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.
Tuesday 26 February 2008
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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