What a very strange week it has been in my world.

The ninth edition of the A to Z of almost Everything was presented to my printer in mid-August for its customary late September launch date, but on Monday I received an email from Bell & Bain expressing their sorrow that “in these strange times” they had got rather behind with their print queue and the book would be published a week or two late.  This was a bit of a blow as my pre-launch publicity had been arranged for 27 September, however, on the positive side this meant I was able to avail myself of their offer to update various areas of the book reflecting the new premiership of Liz Truss. I delayed my holiday to Nottingham taking in our annual Mastermind Club function, rallied the troops and within 24 hours had updated accordingly.

My amended Author’s Note is reproduced below informing of new content and highlighting the fact that I diligently updated to reflect the status quo BUT of course, no sooner was the update sent to print than the devastating news of the Queen’s  death became apparent.

I thought long and hard as to whether I should again hold back the front page so to speak but as a life-long Royalist I felt I wanted to do justice to the various threads running through the book and this would not be possible in the small window of opportunity given me by my print company.

The many areas affected by Her Majesty’s passing relevant to this book include the change to King in titles such as Master of the Queen’s Music, Queen’s Bench Division, Queen’s Counsel, Queen’s Gallantry Medal, Queen’s Police Medal, and of course the National Anthem. Terms such as ‘Turning Queen’s Evidence’ and all reference to official duties such as Lord Lieutenants being the Queen’s personal representative in ceremonial counties require change as well as King Charles III now being the Head of State of 15 Commonwealth countries. And of course the Order of Succession and Precedence has now changed plus Prince of Wales. Stamps and coins will inevitably change too at some point and it would be remiss of me if I didn’t give mention to the Queen’s funeral. King Charles III will no doubt be crowned before the next edition so it would seem apt to wait and update accordingly in the next edition.

On return from Nottingham I felt compelled to pay my respects to our beloved Queen so I booked a London hotel and duly joined the queue near my former publisher on Waterloo Bridge. As darkness loomed I passed security and entered Westminster Hall to eerie silence broken only by the faint sound of mourners’ sniffles, not least my own. I was overcome with emotion.

After watching the Queen’s Christmas Message last year I was moved to write an obsequious but truly, not sycophantic letter to Her Majesty. My missive did not warrant or seek reply but in light of what has transpired the past week I am so glad I was able to communicate sentiments that are clearly shared by many millions of loyal subjects. History will be kind to Queen Elizabeth the Great; it will tell the story of a monarch, the greatest of them all in my quite biased opinion, who turned perfidious albion into a nation to be envied all around the world.

Having been a Christian almost all my life I have lived through the changing ways society has dictated my faith be expressed and I was always heartened by Her Majesty’s humility and recognition that the life of Jesus was the bedrock of the Queen’s faith as it is with all true Christians.

The reply to my letter received on 4 March 2022, and signed by Lady-in-Waiting Jennifer Gordon Lennox,is now a most treasured possession and I feel so honoured and blessed I was able to communicate my undying love for all that Her Majesty has been to a nation and beyond. To know that the Queen read my letter and asked her Lady-In-Waiting to thank me for my ‘kind sentiments’ means so much to me at this time.

Author’s Note to the ninth edition of the A to Z of almost Everything

All the information from the eighth edition remains intact except for three sections: Current Affairs (noteworthy events of the past three years being recorded across relevant sections rather than the normal chronological listing), General Election results (2017 results replaced by the 2019 results), and minor Oscar winners (2017-19 winners replaced by 2020-22 winners).

New topics include: Alloys, Antelopes, Apollo Space Missions, Closing Lines of Famous Films, Currency Comparisons, Degree Classifications, Generations of the Western World, Highest Mountains entirely within a particular country, Hottest Chilli Peppers, John Creasey’s Pseudonyms, LPs - year of release and Highest Chart Position, Metric SI prefixes, Minerals, Neologisms, Parts of a Horse’s Body, Psychologists, Stirling Prize Winners, Television Advertising Campaigns, Topography Terms, Video Games, Weapons of War, Word Meanings, and World Heritage Sites – to name but a few.

When putting the previous edition to bed I was left frustrated by the uncertainty over the imminent withdrawal of the United Kingdom from the European Union and although the post-Brexit denouement has yet to be unravelled in holistic terms, it is clear that there has been teething problems, possibly contributing to bureaucratic delays, acceleration of inflation, and decrease in educational funding. On 6^th September Liz Truss met the Queen at Balmoral and was asked to form a government after the resignation of Boris Johnson. Details of the subsequent Cabinet reshuffle have been included as stop press items in the relevant sections of this ninth edition to prevent my suffering the same frustration and I’d like to thank my typesetter Ian Taylor and Printer Bell & Bain for being so accommodating.

Back in my quiz-playing days it was the norm to feel a little under-prepared for competitions as the scope for knowledge is ever-expanding and that blissful state of nirvana is rarely, if ever, attained. It is no different now that I have effectively become poacher turned gamekeeper and as always when faced with this last opportunity to purvey facts, a snippet I consider to be of vital importance, pops into my head and I am horrified to find no mention within the covers of this cornucopia. So by way of redress I’d like to proffer that Britain has four assay offices: London (leopard’s head), Birmingham (anchor), Sheffield (formerly crown but changed to white rose of York in 1977), and Edinburgh (three-towered castle); the term hallmark for these depictions named from the London office, Goldsmith’s Hall. In addition, the Hallmarking Act 1973 states Platinum, Gold and Silver must also depict an orb, crown, and a lion passant respectively, and since 2010 Palladium (head of Pallas Athene) has been added to the list.

As I write this amid the first rain to fall since the UK Government declared a state of drought I am reminded of a word I haven’t heard for many a year, Petrichor. Even the name conjures up mystical connotations which are borne out in fact. It is however difficult to define exactly what this word means, as indeed similar to another familiar word from my misspent youth, i.e., prial (meaning three cards of the same denomination), I have been unable to find a clear definition in any of my dictionaries, hence it doesn’t appear in my word meanings section. Petrichor is in fact a rather nostalgic smell offering better things on the horizon, it is as well-known to us as other equally illusory, albeit optical, delights such as the heat shimmer or rainbow. Scientists have established this wonderful phenomenon to be caused by the effect rain, with all its variable acidic properties, has on plants, grass and soil after prolonged periods of aridity.

So now I have got that off my chest all is again right with the world!

In the rubric at the beginning of the Britain section of the eighth edition I suggested Surrey County Council might consider relocating its administrative offices from Kingston to an area which is actually within the county bounds and although I cannot take any credit for the move I am very pleased to report this anomaly has now been addressed and Reigate is the new home of the council offices.

And finally, I would like to explain that in the areas of this book where I have merely listed a proliferation of names such as famous musicians, singers or sportspeople without recourse to further expansion, the allusion is that I am very well aware that in the modern technological world it is not enough to expect a single volume book to have all the answers, if indeed it was possible to bind such a tome, but conversely the importance of having a hard copy of a book that can point you in the direction of further study and negate the so-called Google effect cannot be underestimated. For aspiring knowledge experts I would suggest as a companion to this book, a good world atlas and some form of access to the Internet.

I hope you will be edified and entertained when dipping in to this book.

As always I have done my utmost to achieve 100 per cent accuracy, but if I have fallen short or you would like to suggest new topics or discuss existing ones, please write to me via my website.

At this point I would also like to mention previous contributors once again as the original book, compiled more than twenty five years ago, could not have been done so without the invaluable help of so many of my friends some of which are sadly no longer with us. Take a bow Kevin Ashman, Jeremy Beadle, Mike Billson, Mark Bytheway, Eric Carden, Peter Chitty, Sharon Chladek, Bob Collier, Patricia Cowley, Andy Curtis, Peter Ediss, Robert Edwards, Brian Ennis, Keith Fawdry, Gavin Fuller, Phillida Grantham, Dag Griffiths, Paul Henderson, Chris Hughes, Bob Jones, Will Jones, Ann Kelly, Mark Kerr, Eric Kilby, Mel Kinsey, Phil Lewis, Gavin Loughton, Magnus Magnusson KBE, Jonathan Marvin, Ruth Benjamin Marvin, Christine Moorcroft, Mike O’Sullivan, Anita Oxley, Trevor Parry, Peter Phelan, Fiona Redmond, Craig Scott, Tony Sherwood, John Snow, Leo Stevenson, Rob Sutherland, Geoff Thomas, Gordon Troughton, Ritchie Venner, Ray Ward, Tim Westcott, Neil White, and John Wilson.

A to Z of almost Everything (8th edition) rises to No 1 in the Amazon book rankings

I was delighted to find out that after a day of promotional work the A to Z of almost Everything (8th edition) topped the Amazon book rankings on Friday 4th October across all categories - Wow!

I'm hugely grateful to all the members of the public who have thought my book worthy of purchase and I know from correspondence many of you are repeat offenders and have bought every edition.

I do believe this latest edition is the best yet with a thorough rationalization throughout and many new topics included.

I must apologise to readers for duplication of two pages within the Art : Painting and Movement section but I can assure readers this printing glitch has not compromised any entries whatsoever and the section remains totally intact.

I will ensure that subsequent print runs do not include this duplication.

Your appreciation of my work makes all the lonely days and nights of research very worthwhile.

Thank You

Beware Clair Rosina Hunnisett and Neil Malcolm Stuart John aka as Stuart

First of all may I thank all of the well-wishers who have been so kind as to write to me offering their condolences re the rogue traders I have recently had the misfortune to be robbed by.

Thank you too to all those victims of this loathsome pair of individuals who have written to me to tell me their stories. I promise that I will do everything I can to bring these people to justice.

For those of you who do not know the story I shall give you a brief outline of events.

In May I decided to change my print company as I wasn’t happy with the way the sixth edition of the A to Z of almost Everything was printed. It had always been a Royal size book but CPI Antony Rowe (Clowes) initially typeset the book incorrectly – not leaving enough space for the pagination - and then omitted the side titles causing me to have to have the book re-typeset for the second print run.

The book consequently had to be restructured in A4 which effectively meant I earned no profit whatsoever throughout the print runs as their costs were prohibitive to say the least and I ended up trying to keep sales down to save myself money.

I placed ‘UK Printers’ in a Google search and a company calling itself UK Print Ltd came up at the top of the list so I rang the London number on the website and spoke to a jovial Welshman calling himself Stuart.

‘Stuart’ immediately gave me the hard sell and told me about how he printed work for the British Museum and had countless positive testimonies. He went on to say he knew my typesetter and had ‘done a couple of jobs for him’. He also told me that CPI were known to be a very arrogant bunch and that he could do a much better hands-on job for me, would turnaround the book within a week instead of the ten working days CPI took and when I suggested I was taking a bit of a risk with him he replied “It is me who is taking the risk Trev as I’ll offer you the same 90 day terms you receive from Clowes so if you don’t like my work then you don’t pay me”.

Time went by and alarms bells started to ring as ‘Stuart’ became elusive. And then an email turned up saying that for the first print run he would require the money up front. By now I had invested considerable time and effort into the project and my deadline of October 1 was looming large and after discussing things with my typesetter I took a sharp intake of breath and decided I would have to trust this guy.

Deadlines came and went and the panic started to set in. I decided to copy my typesetter into all email as a precaution. ‘Stuart’ now became ever- more elusive and just did not reply to the proliferation of email sent him, protesting that something must be wrong with his filter. Stuart tends to have an answer for every situation however unbelievable those answers appear to be. He certainly didn’t like the fact that I had a witness to our business dealings and on a rare group reply suggested my typesetter would soon get fed up being copied in to email, to which I replied it was only until evidence of the book was produced.

 After receiving my money all went quiet for some time but Stuart then turned up out of the blue with apologies and said the book would be at the two wholesalers for October 24^th. He even gave me his mobile number so I could contact him directly. He never once answered this phone nor was he available on the original London number although on occasion a young boy would answer to tell me ‘Stuart’ was not available but he would get him to ring me - he never did ring of course.

The catalogue of lies increased daily but I was still disposed to believe the book was being printed as I was being texted progress reports.

I did however by now fear for the quality of the work as ‘Stuart’ had shown scant regard for any of his sales puffs and clearly was telling lies about the turnaround within a week, the printing press he owned in Gravesend, the dedicated hands-on staff, the work done for my typesetter, and the 90 day terms. 

I was by now getting even less sleep than normal as every friend I told the story too was convinced I was dealing with a conman and however plausible ‘Stuart’ appeared to be all the signs were there that this man was a complete and utter fantasist, a crook, robber, fraudster call him what you will. 

Nothing ever transpired as he said it would and then he became abusive and vague. He started looking for trouble and for reasons to be disruptive. I decided to look into this man a little further as nothing added up. I asked to meet him so I could show him the book but he flatly refused and told me it wasn’t necessary.

On the morning of the 24^th I rose from bed at 8 and received a phone call from 'Stuart' to tell me the book was printed but that the binding was incomplete because he thought it was a softback! He said my typesetter must have sent the wrong spec despite the spec clearly stating the book had endpapers and a dust-sheet which are only applied to hardbacks!

At this point I actually cried on the phone, a combination of the deterioration in June’s health and the frustration as my worst nightmares were being realised. All my advance sales were cancelled and now I didn’t know what to do. 

At the beginning of proceedings back in May I had informed ‘Stuart’ that this book had sold more than a million copies since its first edition in 2001 and now this man ended our conversation with “Well you’ve sold three million books what’s another few thousand”.

 It was a nasty facetious comment that began to unravel the true nature of this man who had previously ingratiated himself to me by appearing to be so concerned about June’s health.

Stuart then gave me four further dates when the book could be booked in to the wholesalers and justified himself by acting as if he was divorced from the actual printing process and didn’t know what was going on although by now I already knew he was a one-man band, a farmer at best, a cold calculated thief at worst.

By now I had got an investigator onto this chap and on November 17^th everything came to a head. On the Thursday morning 'Stuart' rang to tell me yet again the book would be delivered “tomorrow” but when I suggested that by now I should be on the second print run he gave the game away by saying “why not increase your order now Trev and I can offer you a much cheaper price” This instantly alerted me to the fact he had never printed any books as otherwise how could he possibly give me the normal quantity discount when the first run was complete?

Later that morning I was sent two articles about this man, one by post and another via email from someone he had also defrauded

http://www.printweek.com/print-week/news/1158748/print-farmer-leaves-trail-of-clients-out-of-pocket

I sent the above article to Mr Neil Malcolm Stuart John and as expected he went into liquidation that same day.

Over the course of the next week his case was escalated four times and landed in the lap of the Official Receiver in Manchester.

Clair Rosina Hunnisett and Neil Malcolm Stuart John are in fact partners in crime and partners in life. They usually steal fairly small amounts in the knowledge that victims would be dissuaded from suing as the costs are prohibitive.

Unfortunately on the same day that the truth was outed my June had a suspected stroke and was admitted to East Surrey Hospital and also diagnosed with a sepsis and urinary infection.

As I explained in my previous blog June no longer has any cognitive ability whatsoever and I was informed within days that she would never be able to come home again.

June is still in East Surrey today, Christmas Day – awaiting placement in a nursing home.

Today I lifted her onto a commode as her diverticulosis meant she was having one of her bouts of extreme diarrhoea. I was covered in faeces and whilst I was washing my hands and talking to a cycling friend of mine whose mother happens to be in the same bay as June, calamity struck as an almighty scream and crash could be heard as June fell off the commode and into some nearby chairs and table.

So that was June’s Christmas, no turkey for her, in fact she couldn’t even manage any puree food and all I could feed her was a little soft ice cream as she was able to suck it up between her teeth.

Quite ironic I thought whilst I looked at the distressed face of this angelic soul who is universally loved by all and sundry. Tears flowed for most of the rest of the day and my mind wandered to Clair Rosina Hunnisett and Neil Malcolm Stuart John and I imagined them tucking into their roast turkey oblivious to the dreams and aspirations of so many people, including children, they have shattered by their greed.

The couple have had three months to return my money but I have heard nothing from them or their solicitors Tonner Johns Ratti although I wrote to Jemma at Tonner some weeks ago. But……..

The mechanism has already started and I promise this couple will get their just desserts.

I’d like to thank all my friends from so many walks of life who have offered advice and more in many cases. I am fortunate to have met a lot of influential and able people through my career dealings from top policemen and security agents to trained soldiers and elite fighting sportsmen.

Although I am grateful to all those friends who have offered very real help in some very colourful and expressive ways I have declined all such offers in the belief that this couple will eventually see the light and repent their sins and return my money in full and perhaps also pay my costs.

Before criminal proceedings it is important to have my money returned - I need it for June’s ongoing health needs – and I have started the process.

By the way, the article is just the tip of the iceberg. Victims have contacted me on a regular basis and all the while the evidence is growing and it is not just the fraudulent use of the cloak of limited liability, in my case it is actual robbery plain and simple with no intent to give me any consideration for my money.

Because of their wrongdoing this couple are likely to be liable in a civil action above their £1 shareholding but also criminally as there is absolutely no evidence whatsoever that my books were ever printed or likely to be printed. It was just theft. It would be quite wrong of me to second guess the outcome of proceedings but suffice to say I have experts on my side and am very confident this couple will see the light eventually.

Out of interest, their modus operandi is to satisfy very small orders such as guide books and pamphlets but not on their own press in Gravesend as they tell you because they do not own a press in Gravesend, and all they do is take the money in and try to farm the work out to the cheapest bidder usually in eastern Europe. 

So they are not printers at all. You or I could do the same thing but farming is a scurrilous way to make money even if done ethically if that is not an oxymoron.

So basically they take your money and then try to arrange a print for you and cream the money off the top. They lie by telling you they can produce in a week but as they do not have a press they haven’t a clue when they can produce. On large orders such as mine they just don’t bother as it is far easier to go into liquidation and then open up under another name the following day. They were in liquidation from another company whilst dealing with me which is why their company details disappeared from my search engines.

It is quite a well-oiled machine and my investigator has discovered the authorities have been trying to nail this couple for 26 years would you believe.

On one occasion when Jemma from Tonner Johns Ratti emailed me she suggested her client had not given me a date for book production and on that fateful Thursday morning initially offered to produce the books, or part order of a thousand, by December 5^th. What happened!

What Jemma should know is that I was already expecting this email as most of the victims receive the same email and usually a follow-up one where the couple offer to pay back the money in instalments but invariably do not keep to this arrangement.

In the meantime my investigator traced the bank and the address of Mr John and has been keeping him under surveillance in case he tries to skip the country as even fantasists realise when reality beckons. 

At one point I almost got my money bank via Barclays but perversely I am glad I didn’t as I want this couple stopped for good and feel it is my duty.

Apparently Clair Rosina Hunnisett and Neil Malcolm Stuart John aka as Stuart when he is robbing people at the behest of Clair, are pillars of the community on Barry Island and have put it round the island that their son is a Premiership footballer! 

Neil rarely goes out although Clair was happy to take in my written request for the return of the money they stole from me although she has not had the good grace to reply to me. 

Perhaps she thinks I will just write the money off that I took years to save. 

Isn’t it strange though that I requested to be placed on the creditor’s list although we all know I am not owed a business debt at all. My money was hardly cleared when I sussed them out and you would think they would have shown a glimmer of human decency and paid me back as it is not as if they have spent the money on anything. Shows a certain criminal intent that does themselves no favours methinks.

Yes as some of my friends guessed they do not have a post box at their home at 4, Pioden For, Barry Island, Barry, South Glamorgan CF62 5DD as you can imagine in their line of business with an ever-increasing number of irate victims in tow it would only be a matter of time before someone inflamed the situation – literally.

I wanted to give these people three months to repay me because as a Christian I feel honour-bound to appeal to their better natures before deciding on a more decisive course of action.

Time is running out for Clair Rosina Hunnisett and Neil Malcolm Stuart John aka as Stuart and all I can do is pray that they face up to the fact that they have stolen a considerable amount of money from me and really need to pay back the money now to mitigate matters for themselves.  

Incidentally, my faith in British printers was restored when I contacted an old friend at Orion who put me in touch with the Glasgow-based Bell & Bain. 

I have to say that Derek and his crew have been magnificent and despite it being the busiest time of year managed to produce my doubled order in double quick time to ensure I salvaged something of my usual Christmas market. The print quality is exceptional and gentleman that he is Derek even insisted on me sending him a signed copy as he is such a fan of the book - fabulous, what a contrast to what I've been used to.

My beloved Juney

Christians often stand accused of being delusional in their belief of a supernatural being that can becalm the mightiest of storms and give hope of eternal life and the reuniting of loved ones.

Today I realise more than ever why I was convicted that there is a God.

I feel crushed.

I can barely come to terms with the fact that my June is no longer coming home to me – not ever.

The woman that was my role model, guardian, lover and friend since my teens cruelly struck down by dementia and now a bed-ridden uncommunicative vision of beauty who doesn’t know me nor what is going on around her, the only sign of life being brief periods of manic laughter that both frighten me and offers hope of painlessness at the same time.

June is no ordinary woman, no ordinary person. June taught me tolerance, love, understanding. She taught me by showing me and the world. She was the same you see. Behind those closed doors June had the same smile, the same disposition, the same huge heart that she showed every single person she ever came into contact with.

June was a one-off, a true one-off. To know her was to love her. A peacemaker who hated confrontation but never found herself having to compromise her values - she simply never courted controversy or caused friction. June was never a threat to anyone. She would laugh at her occasional silliness and mine too. I loved the way she could bring me down to earth and knew I was as vulnerable as she was. I loved to observe her do her thing; spread her love to all and sundry. Somehow I felt I bathed in the reflected glory of it. 

Larger than life, the life and soul of any party, but never crude, always a lady, no bad language from June. Gentle, kind and loving. Oh so loving. No games, told me every day, many times a day how much she loved me but more than that showed me that love. From our early days when I had only a student’s grant to live on June supported me in every way. She was old school. I would make the token egg and chips on a Wednesday and Saturday and June would make the proper meals for the rest of the week.

What I would give for one of her steak and kidney pies or apple pies now.

Whatever I did June supported me. She would go to the track and time me lap after lap. When I was off playing bridge or quizzing she would often just sit in the wings and watch. When I was competing at something I always heard her voice above all others. I was always amazed that June took so much pleasure from my books. She was such a calm placid person I could never imagine her getting too excited about anything and yet when each of my books came out June would go to every bookshop she could travel to and ensure they stocked it.

My latest book turned up yesterday and I took my copy to the hospital to show June but it was a futile gesture. My June no longer has any awareness as the delirium overwhelms.

Oh God how I wish it were me in that bed instead of her.

Friends come and go, good friends stay, loyal friends are rare. June was unique. I knew her. I knew her values. I knew what she thought. I trusted her more than I trusted myself. I felt safe. Secure that whatever the world threw at me June was there supporting me telling me everything would be alright. And it was. June made it so.

Through all my flights of fancy June was steadfast and remained supportive.

June was universally loved by all and could get on with prince or pauper. We often played host to some of the country’s top brains and whether we had Kev Ashman, Chris Hughes, Mike Billson or Tony Sherwood staying with us her maternal instinct would come out and she would fuss them and talk about ordinary things. She was the same with Magnus Magnusson and Jeremy Beadle. She loved them both dearly but spoke to them as she would her brother. No pedestals no side no front just made everyone feel special and most of all me.

I’ve always got angry if people disrespected June either directly or otherwise.

In the early days of June’s illness she had a nasty fall whilst visiting my father in Weymouth. My brother thought this disrupted the holiday and we fell out over it and I haven’t seen him since except for him to tell me to “get off my land”

If I did not have faith that I would one day be reconciled with June I would be overwhelmed with grief. As it is I am constantly panicking and find it very difficult to come to terms with the fact that June really isn’t coming home and more than that she is wasting away in a hospital bed.

The great June, the great unsung hero, my idol, the girl of my dreams. How blessed have I been and how alone am I now? If I had no faith all would be lost and I could not go on with the pain.

 I cannot help June any longer. I can only watch as strangers dress her bed sores not knowing who she is and what she has been to me and so many many others.

What I would give to have her back even as she was a month ago.

Please pray that God’s will is that June passes quickly and gently and is transported to Heaven and that we might one day be reconciled

RIP David

I was a little too young for the death of Marilyn Monroe to really resonate with me and however much I loved George Harrison his stabbing and subsequent battle with cancer made me feel a little relief for him in some way. There are other famous international icons that strike a chord with me (and most of the world’s population) to the extent that we remember precisely where we were and what we were doing when we received the news of their untimely deaths.

Friday November 22^nd 1963 I was laying on my bed playing a game I had invented called cricket – a high tech version of the ball game requiring only two pencils and an exercise book – when my father shouted up the stairs “President Kennedy has been shot”; Tuesday August 16^th 1977 I was walking from Brighton Station towards the clock tower with my friend Kevin Searle when we passed a man crying “the King is dead, the King is dead”; Tuesday December 9^th 1980 I was driving to Brighton to take an accountancy exam when I turned on the radio to hear that John Lennon had been murdered; I woke up on Sunday 31^st August 1997 had my breakfast ready to go cycling with my club and turned on the television to the news that Princess Diana had died in a car crash; Monday January 11^th 2016 I was sitting on the loo when a text came through from a friend informing me that David Bowie was dead.

The end of an era is an understatement. For me, once the Beatles had split up pop music began to die and all I had to look forward to was the individual output of the four lads. The only other artist I was interested in enough to buy his music was a young shaggy-haired musician known as David Bowie.

I was switched on to David the first time I heard Space Oddity in 1969. The quirky voice, space age song and flared trousers – before they became fashionable – were reason enough to find the man interesting but over the course of the next four years my love was cemented. My younger brother was an even bigger fan at this time and Shaun not only bought all David’s English albums but also those in German and Japanese – something I soon copied.

To me Ziggy Stardust lived.

I also loved the fact that this monster performer was influenced by some of the same things as I was. The Strange World of Gurney Slade was the most surreal television show I can ever remember seeing. It starred the magnificent Anthony Newley and in songs such as Laughing Gnome and Love You Til Tuesday you can clearly see how similar David’s voice is to Newley’s.

In 1971 I became friends with David’s half-brother Terry Burns and we shared many an adventure. Terry suffered from manic depression and was institutionalised at Cane Hill Hospital in Coulsdon, Surrey but I often took him for a pint to the Red Lion or the Victoria Club in Coulsdon. Terry was a massive Neil Diamond fan and would always play Cracklin’ Rosie on the jukebox and leave me to play his brother’s hits.

Before Terry’s ultimate death he had attempted suicide previously and I remember one occasion when both he and my aforementioned friend Kevin were not only in Mayday hospital at the same time but in adjacent beds, both suffering from broken legs due to jumping off buildings. How bizarre is that for two of my friends to meet each other in such a way!

On the one occasion Terry informed me David was to visit him I couldn’t resist going to Cane Hill but was totally star-struck and ended up playing snooker with the charge-nurse on the ward next door without even a glimpse of my idol.

Like all Bowie fans I followed David through all his numerous changes of style and appearances, awaited his latest videos with baited breath and was always mesmerised by his performances.

I only ever saw David live on one occasion, at Wembley in 1983 during his Serious Moonlight tour.

Wow! He looked amazing with his quaffed blond tinted hair but he truly was remarkable with a fantastic mime sequence, a rare sax solo and totally live singing of all his greatest hits plus all his new stuff from the Let’s Dance album – China Girl being truly memorable and sooo dramatic and intense.

My dear June was as mesmerised as I was and it’s such a shame that due to her Alzheimer’s she can no longer remember David but at the time she thought the concert was even better than when she saw her fellow Welsh superstars Tom Jones and Shirley Bassey.

I suppose the only way I can explain my devotion to David is that I even loved all those that loved him so I became a fan of Lou Reed, of Velvet Underground, of Iggy Pop, of Boy George of Paul Weller (who incidentally was a dead ringer for David in his early days) even though I didn’t really get their music.

RIP lovely boy x

Alzheimer's Update

At the moment I just feel I need to write something on record as this God awful disease plays out it's dreadful scenario blighting the life of the most precious and special person I have ever had the good fortune to meet.

June Humphries, June Humphries, June Humphries, I hear a thousand times a day as my dear June struggles to know herself let alone me. Trevor......., Trevor........A to Z of almost Everything I hear being mumbled under her breath.

The deterioration in June the past 12 months has been quite alarming. Last Easter I managed to get away for three days on a cycling trip to the Isle of Man with some clubmates and although I had neighbours come in to feed June and give out her nightly medication I felt confident she was safe.
At that time June was still able to shop on occasion, turn the television on and off and make herself a cup of tea on a good day.

Unfortunately June has since become prone to taking midnight hikes, forgetting how to use a knife and fork, falling over, hearing voices, talking gibberish, wearing all her clothes to bed, leaving her food, constant panic attacks, incontinence, temper tantrums and despair! It is all that I have been able to do to get her up in the morning but more often than not I have lost that battle lately.

The past four months have been particularly tough on June with a couple of bouts of hospitalisation after falls and another couple of respite stays in care homes while I was away. The first time I took June into a Shaw Healthcare home she was not happy and was so pleased when I picked her up to take her home. Last month I picked her up to take her home after a two-day stay but June didn't want to come home so I booked her in for another day. This was on the one hand upsetting as June was choosing a solitary life in care over the loving home we shared but on the other hand it also showed me that the time to let June go is not far away.

I decided to take June up to Clumber Park, north of Nottingham, last week but it turned into a bit of a disaster as June spent the whole time in the hotel bed and although I got her up for meals, she just picked at them and even struggled with her new favourite foods of chips and ice cream.

The worst of it is that I still see glimpses of the old June. Today for instance I happen to be running a temperature and June seemed to sense I was at a bit of a low ebb and she came into my office and rubbed my back and lay down on my office bed and said "I'll be good today". I managed to fight back the tears at the irony of June comforting me but it brought it home to me what a terrible affliction this disease is. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

And you feel so alone.

Sometimes I get that feeling I used to get soon after my mother died and I kept on thinking I saw her in the street, only with June it is the pretence that she is sound of mind.

I talk to June normally, I know she rarely understands but on occasion she will surprise me. When I see her laying on the floor with shit everywhere or when I have to ring the police when she has gone walkabout in the dead of night it brings it home that I am living in a fool's paradise.

June is not happy, why would she be. June is not well, but who cares, even my own father last Easter on my return from the Isle of Man said to me when I rang him "Does June still have Alzheimer's"!! and at Christmas when I rang him and put him on to June all he could say was "the mean old bugger couldn't even send me a card" To a lesser extent even one member of June's family who June had supported and put up for a couple of years turned away although bless her she did visit June in respite and held her hands up to being weak and selfish.

You see, June is a special person, always has been. She was my first role model. I was a teenager when we met and as she likes to say I was "a bit of a lad". June made me believe I could be anything I wanted to be. She made me believe that my unconventional upbringing was no barrier to my living a normal life. June is the only person I have ever met that has no side to her. She was with me exactly as she was with others i.e. loving and kind. June never had a bad word to say about anyone nor an unkind thought.

June commands respect too. I swear some of my more high profile gravitas friends such as Jeremy Beadle, Magnus Magnusson and Alan Samson loved June more than they liked me, in fact I remember Alan, my former publisher, buying a new suit on one occasion when June was going to join us for lunch. You see that was June. A simple girl from the Welsh Valleys who worked as a shop assistant and domestic but who was every bit a lady.

June's personality was legendary. In recent years she has hosted friends of mine from my sporting clubs but also the likes of Kev Ashman and Chris Hughes from Eggheads, Mark Labbett from the Chase and of course dear Jeremy. She made them all feel special and would invariably cook them egg and chips and was able to hold her own in any conversation as she kept abreast of current affairs and would devour the morning paper from cover to cover.

I am talking as if June has gone, but of course the June the world knew has gone but I still see behind the eyes. I still see the goodness of her soul. I see the struggle for words and thoughts that is driving her insane. I feel her indignity although June could never be undignified.

When I placed her in the homes I felt the staff knew June was a special one. Of course all our loved ones are special but I do make a point of telling people about June. She was a legend as a greengrocer, she was a legend as a butcher's assistant, she was a legend as a factory worker and she was a legend as a domestic, befriending doctors and administrators as well as her fellow workers. ALWAYS smiling, ALWAYS pleasant, ALWAYS kind and ALWAYS a word to encourage or make your day feel that little bit better for meeting her. When June was well, virtually every time I accompanied her to town someone would go out of their way to rush over and say hello to her or tell me how lovely she was.

June is a one-off. She did voluntary work for the League of Friends once she retired and also for the RNIB. Everything she did was done quietly, but earnestly and meticulously. June always went that one step further than others and is quite unique in being universally loved and never having had a falling out with any of her friends or acquaintances. You see June was never a threat to anyone. Direct, plain and simple. Not afraid to speak her mind but always with a smile, a glint in the eye and a warm heart.

I write this as much to remind myself how lucky I have been to have been loved by this great lady and how through all this apparent misery I trust that God will look after June and deliver her safely because she has done God's work all her life and I have witnessed it.

Timing Differences

Today I read in the newspaper how thousands of Jimmy Savile victims will receive compensation from his estate.

Jimmy Savile, a man praised relentlessly during his lifetime and only after his death was his reputation tarnished.

What is his legacy? What lesson will be learnt by humanity?

Another story that caught my eye was the murder of Dave West, a neighbour of Stephen Fry.

This man made an estimated £100million from a string of nightclubs and lap dancing establishments.

Dave West was known to live life excessively. His son “Little Dave” apparently murdered him.

Ask yourself this question:

Would you rather have fame and fortune during your lifetime but be vilified after your death or live your life quietly with dignity and modesty but risk not being remembered at all?

I specifically qualified my question not to suggest that seeking fame and fortune was necessarily a bad thing - after all there are many philanthropists who use their fame and fortune in a positive way (this is of course how Jimmy Savile was perceived)

This morning I watched Bette Midler sing that timeless ballad Wind Beneath My Wings and as ever it brought a tear to my eye as I reflected on my own unsung hero.

This love song is the most-played at British funerals – and why not – so many people leave this earth after leading good honest lives and it is fitting they are remembered with love.

I can recall countless examples of great people passing without ever creating more than a ripple at the moment of their death but during their lives influenced many. One such person was my old headmaster, John Piper, and another was a friend, Val, who ran an adventure playground for many years.

I was pleased to read in the newspaper this week that my friend’s husband who also ran the adventure playground was honoured. Phil would be chuffed but it wasn’t important to him – it’s not why he has been a lollipop man for the past eight years.

June Humphries is a lady that has led an exemplary life.

During her lifetime she has spread love wherever she goes.

She is still alive albeit afflicted with that terrible snatcher of dignity - Alzheimer’s Disease.

June is a legend around town and I can hardly take her into a shop without someone coming up and asking how she is or remembering happier days when June’s always smiley face made their hospital stay more tolerable, their shopping less of a chore or their bus journey more exciting.

I have always known June was a true one-off. Universally loved – love that you can feel from people, tangible love emanating from that quality we all have to love those that do not threaten us, to love those that show us love and to love those that are humble, modest and dignified.

June is fading fast. She is barely there anymore but I love her now more than ever.

June growed me up so to speak. She gave me direction in my formative years and she was my first role model.

It is wonderful that June is surrounded by love and when that love dims as the woman that June was fades more and more we will all have our memories but most of all – God will remember.

And why I named this blog Timing Differences?

The thing that defines humans is our propensity to be tempted very easily and to crave instant gratification by whatever means - sometimes to the detriment of others. It is all vanity – transient happiness but only the few appreciate that joy is the key everlasting joy rather than fleeting fixes.

Well done Cleggy - you're in the final of Britain's Got Talent yippee

I hope that all the locals will get behind comedy impressionist Jon Clegg in his quest to win Britain's Got Talent 2014. Jon is a smashing guy and obviously very talented, just like his father, Dave, who uniquely also won a major television talent show. He used to help me out hosting charity quizzes and can impersonate almost anyone.

I'm particularly pleased for Jon from a personal point of view as I was with my brother in Weymouth when he was performing at a holiday camp. Gary loves cabaret acts but for some reason best known only to him decided to walk out as Jon walked on. We fell out the next day (the day I mention in my previous blog as the day I believe June's dementia first reared it's ugly head) and haven't spoken since so in a way I hope Gary watches the show and remembers back and might consider that his behaviour was a little disrespectful, both to Jon and to June and ultimately me his brother. I love him to bits and I understand why he did what he did but Jon's performance in getting to the final in a way makes me feel almost as proud as his father given all the circumstances. I have never actually told Jon or Dave this story but the circle of life fascinates me - vote for Jon if you want to see a really decent man taste a bit of success.

Alzheimer's update

The first thing most people say to me when first learning of June's Alzheimer's is "But how are you?"

I think this is probably an empathetic response based on their own experience with the disease either as a professional or someone who has been challenged with it more directly.

You see, to care for someone with Alzheimer's is not an easy process and it only ever gets harder.

When you love someone and witness their struggle but can do little to relieve them it leaves you quite numb and becomes all consuming. Much of the time you are grieving for a person who is still alive. The professionals all warn you that things will only get worse but you cling on to the faintest of hope that maybe it is a misdiagnosis and a miracle will happen. On a good day (haven't had one for some time) the glimmer of normality lulls you into a sense of false security and you find yourself celebrating the tiniest of successes only for the stark realisation to quickly snap you back to reality.

Doctors, nurses, psychologists and friends all tell me how important it is for me to have a life and not to let the circumstances overwhelm me. They mean well of course and as I say I understand that this is a natural response from people who know they cannot help the actual patient so try and do the next best thing. The problem is this disease makes you bare your soul and strips you naked of emotion. The guilt is always there. Why June, why not me or someone else who was less good than a woman who has only ever spread love all her life.

I often contemplate when June first showed signs of dementia and I have worked it out to be a fall she had in Weymouth two or three years ago. June fell through a bus shelter when she leaned against what she thought was a glass siding which turned out to be smashed. The fall itself was nothing major, a cut shin and abrasions to her head which the local hospital x-rayed and found nothing amiss, but June's reaction was just out of character. June is tough but she looked so forlorn when she staggered towards me and she cried like a baby. At first I thought it was just shock but as the day went on she seemed more and more distant and was not responding in the normal way to concern. June spent the next few days in bed and I was very worried about her as everything seemed doom and gloom in her mind. The GP thought it was shock but I knew it was more than that. I'm not saying the fall caused the condition, I just don't know, but I do know that nothing was ever the same again after the fall. June became terrified of falling, terrified of cars, terrified of Christmas. I found her sometimes saying "June and Trevor" to herself just as she does now. The ever present smile was no longer there when I caught her unguarded. Yes, the clues were there but I was in denial.

Since June was diagnosed officially just over a year ago things have worsened rapidly, almost on a daily basis. At this moment in time June can no longer cook, clean, shop, dress, bathe or leave the house and she is incontinent. All these things she could do to some extent at Christmas. Now a good day consists of getting up out of bed. It takes a lot of reassurance and a lot of cajoling. June is aware of her condition which makes it worse of course. We do not use the actual name, preferring to call it anxiety caused by memory difficulties, but she knows. She tells me every day she wants to die, she wants to shoot herself. She tells me that she has given up hope of getting better and feels she is only going to get worse.

She sees things and hears things that stop her leaving her bedroom. The kitchen is often guarded by some unknown entity. She used to try and go to the shops but invariably never made it past the porch. I asked her was she scared of losing her way home but she told me there was somone stopping her leaving the safety of the porch. The frustration is now etched on her face as she is such a dignified person.

The worst thing for me is the mood swings. If I forget to buy sugar I'm inconsiderate, if I show even a glimpse of frustration I'm accused of being evil. This is from a person who has no malice no temper and so it is at these times I am more aware than ever of her struggle.

Fortunately the Lord gives me strength and June and I together will overcome. What would I do without my faith? Well I'm trying to hold down a full time job as a writer/publisher. I'm dealing with printers, newspapers, retailers, wholesalers, salesmen and the media on a daily basis. June is always here by my side, often in the sofa bed I put up in my office to save me the walk to my bedroom! I don't know how the Lord works, I long since gave up trying to second guess Him, but I do know that all this is for a reason. It might be as the consequence of sin but I rather think it is something else, something too complicated to even express. God only gives us what we can endure. He knows what is best for us. That goes for me, June and every one of you!

Sun has it wrong again!

Just thought I'd mention that contrary to reports the 81 year-old gentleman who The Sun cited as having the world's lowest heart rate has tachycardia compared to my HR which often goes down to 24 at rest and sometimes has more than three seconds between beats, so erratically slow that the medics have advised me to have a second ablation procedure. I suppose it was an interesting story but frightens me a little to know that my low heart rate is out of this world!!

Shame on you Virgin Media

So my television went on the blink last week and I arranged for an engineer to come out the following weekend. I arrived home on Friday to be met by a very distressed June who informed me the phone rang and a "computerised voice" from Virgin Media confused her and asked her to press buttons.

Now, June suffers from Alzheimer's Disease and cannot turn the heating on and off or even the television so I understand why this was such a trial for her. I immediately rang Virgin Media only to be told June had cancelled the appointment! I explained her condition and asked why they had phoned in the first place and tried to arrange something so this would not happen again. VM were most unhelpful to say the least and when I suggested that their system needs reviewing they became even more rude.

It is not just the hundreds of thousands of dementia sufferers that could fall foul of automated calls but also children and a whole host of other minorities. I asked VM to remove my landline number and replace it with my mobile as I only use the landline to ring June and refer all other callers to my mobile - VM refused!

I paid for a television repairer to come out and sort the problem but shame on Virgin Media for their lack of understanding

A to Z of almost Everything (sixth edition) selling well

I received an email from the Telegraph today informing me that the A to Z of almost Everything had just become their best-selling book, overtaking Mary Berry herself - exalted company indeed.

It probably tells us something about the human spirit that despite my ongoing struggles with June's Alzheimer's, my heart problems and the death of two friends, Ian Prebble and Mike Carter (both from pneumonia), this news offered some succour.

Alzheimer's is a dreadful undignified disease and all I can say is June remains dignified - a woman who has spent her whole life spreading love to others and known by so many in Crawley as the smiley Welsh lady from the greengrocers and the hospital maternity.

My health is fine really albeit a little rundown. I had a cycle accident in December which set me back and then I contracted the Norovirus and a general virus which led to a routine ECG which showed my arrythmias had become dangerous. My GP insists I need another heart ablation and has put me on warfarin but I am holding out for the op until I see my specialist, the wonderful Dr Gandhi.

I was best man at Ian's first wedding in the 1980s. He was a great friend and training partner who was stricken by Parkinson's Disease a few years ago and had been in hospital since early December with the common complication of not being able to swallow (dysphagia).

Mike was a faithful friend of my fathers. He was husband to the lovely Megs, who is the sister of the equally lovely Beryl, my father's partner. Mike was one of those guys you couldn't help but like, quiet, unassuming and constant.

Ian was in his early sixties and Mike his late seventies.

My embarrassing meeting with the gentleman that was Roger Lloyd-Pack

As I was early for a meeting with my former publisher Alan Samson I recently popped into The Ivy for a bite to eat as the restaurant is next door to Orion House.

I engaged in friendly banter with none other than the dear departed actor Roger Lloyd-Pack.

I eventually said to Roger “If you ever write your autobiography you should call it And Don’t Call Me Dennis”

The dear sweet man hardly flinched but mulled it over and then said “Yes, that would be an interesting title”.

Later on I was relaying this story to Alan when he remarked “Surely you meant Dave not Dennis?”

OMG the great man (both great men possibly) must have thought I had lost my marbles.

Alan (bless him) commented “perhaps Roger thought you had come up with an ultra-clever title”

If only - but the truth is I acted more like Trigger than Trigger himself – what a plonker!

Hats Off to the Holiday Inn, Sutton

I’ve been roaming around doing all sorts of publicity work for the sixth edition of the A to Z of almost Everything and found myself in Sutton, south London this week.

After a meeting with the manager of the local Waterstones I walked back to my hotel room in the rain so decided to have a shower and eat in my room. I ordered battered hake and chips with mushy peas, an ice cream dessert and a bottle of champagne. An hour later I received a phone call from the manager advising me that the chef had sold all the hake so would I like to order something else from the menu. I decided on the Cajun chicken. I wasn’t in the least put out by this but when the young lady brought the order to my room she informed me the whole meal was compliments of the management.

Chapeau!

Apologies for late publication of the A to Z of almost Everything (sixth edition)

So the sixth edition of my A to Z of almost Everything has finally been published this year.

I apologise to all those correspondents who wrote/emailed me since the turn of the year as my initial forecast publication date became impossible for reasons beyond my control. When the October date came and went I stopped replying to enquirers as it became rather embarrassing. Every day for the last month I have been bombarded with phone calls from numerous independent book shops as well as virtually every Waterstones store in Britain. My frustration has been immense as the printer seemed to have one problem after the other all the time delaying things further. My former publisher, Little Brown, have been absolutely marvellous in providing the printer lost files (repeatedly) and have generally ensured the book eventually got to market this side of Christmas.

The good news is that the book was finally published on Monday 9 December 2013 and the feedback has all been good so far. The new A4 format seems to be popular and although the printing costs are considerably higher than the Crown Quarto format of previous editions I feel my readers deserve a larger less cluttered read. For the first time I have not made the cut-off point the turn of the year and so events up to the time of going to press are included.

My final apology is to anyone who is unable to purchase the book this month as demand has been higher than anticipated and Gardners (one of the two main wholesalers in the UK) sold out of stock within a day and Bertrams (the other main wholesaler) have only 200 copies left at time of writing. Another print run is now under way so all’s well that ends well.

As for myself – well I decided to go for an off-road jaunt on my new cross bike on publication day with my pal Tony and as I was crossing a wooden bridge on Tilgate Golf Course one of the slats disintegrated and my front wheel disappeared causing me to smack my face on the ground and whiplash my neck. I screamed like a baby as a jolt of pain seared through my neck and at the same time my right leg locked up in complete defensive cramp. My first thought was that my last remaining pair of glasses was broken so I was determined to get to Vision Express before they closed. As I staggered through the shopping mall I felt all eyes on me as one person after another asked after my wellbeing. I didn’t make it to the shop before the mall staff insisted on calling an ambulance as I apparently looked like the Elephant Man’s less attractive brother. Whilst awaiting the ambulance my glasses were dispensed and my faith in human nature was elevated a notch or three – we humans are good in a crisis. Four days on my ribs and shoulder is frozen somewhat and I have a mild concussion but I seem to have got away with it again and will be able to enjoy the winter ice rink we cyclists call on-road cycling in the near future. Incidentally, I must say a big thank you to my insurance company Allianz. I phoned to report my accident and they advised me that although I insure my glasses, I only have cover for accidents within the home. I happened to mention that I trod on my penultimate pair two weeks ago but didn’t intend claiming as I already had an insurance claim earlier this year after my mountain bike was stolen from my shed. Allianz not only insisted I claim for those glasses but also mentioned that a previous pair I broke last year should also have been claimed for and gave me leave to purchase two new pairs like for like. Heartening isn’t it.

Merry Christmas to all my readers and even if you don’t buy my books – WHY? – a very happy new year to you all and God bless us sinners – even all my atheist friends on the Mensa forum who don’t believe in my God but delight in discussing the non-existence of Him with me at great length and with great passion.

Uri Geller - master manipulator - or are the BBC wasting our money?

So the man does it again - has a documentary shown on the BBC about his secret life as a spy!!!

As we pay for their output it would be nice to think that programme makers cast a discerning eye over their content but how did anyone at the Beeb consider Uri Geller's latest reinvention to have any possible interest for anyone but those that believe that Ken and Deidre drink at the Rovers and Phil Mitchell owns a garage in Walford.

I assume the double-page spread in The Sun - I Was A Spy For the CIA and Helped End Cold War - (P- lease) was supplied by the other master manipulator, Max Clifford, or maybe was a regurgitation of one of Mr Geller's stories from 45 years ago! but hey it works - I'm blogging about him!

My real point here is that I have noticed a marked drop in quality control of our viewing across all the terrestrial channels and I hanker for the days when there was something to look forward to on the box.

At the moment the afternoon quizzes are all repeats, YES Perfection, Pointless, Tipping Point and Eggheads all repeats and at the same time too - UNBELIEVABLE - CJ left Eggheads years ago but he still turns up in repeats on a regular basis!

Even the plots of our soap operas have suffered during the recession and continuity has become non existent.

So Rob steals £20,000 worth of undies from his sister Carla's factory without reprisals but a few weeks later Rob wins £36,000 from the bookies owned by Carla's husband, Peter. Now forgive me for believing that our soaps should be touched with reality but surely Peter would have turned around and said something like "you can sing for your money and don't even think about taking me to court or else I'll tell the police about the robbery" - but no he decides to sell his business instead - as you would NOT.

Eastenders is just as guilty with Ian Beale being vilified by daughter Lucy for taking back ownership of his businesses she stole while he was in his Benny Hawkins phase.

When will programme makers and scriptwriters stop taking us for fools and sit down and discuss plot lines and characters?

And I refuse to even discuss the likes of Simon Cowell

I wish the BBC would employ someone like my old mate Barry Hearn as programme editor as he gives the public what they want in the sporting arena be it the magnificent Prizefighter, Fish-o-Mania, Snooker or Darts coverage. I am sure Barry could transfer his talents to the performing arts. On that subject, I must praise some of the quality of digital channels, particularly the Arts Channel. I tend to watch more of Sky Arts 1 and 2 than any other channels as there is invariably something that catches my interest.

Uri Geller - still doing the same sad old party trick of mind drawing and spoon bending - the ultimate media pony way ahead of the likes of Katie Price but probably blessed with the same amount of talent. Clifford and the other 'jobs for the boys' brigade have a monopoly of the media but come the revolution................

Doctor Who?

I've been busy the past few months updating and revising the A to Z of almost Everything for the 2013 edition so have resisted the temptation to blog. However, I would be failing in my duty to all those die-hard Dr Who fans if I didn't make a brief comment on the latest series, and in particular the second episode of that series. In short, it was, as many online commentators suggested, the worst episode ever, failing the tried and tested formula of good plot line, bad adversaries and gripping finale.

As someone who has watched every episode since November 1963 I rarely fail to find some value in plot lines and indeed the idea of the newbie assistant having carte blanche to travel anywhere in the universe has always been less successful than when the Doctor is summoned by SOS, but this lazy rambling episode had nothing going for it from the start.

Matt Smith is an OK Doctor, a little one dimensional with no light or shade to his portrayal but perfectly acceptable and following in the long line of eccentrics since Patrick Troughton took over from the great William Hartnell. Early indications are that Jenna-Louise Coleman is a very talented actress and her portrayal of Clara Oswald is very good although I would like her to give the impression of being just a tad afraid of meeting all manner of scary monsters!

No, the real problem I'm afraid is the writing. I know I've said it before (and contrary to what some respondents have suggested I have never met him) Steven Moffat is a master of planning intricate plots and, if it is not a contradiction in terms, in making the whole storyline believable. Luther creator Neil Cross wrote this second episode of the latest series, The Rings of Akhaten, and much as I hate to criticise any creative mind, he clearly is not a fan of the show in the same way as Steven obviously is.

Please sort things out BBC

RIP Maggie Thatcher - who could fail to admire such strength and character

Let's Pray That Maria's Death Was Not In Vain

Please say a prayer for Maria Santos Gorrostieta, a Mexican politician who stood up to local drug barons despite three attempts on her life. Tragically, the fourth attempt on 15 November was successful and this 36-year-old heroine was brutally murdered. Her story is one of rare distinction inasmuch as this very talented doctor of medicine, who lost her first husband to drug traffickers in 2009 and was herself shot three times during a 2010 assassination attempt, refused to yield in the face of overwhelming odds and despite fearing for the lives of her children remained true to her Catholic faith and sense of duty toward humankind.

My first thought on reading about this story was to pray that the perpetrators paid in full for their crime and also that Maria’s death would begin a backlash against organised crime which is blighting so many of the world’s great cities.

I cannot begin to understand the magnificent defiance shown by Maria but what is really upsetting is the lack of security for someone who was clearly earmarked for assassination. What have we become?

The filthy rich get richer while the poor are dying in misery and yet governments do nothing; organised gangs run many of the world’s cities while police watch on and do nothing – only today I was stopped by a police car outside my house when travelling to my local gym. The car came roaring up with full siren and flashing lamp, the PC got out of his car and introduced himself as PC xxxx from Haywards Heath and then thanked me for stopping (what did he expect a chase down the dual carriageway!) before asking me to turn my steering wheel full lock to check my tyres. I explained my car had just had its MOT and had new tyres. He agreed my tyres were in perfect condition and on my asking why I had been stopped and by any chance was it because of my hood and dark glasses he replied “No, it was because your car is in such a state”. I then explained that I had the car since new and after twanging the side in the church car park I decided to keep it the past 12 years as it has never let me down. I went on to say how I had washed it only a few days ago to which he replied “you shouldn’t have bothered” before returning to his car and driving off.

Yes, although I chuckled, I was a little surprised that someone would be so rude about the look of my car as I have always thought of it as quite a handsome looking Fiat Brava, but why I tell you this story is that my first thought was the scant resources of our police force were being wasted. My car has got 50,000 miles on the clock is in good repair and doesn’t immediately strike you as a death trap. I’m sure there are many cars on our roads that are equally old and many would be in far worse condition than my car which is rarely driven.

I thought of Maria and the absurdity of the situation – this crazy mixed up world where crime should be targeted and yet a PC’s shift can be filled by the routine stopping of old cars! 

Congrats to Neil Black

I was really pleased to see that Neil Black became the British Athletics team performance director recently. Neil is a great motivator and hands-on operator (literally in his case being the team’s physio for many years) and is someone I have a great respect for.

I remember when I was struggling with injuries throughout the 1990s and became quite depressed and unable to feel positive about anything. I saw every quack under the sun, from acupunturists to Zen Budhists, but to no avail. A GP friend, Peter Greenaway, who had just begun to specialise in sports medicine, put me in touch with Neil as a last throw of the dice. Neil immediately highlighted several muscular-skeleto problems and set about a course of treatment that enabled me to not only begin training again but also gain the bronze medal in the Zest Peugeot National Fitness Championships in 2000, aged 45.

I’ve learned a lot during my time in sport and one of the things is to beware of fads, BS merchants, psychologists and anyone who tries to reinvent the wheel. Saying that, science plays a major part in the sporting arena nowadays and Neil is in the same mould as Dave Brailsford as someone who will leave no stone unturned to give Team GB that vital edge in competition.

Now all we need to do is sort out our football team!

Jimmy Savile

I’ve been doing my very best to resist the urge to blog of late as book commitments leave me little time for distractions, however, the Jimmy Savile controversy has prompted me to vent my spleen.

Obviously I do not know all the ins and outs of every claim, indeed of any of the claims, but it is quite obvious that at best Mr Savile was an odd, rather sad character whose behaviour towards the opposite sex was inappropriate (at worst of course he should have been outed and locked up away from society many years ago).

Only a few short weeks ago I was out cycling with a chap who had bought Jimmy Savile’s bike and we were exchanging stories about his legendary charity fund-raising (only my dear departed friend Jeremy Beadle even comes close to the amounts raised by Mr Savile). A visit to his grave to pay respects was planned…

So what do we feel about the man now?

Well there is no grave to speak of anymore and the press have vilified the man to the extent that his family feel threatened by the adverse publicity. The same family who were so proud of him that they denied the case of the woman who came forward as his illegitimate daughter - perhaps that woman is now thankful for the rebuttal.

But, and please do not misunderstand my words, I cannot help but think that every person who kept quiet, be it an individual or corporation, and who now says they knew of his lascivious nature, are almost equally to blame for any wrongdoings.

I just don’t understand why a blind eye could be turned in the same way as I do not understand the reasons why my own Catholic church ever covered for debauched priests. Of course I do not include the alleged victims in my judgement as I can quite understand circumstances where silence is the only viable option for the young and vulnerable but we cannot condone the silence of so-called responsible adults.

How often have I bleated on about the dangers of nepotism and all its many guises in our every day dealings in life? This is yet another. A powerful man perceived to be an eccentric do-gooder is forgiven his many sins as he lays claim to a soft spot in the hearts of the nation. Let’s be honest. We all knew he was odd and he didn’t hide the fact that he could be dangerous – once admitting on a talk show that he could make a phone call in London and someone up north could have their legs broken! But because of Jim’ll Fix It and his charity marathons we chose to believe that his inappropriate looking fondling of young girls was entirely innocent. I for one fell for it - and who can blame me? My mind would tell me that this man was a surly, difficult reprobate but the BBC elevated him to a level that made him untouchable. I ended up liking the man despite his obvious shortcomings - but then again I had no idea that there were greater demons in his psyche.

And how can it possibly happen that a man walks the earth for 84 years and is one step short of sainthood but then dies and subsequently stands accused of the most heinous crimes?

Does it surprise or shock me?

Not in the least.

I have often said that human beings are a naturally scurrilous lot both in word and deed. We turn a blind eye to “loveable rogues”, we favour friends and family even when they are wrong, we even throw out all sense of decency on a Saturday afternoon when we support our football teams by daemonising the opposition. And yes, I have done these things myself so claim no moral high ground. Our politicians are less corrupt than in many other countries so we settle for the mediocrity. Is it just my age or are today’s politicians a joke? Perhaps they always have been – maybe the joke is on us. Having dabbled in local politics I can honestly say that the greasy pole to the top might be paved with good intentions but in stark reality is a slimy dirty business not befitting of decent right-minded folk and inhabited by misfits, wannabes and reprobates. A sweeping hyperbole of course and a slur on all those individuals who take up public duty for the right reasons BUT unfortunately even those people become part of the system eventually compromising their maverick good natures in a self-deluding haze of expediency - or else they simply fade away as shrinking violets. It is these people as much as the police, the BBC or showbusiness insiders who I blame for making society the dishonest disenfranchised mess that it is. Until we nurture politicians who do not throw us crumbs just before an election but who passionately care about the ongoing state of the nation irrespective of election results, we will always struggle. We will always tolerate the Jimmy Saviles of this world. Just look at the inappropriate honours bestowed upon businessmen such as Sir Philip Green, Sir Richard Branson and Lord Alan Sugar. Not wishing to belittle their achievements but hardly known for their intellect, megalomanic tendencies, vested interests in all manner of areas and yet because they scratch the back of certain political parties from time to time they have power that is detrimental to an enlightened society. I will shout it from the hilltops but no one needs more than a million pounds even today and all these people should be taxed accordingly and the money used to float third world equality. Let us not revere the rich and famous per se but instead admire their deeds.

Only then will people speak up and ensure that the little man is heard and just maybe a fair society will ensure that no child in care will ever again be abused – better still a fair society will ensure that we no longer have children in care