As it’s the season of goodwill I thought I’d offer some advice to all those poor people who get taken in on a daily basis by unscrupulous salespersons.
Beware salesmen they often come in sheep’s clothing!
Eleven years ago my insurance company rep from Royal Sun Alliance knocked on my door and invited me to take out a 10-year savings plan. “Of course I can’t give you precise information but at the current rate of interest your money should almost double”. I can see the chap now and I remember thinking “I wonder where you will be in 10 years time”. On a beach in Lanzarote perhaps!
Last Christmas my plan matured and you might think it was a nice little earner as the previous 10 years had been a time of boom bang a bang bang – alas nooooooo. My final figure was far less than I had paid in and when I had the audacity to question this I was told “admin fees”.
While I am on the subject of RSA (now called More Than I think) I’d like to warn people at this stage that they are probably the most customer-unfriendly insurance company in Britain.
I have had my motor insurance and home insurance with them for most of the 30 years I have lived at my current abode and have never yet made a claim on either – however – I had the misfortune to be banned for speeding after speed cameras were placed on the road I live on and in total ignorance I sped through them at 38, 39 and 39mph on the first day they were implemented in February 2001. Three months later, in May, the summons’ arrived on my doorstep all at once and in September I was banned for four months on the totting-up procedure as the magistrate thought it wise to give me three points for the first offence, four for the second and five points for the third, although they were all awarded for a 24-hour period. Incidentally, I subsequently found out this year that I should never have been taken to court in the first place as there were three months between offence and summons!! Anyway my insurance company RSA took it upon themselves to write to me to the effect that I was now persona non grata and that was that. A little irked but undeterred I have continued to pay them my home insurance premium and in September put in a claim for structural damage to my hall wall as a gaping crack suddenly appeared. I sent the builder’s estimate in (£660) as they asked me to but eventually was told this was cosmetic and they would not be honouring my claim. Be warned everyone
Now back to investment issues. This Christmas I had been looking forward to a Capital Bond maturing. I opened a bank account with NatWest five years ago and immediately a personal investment banker called me into his office to tell me that my money would be best served by taking out a Capital Bond. He told me there were three types of Bond, High Risk, Medium Risk and Low Risk but all of them would DEFINITELY serve me better than the interest earned in the account I had opened. Yes, I fell for it again I’m afraid (but remember I didn’t know about my savings plan at this time) and the letter duly arrived on my doorstep last week congratulating me on my bond maturing and relaying to me how pleased they were to inform me that all I needed to do was sign the letter and send it back to the bank. I smelt a rat immediately when no figure was mentioned so I rang the bank and was eventually told that my bond was worth considerably less than five years ago. So much for the words of the investment banker who wasted several hours of my time five years ago and completely unsolicited I might add. Be warned everyone
It seems Christmas is not always the time for good cheer. On 28 December 2004 I purchased a laptop from PC World in Crawley. It never held a charge and had to be plugged in constantly.
I was busy getting my sports book out so didn’t have a chance to take it back initially but rang them up several times during the course of the year to inform them of the situation and they told me to bring it along when I am next in town. Unfortunately for me this was 29 December 2005 and the chap in the store seemed to take great relish in informing me that my warranty expired the day before. My explanation stood for nothing and another lesson was learnt. I bought another laptop this Christmas – from Currys : )
With me it is usually the principle and so the worst crime of all is when you know someone is taking advantage of you but you are helpless to do anything about it. I bought an ear cleaner from a mail order catalogue called Healthy Living in September – it cost me £15.99 i.e. £9.99 +p&p. It was advertised as having a ‘gentle suction action’ but laughably it was just a whirring noise with a light. My GP told me it was useless so I duly sent it back as the company asked me to. I checked my bank account in November to see that £9.99 had been credited and when I rang them last week was told they do not refund postage. Now come on guys I would have expected my original postage back plus the carriage in on the return. More than that I asked for an investigation as I felt this was a con and far from believing this was a faulty machine I rather fear that there could not possibly be a ‘gentle suction action’ on any of the stock as it has a solid head with no compartment for residue wax!
Be warned everyone Healthy Living could ruin your health.
The lessons learnt are twofold. Never be swayed by smooth-talking men in grey suits and if something seems to good to be true then it usually is.
A very happy new year to everyone
Saturday 27 December 2008
Wednesday 17 December 2008
Politics - Oh What a Carry On!
After many years of helping the Labour Party cause I decided almost on a whim to resign from the Party today.
I say resign but in actual fact what I mean is that I shall let my membership lapse.
Last Tuesday evening (9 December) I received a seemingly innocent email sent to me and other local members informing us of a BNP Christmas Party to be held in Crawley and a request to meet at the local B & Q to form a spoiling squad.
The actual email was sent via a completely separate organisation called Unite Against Fascism, which seems to have a large body of Labour Party supporters, but is clearly distinct from the Party.
I questioned why I was copied into the email as I am not a member of UAF or any other militant body, however noble their cause might be.
All I know of the BNP is what I gleaned from surfing the web a few weeks ago when their member's list was published to such a media frenzy one would almost believe they were the Ku Klux Klan.
Their website is bound to be biased but their Wikipedia entry is moderated universally so only fact allowed to be published. This makes me draw a conclusion that although I could never join such a party for my fundamental belief that repatriation is wrong, neither could I join a pro Capital Punishment group or for that matter the Tory Party as I have a fundamental belief it is wrong to take a life and I could never live happily with an unequal distribution of wealth whatever the other policies might be.
This doesn't mean I condone any militant action against someone who is not breaking the law and as far as I can see is merely a part of an organisation of like-minded individuals trying to lobby support for their misguided ideals. I seem to remember the founding father of the Labour Party having all sorts of problems with the militant tendency within and without his party and Mr Keir Hardie being publicly harangued by all and sundry, particularly for his radical support of women's suffrage - God forbid!
What possible political threat are the BNP? Apparently they have up to 100 local council seats across the UK, so if democracy demands they have a voice then so be it. Would we be incensed if they began to turn up to disrupt our Labour Party meetings?
But I hear you say - their manifesto is abhorrent to any right-minded citizen's sensitivities - but why?
There is much I disagree with within the Labour Party but on balance I agree with enough to want to help win an election and I agree with far more than I do with the other parties as I feel Labour Party members tend to have good hearts - on the whole.
As a Christian there is also a lot I disagree with within the Christian Church but enough I agree with to want to wear that badge and again, fellow Christians tend to have good hearts - on the whole.
Having a cursory glance at the BNP website and its Wikipedia entry I can quite understand a band of human beings signing up to it, perhaps hankering for nostalgia or having real fears about our country's identity as a sovereign nation. Although I believe it to be at best a misguided sense of patriotism founded on a fallacy, surely we have not become so corrupt that we can no longer allow free speech.
The philosopher Voltaire has had quite an influence on my life one way or another and ironically it is an apocryphal quote of his that springs to mind here. “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it” (Voltaire said something similar but these actual words were written by Evelyn Beatrice Hall, under the pseudonym S. G. Tallentyre in her 1906 biographical book The Friends of Voltaire).
Voltaire’s sentiment is right in my opinion and democracy lives and dies by the ability or otherwise to stand firm against militancy but not be drawn into a Sysyphean cat-fight.
Subsequent to my reply I received several considered responses mainly informing me of how the BNP have “encouraged” members to make obscene phone calls to our Labour Party councillors night and day and also that certain members were on their ‘red watch’ whatever that might mean. My immediate thoughts on this are that I would doubt a political party would act in such a manner (it is more likely individual member’s responses) but then again I was surprised to see the Labour Party taking such an ill-considered approach to a rival organisation! The point here is that if we looked after our own business and did not engage the BNP then we would not have to fight this pointless war.
I also received a response from a homosexual member accusing me of being homophobic. This was in fact the straw that broke the camel’s back as I pre-empted this response in my closing remarks.
For the record, I do not believe that homosexuality should be celebrated but that is merely a Christian viewpoint and nothing to do with this present argument. I also believe that homosexuals are human beings and I have the same love for them as I do any human being and so I certainly do not consider myself homophobic.
As it happens as the days have gone by I have received several more emails in support of my sentiments about “bully boy” tactics and how I should not be afraid to speak up for something I believe in. This heartened me considerably as if the truth be known I was very upset that I had upset this homosexual respondent as this was not my intention at all and it was on reading his reply did I feel I must withdraw firstly from the forum and after some thought, from the Party, as I do not want to make the same mistakes I have made in the past in my personal life by being insensitive to other people’s points of view.
I am not a political animal and I am certainly not PC, in fact I think the world is going mad, slowly but surely. I can no longer take my bicycle into places I have done for 30 years and when I ask why I am quoted health and safety laws. “What if someone was to fall over your bike or it fell on them”. Do we live in enlightened times – wasn’t this always a possibility. Have we had a glut of bicycle misfortunes lately that I have missed reading about?
Where will it all end – in disaster I’m afraid
I say resign but in actual fact what I mean is that I shall let my membership lapse.
Last Tuesday evening (9 December) I received a seemingly innocent email sent to me and other local members informing us of a BNP Christmas Party to be held in Crawley and a request to meet at the local B & Q to form a spoiling squad.
The actual email was sent via a completely separate organisation called Unite Against Fascism, which seems to have a large body of Labour Party supporters, but is clearly distinct from the Party.
I questioned why I was copied into the email as I am not a member of UAF or any other militant body, however noble their cause might be.
All I know of the BNP is what I gleaned from surfing the web a few weeks ago when their member's list was published to such a media frenzy one would almost believe they were the Ku Klux Klan.
Their website is bound to be biased but their Wikipedia entry is moderated universally so only fact allowed to be published. This makes me draw a conclusion that although I could never join such a party for my fundamental belief that repatriation is wrong, neither could I join a pro Capital Punishment group or for that matter the Tory Party as I have a fundamental belief it is wrong to take a life and I could never live happily with an unequal distribution of wealth whatever the other policies might be.
This doesn't mean I condone any militant action against someone who is not breaking the law and as far as I can see is merely a part of an organisation of like-minded individuals trying to lobby support for their misguided ideals. I seem to remember the founding father of the Labour Party having all sorts of problems with the militant tendency within and without his party and Mr Keir Hardie being publicly harangued by all and sundry, particularly for his radical support of women's suffrage - God forbid!
What possible political threat are the BNP? Apparently they have up to 100 local council seats across the UK, so if democracy demands they have a voice then so be it. Would we be incensed if they began to turn up to disrupt our Labour Party meetings?
But I hear you say - their manifesto is abhorrent to any right-minded citizen's sensitivities - but why?
There is much I disagree with within the Labour Party but on balance I agree with enough to want to help win an election and I agree with far more than I do with the other parties as I feel Labour Party members tend to have good hearts - on the whole.
As a Christian there is also a lot I disagree with within the Christian Church but enough I agree with to want to wear that badge and again, fellow Christians tend to have good hearts - on the whole.
Having a cursory glance at the BNP website and its Wikipedia entry I can quite understand a band of human beings signing up to it, perhaps hankering for nostalgia or having real fears about our country's identity as a sovereign nation. Although I believe it to be at best a misguided sense of patriotism founded on a fallacy, surely we have not become so corrupt that we can no longer allow free speech.
The philosopher Voltaire has had quite an influence on my life one way or another and ironically it is an apocryphal quote of his that springs to mind here. “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it” (Voltaire said something similar but these actual words were written by Evelyn Beatrice Hall, under the pseudonym S. G. Tallentyre in her 1906 biographical book The Friends of Voltaire).
Voltaire’s sentiment is right in my opinion and democracy lives and dies by the ability or otherwise to stand firm against militancy but not be drawn into a Sysyphean cat-fight.
Subsequent to my reply I received several considered responses mainly informing me of how the BNP have “encouraged” members to make obscene phone calls to our Labour Party councillors night and day and also that certain members were on their ‘red watch’ whatever that might mean. My immediate thoughts on this are that I would doubt a political party would act in such a manner (it is more likely individual member’s responses) but then again I was surprised to see the Labour Party taking such an ill-considered approach to a rival organisation! The point here is that if we looked after our own business and did not engage the BNP then we would not have to fight this pointless war.
I also received a response from a homosexual member accusing me of being homophobic. This was in fact the straw that broke the camel’s back as I pre-empted this response in my closing remarks.
For the record, I do not believe that homosexuality should be celebrated but that is merely a Christian viewpoint and nothing to do with this present argument. I also believe that homosexuals are human beings and I have the same love for them as I do any human being and so I certainly do not consider myself homophobic.
As it happens as the days have gone by I have received several more emails in support of my sentiments about “bully boy” tactics and how I should not be afraid to speak up for something I believe in. This heartened me considerably as if the truth be known I was very upset that I had upset this homosexual respondent as this was not my intention at all and it was on reading his reply did I feel I must withdraw firstly from the forum and after some thought, from the Party, as I do not want to make the same mistakes I have made in the past in my personal life by being insensitive to other people’s points of view.
I am not a political animal and I am certainly not PC, in fact I think the world is going mad, slowly but surely. I can no longer take my bicycle into places I have done for 30 years and when I ask why I am quoted health and safety laws. “What if someone was to fall over your bike or it fell on them”. Do we live in enlightened times – wasn’t this always a possibility. Have we had a glut of bicycle misfortunes lately that I have missed reading about?
Where will it all end – in disaster I’m afraid
Tuesday 25 November 2008
Blow, Blow Thou Winter Wind
Like most people I have a severe dislike of the winter months and feel sure that human beans were designed for hibernation like hamsters and frogs and bears and hedgehogs.
As soon as the leaves start falling I know the long cold trek begins and it will be three or four months before I dare to look forward to the smell of freshly-cut grass or the sound of the dawn chorus.
Of course there are always sporadic bouts of winter activity to break up the tedium and temporarily ignite the burgeoning passions but for me it is a war of attrition until I see that first snowdrop.
I booked myself on a St John Ambulance life-saving course last week and my certificate arrived today. I am now officially competent to perform CardioPulmonary Resuscitation (CPR) to gold standard i.e. compression-ventilation ratio (30:2). To the layman this means if I come across someone who is not breathing I can try to stimulate them back to life by compressing their chest 30 times (in approximately 18 seconds) followed promptly by two goes at artificial respiration, and then repeating this process continually. One might imagine that the silver standard described a less competent student but amusingly it merely suggests the secondary option of cardiocerebral resuscitation (CCR). This technique is simply chest compressions without artificial respiration. My rather camp instructor at St John described certain situations where one might struggle with mouth-to-mouth, for instance if the lifeless person was abhorrent to the eye or smelt!
Actually, although I am being a little facetious here I suspect that we would all have to search our consciences if put on the spot. The good news is that research has shown that both the gold and silver standards are equally effective in almost all cases except for incidences of drowning or drug overdoses where mouth-to-mouth is essential.
On Sunday morning I braved the elements and rode to Horsham to join my team-mates at AD Cycles for a training session. It was quite a ride. In all, between the nine of us, we managed to conjure up seven different mechanical breakdowns i.e. four of us punctured at various times (yes I was one of them), one of us had a saddle problem, one had a loose front mech and another suffered a broken chain. Being experienced cyclists we all relied on each other to have Alan keys and chain tools and such like but to a man none of us had anything!
On Tuesday I attended a quiz at The Guildhall in London as a guest of Grahame Harding, the Chairman of First City Care. Grahame is a splendid fellow and founded Children in Crisis in 1993 with Sarah, Duchess of York and Paul Szkiler. The charity is an investment in the future of our world and every pound raised sees 98p go directly to the various projects. If you would like to support a child or buy Christmas Cards etc please phone 020 7627 1040.
Anyway, last year Grahame and I had our mutual friend Jeremy Beadle on board for this most prestigious quiz but despite our valiant efforts we narrowly missed victory but ended a gallant fourth. We vowed then that we would win the quiz this year in Jeremy’s honour. We had a terrific team and everyone contributed from Steve, the chief accountant to Paula, Grahame’s good lady wife, and especially the three young glamorous ladies who were indispensable in the pop culture area. We led all the way and were eight points clear going into the last round, in which we scored a maximum 10 points. But alas we managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory as the second-placed team of Smith and Williamson scored a magnificent 10 also but had their score doubled by playing their joker! Drat and double drat!
Well we all trundled back to The Ritz, oh yes I forgot to tell you that Grahame very generously puts us up at the world’s most famous hotel, and sipped the manager’s complimentary champagne whilst conducting the usual post-mortem.
Quite honestly we really were quite awesome and I defy even my friends, the celebrated Eggheads, having much of a chance against us that evening – it can only have been Jeremy’s little joke that we lost : )
The seemingly never-ending grind of researching my books becomes a far more lovingly undertaken exercise during the dark winter nights. Although I had the disappointment of having my A to Z of Britain and Ireland put back a year it has been a joy to update and review and now at least I have the prospect of looking forward to its publication next Autumn.
And so December beckons and the Christmas furore begins. I’ve never really been a fan. My mum died on Christmas Day and this brought home more than ever that it is a time for family togetherness. This year, for the first time in many, I have hope of something approaching a family Christmas. My dear brother Kevin is home from Ibiza and with him comes hope that other members of the family might get together as in days gone by.
As soon as the leaves start falling I know the long cold trek begins and it will be three or four months before I dare to look forward to the smell of freshly-cut grass or the sound of the dawn chorus.
Of course there are always sporadic bouts of winter activity to break up the tedium and temporarily ignite the burgeoning passions but for me it is a war of attrition until I see that first snowdrop.
I booked myself on a St John Ambulance life-saving course last week and my certificate arrived today. I am now officially competent to perform CardioPulmonary Resuscitation (CPR) to gold standard i.e. compression-ventilation ratio (30:2). To the layman this means if I come across someone who is not breathing I can try to stimulate them back to life by compressing their chest 30 times (in approximately 18 seconds) followed promptly by two goes at artificial respiration, and then repeating this process continually. One might imagine that the silver standard described a less competent student but amusingly it merely suggests the secondary option of cardiocerebral resuscitation (CCR). This technique is simply chest compressions without artificial respiration. My rather camp instructor at St John described certain situations where one might struggle with mouth-to-mouth, for instance if the lifeless person was abhorrent to the eye or smelt!
Actually, although I am being a little facetious here I suspect that we would all have to search our consciences if put on the spot. The good news is that research has shown that both the gold and silver standards are equally effective in almost all cases except for incidences of drowning or drug overdoses where mouth-to-mouth is essential.
On Sunday morning I braved the elements and rode to Horsham to join my team-mates at AD Cycles for a training session. It was quite a ride. In all, between the nine of us, we managed to conjure up seven different mechanical breakdowns i.e. four of us punctured at various times (yes I was one of them), one of us had a saddle problem, one had a loose front mech and another suffered a broken chain. Being experienced cyclists we all relied on each other to have Alan keys and chain tools and such like but to a man none of us had anything!
On Tuesday I attended a quiz at The Guildhall in London as a guest of Grahame Harding, the Chairman of First City Care. Grahame is a splendid fellow and founded Children in Crisis in 1993 with Sarah, Duchess of York and Paul Szkiler. The charity is an investment in the future of our world and every pound raised sees 98p go directly to the various projects. If you would like to support a child or buy Christmas Cards etc please phone 020 7627 1040.
Anyway, last year Grahame and I had our mutual friend Jeremy Beadle on board for this most prestigious quiz but despite our valiant efforts we narrowly missed victory but ended a gallant fourth. We vowed then that we would win the quiz this year in Jeremy’s honour. We had a terrific team and everyone contributed from Steve, the chief accountant to Paula, Grahame’s good lady wife, and especially the three young glamorous ladies who were indispensable in the pop culture area. We led all the way and were eight points clear going into the last round, in which we scored a maximum 10 points. But alas we managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory as the second-placed team of Smith and Williamson scored a magnificent 10 also but had their score doubled by playing their joker! Drat and double drat!
Well we all trundled back to The Ritz, oh yes I forgot to tell you that Grahame very generously puts us up at the world’s most famous hotel, and sipped the manager’s complimentary champagne whilst conducting the usual post-mortem.
Quite honestly we really were quite awesome and I defy even my friends, the celebrated Eggheads, having much of a chance against us that evening – it can only have been Jeremy’s little joke that we lost : )
The seemingly never-ending grind of researching my books becomes a far more lovingly undertaken exercise during the dark winter nights. Although I had the disappointment of having my A to Z of Britain and Ireland put back a year it has been a joy to update and review and now at least I have the prospect of looking forward to its publication next Autumn.
And so December beckons and the Christmas furore begins. I’ve never really been a fan. My mum died on Christmas Day and this brought home more than ever that it is a time for family togetherness. This year, for the first time in many, I have hope of something approaching a family Christmas. My dear brother Kevin is home from Ibiza and with him comes hope that other members of the family might get together as in days gone by.
Tuesday 7 October 2008
But you sent me away, Oh Mandy!
This week’s correspondence wasn’t quite as thrilling as last weeks but some interesting stuff all the same. It is always nice to get feedback from readers of my books and I have to say they are always so complimentary. That’s the marvellous thing about the type of books I compile. It might be considered a little churlish to criticise my style when my main criterion is to impart knowledge so almost all correspondents begin by telling me how much they love my work before gently adding the inevitable “however”.
My favourite one this week was from a Mr Leese from Grantham in Lincolnshire who enquired as to why the Caspian Sea was not so much as mentioned in my list of Seas of the World in the A to Z of almost Everything. I am always grateful when correspondents add their telephone number as it saves me the time and trouble of constructing a letter and suggests that they may actually prefer to discuss the matter. So I rang Mr Leese to inform him that despite the rather misleading name, the Caspian Sea was in actual fact a mere lake, albeit the largest in the world. The gentleman was a sheer delight to talk to. He explained that “they all” refer to Everything on a daily basis and he knew there would be a good reason. The thing is I feel Mr Leese had a valid point in some ways as I could have at least added an entry in “Seas” cross-referenced to “Lakes”. This will be remedied for the next edition.
Two other pieces of correspondence reflect the ups and downs of being an author quite graphically. The first letter advised me that the sales of my A to Z of Sport had slowed to the extent that, although remaining in print and fully available, the intention was to sell 3,796 copies at a mere 35p over cost (I availed myself of 30 such books).
The second correspondence from my publisher informed me that my A to Z of almost Everything had not only had the largest response ever for a single advertisement in the Reader’s Digest but had subsequently become their best-selling book ever. Wow! I think I can live with that.
Another correspondence was an email from the Prime Minister. You know, one of those personalised texts that I imagine all Labour supporters receive. It was a very nice email on the whole thanking me for all my efforts and outlining the reasons for his latest Cabinet reshuffle.
I don’t dislike Gordon Brown. He is personable and clearly doing the best he can in very trying circumstances. I had the good fortune to be invited to my local MP’s home earlier this year to meet Sarah Brown, and she too was very personable and eager to do all she could to further the cause. Between the two of them I thought they were probably best equipped of any couple to replace the very able Tony and Cherie, although I do not believe that in a democracy anyone should be able to hold a post they have not been elected to. A further belief of mine is that the best Prime Ministers have a supportive partner and that’s probably why I struggled with Ted Heath so much; I just wasn’t happy that a bachelor could make good decisions on issues that affect families.
I still feel Gordon and Sarah are well-equipped to steer this country out of the present gloom and possibly even ward off the threat of recession. I say threat because the technical definition of recession is when a nation's economy shrinks for a second successive quarter as has already occurred in my mother country, Ireland. Of course in actuality we have been in recession for some months. However (you see I learnt the best use of this phrase from my correspondents), I felt I had to reply to the PM’s email in a very negative way as I simply could not understand why he would bring Peter Mandelson back into the Cabinet given his very controversial previous attempts to toe the party line.
Mr Mandelson is a very charismatic chap and undoubtedly has a good intellect, although he tends to use it to scheme and manipulate rather than for more positive machinations. He has impeccable political breeding , being the grandson of Herbert Morrison, but even with all those firm Labour roots he managed to defect to the communist party in a fit of pique in his youth. Mr Mandelson's first Cabinet post was as Trade Secretary but he resigned in 1998 after it was revealed that he had borrowed money to buy a house from Geoffrey Robinson, a minister whose affairs were under investigation by Mr Mandelson’s department! Tony Blair then brought Mr Mandelson back into the Cabinet in 1999 as Northern Ireland Secretary, but dismissed him in 2001 over allegations – later disproved I must add– that he intervened in the passport application of an Indian businessman. The thing here is that even if he were to have somehow turned around his life and there was never another controversy it is still bound to end in tears, mark my words. It is quite apparent that the ravenous wolves will be out to get the errant Mr Mandelson as he no longer has the support of the media cognoscenti I alluded to in a previous blog.
My favourite one this week was from a Mr Leese from Grantham in Lincolnshire who enquired as to why the Caspian Sea was not so much as mentioned in my list of Seas of the World in the A to Z of almost Everything. I am always grateful when correspondents add their telephone number as it saves me the time and trouble of constructing a letter and suggests that they may actually prefer to discuss the matter. So I rang Mr Leese to inform him that despite the rather misleading name, the Caspian Sea was in actual fact a mere lake, albeit the largest in the world. The gentleman was a sheer delight to talk to. He explained that “they all” refer to Everything on a daily basis and he knew there would be a good reason. The thing is I feel Mr Leese had a valid point in some ways as I could have at least added an entry in “Seas” cross-referenced to “Lakes”. This will be remedied for the next edition.
Two other pieces of correspondence reflect the ups and downs of being an author quite graphically. The first letter advised me that the sales of my A to Z of Sport had slowed to the extent that, although remaining in print and fully available, the intention was to sell 3,796 copies at a mere 35p over cost (I availed myself of 30 such books).
The second correspondence from my publisher informed me that my A to Z of almost Everything had not only had the largest response ever for a single advertisement in the Reader’s Digest but had subsequently become their best-selling book ever. Wow! I think I can live with that.
Another correspondence was an email from the Prime Minister. You know, one of those personalised texts that I imagine all Labour supporters receive. It was a very nice email on the whole thanking me for all my efforts and outlining the reasons for his latest Cabinet reshuffle.
I don’t dislike Gordon Brown. He is personable and clearly doing the best he can in very trying circumstances. I had the good fortune to be invited to my local MP’s home earlier this year to meet Sarah Brown, and she too was very personable and eager to do all she could to further the cause. Between the two of them I thought they were probably best equipped of any couple to replace the very able Tony and Cherie, although I do not believe that in a democracy anyone should be able to hold a post they have not been elected to. A further belief of mine is that the best Prime Ministers have a supportive partner and that’s probably why I struggled with Ted Heath so much; I just wasn’t happy that a bachelor could make good decisions on issues that affect families.
I still feel Gordon and Sarah are well-equipped to steer this country out of the present gloom and possibly even ward off the threat of recession. I say threat because the technical definition of recession is when a nation's economy shrinks for a second successive quarter as has already occurred in my mother country, Ireland. Of course in actuality we have been in recession for some months. However (you see I learnt the best use of this phrase from my correspondents), I felt I had to reply to the PM’s email in a very negative way as I simply could not understand why he would bring Peter Mandelson back into the Cabinet given his very controversial previous attempts to toe the party line.
Mr Mandelson is a very charismatic chap and undoubtedly has a good intellect, although he tends to use it to scheme and manipulate rather than for more positive machinations. He has impeccable political breeding , being the grandson of Herbert Morrison, but even with all those firm Labour roots he managed to defect to the communist party in a fit of pique in his youth. Mr Mandelson's first Cabinet post was as Trade Secretary but he resigned in 1998 after it was revealed that he had borrowed money to buy a house from Geoffrey Robinson, a minister whose affairs were under investigation by Mr Mandelson’s department! Tony Blair then brought Mr Mandelson back into the Cabinet in 1999 as Northern Ireland Secretary, but dismissed him in 2001 over allegations – later disproved I must add– that he intervened in the passport application of an Indian businessman. The thing here is that even if he were to have somehow turned around his life and there was never another controversy it is still bound to end in tears, mark my words. It is quite apparent that the ravenous wolves will be out to get the errant Mr Mandelson as he no longer has the support of the media cognoscenti I alluded to in a previous blog.
Sunday 5 October 2008
In the Family Way
I’ve had a few dramatic weeks in my life; some happy some sad. This week was undoubtedly the most exciting and joyous I can ever remember.
What great event sparked off this emotional roller-coaster.
Well, on Wednesday I got paid. That’s always good I suppose, but as I only get paid twice a year, and I never know what that payment is likely to be, perhaps that heightens the sense of excitement. But nah, it wasn’t that.
On the same day a dear friend of mine moved into her new home after an horrific experience with landlords, estate agents, property developers and solicitors. I felt a great sense of relief for her but I’m afraid, glad as I was for her, it wasn’t that either.
They say good news comes in threes and anyone who has ever had a family dispute (is there anyone out there who hasn’t) will understand that the best news I received on Wednesday, and indeed for many a long day was via an email: “Found your website and I'm very proud of you. Please contact me. Your brother, Kevin”
Wow! Now Kevin is the second oldest and i haven't seen him for about 15 years. He is the coolest guy on earth. We went to the same school. While I was languishing in the chorus he was lead guitarist in the school orchestra. While I managed to represent the school at cricket, he represented Croydon. And yes, Kevin was even academically more successful than me. If I was Sherlock Holmes (I wish) he was undoubtedly Mycroft.
Kev was the first in our family to have his own business (Heat exchangers or something. I never did quite understand) and along with it the sports car and bungalow. He has been living in Ibiza for the past 18 years where he teaches English and Spanish and also runs a mobile karaoke. I know he shares my interest in cycling and quizzing too so I expect he’s bordering on Vuelta a España level and dying to get on Quiere ser millonario?
So you see Kevin was always someone I looked up to and admired. Not unlike my relationship with his namesake Kevin, the Lord Ashman, I suppose, although Lord Ashman does not have the same street credibility as my brother!
Bearing the testimony above in mind I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel a slight hint of satisfaction in the words “I’m very proud of you”. But nah, that wasn’t the part of the email that touched my heart and made me feel so much joy. It was the “Please contact me”. That’s what did it.
Kev and I have never really fallen out majorly, although we have obviously had our disagreements. Almost all the problems that occur within our family result from sensitivity issues. Every one of us is extremely sensitive to the other’s perceived manner. I think it is just one of the by-products of a very traumatic upbringing where we were forced to depend on each other for succour and perhaps sometimes our own personal quest for a coping mechanism seemed to be at odds with family unity. All I know is I have the greatest admiration for all five of my siblings as I know much of what they suffered and yet all things being equal they have all managed to remain as my mother would have wanted; children of God, yes with all the human foibles born from original sin, but compassionate, determined, conscience-led and above all funny. Humour must never be underestimated here. It was our mutual love of The Goons, Monty Python, Tommy Cooper, Eric and Ernie etc that bound us quite often and saw us through the bad times.
Anyway, Kev’s email started the ball rolling and my first instinct was to contact my dear sister June to give her his email address. You see June and Kev had always had a brilliant relationship and great rapport. June’s husband John is a rock drummer and he and Kev played in the same band for some time and they shared musical tastes and, again harping back to the humour thing, June and Kev bounced off one another with witty one-liners and general levity. June and Kev fell out for the first and only time a few years ago, yes over one of those aforementioned sensitivity issues, but not to make light of a real tragedy I can tell you there was some insurmountable other stuff going on and I myself had a part to play in creating family strife.
I turned up at my sister’s doorstep with not a little trepidation. You see the truth is June and I have hardly seen each other since our mum’s funeral 16 years ago. Yes another sensitivity issue but one in which I feel I could have and should have handled with more love and understanding. I interfered where I was not wanted and was blind to the repercussions of my actions.
Anyhow, I prayed for guidance that I would say all the things I had in my heart with the real humility I felt but also I knew I must be aware that under the circumstances I would not be welcomed. My sister answered her door and I took one look at her face and immediately turned into a blubbering wreck. June being June was just as immediately overcome with compassion and gave me a nice warm hug and in that moment I felt a miracle had happened. You see it was I that should be hugging June with compassion. Without wanting to discuss my dear sister’s business in an open forum as she is a very private person, I shall just say that she has had great tragedy in her early life and has handled it with great fortitude so that only the discerning eye would see any hint of the cracked doll that she could have become.
It didn’t surprise me to know that June had been trying to contact Kev and in the past 24 hours they have indeed corresponded. You see, the love and respect was always there, in fact it is exactly this great love and respect, that was born out of fighting a war together that inevitably caused the rift in the first place.
The only other member of the family apart from my dad (I sent him Kev’s details via email) who I knew the whereabouts of was my immediate older brother Gary. Unfortunately as things go Gal and I had a very acrimonious last meeting while on holiday in June and had not spoken since (yes of course it was a sensitivity issue) so this one was a step too far at this point in time but I popped Kev’s email address in the letter box and although Gal is not on email at least he has a contact point for emergencies.
Later that day after visiting Gary I had a Bible study and the theme was Genesis 37 to 45, the story of Joseph. I felt this was eerily apt and heart-warming as I was feeling quite low. You see Joseph’s family faced great turmoil, their sensitivities were heightened by thoughts of favouritism and it almost cost Joseph his life at the hands of his brothers, but ultimately the story is one of triumph over disaster and family unity being restored.
Any of you out there who have similar stories please don’t despair. There is always hope.
It is not always going to be the case that family will automatically be best friends as those decisions are made by a more intricate mechanism than mere family ties, but please try and leave that door ever so slightly ajar so that hope may enter.
I’m still sad that I do not know the whereabouts and wellbeing of my oldest and youngest, Mike and Shaun but I now have hope that I one day might.
I also have hope now for a brighter future and just because my brother Kevin bothered to send an email. You see in God’s eyes these things are important.
Incidentally as a proof of my brother's brilliance. I happened to be reading my October issue of the Mensa Mag on Thursday night and one of the letters headed "lighten Up" quoted: A pure word has its letters in alphabetical order and may be ascending or descending. The longest pure words i have found are five letters i.e. first, gipsy etc. I wonder if any fellow members can do better.
Now Kev did not know of this but sent me an email yesterday asking me if i knew what the words almost, biopsy and chintz had in common. Howsabout that then - what a man.
I feel i should either resign, Kev should be admitted or we should change our name to Densa.
What great event sparked off this emotional roller-coaster.
Well, on Wednesday I got paid. That’s always good I suppose, but as I only get paid twice a year, and I never know what that payment is likely to be, perhaps that heightens the sense of excitement. But nah, it wasn’t that.
On the same day a dear friend of mine moved into her new home after an horrific experience with landlords, estate agents, property developers and solicitors. I felt a great sense of relief for her but I’m afraid, glad as I was for her, it wasn’t that either.
They say good news comes in threes and anyone who has ever had a family dispute (is there anyone out there who hasn’t) will understand that the best news I received on Wednesday, and indeed for many a long day was via an email: “Found your website and I'm very proud of you. Please contact me. Your brother, Kevin”
Wow! Now Kevin is the second oldest and i haven't seen him for about 15 years. He is the coolest guy on earth. We went to the same school. While I was languishing in the chorus he was lead guitarist in the school orchestra. While I managed to represent the school at cricket, he represented Croydon. And yes, Kevin was even academically more successful than me. If I was Sherlock Holmes (I wish) he was undoubtedly Mycroft.
Kev was the first in our family to have his own business (Heat exchangers or something. I never did quite understand) and along with it the sports car and bungalow. He has been living in Ibiza for the past 18 years where he teaches English and Spanish and also runs a mobile karaoke. I know he shares my interest in cycling and quizzing too so I expect he’s bordering on Vuelta a España level and dying to get on Quiere ser millonario?
So you see Kevin was always someone I looked up to and admired. Not unlike my relationship with his namesake Kevin, the Lord Ashman, I suppose, although Lord Ashman does not have the same street credibility as my brother!
Bearing the testimony above in mind I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel a slight hint of satisfaction in the words “I’m very proud of you”. But nah, that wasn’t the part of the email that touched my heart and made me feel so much joy. It was the “Please contact me”. That’s what did it.
Kev and I have never really fallen out majorly, although we have obviously had our disagreements. Almost all the problems that occur within our family result from sensitivity issues. Every one of us is extremely sensitive to the other’s perceived manner. I think it is just one of the by-products of a very traumatic upbringing where we were forced to depend on each other for succour and perhaps sometimes our own personal quest for a coping mechanism seemed to be at odds with family unity. All I know is I have the greatest admiration for all five of my siblings as I know much of what they suffered and yet all things being equal they have all managed to remain as my mother would have wanted; children of God, yes with all the human foibles born from original sin, but compassionate, determined, conscience-led and above all funny. Humour must never be underestimated here. It was our mutual love of The Goons, Monty Python, Tommy Cooper, Eric and Ernie etc that bound us quite often and saw us through the bad times.
Anyway, Kev’s email started the ball rolling and my first instinct was to contact my dear sister June to give her his email address. You see June and Kev had always had a brilliant relationship and great rapport. June’s husband John is a rock drummer and he and Kev played in the same band for some time and they shared musical tastes and, again harping back to the humour thing, June and Kev bounced off one another with witty one-liners and general levity. June and Kev fell out for the first and only time a few years ago, yes over one of those aforementioned sensitivity issues, but not to make light of a real tragedy I can tell you there was some insurmountable other stuff going on and I myself had a part to play in creating family strife.
I turned up at my sister’s doorstep with not a little trepidation. You see the truth is June and I have hardly seen each other since our mum’s funeral 16 years ago. Yes another sensitivity issue but one in which I feel I could have and should have handled with more love and understanding. I interfered where I was not wanted and was blind to the repercussions of my actions.
Anyhow, I prayed for guidance that I would say all the things I had in my heart with the real humility I felt but also I knew I must be aware that under the circumstances I would not be welcomed. My sister answered her door and I took one look at her face and immediately turned into a blubbering wreck. June being June was just as immediately overcome with compassion and gave me a nice warm hug and in that moment I felt a miracle had happened. You see it was I that should be hugging June with compassion. Without wanting to discuss my dear sister’s business in an open forum as she is a very private person, I shall just say that she has had great tragedy in her early life and has handled it with great fortitude so that only the discerning eye would see any hint of the cracked doll that she could have become.
It didn’t surprise me to know that June had been trying to contact Kev and in the past 24 hours they have indeed corresponded. You see, the love and respect was always there, in fact it is exactly this great love and respect, that was born out of fighting a war together that inevitably caused the rift in the first place.
The only other member of the family apart from my dad (I sent him Kev’s details via email) who I knew the whereabouts of was my immediate older brother Gary. Unfortunately as things go Gal and I had a very acrimonious last meeting while on holiday in June and had not spoken since (yes of course it was a sensitivity issue) so this one was a step too far at this point in time but I popped Kev’s email address in the letter box and although Gal is not on email at least he has a contact point for emergencies.
Later that day after visiting Gary I had a Bible study and the theme was Genesis 37 to 45, the story of Joseph. I felt this was eerily apt and heart-warming as I was feeling quite low. You see Joseph’s family faced great turmoil, their sensitivities were heightened by thoughts of favouritism and it almost cost Joseph his life at the hands of his brothers, but ultimately the story is one of triumph over disaster and family unity being restored.
Any of you out there who have similar stories please don’t despair. There is always hope.
It is not always going to be the case that family will automatically be best friends as those decisions are made by a more intricate mechanism than mere family ties, but please try and leave that door ever so slightly ajar so that hope may enter.
I’m still sad that I do not know the whereabouts and wellbeing of my oldest and youngest, Mike and Shaun but I now have hope that I one day might.
I also have hope now for a brighter future and just because my brother Kevin bothered to send an email. You see in God’s eyes these things are important.
Incidentally as a proof of my brother's brilliance. I happened to be reading my October issue of the Mensa Mag on Thursday night and one of the letters headed "lighten Up" quoted: A pure word has its letters in alphabetical order and may be ascending or descending. The longest pure words i have found are five letters i.e. first, gipsy etc. I wonder if any fellow members can do better.
Now Kev did not know of this but sent me an email yesterday asking me if i knew what the words almost, biopsy and chintz had in common. Howsabout that then - what a man.
I feel i should either resign, Kev should be admitted or we should change our name to Densa.
Tuesday 5 August 2008
Olympic boycott - seemed like a good idea at the time!
As a sports fan the hardest thing I’m ever likely to do is to boycott the viewing of the Beijing Olympics.
Some time ago I pledged to do just that, by way of protest at the nation’s disgraceful human rights record.
Four days from the opening ceremony and I am decidedly twitchy.
Will I be like one of those Jehovah’s Witnesses who profess to never watch television but always seem to know what is going on in the media?
I suppose I could read the reports in the newspapers (I wonder if watching the highlights programmes is out of the question!).
Joking apart, this really is a very difficult situation for me. I’m a writer after all and am expected to be well-versed in sporting knowledge, not least because I intend to update my A to Z of Sport for future publication. Is it possible for me to gain an overview without first-hand knowledge of what actually went on? Will my account of the Games be jeopardised by ignorance?
To say I was looking forward to seeing if our cyclists, rowers and sailors can dominate the world, is something of an understatement. Before my conscience was pricked into submission I was positively salivating at the thought of Paula Radcliffe at last being hailed as the queen of the marathon. Mind you I have to say I rather feel the excuses are coming in thick and fast before the race and stress fractures, spiders, smog and goodness knows what else will surely prevent the greatest distance runner of all time from ending her career on a high. Please don’t expect a fairytale-ending to this one. In a way I’m glad I will not be watching the women’s marathon.
Anyway, I shall be trying my best not to succumb. A friend of mine will be in Hungary doing God’s work and how I wish I were there too. It would be so much easier than having temptation at my fingertips.
Do I think my silent protest will change anything? Nooooooooooo but I do know that this will be good practice for me for any difficult decisions I may have to make in the future, and who knows what will happen in China. There is an ever-growing underground Christian community with considerable influence and the same leader as we have in the west. Anything is possible!
On reflection perhaps it will not be too difficult for me. Perhaps I’ll re-read The Good Earth, a reminder of the humility and manners of a large proportion of the Chinese people.
Some time ago I pledged to do just that, by way of protest at the nation’s disgraceful human rights record.
Four days from the opening ceremony and I am decidedly twitchy.
Will I be like one of those Jehovah’s Witnesses who profess to never watch television but always seem to know what is going on in the media?
I suppose I could read the reports in the newspapers (I wonder if watching the highlights programmes is out of the question!).
Joking apart, this really is a very difficult situation for me. I’m a writer after all and am expected to be well-versed in sporting knowledge, not least because I intend to update my A to Z of Sport for future publication. Is it possible for me to gain an overview without first-hand knowledge of what actually went on? Will my account of the Games be jeopardised by ignorance?
To say I was looking forward to seeing if our cyclists, rowers and sailors can dominate the world, is something of an understatement. Before my conscience was pricked into submission I was positively salivating at the thought of Paula Radcliffe at last being hailed as the queen of the marathon. Mind you I have to say I rather feel the excuses are coming in thick and fast before the race and stress fractures, spiders, smog and goodness knows what else will surely prevent the greatest distance runner of all time from ending her career on a high. Please don’t expect a fairytale-ending to this one. In a way I’m glad I will not be watching the women’s marathon.
Anyway, I shall be trying my best not to succumb. A friend of mine will be in Hungary doing God’s work and how I wish I were there too. It would be so much easier than having temptation at my fingertips.
Do I think my silent protest will change anything? Nooooooooooo but I do know that this will be good practice for me for any difficult decisions I may have to make in the future, and who knows what will happen in China. There is an ever-growing underground Christian community with considerable influence and the same leader as we have in the west. Anything is possible!
On reflection perhaps it will not be too difficult for me. Perhaps I’ll re-read The Good Earth, a reminder of the humility and manners of a large proportion of the Chinese people.
Wednesday 11 June 2008
If I Could Have But Just One Wish
After church today i found myself in reflective mood. I put on my rose-tinted specs and my mind turned to family - present and past. In the present i am very happy. My brother Gary and i are off to Weymouth for a week to visit our dad and it'll be great. However, i have other brothers too - Mike, Kev and Shaun - and a sister, June. We have all lost touch for various reasons and i haven't a clue how to contact them, or even where three of them are living. I can't help feeling less than whole for this sorry state of affairs and yet i know it is a common theme nowadays.
I love them all very much and yet i wonder how much love i showed to let things get this way.
I often think if i could have one wish i would put the clock back, learn from my mistakes and maintain the status quo within the family. And then i think again. Perhaps if i had two wishes this might be the second of them but surely i have a duty to see the bigger picture?
I do not like the way the world is going. Sodom and Gomorrah are our neighbours and the pale rider is running amok across our towns and cities. Richard Dawkins thinks we Christians are deluded for our belief in God, and indeed would it be any wonder that we were deluded given that a faith in these uncertain times might seem very attractive. Worst-case scenario - harmless delusion - best-case scenario - salvation!
I read in the Telegraph this morning that life-long atheist Terry Pratchett is now certain there is a creator - a God. Of course the cynical will believe that Terry's mind has gone into delusional mode due to his early symptoms of Alzheimer's disease and yet i have often found that the staunchest of atheists (and believe me Terry was staunch) are far closer to God than one might imagine. I am mindful of a phrase i heard a couple of years ago from Peter Nodding, a pastor at the Purley Baptist Church. "I remember the day very well when i decided i wanted to be good". You see quite often that is all it takes to spark off a wondrous journey - and after all, isn't this what we would all want regardless of race, colour or creed. I see Christianity as a way of keeping on the right road because without a structure human beings find it impossible to be even remotely good.
I have just penned a simple poem to reflect what i would wish for - it is a huge wish but i know it is already granted to some
If I could have but just one wish
I’d try to make it un-sel-fish
Though humans have propensity
To lie and cheat, I’d guarantee
To close my eyes and clear my mind
And wish for God to save mankind
There are other things I’d want for me
The closeness of a family
To right the wrongs of youth misspent
At least my sins I can repent
If I had never lost my temper
The pain I felt would I remember
To hear my mother’s loving voice
To always make the righteous choice
Perhaps to be a little braver
And not to let my values waver
My trials and tribulations spent
The Holy Spirit Heaven sent
If I could have but just one wish
I’d try to make it un-sel-fish
I love them all very much and yet i wonder how much love i showed to let things get this way.
I often think if i could have one wish i would put the clock back, learn from my mistakes and maintain the status quo within the family. And then i think again. Perhaps if i had two wishes this might be the second of them but surely i have a duty to see the bigger picture?
I do not like the way the world is going. Sodom and Gomorrah are our neighbours and the pale rider is running amok across our towns and cities. Richard Dawkins thinks we Christians are deluded for our belief in God, and indeed would it be any wonder that we were deluded given that a faith in these uncertain times might seem very attractive. Worst-case scenario - harmless delusion - best-case scenario - salvation!
I read in the Telegraph this morning that life-long atheist Terry Pratchett is now certain there is a creator - a God. Of course the cynical will believe that Terry's mind has gone into delusional mode due to his early symptoms of Alzheimer's disease and yet i have often found that the staunchest of atheists (and believe me Terry was staunch) are far closer to God than one might imagine. I am mindful of a phrase i heard a couple of years ago from Peter Nodding, a pastor at the Purley Baptist Church. "I remember the day very well when i decided i wanted to be good". You see quite often that is all it takes to spark off a wondrous journey - and after all, isn't this what we would all want regardless of race, colour or creed. I see Christianity as a way of keeping on the right road because without a structure human beings find it impossible to be even remotely good.
I have just penned a simple poem to reflect what i would wish for - it is a huge wish but i know it is already granted to some
If I could have but just one wish
I’d try to make it un-sel-fish
Though humans have propensity
To lie and cheat, I’d guarantee
To close my eyes and clear my mind
And wish for God to save mankind
There are other things I’d want for me
The closeness of a family
To right the wrongs of youth misspent
At least my sins I can repent
If I had never lost my temper
The pain I felt would I remember
To hear my mother’s loving voice
To always make the righteous choice
Perhaps to be a little braver
And not to let my values waver
My trials and tribulations spent
The Holy Spirit Heaven sent
If I could have but just one wish
I’d try to make it un-sel-fish
Monday 9 June 2008
Is Eggheads a poisoned chalice?
I was asked to audition to become a sixth member of BBC’s Egghead team recently but reluctantly turned down the offer on two counts. The deciding factor was when the researcher informed me that filming was to take place in mid-June when I had arranged to go and visit my father in Weymouth; however after a lot of thought and advice my mind was already made up that this show was not for me.
Although I am great friends with several of the team, which was a great incentive, the downside is the modus operandi of the production team which lends itself to a rather negative perception of your average egghead as being smug and arrogant. When the self-effacing Lord Ashman (dubbed so by our mutual friend Gavin Fuller – who incidentally also turned down the poisoned chalice) is sometimes portrayed as a know-it-all, or at least stands accused by a tiny minority of being so, then I know it is not the gig for me.
Of course Kevin is a know-it-all in the true sense of the phrase but he certainly isn’t overtly so.
In my quiz-playing days I approached the ‘sport’ as I would an exam and would cram in enormous amounts of information before a competition and forget much of it soon after. When I say to people I have a very good memory it seems as though I am stating the obvious as surely that is a prerequisite of good quizzing. Well yes of course it is but the difference is that I used my memory as a tool for winning quizzes not to impress friend or foe or even because I have much of an interest in many of the subjects I researched.
To give you an example of the kind of thing I used to do, the first quiz book I ever read was a Gyles Brandreth multiple-choice delicacy. Now I could answer every single question in the book from cover to cover and some of them were jolly tough such as “What is the weight of the earth?” however the problem was if I was asked the questions out of order then I was hopeless. You see up until that time my party piece was to recite 50 digit numbers backwards on first hearing or memorise packs of cards within two minutes and my pegs were the traditional story-type mnemonics as used by the likes of memory man extraordinaire Dominic O’Brien.
Of course I had a healthy interest in certain subjects such as Tudor history, most sports except football and rugby, the Bible, Shakespeare, some classical music, some pop music, some literature; but the subjects I actually enjoyed reading were never committed to memory intently, this would have seemed almost blasphemous and certainly would have detracted from my enjoyment. No I was a quiz pro and studied lists of what were required to increase my chances of winning. The great Donald Yule (35 years quizzing laddie!) once said “I don’t read books, I read books about books” and if the truth be known that was always my approach to quizzing. I would never be caught on a world capital, ology, symphony nickname, American president, British prime minister, world flag, autobiography, pseudonym, British sovereign, planetary information, periodic table, Oscar winner, Nobel prize winner, Chinese new year, Greek or Roman god, Eurovision winner, Miss World winner, longest, tallest, highest, Greek alphabet, radio call sign, Grand National winner of the past 50 years, FA Cup winner of the past 50 years, Olympic champions.
The thing all these groups have in common is that they are finite lists at a point in time and very easily committed to memory, take no research as such and can easily be brushed up on every few months to ensure maximum confidence. Other subjects such as film, contemporary literature, television and current affairs are more difficult to feel totally confident about as they are ever-expanding or changing and it is no coincidence that these would be weaker areas of mine. Weaker areas still are pop music and food and drink which are absolutely huge topics to try and research and I simply couldn’t be bothered except in a most superficial way.
So what kind of quiz animal does this breed?
Well in two rounds of Mastermind I went through clean answering specialised questions on Elizabeth I and Mary, Queen of Scots. This is simply because I committed to memory all the information contained in my reading list I put forward to the show. I was totally confident in my ability and it showed in my performance.
Now my worst performance was probably Brain of Britain when I scored nil point after two rounds and ended up with a paltry seven points. I had done an enormous amount of research for the show and was probably on par with the database of Lord Ashman (in the stock subjects mentioned above) who took part in the recording after mine and scored a record score of about 38!
So what went wrong?
Simple (notwithstanding the fact that he has the best recall I have ever seen), the fact is Kev sees the ever-expanding subjects such as film as finite lists almost and so his all round database is that much larger than the opposition. What I am trying to say in a considered manner is that although it can appear in some formats that there is little between the top quiz players in actuality there may be quite a gulf.
Kev and I have visited many a stately home together and we will both avidly purchase the guides and devour everything we can. Six months on I will have forgotten all except the aesthetic beauty of the surroundings whilst Kev will still remember the paintings on the wall, who built the refectory and the fact that the first gardener’s uncle was fifth in line to the throne of Abyssinia. Proof positive that he has a larger database and more efficient facility/methodology for storing facts.
This armoury makes Kevin a natural for Eggheads with its insistence on elaboration of answer, although it inevitably does not sit easily with Kev’s amiable personality.
I can think of others that would thrive in this environment (My old team mates Ray Ward and Bob Jones spring immediately to mind) and my old mucker Chris Hughes is made for this format as he has a vast knowledge of many subjects and can express this knowledge in an interesting and entertaining manner. CJ is a born exhibitionist, albeit a clever one, Judith is a delightful and naturally knowledgeable lady and Daffers is simply the best female knowledge expert in the country.
So even in my heyday I would not feel that comfortable with the format as I remember only too well that no-one likes a smart alec but more than that I know there are others out there that are now better players and far more suited to the show. Gavin would indeed be one of those at the top of my list as would Dave Edwards, Pat Gibson, Ian Bayley, Olav Bjortomt, Dave Stainer, Barbara Thompson, Bev Barber, Mark Kerr, Dag Griffiths, Ray Oakes, John Wilson, Alan Gibb, Steve Kidd, Mark Bytheway, Tim Westcott, Eric Kilby, Geoff Thomas, Diane Hallaghan, Stephen Pearson , Tony Sherwood, Keith Pottage, Mark Labbett, Michael Penrice, Darren Martin, Karl Whelan, Chris Jones, Barry Simmons, Katie Bramall, Peter Ediss, Howard Pizzey and Isabel Heward, all for varying reasons (plus 20 or 30 others with quite valid claims).
Although I am great friends with several of the team, which was a great incentive, the downside is the modus operandi of the production team which lends itself to a rather negative perception of your average egghead as being smug and arrogant. When the self-effacing Lord Ashman (dubbed so by our mutual friend Gavin Fuller – who incidentally also turned down the poisoned chalice) is sometimes portrayed as a know-it-all, or at least stands accused by a tiny minority of being so, then I know it is not the gig for me.
Of course Kevin is a know-it-all in the true sense of the phrase but he certainly isn’t overtly so.
In my quiz-playing days I approached the ‘sport’ as I would an exam and would cram in enormous amounts of information before a competition and forget much of it soon after. When I say to people I have a very good memory it seems as though I am stating the obvious as surely that is a prerequisite of good quizzing. Well yes of course it is but the difference is that I used my memory as a tool for winning quizzes not to impress friend or foe or even because I have much of an interest in many of the subjects I researched.
To give you an example of the kind of thing I used to do, the first quiz book I ever read was a Gyles Brandreth multiple-choice delicacy. Now I could answer every single question in the book from cover to cover and some of them were jolly tough such as “What is the weight of the earth?” however the problem was if I was asked the questions out of order then I was hopeless. You see up until that time my party piece was to recite 50 digit numbers backwards on first hearing or memorise packs of cards within two minutes and my pegs were the traditional story-type mnemonics as used by the likes of memory man extraordinaire Dominic O’Brien.
Of course I had a healthy interest in certain subjects such as Tudor history, most sports except football and rugby, the Bible, Shakespeare, some classical music, some pop music, some literature; but the subjects I actually enjoyed reading were never committed to memory intently, this would have seemed almost blasphemous and certainly would have detracted from my enjoyment. No I was a quiz pro and studied lists of what were required to increase my chances of winning. The great Donald Yule (35 years quizzing laddie!) once said “I don’t read books, I read books about books” and if the truth be known that was always my approach to quizzing. I would never be caught on a world capital, ology, symphony nickname, American president, British prime minister, world flag, autobiography, pseudonym, British sovereign, planetary information, periodic table, Oscar winner, Nobel prize winner, Chinese new year, Greek or Roman god, Eurovision winner, Miss World winner, longest, tallest, highest, Greek alphabet, radio call sign, Grand National winner of the past 50 years, FA Cup winner of the past 50 years, Olympic champions.
The thing all these groups have in common is that they are finite lists at a point in time and very easily committed to memory, take no research as such and can easily be brushed up on every few months to ensure maximum confidence. Other subjects such as film, contemporary literature, television and current affairs are more difficult to feel totally confident about as they are ever-expanding or changing and it is no coincidence that these would be weaker areas of mine. Weaker areas still are pop music and food and drink which are absolutely huge topics to try and research and I simply couldn’t be bothered except in a most superficial way.
So what kind of quiz animal does this breed?
Well in two rounds of Mastermind I went through clean answering specialised questions on Elizabeth I and Mary, Queen of Scots. This is simply because I committed to memory all the information contained in my reading list I put forward to the show. I was totally confident in my ability and it showed in my performance.
Now my worst performance was probably Brain of Britain when I scored nil point after two rounds and ended up with a paltry seven points. I had done an enormous amount of research for the show and was probably on par with the database of Lord Ashman (in the stock subjects mentioned above) who took part in the recording after mine and scored a record score of about 38!
So what went wrong?
Simple (notwithstanding the fact that he has the best recall I have ever seen), the fact is Kev sees the ever-expanding subjects such as film as finite lists almost and so his all round database is that much larger than the opposition. What I am trying to say in a considered manner is that although it can appear in some formats that there is little between the top quiz players in actuality there may be quite a gulf.
Kev and I have visited many a stately home together and we will both avidly purchase the guides and devour everything we can. Six months on I will have forgotten all except the aesthetic beauty of the surroundings whilst Kev will still remember the paintings on the wall, who built the refectory and the fact that the first gardener’s uncle was fifth in line to the throne of Abyssinia. Proof positive that he has a larger database and more efficient facility/methodology for storing facts.
This armoury makes Kevin a natural for Eggheads with its insistence on elaboration of answer, although it inevitably does not sit easily with Kev’s amiable personality.
I can think of others that would thrive in this environment (My old team mates Ray Ward and Bob Jones spring immediately to mind) and my old mucker Chris Hughes is made for this format as he has a vast knowledge of many subjects and can express this knowledge in an interesting and entertaining manner. CJ is a born exhibitionist, albeit a clever one, Judith is a delightful and naturally knowledgeable lady and Daffers is simply the best female knowledge expert in the country.
So even in my heyday I would not feel that comfortable with the format as I remember only too well that no-one likes a smart alec but more than that I know there are others out there that are now better players and far more suited to the show. Gavin would indeed be one of those at the top of my list as would Dave Edwards, Pat Gibson, Ian Bayley, Olav Bjortomt, Dave Stainer, Barbara Thompson, Bev Barber, Mark Kerr, Dag Griffiths, Ray Oakes, John Wilson, Alan Gibb, Steve Kidd, Mark Bytheway, Tim Westcott, Eric Kilby, Geoff Thomas, Diane Hallaghan, Stephen Pearson , Tony Sherwood, Keith Pottage, Mark Labbett, Michael Penrice, Darren Martin, Karl Whelan, Chris Jones, Barry Simmons, Katie Bramall, Peter Ediss, Howard Pizzey and Isabel Heward, all for varying reasons (plus 20 or 30 others with quite valid claims).
Wednesday 7 May 2008
Oh Mr Loophole i wish i could afford you!
I was very interested to read about Freddie Flintoff’s fortuitous let off after being captured on camera allegedly speeding at 87mph in a 50mph zone. Apparently, and my own solicitor has confirmed this, the notice of prosecution has to be sent and received within 14 days of the offence and in this case it was received after 18 days.
Mr Loophole (Nick Freeman) must be commended for his efforts I suppose but surely this is a technicality that hardly merits the use of his trademarked name?
Surely this legal requirement is well known and the system enabled to offer the same dispensation to all?.................Not so!
In February 2001 speed cameras were put up in my street where I have lived for over 30 years. On the 12th February I apparently fell foul of this camera three times, recording one mile over the limit on one journey and two miles over the limit on the other two.
I was blissfully unaware of my crime at the time but over two days during May 2001 the three prosecution notices arrived through my letterbox. To cut a long story short my brief was certainly not aware of the time stipulation and I was found guilty and the magistrate in his wisdom decided to give me three, four and five points respectively, under the totting up procedure, which meant I was automatically banned although there is very little I could have done and once aware of the camera’s operation I obviously kept to the speed restriction.
The thing about being banned is that insurance companies do not discriminate between types of ban and speedsters, however slight, are treated in exactly the same manner as drink drivers. My own insurers, Royal Sun Alliance, immediately dropped me although I had paid up my premium in April 2001 unaware of what was to pop through my letterbox the following month. My new insurer charged me three times more than my previous premium for the next four years and so it turned out to be an expensive experience and as it happens one I could have legally avoided if only I knew my legal rights. Doh!
Mr Loophole (Nick Freeman) must be commended for his efforts I suppose but surely this is a technicality that hardly merits the use of his trademarked name?
Surely this legal requirement is well known and the system enabled to offer the same dispensation to all?.................Not so!
In February 2001 speed cameras were put up in my street where I have lived for over 30 years. On the 12th February I apparently fell foul of this camera three times, recording one mile over the limit on one journey and two miles over the limit on the other two.
I was blissfully unaware of my crime at the time but over two days during May 2001 the three prosecution notices arrived through my letterbox. To cut a long story short my brief was certainly not aware of the time stipulation and I was found guilty and the magistrate in his wisdom decided to give me three, four and five points respectively, under the totting up procedure, which meant I was automatically banned although there is very little I could have done and once aware of the camera’s operation I obviously kept to the speed restriction.
The thing about being banned is that insurance companies do not discriminate between types of ban and speedsters, however slight, are treated in exactly the same manner as drink drivers. My own insurers, Royal Sun Alliance, immediately dropped me although I had paid up my premium in April 2001 unaware of what was to pop through my letterbox the following month. My new insurer charged me three times more than my previous premium for the next four years and so it turned out to be an expensive experience and as it happens one I could have legally avoided if only I knew my legal rights. Doh!
Thursday 13 March 2008
Sports Relief Does The Apprentice
I watched Sport Relief Does The Apprentice last night and had to chuckle to myself when Sir Alan Sugar introduced the 10 celebrity contestants. His summing up of Kelvin Mackenzie was ‘our paths have crossed before….I recall calling you on one occasion after being treated badly by you and your response was fuck off”. My unrestrained laughter was simply because for Sir Alan Sugar read Trevor Montague. Yes for several years I have felt a sense of indignation over the time I rang Mr Mackenzie’s TalkSport studio to enquire about an unpaid bill for some work I did for him only to be greeted with exactly the same four-lettered response and a further valedictory outburst of the most vile language I have ever heard. I was so shocked my first instinct was to report the incident to the police as an assault but after talking to my father and my friend Jeremy Beadle, who informed me that this was almost a term of endearment from the former newspaper editor, I realised this would be fruitless and perhaps I was being a bit of a wuss. The truth is although my sensitivities were undoubtedly offended I considered that if this man could talk to me in such a manner for no apparent reason then he could bully anyone in a similar vein and this should not be allowed. Anyway, it was heartening to know that the great business guru had the same experience of the man as myself and in a way it laid to rest any remaining feelings of violation I may have felt. Mr Mackenzie may be a foul-mouthed bully but at least he picks on the big boys on occasion!
I don’t usually like the idea of celebrity contestants or indeed charity editions of successful shows per se as they tend to be stylised (rigged) beyond the bounds of human tolerance. Sport Relief is not one of my favourite charities after I was forced to fight a two-year campaign on behalf of 30 local special needs children from Crawley College whom I had promised a trip to Old Trafford and a signed Manchester United shirt after winning this as a prize on a Comic Relief quiz show. Between the BBC and Comic Relief they had contrived to give my prize to 30 children in the north of England, or at least that was what I was told as there was absolutely no public accountability whatsoever. My prize was clearly for 30 ‘local’ children and it was only after I threatened to pay for the trip myself but publicise the reason why, did they finally relent and give us a coach to transport the kids to Manchester. We never did receive the shirt, which I could have auctioned for thousands of pounds at one of my quizzes, but the children did have a day that they will never forget…………….and so did i. I fell asleep on the coach going home and woke up with one of the boys giving me a French kiss! I’ve never been confused!
Anyway, Sport Relief Does The Apprentice, was unusually good value. Of course it would have had its usual remit of trying to keep it real but with the characters chosen this was achieved quite naturally and Phil Tufnell and Hardeep Singh Kohli in particular were very funny and would make a great double act.
The premise for the show was that the five men and five women had to beg, borrow and steal items to be sold by them at a celebrity bash for exorbitant prices.
It was never in doubt that the more organised women were going to win, despite Bernie Ecclestone’s doubling of the men’s takings, but with Mr Mackenzie’s natural propensity to offend coupled with the equally natural juvenile humour of Hardeep, Tuffers and Nick Hancock, the result seemed incidental.
My favourite one-liners included Tuffers calling Sir Alan, Sir Sugar and Hardeep replying to Sir Alan’s story about a chapatti that disagreed with him ‘It’s your chapatti you can cry if you want to’. The award for quick wittedness also goes to Hardeep for his magnificent retort to Mr Mackenzie’s earlier reference to him being like Hitler (this prompted Hardeep to resign as team leader after 45 minutes in the job). In Sir Alan’s final summing up he told Hardeep not to expect a Christmas Card from Mackenzie to which Kelvin responded “quite right, where do you live” and quick as a flash Hardeep replied “just outside Berlin apparently”. Inspired!
Who’ll be fired? Be interesting to see if Sir Alan harbours a grudge against Mr Mackenzie. I know it’s only TV but it does add a certain edge to proceedings : )
I don’t usually like the idea of celebrity contestants or indeed charity editions of successful shows per se as they tend to be stylised (rigged) beyond the bounds of human tolerance. Sport Relief is not one of my favourite charities after I was forced to fight a two-year campaign on behalf of 30 local special needs children from Crawley College whom I had promised a trip to Old Trafford and a signed Manchester United shirt after winning this as a prize on a Comic Relief quiz show. Between the BBC and Comic Relief they had contrived to give my prize to 30 children in the north of England, or at least that was what I was told as there was absolutely no public accountability whatsoever. My prize was clearly for 30 ‘local’ children and it was only after I threatened to pay for the trip myself but publicise the reason why, did they finally relent and give us a coach to transport the kids to Manchester. We never did receive the shirt, which I could have auctioned for thousands of pounds at one of my quizzes, but the children did have a day that they will never forget…………….and so did i. I fell asleep on the coach going home and woke up with one of the boys giving me a French kiss! I’ve never been confused!
Anyway, Sport Relief Does The Apprentice, was unusually good value. Of course it would have had its usual remit of trying to keep it real but with the characters chosen this was achieved quite naturally and Phil Tufnell and Hardeep Singh Kohli in particular were very funny and would make a great double act.
The premise for the show was that the five men and five women had to beg, borrow and steal items to be sold by them at a celebrity bash for exorbitant prices.
It was never in doubt that the more organised women were going to win, despite Bernie Ecclestone’s doubling of the men’s takings, but with Mr Mackenzie’s natural propensity to offend coupled with the equally natural juvenile humour of Hardeep, Tuffers and Nick Hancock, the result seemed incidental.
My favourite one-liners included Tuffers calling Sir Alan, Sir Sugar and Hardeep replying to Sir Alan’s story about a chapatti that disagreed with him ‘It’s your chapatti you can cry if you want to’. The award for quick wittedness also goes to Hardeep for his magnificent retort to Mr Mackenzie’s earlier reference to him being like Hitler (this prompted Hardeep to resign as team leader after 45 minutes in the job). In Sir Alan’s final summing up he told Hardeep not to expect a Christmas Card from Mackenzie to which Kelvin responded “quite right, where do you live” and quick as a flash Hardeep replied “just outside Berlin apparently”. Inspired!
Who’ll be fired? Be interesting to see if Sir Alan harbours a grudge against Mr Mackenzie. I know it’s only TV but it does add a certain edge to proceedings : )
Tuesday 26 February 2008
See Naples And Die!
I had always considered this famous phrase to be a reference to the beauty and opulence of this once magnificent and thriving city. Alas, in the Naples of today this expression is more likely to allude to the likelihood of either being killed by the noxious air, diseased rats, errant motorists or the local mafia – the infamous Camorra.
My illusions were dashed from the start when I landed at Capodichino Airport and was accosted by several taxi drivers all wanting to charge me 50 Euros (a tad over £40) to take me to my hotel on the Piazza Garibaldi, some four miles south of the airport!
I eventually managed to haggle a price of 20 Euros but instinctively knew this was a harbinger of what was to come.
I decided to have a jog down to Naples harbour on my first evening and became immediately aware of two things; the distinct lack of women in the streets at night and the overwhelming stench of all manner of waste products and carrion strewn with gay abandon in huge windswept piles creating an atmosphere of deprivation and squalor.
I saw a vagrant propped up against the harbour wall in a prone position oblivious to the large brown rats running amok in his vicinity occasionally daring to dart across his pathetic body. Further on I witnessed the first of several bonfires at the side of the road and was later informed this was the Camorra making a token gesture of clearing the rubbish as they have control over the landfill sites and make billions from their ‘enterprise’.
As I ventured into the quieter backstreets I saw gangs of youths just hanging around smoking and drinking in typical macho style, a sideways glance up as I passed appearing to suggest I was being sized up in the same way a bird of prey might calculate the possibilities of a successful swoop. Fortunately for me I was wearing a bright white track suit, yellow bandana and sunglasses and looked sufficiently menacing myself not to be approached without caution.
The never-ending stream of traffic made crossing the wide roads a very dangerous prospect. Although there are numerous elongated ‘zebra-crossings’ it seems motorists do not feel obliged to stop at them and it was not until my second day did I become blasé about this and realise these crossings were in fact a test of your nerve as although traffic would whiz by you fore and aft if you walked directly in front of a car whilst traversing the black and white grid lines, it would play ‘dare’ with you but invariably brake at the last moment. Mainly through exasperation and a kind of stupid bravado, after day two I decided to take a cavalier attitude to the crossings and literally closed my eyes and went for it but always feeling that sense of relief when arriving safely at the other side.
A couple of things I found it harder to get used to on the roads was the constant honking and tooting of horns filling every moment of your day and the propensity of motorists to not only drive on both sides of the road but also on the pavements during the 24-hour rush hour period! Early on in my visit I was knocked out of the way by a passing motorcyclist whilst minding my own business looking in a shop window. And these people do not saunter along the pavements they travel at normal speeds defying you to get in their way.
My second day started with far more promise. A friendly bus driver refused to take a fare for safe passage to the central train station and I was soon on my way to explore Pompeii and Herculaneum, the cities devastated by the eruption of Vesuvius in 79 AD. Despite the almost Arctic conditions one couldn’t fail to gain a sense of the scale of destruction or indeed the painstaking efforts to excavate such a vast area.
On my way back to my hotel I met two French women on the train, one of which had been robbed of all her money on her first day in Naples. I gave her 50 Euros which she reluctantly accepted, both women shedding tears of joy, and I sensed relief, that not all human beings are on the make. This reaction was probably the highlight of my holiday although I was relieved when we parted as it is surprisingly uncomfortable to be in the company of someone you have done a kindness for as you feel this could possibly be misconstrued as either wanting something for your money or probably more accurately because you are aware it is embarrassing for them. Although I love to do random acts of kindness I think this one was prompted by my joy at finally finding someone in Italy who actually spoke English. A French woman!
I took a ferry from Naples to the Isle of Capri the next day. A pleasant 40 minute journey followed by a longer private boat ride around the island to visit the various different coloured grottos. I had been trying to hire a bicycle for days but to no avail so you could imagine my frustration when I finally found a cycle hire shop only to be thwarted by a besom broom strategically placed diagonally across the door jamb to serve notice not to enter. I waited over an hour for the shopkeeper to return and then relayed my plight to a local resident who sent me to the head office of the shop but alas that too was closed.
I decided to take a chance and borrow a bike from the shop and proceeded to cycle up the mountain road towards the summit. I was tooted at by a motorcyclist midway up the climb and soon recognised the rider to be the man who had just ferried me around the island. “Eh” he said “I have never seen you on a bike before. I didn’t know you cycled” Which I felt was really odd as the guy knew I was a tourist on a day trip!
In no time the sweat was pouring off me but 20 minutes later I was at the summit and when a policeman stopped me at the top I thought the game was up but fortunately he merely told me I could go no further and now had to descend. The descent was so fast I passed two motorcyclists which I assumed were tourists as the typical Italian motorist would never let themselves be overtaken (an example of this was when I was on a bus back from the architectural museum and almost unbelievably it re-overtook a passing ambulance which had its lights and siren on at full tilt).
Anyway, when I arrived back at the shop I saw the broom still in place and thanked God for my good fortune.
My final day in Naples was quite eventful. I set out from my hotel with a fellow traveller and was immediately approached by a market trader wishing to sell me a laptop. Now you have to understand that Naples is a huge city and unemployment is high. As well as the many thousands of traditional stores of all kinds there is an even larger number of street vendors, some set up on stalls and others merely plying their trade from the pavement. Perhaps unfortunately for me my friend assured me that I was being offered an exceptional deal as I managed to knock the guy down from 250 Euros to £40 plus my last remaining five Euros. Within seconds of making my purchase another vendor produced the latest state-of-the-art Sony Vista laptop and although I told him I had already bought one my friend now started to sit up and take notice at this marvellous machine. He followed us half a mile up the road and again the 250 Euros original price was haggled down to £45 English. I did of course wait until my friend had the laptop safely in the case before I parted with the money and all seemed well. Or rather my more suspicious friend immediately felt the case was slightly light so opened it up only to find two bags of salt inside. I then opened up my bag to find another two bags of salt. I couldn’t help but laugh but could plainly see my friend was upset although admiring of the skill of the operation. I then became saddened too when I thought of the evil intent of these people. A policeman pulled up in his car at the precise moment of the sting but didn’t want to know of course and I retraced my footsteps back to the hotel in the certain knowledge that I would never see the perpetrators of this crime ever again.
Virtually every stall-holder mumbled words of sorrow as I traipsed past them with my two bags. “Camorra” was the recurring word offered to me as if this justified their silence. It seems every man and his dog knew exactly what was going on but chose to turn a blind eye to these people and let them rob tourists without question. One man told me it was out of fear of reprisal and another one told me it was because it would be futile as the police and carabinieri are corrupt and more likely to imprison witnesses than the Camorra.
I was never so pleased to get back to good old much-maligned Blighty. For all our problems we do not have schools being closed as in Naples because of the fear of disease. We do not have corrupt officials (in the main) and we do not have itinerant salesmen hindering the progress of tourists at every opportunity.
My first stop-off on arrival at Gatwick was to call in to my local supermarket to buy some provisions and I had a wry smile to myself when I spotted two youngsters, wearing fluorescent yellow bibs, picking up the litter from the streets.
It was good to be home.
My illusions were dashed from the start when I landed at Capodichino Airport and was accosted by several taxi drivers all wanting to charge me 50 Euros (a tad over £40) to take me to my hotel on the Piazza Garibaldi, some four miles south of the airport!
I eventually managed to haggle a price of 20 Euros but instinctively knew this was a harbinger of what was to come.
I decided to have a jog down to Naples harbour on my first evening and became immediately aware of two things; the distinct lack of women in the streets at night and the overwhelming stench of all manner of waste products and carrion strewn with gay abandon in huge windswept piles creating an atmosphere of deprivation and squalor.
I saw a vagrant propped up against the harbour wall in a prone position oblivious to the large brown rats running amok in his vicinity occasionally daring to dart across his pathetic body. Further on I witnessed the first of several bonfires at the side of the road and was later informed this was the Camorra making a token gesture of clearing the rubbish as they have control over the landfill sites and make billions from their ‘enterprise’.
As I ventured into the quieter backstreets I saw gangs of youths just hanging around smoking and drinking in typical macho style, a sideways glance up as I passed appearing to suggest I was being sized up in the same way a bird of prey might calculate the possibilities of a successful swoop. Fortunately for me I was wearing a bright white track suit, yellow bandana and sunglasses and looked sufficiently menacing myself not to be approached without caution.
The never-ending stream of traffic made crossing the wide roads a very dangerous prospect. Although there are numerous elongated ‘zebra-crossings’ it seems motorists do not feel obliged to stop at them and it was not until my second day did I become blasé about this and realise these crossings were in fact a test of your nerve as although traffic would whiz by you fore and aft if you walked directly in front of a car whilst traversing the black and white grid lines, it would play ‘dare’ with you but invariably brake at the last moment. Mainly through exasperation and a kind of stupid bravado, after day two I decided to take a cavalier attitude to the crossings and literally closed my eyes and went for it but always feeling that sense of relief when arriving safely at the other side.
A couple of things I found it harder to get used to on the roads was the constant honking and tooting of horns filling every moment of your day and the propensity of motorists to not only drive on both sides of the road but also on the pavements during the 24-hour rush hour period! Early on in my visit I was knocked out of the way by a passing motorcyclist whilst minding my own business looking in a shop window. And these people do not saunter along the pavements they travel at normal speeds defying you to get in their way.
My second day started with far more promise. A friendly bus driver refused to take a fare for safe passage to the central train station and I was soon on my way to explore Pompeii and Herculaneum, the cities devastated by the eruption of Vesuvius in 79 AD. Despite the almost Arctic conditions one couldn’t fail to gain a sense of the scale of destruction or indeed the painstaking efforts to excavate such a vast area.
On my way back to my hotel I met two French women on the train, one of which had been robbed of all her money on her first day in Naples. I gave her 50 Euros which she reluctantly accepted, both women shedding tears of joy, and I sensed relief, that not all human beings are on the make. This reaction was probably the highlight of my holiday although I was relieved when we parted as it is surprisingly uncomfortable to be in the company of someone you have done a kindness for as you feel this could possibly be misconstrued as either wanting something for your money or probably more accurately because you are aware it is embarrassing for them. Although I love to do random acts of kindness I think this one was prompted by my joy at finally finding someone in Italy who actually spoke English. A French woman!
I took a ferry from Naples to the Isle of Capri the next day. A pleasant 40 minute journey followed by a longer private boat ride around the island to visit the various different coloured grottos. I had been trying to hire a bicycle for days but to no avail so you could imagine my frustration when I finally found a cycle hire shop only to be thwarted by a besom broom strategically placed diagonally across the door jamb to serve notice not to enter. I waited over an hour for the shopkeeper to return and then relayed my plight to a local resident who sent me to the head office of the shop but alas that too was closed.
I decided to take a chance and borrow a bike from the shop and proceeded to cycle up the mountain road towards the summit. I was tooted at by a motorcyclist midway up the climb and soon recognised the rider to be the man who had just ferried me around the island. “Eh” he said “I have never seen you on a bike before. I didn’t know you cycled” Which I felt was really odd as the guy knew I was a tourist on a day trip!
In no time the sweat was pouring off me but 20 minutes later I was at the summit and when a policeman stopped me at the top I thought the game was up but fortunately he merely told me I could go no further and now had to descend. The descent was so fast I passed two motorcyclists which I assumed were tourists as the typical Italian motorist would never let themselves be overtaken (an example of this was when I was on a bus back from the architectural museum and almost unbelievably it re-overtook a passing ambulance which had its lights and siren on at full tilt).
Anyway, when I arrived back at the shop I saw the broom still in place and thanked God for my good fortune.
My final day in Naples was quite eventful. I set out from my hotel with a fellow traveller and was immediately approached by a market trader wishing to sell me a laptop. Now you have to understand that Naples is a huge city and unemployment is high. As well as the many thousands of traditional stores of all kinds there is an even larger number of street vendors, some set up on stalls and others merely plying their trade from the pavement. Perhaps unfortunately for me my friend assured me that I was being offered an exceptional deal as I managed to knock the guy down from 250 Euros to £40 plus my last remaining five Euros. Within seconds of making my purchase another vendor produced the latest state-of-the-art Sony Vista laptop and although I told him I had already bought one my friend now started to sit up and take notice at this marvellous machine. He followed us half a mile up the road and again the 250 Euros original price was haggled down to £45 English. I did of course wait until my friend had the laptop safely in the case before I parted with the money and all seemed well. Or rather my more suspicious friend immediately felt the case was slightly light so opened it up only to find two bags of salt inside. I then opened up my bag to find another two bags of salt. I couldn’t help but laugh but could plainly see my friend was upset although admiring of the skill of the operation. I then became saddened too when I thought of the evil intent of these people. A policeman pulled up in his car at the precise moment of the sting but didn’t want to know of course and I retraced my footsteps back to the hotel in the certain knowledge that I would never see the perpetrators of this crime ever again.
Virtually every stall-holder mumbled words of sorrow as I traipsed past them with my two bags. “Camorra” was the recurring word offered to me as if this justified their silence. It seems every man and his dog knew exactly what was going on but chose to turn a blind eye to these people and let them rob tourists without question. One man told me it was out of fear of reprisal and another one told me it was because it would be futile as the police and carabinieri are corrupt and more likely to imprison witnesses than the Camorra.
I was never so pleased to get back to good old much-maligned Blighty. For all our problems we do not have schools being closed as in Naples because of the fear of disease. We do not have corrupt officials (in the main) and we do not have itinerant salesmen hindering the progress of tourists at every opportunity.
My first stop-off on arrival at Gatwick was to call in to my local supermarket to buy some provisions and I had a wry smile to myself when I spotted two youngsters, wearing fluorescent yellow bibs, picking up the litter from the streets.
It was good to be home.
Thursday 14 February 2008
Farewell to Jeremy Beadle
I said farewell to Jeremy Beadle today.
As a committed Christian I feared a humanist funeral would not sit easy with me, but far from having any feelings of irreverent indignation I found myself totally absorbed by the passion and love in the house for our mutual friend.
Not a cleric in sight and yet this was the most devout and earnest of occasions. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be, after all, we all knew that Jeremy would not want a sombre atmosphere and God knows speaker after famous speaker reminded us of this, but how does one feel joy when remembering the life of one that was taken from us too early?
I attended the funeral of my old headmaster the other day. John Piper was a great man, a learned man, but he died aged 93, a good age by any standards. He will be missed by many but there can be few remonstrations having lived a full and lengthy life.
Jeremy too was a great man, the most remarkable man I ever knew in fact. The star-studded guest list today paid dutiful homage to his networking skills par excellence but much more than this showed off his supreme diversity of interests as representatives from show business, publishing, sport, commerce, medicine, education and music stood united in their love for a true one-off. Jeremy engendered love wherever he went, I instinctively and quite naturally kissed him on the cheek whenever we met, the only man outside my immediate family I have ever troubled in this manner. He too was a learned man and certainly lived a full life but he died prematurely, aged 59, still having so much ambition and so much to do.
As it happens the occasion turned out to be a great mix of gaiety and sadness, almost in the vein of an Irish Wake, the entertaining anecdotes in celebration of Jeremy’s life interspersed with more solemn tributes turning laughter into tears in an instant.
Perversely, Jeremy’s untimely death has served as a memento mori for me, not in a pessimistic way you understand, but rather as a reminder that even the greatest among us have no control on when we leave this mortal coil. His passing somehow makes the thought of dying less daunting. If it is good enough for Beadlebum then its good enough for me!
As a committed Christian I feared a humanist funeral would not sit easy with me, but far from having any feelings of irreverent indignation I found myself totally absorbed by the passion and love in the house for our mutual friend.
Not a cleric in sight and yet this was the most devout and earnest of occasions. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be, after all, we all knew that Jeremy would not want a sombre atmosphere and God knows speaker after famous speaker reminded us of this, but how does one feel joy when remembering the life of one that was taken from us too early?
I attended the funeral of my old headmaster the other day. John Piper was a great man, a learned man, but he died aged 93, a good age by any standards. He will be missed by many but there can be few remonstrations having lived a full and lengthy life.
Jeremy too was a great man, the most remarkable man I ever knew in fact. The star-studded guest list today paid dutiful homage to his networking skills par excellence but much more than this showed off his supreme diversity of interests as representatives from show business, publishing, sport, commerce, medicine, education and music stood united in their love for a true one-off. Jeremy engendered love wherever he went, I instinctively and quite naturally kissed him on the cheek whenever we met, the only man outside my immediate family I have ever troubled in this manner. He too was a learned man and certainly lived a full life but he died prematurely, aged 59, still having so much ambition and so much to do.
As it happens the occasion turned out to be a great mix of gaiety and sadness, almost in the vein of an Irish Wake, the entertaining anecdotes in celebration of Jeremy’s life interspersed with more solemn tributes turning laughter into tears in an instant.
Perversely, Jeremy’s untimely death has served as a memento mori for me, not in a pessimistic way you understand, but rather as a reminder that even the greatest among us have no control on when we leave this mortal coil. His passing somehow makes the thought of dying less daunting. If it is good enough for Beadlebum then its good enough for me!
Sunday 3 February 2008
My Friend Jeremy Beadle
Today I feel like I have lost a brother.
Jeremy Beadle MBE has died and I feel strangely miffed at the passing of one of the real good guys.
As a Christian I can usually come to terms with the vicissitudes of life, and death, and convince myself of the bigger picture, but when the passing seems premature it is always more difficult to understand.
Of course in Jeremy’s 59 years on this earth he packed in several lifetimes of experiences. Humanitarian, wit, raconteur, bibliophile, intellectual and thoroughly decent bloke; all of these he was in spades. He was also a loyal and trusted friend.
We hosted many charity quizzes together and took part in several others as team-mates.
As a host he was second-to-none. His ‘Beadle’s Barmy Bingo’ would often start proceedings off. Corporate team-members would come up and pay their £20 for a ticket, their expectations high. The game would start and soon the expectations became even higher as invariably, and inevitably, every player in the hall would be sweating on one number. And then in an ear-shattering crescendo of unified noise house would be called and the winning player would rise from their seat……………..that is……..every player! The genial host had rigged the game so that everyone would shout on the same number. This always brought loud guffaws of laughter but also served as a ploy to get the kitty going for whatever charity he was representing as no-one ever asked for their money back. The barmy bingo also defrosted the audience somewhat and by the end of the evening Jeremy would have everyone dancing on the tables, quite literally, the men often with their trousers around their ankles. Jeremy insisted his quiz nights were fun with a capital F.
As a quiz-player Jeremy was formidable to say the least. A Celebrity Mastermind winner, a multiple victor on Win Beadle’s Money, a member of an all-star team that won a British Quiz Association Grand Prix, and a top-30 placing as an individual in the British Quiz Championship of 2002. You see Jeremy had read virtually all of the tens of thousands of books he had collected in his magnificent library.
As a friend he was everything one would want and he showed me many kindnesses over the years. Our first contact was when Jeremy rang me up out of the blue to congratulate me on coming second to him in a poll of the nation’s top pranksters (I once pretended to be an Italian freelance writer to thwart the rules of Fifteen-to-One).
After the A to Z of Everything was published in 2001 Jeremy invited me to his home to sign a couple of copies of his ‘favourite book’. At least that is what Jeremy had told me. Of course he knew so many authors and you take these things with a pinch of salt but the following year he told me he almost pulled out of Ant and Dec’s Saturday Night Takeaway after the production company refused to let him take a copy of my book into his ‘prison’ in the ‘Banged Up With Beadle’ section. You see, Jeremy had a way about him to always make you feel special. Incidentally, this sojourn into reality television left Jeremy vowing “never again” as uncomplimentary editing left him to the mercy of an unscrupulous team. He was later offered vast sums to appear on other reality shows but turned them all down for the sake of his beloved wife Sue and their children Bonnie and Cassie.
On one occasion Jeremy had invited me round for dinner and as I was with Chris Hughes (he of Eggheads fame) earlier in the day I turned up with Chris in tow, totally unannounced. Jeremy and Sue were completely unphased and welcomed Chris as one would an old friend. It turned out that Jeremy had organised this meeting as a networking exercise for me as I was soon to have my A to Z of Sport published. The other guests were the chief sports writer with The Times, the Leyton Orient chairman and the author of the Guinness Book of the Olympics. I couldn’t possibly divulge what we spoke about that evening but suffice to say Jeremy commented at separate times “wouldn’t the papers have a field day with this” and “wouldn’t this make a great television show” as revelation after revelation were disclosed. In vino veritas. The other remarkable thing about this particular evening was that although it was unquestionably of a sporting theme Jeremy actually had no interest in sport whatsoever!
On another occasion Jeremy invited me as a guest on his radio show and dedicated the whole programme to a phone-in where people could discuss my book’s content and ask us any question they liked and we would endeavour to answer them all.
We travelled up to Leicestershire in his car once and I commented that he knew almost everybody in show business. I went on to ask him who his particular heroes were and he replied “people like you”. Again I am sure this was a case of schmoozing the immediate company but what this did tell me was that Jeremy was never happier than when he was around quiz folk. He was a true scholar and shared the same thirst for knowledge as myself and I shall miss his advice on the latest reference book must-buy.
I shall also miss his always sound advice in dealing with my publisher, press, friends and enemies.
I read Henry Kelly’s wonderful obituary in today’s Sunday Telegraph and it brought a tear to my eye. Henry described the real Jeremy Beadle, the one I and all his friends knew.
He was universally loved by the general public and to go walkabout with Jeremy meant having to stop repeatedly for autographs and mobile phone calls as members of the public loved to have him talk to their loved ones on the phone.
I shared a lunchtime bun and coffee with Max Clifford a year or two ago when we were both at the BBC plugging our books. The subject of our mutual friend arose and Max confessed quite openly “I at least deserve my reputation as I am a bit of a b****** but Jeremy is the loveliest man on earth and does not deserve his”
I cannot comment on Max’s credentials but I can vouch that Jeremy was truly a great man, a noble man, a gentle man. He has left such a yawning gap in all our lives my heart goes out to Sue, Bonnie, Cassie, Leo and Clare.
God bless them and God bless Jeremy.
Jeremy Beadle MBE has died and I feel strangely miffed at the passing of one of the real good guys.
As a Christian I can usually come to terms with the vicissitudes of life, and death, and convince myself of the bigger picture, but when the passing seems premature it is always more difficult to understand.
Of course in Jeremy’s 59 years on this earth he packed in several lifetimes of experiences. Humanitarian, wit, raconteur, bibliophile, intellectual and thoroughly decent bloke; all of these he was in spades. He was also a loyal and trusted friend.
We hosted many charity quizzes together and took part in several others as team-mates.
As a host he was second-to-none. His ‘Beadle’s Barmy Bingo’ would often start proceedings off. Corporate team-members would come up and pay their £20 for a ticket, their expectations high. The game would start and soon the expectations became even higher as invariably, and inevitably, every player in the hall would be sweating on one number. And then in an ear-shattering crescendo of unified noise house would be called and the winning player would rise from their seat……………..that is……..every player! The genial host had rigged the game so that everyone would shout on the same number. This always brought loud guffaws of laughter but also served as a ploy to get the kitty going for whatever charity he was representing as no-one ever asked for their money back. The barmy bingo also defrosted the audience somewhat and by the end of the evening Jeremy would have everyone dancing on the tables, quite literally, the men often with their trousers around their ankles. Jeremy insisted his quiz nights were fun with a capital F.
As a quiz-player Jeremy was formidable to say the least. A Celebrity Mastermind winner, a multiple victor on Win Beadle’s Money, a member of an all-star team that won a British Quiz Association Grand Prix, and a top-30 placing as an individual in the British Quiz Championship of 2002. You see Jeremy had read virtually all of the tens of thousands of books he had collected in his magnificent library.
As a friend he was everything one would want and he showed me many kindnesses over the years. Our first contact was when Jeremy rang me up out of the blue to congratulate me on coming second to him in a poll of the nation’s top pranksters (I once pretended to be an Italian freelance writer to thwart the rules of Fifteen-to-One).
After the A to Z of Everything was published in 2001 Jeremy invited me to his home to sign a couple of copies of his ‘favourite book’. At least that is what Jeremy had told me. Of course he knew so many authors and you take these things with a pinch of salt but the following year he told me he almost pulled out of Ant and Dec’s Saturday Night Takeaway after the production company refused to let him take a copy of my book into his ‘prison’ in the ‘Banged Up With Beadle’ section. You see, Jeremy had a way about him to always make you feel special. Incidentally, this sojourn into reality television left Jeremy vowing “never again” as uncomplimentary editing left him to the mercy of an unscrupulous team. He was later offered vast sums to appear on other reality shows but turned them all down for the sake of his beloved wife Sue and their children Bonnie and Cassie.
On one occasion Jeremy had invited me round for dinner and as I was with Chris Hughes (he of Eggheads fame) earlier in the day I turned up with Chris in tow, totally unannounced. Jeremy and Sue were completely unphased and welcomed Chris as one would an old friend. It turned out that Jeremy had organised this meeting as a networking exercise for me as I was soon to have my A to Z of Sport published. The other guests were the chief sports writer with The Times, the Leyton Orient chairman and the author of the Guinness Book of the Olympics. I couldn’t possibly divulge what we spoke about that evening but suffice to say Jeremy commented at separate times “wouldn’t the papers have a field day with this” and “wouldn’t this make a great television show” as revelation after revelation were disclosed. In vino veritas. The other remarkable thing about this particular evening was that although it was unquestionably of a sporting theme Jeremy actually had no interest in sport whatsoever!
On another occasion Jeremy invited me as a guest on his radio show and dedicated the whole programme to a phone-in where people could discuss my book’s content and ask us any question they liked and we would endeavour to answer them all.
We travelled up to Leicestershire in his car once and I commented that he knew almost everybody in show business. I went on to ask him who his particular heroes were and he replied “people like you”. Again I am sure this was a case of schmoozing the immediate company but what this did tell me was that Jeremy was never happier than when he was around quiz folk. He was a true scholar and shared the same thirst for knowledge as myself and I shall miss his advice on the latest reference book must-buy.
I shall also miss his always sound advice in dealing with my publisher, press, friends and enemies.
I read Henry Kelly’s wonderful obituary in today’s Sunday Telegraph and it brought a tear to my eye. Henry described the real Jeremy Beadle, the one I and all his friends knew.
He was universally loved by the general public and to go walkabout with Jeremy meant having to stop repeatedly for autographs and mobile phone calls as members of the public loved to have him talk to their loved ones on the phone.
I shared a lunchtime bun and coffee with Max Clifford a year or two ago when we were both at the BBC plugging our books. The subject of our mutual friend arose and Max confessed quite openly “I at least deserve my reputation as I am a bit of a b****** but Jeremy is the loveliest man on earth and does not deserve his”
I cannot comment on Max’s credentials but I can vouch that Jeremy was truly a great man, a noble man, a gentle man. He has left such a yawning gap in all our lives my heart goes out to Sue, Bonnie, Cassie, Leo and Clare.
God bless them and God bless Jeremy.
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