for her granddaughter’s funeral, a sad event. Lunch with a friend, a spot of piano playing, and I took the Mother, who had recently celebrated her birthday, out to dinner.
Tuesday 1
A trip to Baddesley Clinton and Packwood House, two local National Trust properties. Shame on NT, both were closed due to “unforeseen circumstances” and “private functions” neither of which was mentioned on their website. Instead, D and I wondered through Hatton Locks, and then the gardens at Upton House.
Wednesday 1
A trip to Brighton to see M, which was a wonderful day out. Coffee shops, fish and chip shops, tea shops, pubs, sea walks, cups of tea, and much chat punctuated the day. A review will be posted.
Thursday 1
A lazy day at home, finishing off some writing.
Friday 1
A trip to Norwich, for the first time. A review of this will also be posted.
Saturday 2
How unlikely is this – a trip to Dorking for the day.
Sunday 2
Up early and back to Banbury to go to the wedding of S and J – a I had never attended a Sunday wedding before. It was a lovely informal occasion.
Monday 2
I took the Mother to the new Ikea in Coventry to select her birthday present before driving back to London.
Tuesday 2
Off to London in the afternoon to buy some shoes and meet J for a coffee.
Wednesday 2
Another day at home, where I got the new intellichef thing out and tested it out.
Thursday 2
Off to London followed by dinner with a friend. A lovely day.
Friday 2
Another day at home, finishing off and submitting my writing and generally being lazy thereafter.

A lovely leisurely time, I think you will agree. Sometimes it is nice not to have a specific schedule planned for time off; little excursions and gentle days can prove just as restful and enjoyable.

The Banbury Man returns

2010-07-31T13:07:00.003+01:00

The Banbury Man has been rather occupied lately, and thus rather quiet on here. I have taken part in a writing project, been continuing to settle in my new flat, and have had two weeks off work, to make some visits, and start a walking project which will feature on these pages in week to come.

Here, briefly, is my news:

I am relieved England did not win the World Cup
I wish Labour would be more of a voice
I like some things the ConDem government are doing, and dislike others
I have learnt something about myself
I returned to Banbury for a weekend and enjoyed it
I am allowed to drive again
I hate hoovering
I have a decision to make

Those were the headlines. Good day to you.

Inside my wallet

2010-07-05T07:32:00.000+01:00

My wallet feels very bulky lately, so I thought it was time I turned it out. This is what I found inside:

• £55 in notes
• £6.18 in coins
• A receipt for £4.48 from Oxfam bookshop
• A cheque made payable to me for £30, which I need to take to the bank
• The name and address of someone who sings in a local choir I may join
• A Banbury bus-ticket
• An Oxford bus-ticket
• An out of date timetable for trains from Banbury to London
• A piece of paper with the dates and concerts for the next year for Banbury Choral Society
• A receipt for an Argos giftcard I was given on my departure from Banbury
• A cash withdrawal slip for £50 from Brent Cross
• The card for Ristorante Paradiso, a nice Italian restaurant in Bloomsbury
• The card for a friend of mine who is an artist
• Two toothpicks
• An Argos giftcard with about £30 left on it
• A shopping list
• A reminder to call the decorator about to confirm the kitchen refurbishment at work (I did not call; he has started now)
• A piece of paper with the name of a friend I need to write to
• A £1.50 Tesco clubcard voucher
• A loyalty card for Buzz, my long-since closed independent coffee shop haunt in Banbury. Eight stamps on it, which will never be used!
• Two loyalty cards for Jo & Al, the fair-trade organic independent coffee shop 50 metres from my front door in Finchley. One with two stamps, one with one.
• A loyalty card for a coffee from the West Cornwall Pasty Company, which I occasionally frequented when travelling to and from Banbury, as there is one at London Marylebone.
• Two loyalty cards for Caffe Nero – one full, and one with five stamps.
• A book of stamps, with six second-class stamps.
• A piece of paper with the email address of an old friend I bumped into the other week.
• A National Trust card.
• A loyalty card for Marks & Spencer coffee shop, with three stamps on it.
• A loyalty card for Debenhams coffee shop, with one stamp on it.
• A shopping card for my printer cartridges, which is a vain attempt to stop me buying the wrong ones when I am out shopping.
• The remains of some finger-nail biting (sorry).
• A loyalty card for the Jaypur Indian restaurant in Banbury, entitling me to 10% off all orders.
• A card for the splendid Ozer Turkish restaurant in Oxford Circus.
• The card of an American friend I met in London recently.
• A dentist appointment card with my next check up – 27th September 2010.

It was about time I had a clear out. What is in your wallet?

Independence

2010-07-04T15:26:00.000+01:00

Living in Finchley, I am well aware that we have a former member of Parliament more notorious than most in the person of Margaret Thatcher, although I am hard put to recall the name of the newly elected member. Banbury itself has not had many notable MP’s, despite the fact that many Tory grandees have had their constituencies in Oxfordshire, most notably David Shameron. But one former MP for Banbury is Lord North, who, in the late eighteenth century, also served as Prime Minister. The name will only be familiar to the keenest of political historians, and for one reason. Today is 4th July, known in USA as Independence Day, and known in the UK as The Day of Insurrection. In 1776, under Lord North’s helpless administration, the American colonies declared independence, and the nation of USA came into being.

I find America to be a land of great contrasts. There is must about it that I find hard to understand. The USA has the worst gun crime, the highest prison population, and the lowest urban life expectancy of all the nations of the West. Racism lives on in many parts of the states, and American workers enjoy the shortest holidays, smallest sickness pay provision, and worst redundancy rights in North America or Europe. No other nation spends such a large proportion of its GDP on health care provision, yet many “developing countries” have better provision for their poorest people. The world watched on in horror as a firing squad executed a murderer in Utah last month, and every year, criminals are murdered on the barbarous electric chair. I could go on and mention right-wing Christian fundamentalists, self-serving foreign policies, a refusal to accept responsibility for climate change, and the relative autocracy of the President who enjoys powers that are the envy of democratic leaders throughout the world.

If I stopped here, you might suppose that I am an Americophobe. I have spoken of dreadful things and strongly held views. Yet this is not the case. As a land of contrasts, there is much to admire in America. As an uptight, angst-ridden, class-encumbered Brit, I find the American easy-going character a breath of fresh air. Almost without exception, I find Americans to be disingenuous, gregarious, kind, and considerate. They are friendly and hospitable to a fault. Waiters and waitresses, bartenders, shop staff and hotel staff are polite and attentive. There are no grumpy teenagers on the till here. It is cheap to travel and cheap to consume in USA. The land itself is one of varying landscapes with enormous beauty. Even the patriotism of America, which can border on jingoism, seems to be born of pride and loyalty.

On balance, I am glad the USA exists. On the whole, the world is a better place for it. I have been three times, and loved the visits there. I love the American people, most of whom are good, and not possessed of the wiles that haunt their European brethren. I congratulate them on Independence Day.

A Random Act of Kindness

2010-06-14T19:10:00.000+01:00

I was recently at London Paddington station, waiting to catch a train to Reading. It is one of the big termini, with trains heading for destinations in the west of England. It was at this station in 1934 that my grandparents arrived on their way to their honeymoon. As they alighted from their train, my grandfather shut the door, and my grandmother’s little finger was caught, and chopped in half. She spent her wedding night in St Mary’s Hospital next door, and, forty years later, showed her admiring grandson the little finger, complete with a claw-like nail that curled round and had to be cut by the doctor.

It was at this station I arrived as a young lad, on an exciting trip to London with those very grandparents. Feeding the pigeons at Trafalgar Square, watching the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, touring the Royal Mews and seeing Princess Margaret enter a hotel all waited for me. But, first, Granny had to take me to the toilet, before we got on the Tube, for my first ride on the London Underground. The toilets at this time were occupied by a quite simply enormous ginger station cat. I had never seen such a large cat. It was large in its frame, but hugely fat, sitting on the landing like a benevolent ball of wool, squinting carefully at all that passed. Such a creature ensured I insisted on going to the toilet every time I passed through Paddington.

As I waited at Paddington on this recent visit, I was aware that I needed to commune with nature. I knew the cat would be long-gone but nonetheless, was pleased to find that the toilets were in the exact same place. I descended the stairs to find that a 30p charge was being made. To my annoyance, I only had a 10p, and two 5p pieces, and several pound coins. I came back onto the platform and looked for someone who appeared friendly to help change a coin. I asked a smartly dressed gentleman if he had any change. As he fished around looking for it, he commented that one never had change when one needed it. He had lots of change, but not the change needed, although he did have a 20p piece which he offered. I protested that I did not have the right change, but he insisted, saying that the calls of nature were more important than mere economic situations and gave me the 20p piece. I gratefully accepted hurried downstairs before a natural disaster occurred, thankful for such kindness from someone I would never see again. When I got to the barrier, 20p and 10p held aloft to give as my offering and pass into the inner sanctum of the Great Western Washroom, I found, to my surprise, that the display showed that 20p had already been inserted. I put my 10p in and entered, grateful for two random acts of kindness in a few minutes.

The F Word

2010-06-12T20:49:00.000+01:00

I am a nice man. I do not use the F word. It is very common to use it nowadays. It is on the television all the time. It was even used on the Today Programme on Radio 4 this week. Everyone around me uses the F word. It is impossible to have a conversation without the F word coming up. Even at church the F word has featured. It is, simply, inescapable.

I am, of course, talking about football. The whole nation seems to be obsessed with the World Cup Tournament. I am happy that people are interested in sport. I like the Wimbledon Tennis fortnight. I am ok with it being on the television a bit, as long as there is something else to watch. But I do not want football to dominate the news. Sport is not news. I do not want features about football players in my newspapers. I would like a can of coke. I would not like a world cup can of coke. I need to visit the supermarket. I would not like to visit the Official England World Cup Supermarket. I occasionally buy beer. I do not need 36 cans of it. I do not buy pizza at the supermarket. I do not want an England flag. The unbearable hype is almost as bad as Christmas. If England win (as unlikely as ever) life here will not be worth living. I shall be cheering for Germany, Argentina, or whoever is needed to defeat England.

To football fans – enjoy the football. But please, do not talk about it all the time. I am not interested.

A place of my own

2010-06-12T18:41:00.001+01:00

Now that the Banbury Man (who will always be the Banbury Man) has become The Finchley Fellow, I am experiencing some new things. I have lived in about ten places throughout my life, and I have always shared with family, flat-mates, house-mates, or neighbours in university accommodation. I have never had a place that only I live in, where only I have the key. I can sit on a comfortable chair and read, or watch television without checking with someone else. I can wander out of the bathroom in a state of undress to find some clothes, without worrying that someone will come in and see me. I can go to bed and leave the washing up until the morning without annoying someone, or causing an inconvenience. There are no women around to leave the toilet seat down (a most annoying habit, ladies!); I can shower when I like, even in the middle of the night. I can invite friends by without checking if it is alright, without worrying that we are making a noise. This is a new experience for me. I like it. In my late thirties, it is about time.

Concert Review: Verdi Requiem in Beckenham

2010-06-05T09:17:00.001+01:00

This is going to be a rather unusual concert review, for the Banbury Man was singing in this concert. I was helping out the Beckenham Chorale who were a bit short of tenors. Rather disastrously, I helpfully said I would sing where I was put, with the consequence that I was put with the second tenors. Although the part does not split much, one chorus does, and there were other times when I found it annoying to be singing the lower notes instead of belting out the top ones. However, there were twenty tenors, which was thrilling, and I had never sung in so large a choir.

As I sang, I will not review the performance of the choir, but rather the soloists, who were a mixed bag. The mezzo was just good. She gave a decent performance, and managed well in all registers. The bass was good – with that sound needed for the piece. The soprano, disappointingly, was just acceptable. She made few obvious mistakes. She generally sang at the power, or delicacy, that the part demanded. In any other work, this would be fine. But in this work, where the soprano really needs to shine, it was disappointing. There was nothing memorable about her performance. The star of the show for me was the tenor. This is a work that calls for delicate singing in the offertorium, but power in other arias and quartets. All too often a tenor is good at one and not the other, and usually gets drowned out by the bass and soprano (see my last review of this piece). But this time the tenor, who had more of an operatic background, really possessed the force and tone to carry it off. He was never drowned out, but still managed tender notes. My one criticism would be that his voice lacked consistency throughout the range, but it was good to hear the tenor line in the quartets for once, and not feel that this was really being performed by a baritone who had some high notes in him.

This requiem, as I have written before is thrilling to listen to. To perform it is a spiritual and physical exercise, that guarantees an exhausted buzzing singer at the end.

A little list of things that I somehow feel I ought to be into, but, for various reasons, am not, and therefore feel that I am missing out.

2010-06-03T03:21:00.002+01:00

Sometime ago, in this post, I gave a list of things I like and enjoy, but about which I feel rather ashamed and embarrassed. This list caused much amusement among my friends, and not a few comments. I made a promise then that I would list things I am not into, but feel I ought to be, either because I think I might actually like them, or because I would get along so much better with the people around me, and might actually have something to talk about with them. Here goes:

1. Football. (Soccer to my American followers). I find football tiresome in the extreme. It goes on and on, and seems to consist of a bunch of vainglorious overpaid underwear models running around a pitch for the enjoyment of the popular media and jingoistic supporters. I dread the world cup.

2. Formula One racing. Whereas football is a continual annoyance, F1 is a weekly annoyance throughout the summer, and I hate it with a passion. The drivers are even more egotistical and foolish than their footballing counterparts, and the races are the bane of Sunday afternoon television. Even worse, it is about cars, which have always bored me (why is Top Gear always on at least two channels at any given time?).

3. Glee. This is, I understand, a series about a high school choir. I like music, and think I would like it. I cannot turn to Farcebook without seeing rave reviews, comments, and polls. All my friends like it. I just have not managed to tune into it, and it is too late now. I also fear I would really enjoy it, and spend all my time watching the eighteen series of twenty-four episodes.

4. Flash Forward and Heroes. Much the same as point 3.

5. Vampire and werewolf series. I have never watched Buffy and Twilight, but, again, these seem to be ubiquitous. Every other book in the book shop is about High School Vampires, Gay Vampires, Lesbian Vampires, Catholic Vampires, Vegetarian Vampires etc. etc. etc. I am mildly entertained by such sour confectionery but am unable to justify the time it would take to watch such things.

6. Only Fools and Horses. I agree this is funny in parts, but I just could never get into it.

7. Dad’s Army, and Fawlty Towers – ditto.

8. Cupcakes – everywhere you turn now, there are cup cakes smothered in piped icing. They look most sickly and horrid. I will not indulge.

9. Wearing jeans below the hip, to reveal underwear. Last week, it was my pleasure to see a young man running for bus to have his jeans fall down and bring him with a thud to the floor. Once I had ascertained that the only injury was to his pride, I could hardly contain my snickers and guffaws. I cannot bear trousers and jeans to slip down, and always have my belt tightly done up (a necessity now I am losing weight). I do wear underwear, but, despite the frequent requests of my public, it will not be on display. It is under my clothes. The clue is in the name.

10. Iphones, Ipods, Epads, Ybooks, Xpads, Podcasts, Wormcasts, Efiles, Xfiles, Playstations, Xboxes, IBoxes, Wii, Wee, PSP, PIP, PSN, any form of game, and the Cloud. I just cannot keep up and don’t have the money. I have a mobile ‘phone that makes/takes calls and can be used as a camera. I can check my email on it if I want (I never do). I have an mp3 player which has music on which I listen to when going on a long walk. That is sufficient for me.

Do you have anything you feel you ought to be into, but are not? Tell me about it!

A change of mind

2010-05-30T07:28:00.000+01:00

It is possible for someone to change their mind. Some see this as a weakness (the Lady is not for turning), whereas it can sometimes be a strength to move one’s opinion on. I certainly do not have all the views I had when I was, say, eighteen. I have changed one or two views. I have kept most important views. I have refined, or mellowed most, and, in a few, grown stronger in my convictions. None of us are in a static place, but live in a world, where, as we learn more, obliges us to confront what we think.

It was with no small irony that Theresa May was appointed Equalities Minister in the new Lib Con Coalition. A study of her voting record will demonstrate that, throughout the years, she has constantly taken the xenophobic, homophobic, anything-else-you-can-think-of-phobic line on just about every vote possible. She has shown herself no friend to women, the poor, the disabled, or immigrants. A concerted campaign was run in the hallowed pages of Farcebook to protest about this.

When I “liked” this campaign, I was immediately challenged by a Christian friend, who could not believe I was serious. Now, I am well aware that there are all sorts of views amongst Christians on immigration, on sexual equality, and on sexuality. However, I think there is a great deal of confusion about how these matters should affect society. The debate in society is not about what is right or wrong in our view. Take the matter of homosexuality. I have my own views on this which I will not discuss here. Whether or not you consider homosexual relationships as “sinful” or “not sinful” is, in the context of society as a whole, immaterial. While you may not agree with the lifestyle someone has chosen (although I do not believe sexuality is a thing one chooses), it does not give you the right to demand that they are discriminated against in civil and criminal legislation. In society, all should be equal to live the life they do, providing they do not harm others, or society. Civil law is not church law. While a religious group may have beliefs about such things, and exercise them in the context of their religious meetings, they may not impose them on society as a whole. To do so is intolerant dominionism. I do not hear of Christians who own guesthouses demanding to see the marriage certificates of mixed couples who stay in their establishments, yet they believe it their right to refuse business to same-sex couples.

My issue here is not sexuality itself. It is how far should Christians guide society? Too many Christians wish to impose their views and exclude, and interfere where they should not. The New Testament I read tells Christians to be like Christ, and to be salt and light. I know what I would rather do.

So where is the change of mind? Theresa May says she has considered some of these issues, and changed her mind in the light of further information. Good for her! I hope that translates into action.

Vacuum Cleaners*

2010-05-29T19:32:00.001+01:00

*see last post but one

Pillows*

2010-05-29T19:31:00.001+01:00

*see last post.

Duvet

2010-05-29T19:24:00.000+01:00

I bought a duvet last week. This is something I have never done. I had blankets and a homemade quilt at home. When I went to university, mother bought me a duvet. When that needed replacing, she bought me another. When I wanted a cooler one, she bought me that too. Over the years, I have had duvets as occasional presents. I have never had to shop for one. Now I am moving into a flat with a double bed. I do not have a double duvet. So I had to buy one. When you buy a duvet, you need to decide what tog to have. None of my duvets have their tog written on them. I had to go and look at some before deciding that 9.5 was what I wanted (I never feel cold in bed, and dislike heavy covers). Then I had to decide on the filling. Artificial fillings, hollow-fibre fillings, feathers, down, natural, brushed, fluffed, and expanded. Prices ranged from below £10 to well over £100. I was, frankly, amazed, and had to take advice from a mother in London. The duvet is now purchased. I have always been pretty good around the house – cooking, cleaning, ironing, washing etc. It was a new experience to me to have to ask about something so simple. I just hope, when I start using the duvet this week, that it turns out to be the right one!

Film Review: Iron Man 2

2010-05-29T13:23:00.000+01:00

I went to see this with a friend, and, although I did not particularly object to this choice, it was not a film I would have chosen to see. I had not seen the first one, and did not think I would enjoy this. I was pleasantly surprised.

The film did contain all the usual fights and special effects, but these did not utterly dominate proceedings. Although I had not seen the first film, this did not mar my viewing too much, although I would undoubtedly have understood more had I seen it. The film for me was made by Robert Downey Jr. as Iron Man. He was a slight anti-hero in that he appeared arrogant and shallow, and yet retained our sympathy. I first came across Downey in Sherlock Holmes earlier this year, and he played this part in the same, slightly sardonic style, which ensured we did not take everything too seriously. A good effort, with a memorable soundtrack!

Con-Dem-Nation

2010-05-28T21:27:00.000+01:00

Well, we are now a few weeks into the new Government, and, amidst all the general confusion that has prevailed, with no-one really knowing who is in charge, we are beginning to see how the new Government will operate. And, quite frankly, it is a bit of a shambles. Boy-George Osborne took time out of school to set forth some cuts (not as oppressive to the poor as the Tories would have liked but still rather protectionist) numbering several billion pounds to be taken out of the economy, but then did not get clearance to leave school and answer questions about this in the House, leaving it to his hapless Lib-Dem deputy who took all the flack instead.

Work and Pensions Minister Ian Bunkum Smith has spoken out and said he will resign if asked to make cuts in his area. I have mixed feelings towards this man who was once a right wing protectionist, then a completely ineffectual Leader of the Opposition (surely no-one can look at footage of “beware the Quiet Man” without laughing uncontrollably). Since then, he has headed up a think tank looking into reducing poverty (something the Conservatives have never been interested in) and has developed some remarkably progressive views for someone on side of the pro/re-gressive line. That said, he is still wanting in his understanding of poverty, demonstrating a naivety we have come to expect from the privileged right wing.

Most shockingly of all, the Government, in the week of the Queen’s Speech (a most lack-lustre affair), the Government did not allow any minister to take part in BBC Question Time, unless the producers removed Alistair Campbell from the line up. This shows a breathtaking arrogance by the Eton-educated DaveandNick Cameron, who clearly feels he is entitled to tell everyone what to do, despite a mean mandate from the electorate. As David Dimbleby put it “it is for us, not the Government, to decide who appears on the panel”. Quite.

Coalition politics - some more thoughts on the election settlement

2010-05-16T18:20:00.000+01:00

I became rather weary of political blogs after the election campaign. Earlier this week, as the parties were planning and conniving to see who should be in power, there seemed to be so much happening that I would have to continue giving hourly updates. I will here just give some thoughts on events since the election.

The Labour Party
Labour did suffer a defeat, but not a huge one. Gordon Brown looked tired, and hung onto power as the Liberal Democrats decided what they wanted to do. It was the sad end to a distinguished career. History will be much kinder to Brown than the media, who dislike his gruff style. The man was a gifted chancellor, and has served for a long time in his various offices. He, and I, and much of the nation, was rather choked when he gave his little speech after going to see the Queen and resign. It is a sad day when the substance of a man like this is rejected in favour of the style of younger upstarts.
Brown’s immediate resignation forces a leadership campaign, and, at this point, the only two declared candidates are Dave and Ed Milliband. I like and respect these two brothers enormously, and the prospect of a fraternal contest does lend a certain frisson to proceedings. I prefer the more radical policies of Ed, with his close links to the trade unions, but I think that Dave has more gravitas. Sadly, I feel both are too young, but their opponents, DaveandNick are as young. I would have liked someone with the stature of Jack Straw, but he has ruled himself out.
I feel a period in opposition, with a strong new leader, will be good for Labour, particularly against so weak a government. I hope they only have one term in opposition, and that the Con-dem coalition fails.

The Conservative Party
The Conservatives won the election, but failed to achieve a majority. This is quite amazing considering the unpopularity of the government, and demonstrates a major failure by former public schoolboy David Shameron. Surely, in such a mutinous party, he cannot last very long before he pays for this failure. Quite rightly, the Conservatives, as the largest party, felt they ought to form a government, and Shameron soon began to woo Nick Clegg, whom he had previously made fun of. Some laughable concessions were offered, but it was not until it was revealed that the Lib Dems had also been in conversation with Labour that the Tories offered anything of substance. Now, forced to ditch their major policy to protect the richest 3,000 in the country from inheritance tax, and conceding a referendum on electoral reform, Eton boy Shameron has formed a Lib-Con coalition and is now known as Prime Minister DaveandNick Shameron. His wife has had to give up her £400K career with only a six-figure pay-off and they have moved into the luxury flat above No 11. Inconceivably, DaveandNick has retained Bog-George Osborne, who is his chancellor. Shameron now heads a coalition government, and this might be a good thing. If there is restraint on the more reactionary and pocket-lining policies of the Tories, some good may arise. But this will surely not last long, despite the flirtatious giggles and back-pats of Shameron and Clegg.

The Liberal Democrats
After their shock loss of seats, the Lib Dems held the keys to number 10. Although it was the Tories who had the largest party, for a progressive and redistributive party to join with them was not a pleasant prospect. Many votes in southern England, where Labour generally does poorly, vote Lib Dem as a way to block the Tories. The Lib Dems have the most progressive taxation policy of any of the parties, and yet they have aligned with the most regressive.
It would have been difficult for the Lib Dems to join forces with Labour, simply because they were not the largest party, and because the two parties between them did not have a majority. This is a pity, as a progressive alliance against the xenophobic, homophobic financiers of the Tory ranks would have been a good thing for the nation. Nonetheless, a government has been formed, marked by the silence of the more left wing Lib Dems, such as Simon Hughes. I think the public who voted Lib Dem will be angry about this. “Vote Clegg, get Brown” screamed Tory posters. People voted Clegg and got Cameron. It is my hope that perhaps this will cause the Lib Dems to dissolve with members going both ways, thus strengthening Labour, the natural destination for most.

Mixed feelings. Despite my misgivings at this new government, I hope it succeeds for a short while. It could be promising, and it will be nice to see the Tories somewhat held at bay, perhaps giving a chance of progress to the poorest members of society. We shall see.

Sin City

2010-05-15T14:37:00.000+01:00

I feel so cheap and dirty. I should have listened to everyone. Back in Banbury, they warned me not to go and live in London, the big city, full of dark dangerous deeds, depravity of every sort, colours and shapes in varieties undreamt of. While decent folk are sipping Horlicks before bed, Londoners are getting ready to leash all manner of wickedness on the world. I should have listened.

I don’t know why I did it. I saw you standing there, looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to fall into your trap like a hapless fly caught in the web of a plump spider. I was tired – it had been a long day, and I needed something to make me feel better. I had had a drink at the pub with some friends earlier – maybe that is why I had done it, although I had only had two pints that night. You just stood there patiently, looking at me, watching me in my uncertain deliberation.

Don’t do it, I said to myself. I knew I was on the edge of a precipice. If I gave in to my desires, my life would never be the change. Some deeds simply cannot be undone. It is late, nearly midnight, go home, I urged myself. But somehow I carried on standing there, looking over the edge, at once not caring if I fell, yet fearing the fall.

You carried on looking at me, urging me on with your eyes, catching a glimpse of my uncertainty, and knowing you had succeeded in your vile design. Helplessly, I looked at you, holding my innocence in my hand, like a caged bird, ready to fly away. I suddenly felt a resolve - I didn’t have to do it, I could walk away, uncorrupted and with my head held high. The choice was mine. I picked up my rucksack and made ready to go. As you saw me, your eyes showed a flicker of impatience, followed by a sad smile. That did it for me. I was defeated. I succumbed to the inevitable, became a city man, and cast off my naive country ways. I walked right up to you and looked you in the eye:

“An angry whopper and small fries please!”

Concert Review - Verdi's Requiem in Leicester

2010-05-09T13:40:00.001+01:00

The Banbury Man has, for some years, appropriately enough, sung with the Banbury Choral Society for twelve years or so. For the last few years, the Society has been under the leadership of Keith Smith. Keith is possessed of extraordinary facial prowess and can, with a twitch of the eyebrow, convey disgust, approval, impatience, and gratitude all at once when directing the chorus. He is one of those rare choral conductors who is actually a gifted orchestral conductor, and indeed, conducted the Leicester Philharmonic Orchestra for a long period, as well as their Chorus, which was previously under the baton of none other than Malcolm Sergeant – whose recordings will be on the shelf of any choral fan. So it was with some anticipation that I journeyed to Leicester for a concert where he directed both orchestra and choir in a performance of Verdi’s Requiem, a concert arranged to celebrate a rather special birthday.

We had seats at the front left side, positioned near the four soloists, in front of the orchestra, but so we could see the grimaces and encouragements of Mr Smith. Verdi’s Requiem is, of course, well known as a piece of choral and orchestral theatre, with moments of sublime peace, followed by high drama, piteous yearning, and shrieks of horror. It is demanding for all the soloists, especially the soprano, who leads throughout, and not only has to have the vim and cleavage to perform Wagnerian feats, but the tenderness to soar above the choir in serene contemplative mien.

The soprano was the blind lady who won Operatunity, a television opera talent contest. I freely admit I was suspicious of her ability, having been discovered in such a way, but she dispelled my prejudice by performing excellently, with exactly the right character. I little more force might have been nice, but her sweetness in the other passages was unsurpassable. The mezzo was indeed a superb mezzo, having the rare ability to belt out those high notes, as well as sounding meaty (almost Callas-like) on the lower notes. The tenor had a beautiful voice, and was particularly sweet during the offertory, but lacked power in the quartet. However, the highlight of the soloist line up was the bass. The bass scheduled to sing had been delayed in Japan due to the volcano ash cloud, and this gentleman stepped in for him. He possessed the build and cavernous tones one wants of a bass soloist, singing with a gentle yet assertive tone, giving the impression that if he really let go, the building might collapse. The bass is the least favourite of my voices, but he really lifted the performance enormously.

What can I say of the choir and the orchestra – they were great. Although large, the choir intoned carefully, and managed the difficult whispered opening with style. The balance of voices was very pleasing and I did not feel hard done by due to the dominance of any particular section. It was a performance almost without error, and the orchestra never drowned them out, even during the brassiest fanfares. The whole concert made me feel privileged to have sung under this conductor, and made me want to be there singing – happily, I will be soon. It was a joy to meet old friends over drinks afterwards, and I think Keith Smith can feel rightly proud of this performance, and of his career over the years, and especially the interest he has in young musicians. A wonderful evening!