Category: Personal

Day 3 Over the top

Manchester appears in the valley before us, as I said earlier it used to be a little grimy but these days it is all bright and shiny, steel and glass, the Lowery centers, Castlefield the trendy place for the young rakes to be seen these days and the remodeled city center devastated by a rather large IRA bomb once again a thriving hub of activity. There is a building which stands out these days a Hilton hotel built in the shape of one of those Tetris things like the upside down “L” Completed in 2006 at a cost of £150 million, the Beetham Tower in Manchester, is the highest building in Manchester, the tallest residential building in Europe and the 7th tallest building in England it is 168.87 metres high, has a total of 47 floors. I am not sure if it is a monstrosity or something wonderful to behold. I think if it had been a different color and not had the slate gray appearance I might have found it more endearing.

 

I wanted to point out the Manchester music scene which bears closer interrogation to redress the myth that Liverpool was the center of English music. Well it certainly was once but were you aware that Manchester is the starting point for the following groups.

 The Bee Gees,    Oasis,    Take That,    The Smiths (inc Morrissey),    Buzzcocks,    10cc,    David Gray,     Hermans Hermits,    James,    Happy Mondays,    Joy division,   Davy Jones (The Monkeys) need I go on, surely not my friend. You probably have at least one if not more of these artists in your vinyl collection or maybe you iPod or whatever you use. Manchester was also served as the venue for Madonna on her first performance in the United Kingdom, on 27 January, 1984.  

So today’s Manchester is very different to the town of my youth except of course it is the same place.

We are on route to visit one of my brothers (John) fresh back from Spain and therefore unable to join our little reunion over the weekend. Given this is an adventure (of sorts) we decline to warn people we are coming however when we arrive we are treated as if we had just nipped down the road for a newspaper. He is busy adding to the decking at the end of his garden which a little energetic and I decline the offer to assist as he looks like he knows what he is doing.

We explain our trip so far and that we intend to travel to Conway (North Wales) to visit Auntie Zita who will have got back home by then. On their insistence we take the keys for a caravan John & Brenda have located in the same area, an offer we find too good to turn down as I have not yet booked a hotel. A couple of happy hours spent updating everyone one recent events and we are on to the next stop.

We spend some time with one of my daughters Joanne where we spend a relaxed hour recounting the trip we took in March to Florida with other members of the family. (Not sure where we will end up next year maybe the same place) as ever we need to keep moving and tonight we are booked into my favorite “Novotel” in Worsley.

A place I have used possibly 25 times in the last 10 years. Even though I believe I am a frequent guest they still insist on taking all of my details every time I arrive and explaining the workings of the hotel. Where the rooms are and what time breakfast is etc etc. I should have kept a record of the rooms I have used as I must be close to completing the whole of the first floor by now. They have an interesting lift which clearly announces “Front doors closing” as it starts to ascend. You might thing that this indicated there are doors at the back but not so there is only one door so why it needs naming I don’t know but there is something familiar about it which always makes me smile.

Dinner is in the “Ellesmere” pub which like all inns in the UK now has to serve food to survive. Around 3250 pubs closed in 2009 and the number continues to fall as attendance declines, many suggest the smoking ban is the biggest contributing factor but to be honest I think it is more a change in peoples attitude and to the different types of entertainment available these days. There are so many TV, Internet options that more and more entertainment is found at home rather than out in the community. You can make your own conclusions as to what the cause and effects are.

We choose local favorites for dinner and opt for a walk around Worsley afterwards as it is very familiar area to Jo and I. We used to attend the “Sea Cadets” which was a little like a junior version of the Navy. Not exactly why we did but at one point there were five of us attending something which even the local newspaper felt worth four of five inches of column space including a picture. (fame is so fleeting anyway)

 

                 

Day 2 “a funny sort of day”

We awaken to the gentle lapping against the side of our boat, quite pleasant for a while then I got to the “enough already” point and had to up. Our accommodation was called the “Lily May” not exactly sure why floating vessels have names but they do (I should Google it sometime). Lily May has what we call all mod cons, that is electricity, hot and cold running water, Cooker, Fridge, Satellite TV, microwave etc and interestingly a wood burning stove. 

It has a walk through bathroom that is you walk from the lounge through the bathroom to the bedrooms. The bathroom has a shower sink and a toilet which has instructions on how to use stuck all over it. You might think this strange? surely everyone knows how to use a toilet? Well not so this one, you had levers to pull and pedals to stamp and a specific sequence to follow. I believe in the days of old people just “went” (euphemism) over the side. I think I am going over the side inside but decide to not worry about the chambers mechanics and go and make coffee.

 

The owner Barbara who I had booked the reservation with had at my request left all the ingredients for a full English breakfast (as I said you only eat these when you are in hotels) the downside of this today is that it needs “Gatovit” a word my language teacher uses for “cooking”. Lucky for me we have an expert in the guise of Berni to assist. Not sure how he performs these things but you just place provisions near him leave for a short time and a meal appears. One day I might test him by leaving a couple of pigs ear around but would probably receive sisig in return. He can also paint seemingly without effort which I think he inherited from mum.

Pictures of our morning feast

 

Our repast finished all too soon and the dog walked around the towpath, I think Willow actually dragged Michelle around but no matter, we spoke to some Narrowboatman who was sunning himself sans shirt and saw a canoeist paddling sans shirt with great vigor back and forth on the canal. (far too vigorously for my taste on a Sunday morning). What is it about Sheffielders that they don’t wear shirts in the mornings?  Well not waiting to find out we set the Navigation to take us to Castleford where we believe there is one of those English cultural phenomenon’s known as a Car Boot sale.

Originally a way to sell all of your rubbish to someone else it has now progressed into an industry. Items used to be sold “as seen” so no guarantee it worked or was fit for use which meant at times you could put your life at risk if you were not too careful. These days it is much the better for intervention of the “Trading Standards Office” and “Health and Safety” teams who have legislated some order into the chaos. 

You can still find lots of things you never knew you could live without, (That Elvis wig looked really cool). However if nothing else it passes the time on a Sunday morning and you always end up with something. For me it would seem I cannot live without some wild bird seed which is impossible to get back home and a small sewing kit which has been on my list due to the loss of several buttons from my favorite shirt. (I used to collect the sets from hotels but have run out) Jo gets an Iron for Louise, can’t remember exactly what Berni got but it looked suspiciously like dried “Oreille du Cochon” although they may be for the dog.

We are going to nip into Castleton for a short while more later

Day 2 “It’s not at all what we expected!!!”

That was the comment from all of my travelling companions as we stood close to midnight cases in hand and viewed our accommodation.

I need to back up a little, we did not leave the gathering until after 11 pm which was ok we were all enjoying ourselves and the noise was dying down as one by one the children fell asleep mainly through the exhaustion of running around and laughing all day took its toll. The adults gaining the vocal initiative and the conversation drifting backward and forwards through all the different methodologies of fixing the world (Judi would have made a matrix I’m sure).

Philomena who is my Godmother decided we wanted to go for a walk around 8, I hadn’t realized I felt the need but one does not resist such edicts one just follows the process. Out across fields and through such delightful places such as Fairy Woods, Church corner, the hollow, the gully, the cluff etc. We stopped so I could be shown the “new” houses the village. These had been built 40 years ago so you can imagine the place is a little sleepy if these are still considered “new”. Back from our ramble across fields and dales we emerge close to where we started an hour or so later.

My travelling companions at this point asked where our overnight hotel was. During our planning meeting held over a 2 way Skype and Google talk conference the week before I had said I would look after accommodation (now they really should know better than to leave it to me). True to my word it was booked and they were ok to take “willow” (the dog). The fact that I was not entirely sure where the accommodation was should have been taken as a minor detail and nothing more. I had GPS and a map printed off the internet so how difficult could it be.

I had not actually disclosed either the location or the type of hotel it was. This shows either a great deal of faith in me or a naivety on their part. Around 11 pm we set off and the navigation system instructs us to head East towards the bright lights of the city of Sheffield. Once famous for steel production I am not sure exactly what they do these days. We start to descend off the tree less hills and see the town stretched out before us. Sheffield boasts an urban area covering 7 hills just the same as Rome although of course not the same at all although you might remember it was the setting for “The Full Monty” that cultural phenomenon or 1997 www.youtube.com/watch?v=nA3W36JVnRc . Decending into the town we go past the lines of people waiting to get into night clubs and the rows of taxis waiting to take people to various as yet unannounced places.

Down down into the city center with its new flyovers and overhead tram system its renovated factories which proudly announce their new industry as “Executive Loft Apartments”. Shiny steel and glass shopping precincts not longer called “Arndale”  (the designer of the originals) but by more poetic titles such as “Meadow Hall (boasts as being the largest in Europe, god help us), Orchard, The Moor, etc” they still compete against each other to be both modern but retaining a hint of tradition.

I am scanning the bright lights for the Hilton Hotel not that we are staying there but because it is next to where we are heading. I can see it sometimes and once even got within 300 yards but the one way road system sucked me of down a side street as the GPS struggled to keep up with me.

One slightly dodgy (Google it) maneuver later and we were heading right towards it, my compatriots must have wondered “what the ……” as we drove straight pass and into the Quays Car Park lower down. I was now following Barbara’s specific instruction (which was difficult with my fingers crossed). She said park on the middle floor and take a specific exit on that level. I thought for a moment the exit was locked as the sign firmly stated it would be. So there we were in the middle of a strange town in the middle of a car park 4 people and a dog wheelie suit cases and plastic bags in attendance heading through a door to who knows where. My family must have either a lot of faith or patience in me.

Outside our accommodation was there exactly as Barbara has predicted. I had hired a couple of Canal boat for the night. Technically they are known as Narrow boats as they are 7 foot wide and up to 70 foot long. They were used in the golden age of the canal to ferry everything back and forth across the country.

           

UK Canals quick facts the Golden age was 1770 to 1830 (overtaken by railways) there are around 4000 miles of them. Birmingham has more miles of canals than Venice (but I know where I would chose to holiday). Drawn along by large horses along a Tow path alongside the canal, size 7ft wide and up to 70ft long limitations due to the size of the locks (a means to raise or lower vessels (how else would they get them over hills)). The craft is called a narrowboat one word and never a barge or longboat or a ship.

Now over the initial shock my siblings and associates are eager to get settled all we have to do is get into them. We have the codes for the stout locks but it seems not the expertise to transfer the knowledge into actually opening them. Gaining assistance from a passing “narrowboatman” we manage to crack open the hatches and settle down.

Tomorrow Breakfast alfresco

Day 2 Now where were we before I got all maudlin

Yes we had finally arrived on one of those all too rare warm sunny days of the short English summer. We (that’s Berni and Michelle with willow the dog, Jo and I) stopped first at The Beeches and walked in finding uncle Michael the current family tennant and one of his daughters with a brand new grandchild. After a few minutes trying to work out who is who we settle on names and are informed that everyone is in the Priory which is just beyond the Church. We troop out promising to return later to chat and catch up on things. (Given it is around 13 years since I was last there it could be a long chat)

As we stroll past the church I hear a voice say “Is that Stephen” from over the wall and we immediately fall upon half a dozen Aunts and Uncles, Children and grandchildren there are kids everywhere. Also in attendance are two of my brothers Joe and Philip which is a welcome surprise (more about them later)

There are lots of hugs, kisses and handshakes and 3 people mistake me for my brother Jeremy which is unfortunate as he is around 12 years older and 12 inches shorter than I am so this prompts me to call for the name tags we had made (just to ensure there are no repeat errors during the rest of the visit). It’s my fault of course for being absent for so long.

One of the first things that strike’s me is how many of my aunt’s look like my mother, now of course families do tend to look alike and this is not a new phenomenon and with big families there is possibly more opportunity to see this. It was still somewhat of a shock. They don’t look exactly like mum of course but enough to make you stare a bit. It is probably only now as they move through and beyond their 60’s and 70’s that they show the blood line more prominently.

Not sure if I mentioned my mother was one of 12 children, lead in my memory by Grandma Malone. I never knew my maternal Grandfather he died just before or after I was born which must have been disappointing to have survived the Great War but not lived on to enjoy the rewards of the freedom. He left behind quite a clan. In order Philip, Maria (my mum) Austin, Michael, Zita, Elizabeth, Josephine, David, Philomena, Gillian, Francis and Mary. (Thanks to my sister Jo for the list there was no way I would have remembered I was not even sure how many there were). As a young child they all scared me a little, not that they were scary they were just different.

They are a lot less scary now; well Zita still makes me apprehensive but anyone who at 79 thinks nothing of driving the length of Britain or Europe rolls her own cigarettes one should be a little wary of.

The multitude of kids swarm back and forth like little bees, visiting the feeding station and flying off again to go and play in the large garden and attached fields which are serving one as a car park and one as a camping ground for those staying over. Not a camper myself I have other plans (it’s a secret) for tonight. There were probably 20 children there and not a PS2 or Game boy or Nintendo or whatever they are called in evidence. No princesses clamoring to watch “The little Mermaid, Finding Nemo or Beauty and the Beast” for the umpteenth time and no teenagers with earphones in slouching moodily in corners. They were just kids playing at being kids and running around not a thing which required batteries or miniature screens was in evidence.

Much amusement was had trying to guess names and relationships, I helped out by pointing to my name tag to speed up the process. Berni has less of a problem as everyone agrees he looks the spitting image of…….. Anyway everyone identified correctly we can settle down and try and work out who owns which children.

The day passes slowly as we swap adventures and travels and generally catch up with the gossip which has waited over a decade to be spoken. Food and drink comes and goes without issue although I do spot a savory Pork Pie in the kitchen. It is a foot long and the shape of a couple of house bricks which I think has my name on the side of it and if not it soon will have, made by some friendly butcher in Birmingham.

A word about the two of my brothers who are in attendance. Philip is a confirmed bachelor who has steered pantechnicon’s around England most of his life supposedly retired about 15 years ago he still seems to be on the road a lot and still enjoying himself. Joe joined the army as a boy soldier and saw action in many of the world hot spots (Yemen, Kenya, Northern Ireland, etc) as the British tried desperately to exert its influence onto bits of the empire they should have released, a wild child in his youth he spends his days at home in North Wales or travelling around in a camper van having fun.  (Maybe travel is in my blood)

I see these two every day even though we live in different parts of the world. When I get up in the morning and go shower my hair has the same look as Philips, it has overnight developed a mind of its own and is sticking out in unruly tufts in different directions, my face if I have not shaved for a few days is wiry and I recognize Philip staring back at me through blurry eyes, this has the effect of spurring me unto the cubicle. Afterwards when clean shaven and combed I see Joe’s face staring back at me, hair neat and flat skin with not a trace of bristle about it. Now given both of these siblings are older than me I think I should be worried. I resolve once again to take up the “Beckham” routine, that’s the one where he regularly uses facial scrubs and cream to hold back the ravages of time not the one where he gets photographed in his underwear for celebrity magazines.

On the up side seeing these faces in the morning I now know what the future holds for me, on the downside I now know what the future holds for me. 

Tomorrow what is 7 foot wide and 70 foot long and floats on water.

Day 2 Change at Chinley

Change at Chinley was the instruction given to get from Manchester Central Station if your destination was on the Sheffield bound train. You could then get off at Bamford. Manchester Central Station is now the G-MEX International conference center and Concert Hall (Grade I listed) but my recollections were of this cavernous space filled with smoke from the steam trains (no giggling please or I will stop right here….. yes I am old enough to have travelled on steam trains). You could now see pop bands and rejuvenated rockers on your nights off but I digress. Going to see my Grandmother was quite a logistical feat. I was one of 10 kids and normally 4 or 5 of us went along with my mum so getting everyone organized and in the right place at the right time was somewhat like herding cats. 

It never really seem to take much time once you were on the train, a quick change at the aforementioned Chinley then Hope, Edale, Bamford and you were there. After Chinley it was all countryside and apart from the train smoke obscuring the view or filling the carriage with if God forbid you failed to close the window through the tunnels (I said stop sniggering) the vistas were to my young eyes breathtaking. Rolling hills, big fields and lots of trees. How impressionable is a young child?

Once off the train a quick body count and we were off. The station was at the bottom of the village and the walk to Grandma’s was up the hill. I say hill it was probably only a 3 degree incline but it looked like a hill back then. Up past the Derwent Pub past the post office and the villages only hair salon, past the Anglers Rest (the river Derwent flowed somewhere close by) past the shop which sold almost everything around the corner a there you were.

“The Beeches”, my Grandma lived in a house with a name, (it probably had a number but to me it was always The Beeches). Two stout wooden gates secured the drive which once opened allowed access to the gravel path leading right around the side of the house. Entrance was normally through the kitchen door at the back rather than the front and neither would ever be locked even when unoccupied.

                              

The house was built of stone big stones not bricks it was a village house and it will stand forever give or take a few new windows and roofs. It overlooked the valley and the village and the view lives with me every day of my life. I can just close my eyes and it is there. The train line we had just alighted from ran along the floor of the valley. You could not see the train but you could follow the smoke trail as they chugged to and frow at regular intervals there were less delays and cancellations those days (last warning about the laughing by the way).  

The mind pays tricks on the young and I never noticed that the original residence had been split into three houses so it would have been very very large at one time. Lucky for me the home of my mother’s family was the one at the end. Furthest from the road and overlooking the farm and the whole of the valley beyond it. It had a dry stone wall which was always a fascination, it was sturdy and looked like it would withstand all natural disasters although I was told off a few times for running along the top, I was a kid and that’s what kids did.

Anyway an impressive house and a greenhouse half stone with glass top which had a vine in it (funny the things you remember) which had grapes, Grapes in the middle of England wow who would have believed that, although I never remember tasting them. There was always something growing in there and it is another of those “I must have one of these when I grow up” things. It is on the list of items we will have in the French home we continually think about buying.

The whole place looked big, possibly a lot bigger than it really was but I am happy with my memories of the place. The building behind the house was the Catholic Church which suited Grandma very well (more on that later on). the house was a place where people dropped in and left at irregular intervals adding to the exciting and the relaxed almost anything goes atmosphere. Wild and cultivated flowers and a few trees dotted about the garden and real cows in the field not 5 yards away. Now of course I knew about cows but you rarely got to see them up close and personal. (There are not many cattle ranches in Salford) Frightening beasts and so big (remember I was around 8 years old) and smelly.

  

Walks would be taken and sights seen from various vantage points some of which I planned to reenact on this trip. As I grew up and managed to acquire my own transport we would travel over the dreaded A57 “The Snake Pass” which is the only road over the hills to this quaint spot. The road is aptly named as is snakes around the hills with almost no straight patches. There is now a Motorway 20 miles north which is very fast and very straight but where is the fun in that. You need adventure in your life or it is not worth bothering.

Tomorrow back to talking about the trip we are on (promise)

Day 2 oh to be a country boy

Talking about root which we are (well I am anyway) my home town of Manchester sits in a sort of bowl surrounded on three sides by hills, not mountains just hills and you can get to any of them within an hour by car. If you have spent any time with me you will know I appreciate a view although I seem to have spent the last 12 years living in flat places so maybe my desire for a scenic location is just me harping back for that view I had as a child.  I remember you could see the hills, you rarely went out to them but they were always there. Rainy days hid them but they were still there just hiding behind the drizzle.

Manchester the place of my youth was a fairly grimy town then. probably due to the fact that it was at the heart of the “Industrial Revolution” (you should have concentrated more at school that bit was important). The first cotton weaving mills were in this area due to the climate which is always slightly damp; It’s nickname was “Cottonopolis” and Manchester is still famous for being damp with an annual average of 32 inches of rain and 185 rainy day a year which means it rains slightly more often than not. (You could rightfully ask if they have developed webbed feet yet and the answer is possibly).

It was typical dirty smoky place in those days even though it boasted some world events, the first passenger railway went through Eccles (my town). Karl Marx and Engles spent time there but don’t blame us for Marxism it was his idea honest. We had an ocean going seaport 32 miles inland via the Manchester Ship canal and the world’s first moving viaduct (A canal over a canal with a bridge which moved. The largest industrial zone in Europe called Trafford Park a name adopted my favorite Soccer team for their ground “Old Trafford” sometimes known as the theater of dreams J.We had the first motorized fire truck in England. Oh the excitement of it all I could go on for hours like this.

Historian Simon Schama (he is on the TV a lot) however noted that “Manchester was the very best and the very worst taken to terrifying extremes, a new kind of city in the world; the chimneys of industrial suburbs greeting you with columns of smoke“. An American visitor taken to Manchester’s blackspots saw “wretched, defrauded, oppressed, crushed human nature, lying and bleeding fragments“. Not sure I remember it being that bad but then again I was young and it was my home town so perhaps I am biased.

There was a typically grim film made there “A taste of Honey” a sample of which you can see on this link. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S4Q5OqJp4b8  The music from “The Smiths” is modern the original song was a Beatles tune. The film gives a harsh but real view of the place. The plot is simple, young girl with abusive drunken mother befriends homosexual and gets pregnant by an itinerant seaman who wanders off. All normal stuff then, although I don’t remember my youth being in black and white I though there were spots of gray around as well.

I lived on a council estate a couple of miles west of these clips in Eccles which did not seem that industrial through my adolescent eyes. We had a brook (stream) at the end of the road, a cricket ground beyond that (although you got chased off if you tried to play there) a forest, well Worsley Woods about a mile away trips to which were rare but exciting. There was Cleavley’s playing field where on weekends 15 to 20 soccer teams would play games alongside each other. Pitches separated by only a yard or so of once grassed but now beaten down by the linesmen’s boots into muddy ruts. Looking across the field you saw a riot of colors with teams in stripes, hoops and other frightening combinations. All the colors of the rainbow were represented.

On Saturdays those groups of players who still retained ambition to rise to the heights of perhaps a professional or semi professional league and on Sundays by the “Pub team” made up of people from the various hostelries’ around the area. Some old some young, some rotund some actually fat, with more hope than skill or more optimism than ability. You watched football on a Sunday for a laugh then you went to the Pub to talk about it.

Most of my brothers played here at one time or another (Saturdays and Sundays), I watched, John, Jeremy, Philip, Patrick, Bernard and possibly Joe go toe to toe with these weekend gladiators. I never played there myself my body would never faithfully obey the commands of my mind enough to actually play successfully but I loved to watch. The only team I ever made was the schools inter-house team and that only because I was house captain and chose the team. (Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely);

The reason I am setting the scene is to try and show the impact of where we are travelling to. Bamford in Derbyshire is the opposite of where we lived. It was green dotted with a few buildings rather than the buildings which were dotted with green (well brownish). It was the real countryside and the hills were closer so close you could actually walk up them. It was the archetypal English countryside of postcards; I have subsequently seen prettier places mostly with vineyards and sunflowers as the backdrop but then when the furthest I had ever been was Liverpool or Blackpool (both around 50 miles from home) this seemed like paradise.

It is only now that I can look back and see the influences all these things had on me. My mother used to tell me “all these experiences server to add color to your life” and as usual it is 50 years on that I begin to understand and appreciate the words. It is probably true that “Youth is wasted on the Young”.

Tomorrow the road to my maternal homeland (steam trains included)

PS: I remembered this last night and though to include it  

I took a rare trip home late last year for a birthday party and whilst there purchased a book of “Old Eccles” you know the type full of pictures from the past showing the development of the town through time. The reason I mention it is because I could remember the town as shown in the pictures which possible makes me older than I would like to think I am. Quite a shock so remember not to buy these things if you are older than 55 as you might be in the picture yourself.

Day 2 (finally) on the road North.

I know we are heading in the right direction as the sun is on my right, this should be easy, head for Chesterfield and turn left can’t miss it. If you get to Sheffield you have gone too far.

I have a CD I want Jo to listen to, given we are “going back to our roots” sort of thing I though a little entertainment from our past might be in order.  Now they do say “Nostalgia is not what it used to be” however some things are timeless. The British Broadcasting Company (BBC) used to (and still does occasionally) made some outstanding 30 minute comedy shows. The Navy Lark, The men from the Ministry, Much binding in the march, beyond our Ken and the one I purchased at a recent fuel stop “Beyond our Ken”. Now the memory is a peculiar thing and maybe these are not really funny now they just retain the recollection of being funny from my past, you absorb a great deal before your tenth birthday.

These wireless broadcasts were full of innuendo and strictly none PC (that’s politically correct not Personal Computer) I am sure if you tried to produce the same style you would not only be drummed off the stage you would be publicly castigated. Really you could say they were a little rude and it was always up to the listener as to their interpretation. Funny how these days we have action groups who unfortunately seem hell bent on “looking after our interests” where we like it or not. A shame really as comedy needs to be pushed over the edge every now and again or things become stale.

Back to my CD of “Around the Horn” indulge me for a while whilst I recall some of the cast members who’s very names can still make me chuckle Betty Marsden played “Dame Celia Molestrangler”, and Hugh Paddick was ‘ageing juvenile’ Binkie Huckaback. Other characters included J. Peasemold Gruntfuttock (Kenneth Williams), the world’s dirtiest dirty old man (who wanted, above all else, to get his hands on Judith Chalmers). He was also the self-styled King (later Dictator) of Peasemoldia, a small slum area of the North of London just off the Balls Pond Road.  The shows also featured old English folk singer Rambling Syd Rumpo, played by Williams, who sang such delightful and parodic nonsense ditties as “Green Grow My Nadgers Oh!”, “Song of the Bogle Clencher”, and the timeless “Ballad of the Woggler’s Moulie”.

You can listen to an episode at the end of this link http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b00tb9j7 It is definitely not the best episode from series 4 but it is ok

I know this is all nonsense to most of you but hey it’s my blog.

The CD finishes all too soon and we are contacted by my brother Berni (as you assume short for Bernard) who is on route and we should collide (well meet up) somewhere around the aforementioned Chesterfield. Only a slight delay for Berni due to a conversation initiated by a member of the Yorkshire constabulary. This gives Jo and I time to stop and actually take a look at where we are.

Now we are heading for Derbyshire which is nestled slight between and below Lancashire and Yorkshire two places which do not really like each. Actually they have never liked each other and it all came to a head in 1455 when they fought the “War of the Roses” Red for Lanc’s and White for York’s and before you ask no they did not fight over flowers the roses were their badges, they were fighting for the throne of England. As a Lancastrian I am happy to report we won and Henry Tudor became Henry VII. (that’s the dad of the TV series one you have been watching recently)

Now there is no real fighting going on except over sporting fixtures between the two counties. Normally Soccer or Cricket matches are the catalyst for these events. Very much like in days of old groups of young and not so young men dress up in local garb now known as football shirts and scarf’s paint their faces in the colours of their team Steam over the Pennine hills on the one motorway it has (see only one road easy to defend)  and go and invade the others territory. Not as much looting and pillaging as there used to be as you need to be back on the coach home 30 minutes after the game finishes which rather limits the carnage but it’s the though what counts as they say.  I have taken part in these rights of passage attacking Leeds and defending my homeland from the hordes from Hull (in my youth of course not recently). My Mother was from Yorkshire and I was born in Lancashire so there was always a level of rivalry even at home.

The countryside is not what you would describe as pretty, it’s not ugly more functional. The hills (not mountains) go above the tree line and dip and rise continually as you wend you way through the little villages.  So what you get is 5 minutes in a very pretty stone built village and then 10 minutes as you rise over the crest of the hill and you think you were in the middle of nowhere. The one thing it is is green everywhere is green. As the Pennine hills sit in the middle of the country they force the clouds from both West and East to deposit rain here so it is always green (Not withstanding this there is currently a hose pipe ban, it would seem the water they use actually comes from somewhere else where it’s not actually raining, go figure).

Berni arrives as expected, I assume the constabulary was checking his passport as these Yorkshire folk can be a little funny and his car plates show he resides in the South which is a whole world away for some of these yokels, sorry, sorry I meant Locals.

Day 2 How can you hide the breakfast room.

Morning comes early as I am programmed 3 hours ahead of local time. So up around 4:30 but not an issue shower shave as we need to be smart casual today. You never get a second chance to make a first impression (when did you last hear me say that J). Watch some of the world cup including a dismal performance by England against the USA and begin to regret picking England as likely winners. This speaks more of desire over reality but too late now my selections are in for the fantasy league. Note:- post world cup I can say I was not bottom of the league there were 5 people out of the 40 participants who were more adrift from reality than even I was. It was rightly called a Fantasy league.

Checking with reception as to where breakfast was being served I wandered across to the Buckingham suite to be confronted by an empty room. No food is a sign I take to mean breakfast is not being served no tables a sign that I am in the wrong place. Back to reception to check I took the correct route although given it was only across the room I doubt I got it wrong. The friendly receptionist was as confused as I and asked me to be seated whilst she finds out what was happening. I find it interesting that you would have a movable breakfast room is it not one of those sacrosanct things. Always the same place at the same time. I have never played hunt the breakfast.

I retract the last statement as we did have had a strange breakfast experience once at the Hermitage in Monte Carlo where Judi and I following signs for “petit déjeuner” we found ourselves in a room with a few other people and a buffet style breakfast all laid out. Fine not an issue to serve yourself although at their prices I had expected a little more. No small tables only large round ones and much to our annoyance people started to sit down with us and even try to engage us in conversation. Being English this is just not on, invading someone’s repast and actually talking to them is beyond the pale (explained for none UK residents here http://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/64100.html ).

The fact that everyone else seemed to have an ID badge on should have been a sign for us that something was amiss. This coupled with the high dress code and the conversation being themed towards international investment should have been enough to point us to the fact that we had inadvertently wandered into a private breakfast meeting for bankers. (I just though everyone was well dressed for tourists). I insisted on a second cup of coffee to clear my head and to finish airing my views on the growth of china’s industrial output and Brazils growing position as an international player before Judi managed to drag me away to the correct location.

Finding the correct venue eventually our companions who have finished eating and have kindly hung around waiting for us asked why we were late and had we managed to avoid the private breakfast room where they nearly ended up.  We give our order to the waitress and although quite full force ourselves once more to stock up with food. (I was right about both China and Brazil though)

Back in Luton our search has ended as the receptionist having found where they had hidden breakfast sends us (Jo has arrived by now) to the correct location where we are informed that breakfast is not ready. It is 8:15 so it should be but what can you do so we wait. Once allowed in we settle on the “full English”. The English breakfast is one of those traditions which actually only exist in Hotels where it is still maintained with all its pomp and ceremony. the reality is nobody eats breakfasts like those anymore. It is a myth that anyone has the time or the energy to create these small feasts so early in the day or that people would have the desire to eat them.

They are reserved for hotels and possibly to impress guests you might have. Somerset Maugham suggested that “to eat well in England you should have breakfast three times a day”. Not sure what that would do to your cholesterol or your longevity though but I will try anything once.

 Thinking about it I am not even sure England has that much more to offer the world by way of cuisine. There are some high spots with Roast beef and low spots with jellied eels but maybe nothing really all encompassing. We do have a lot of things you can do with dried pig’s blood but not right now. I have just remembered Pork Pies so maybe there is still something the world has not yet had the opportunity to savor however I think by now these would never be allowed to be imported by any developed land as we have to disclose the content list which might limit their appeal.

Day I (extension) Next stop Luton

We are going to stay in a hotel near Luton Airport. This airport is well known for charter flights and at its peak 10 million passenger a year pass through it. It is one of the cut price airlines hubs so it still maintains a decent throughput of passengers most of whom “think” they are going somewhere for 1 UK pound although you and I know it will probably end up costing as much as all the other carriers.

The airport was made famous in England by an advertisement for Campari which had a model called Lorraine Chase who was asked by some handsome young rake “Were you truly wafted here from paradise” to which she replied in a strong cockney accent “Nah Luton Airport” this place is mostly seen as a reference point than an end point so this is only my second time trying to find it.

Luton is normally a place you would drive “through” via the motorway rather than driving “to” but there is a method in my madness as will be revealed later. Not that I have anything against Luton it is fine I think but it is neither one thing nor the other. Too far away from London to be included in the conversation but not far enough away to have a real identity of its own .Anyway by now we have the GPS up and running so we can find our destination without out further forages into the countryside nice though it is. I know from experience where there is an airport there are hotels so I managed to get a very good deal on a couple of rooms.

It is only when we have checked into our destination and returned to the car for our things that I realize exactly how full it is. In fact one might say it is fit to bursting. There are folding chairs and small mattresses, food stuffs of various origins (although my pies are being kept close to me in case of emergency situations). Pillows and suitcases and sleeping bags and bottles of different alcoholic beverages. Perhaps Jo thinks there is a national shortage of these or we may encounter some climatic abnormality which would precipitate the need for them but I am reminded that whilst England has a lot of different types of weather it is quite temperate so maybe these are to cover the “just in case” there is an apocalyptical scenario we are covered for a day or so.

Ten minutes of trying to uncover my case leaves me slightly lightheaded and whatever is left which is most things gets covered by a blanket which rather than hide everything only servers to announce that this car is full of stuff. Well is anyone fancies breaking in and stealing a set of folding chairs or a pillow then their need will be greater than mine.

The hotel is slightly faded although it has all the facilities needed and even has a fan in the room as obviously air-conditioning had not been invented when it was constructed. The lack of sink plugs in the bathroom and the soap dispensers screwed to the wall speak of the type of previous clients of which there must have been many given the scars on the bottom of the doorway gouged deep from countless cases. I add my personal mark to the door as I enter and unfold one of my better suits which had been crammed into the bottom of my case. I am on an extended trip and will meet up with Judi for a wedding in Wales in a week’s time so if I can get it hung up I might just get all of the creases out.

We plan to meet at 8 pm in the bar so enough time to collect myself and get organized. Don’t unpack the bag as we are only here one night so drag out the wash kit. This is always wrapped up in a “Gap” bag as one never wants to find the various liquids seeping through onto ones clothes does one. Clean shirt for the morning, shorts and flip flops. Ok done now for dinner. 

I grab a couple of menus (with pictures) to aid us and given we are in England where you get your own drinks (you could die of thirst waiting at your table) I approach the bar. As I try and pay the exorbitant price for a white wine of indeterminate heritage and a pint of warm flat beer (oh to be in England) the girl behind the bar (who must have eyes like a hawk) says that’s a Moscow metro ticket and she is correct it is with a wad of different banknotes I am trying to sort out be denomination on the bar. She then explains she is also a Muscovite and we chat for a few minutes about how long she has been in England and what is going on back home. She then expands the conversation by calling in her friend who is Ukrainian but speaks Russian as they all tend to do. This is all getting quite bizarre and a little like a language lesson so I break off and return to the table we have seconded on the “Patio” and by now the fizz on the wine has died down somewhat and it may be drinkable. “If that’s champagne it’s in the wrong style of glass” Jo stated. “You should be so lucky” I reply.

We pass an hour or so catching up even though we only saw each other 3 or 4 weeks before, there is always something to say about families. Jo is hoping to get some more background on mum on this trip from mum’s sisters, even though you are brought up with them sometimes you don’t really know your parents and once gone you lose the ability to ask so I suggest a list (its Judi’s training that does it) so we won’t forget what to ask.  

There is some function in the conference center of the hotel which finishes and a flood of young girls spills as if a dam has burst into the foyer and onwards onto the patio. To a girl they are dressed for a night at the disco including heels they are not used to (and seem to be on the point of falling off) and hair which is incapable of independent movement due to the gel and spray holding it place. Not sure what the event was but these girls could have been in some fashion contest except everything is a little “overdone” and none of them look very comfortable in their regalia. Lots of giggling and texting going on as one would expect from this generation of future leaders of our country. (that’s a worry)

Enough of this it’s been a long day and time for bed, arrange an 8:00 breakfast which is when they open.

Now for the Pork Pies

A very English thing is a pork pie please see link http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pork_pie and the new Terminal 5 at Heathrow is not only my destination but also the first (and last) point where I can purchase the said savory. Ok I know you have to navigate the train from whatever satellite you land in which is slightly eerie and quite deep. A quick dash past the ditherers who can’t work out the difference between, UK, EEC, Other passports and transit passengers. They really should put some arrows on the signs unless the objective is to get people to huddle together pointing at things hanging from the ceiling which is what they are most effective at.

A note to anyone travelling through T5 at heathrow please check if they still have that pile of broken chairs just past the Customs post. Every time I come through I see them. Now it might be the designated broken chair area or more likely they don’t know what to do with them.

Downstairs to baggage control a huge cathedral type of place and wait for the bags. Not sure if the customs is fast or the baggage is slow but I have never found my bag trundling around the conveyors before I get there. Text my sister Jo who confirms she is outside and 10 minutes later so am I case following me like a well trained dog only clipping my heels when I lose concentration or take a corner too fast. Quick hello and organize a raid by Jo on Mark & Spencer’s to acquire the aforementioned food stuff. (Well done British Airport Authorities for putting one of these outlets there) I am of course outside having a cigarette and being advised by some chauffer that I should avoid the M25 as if it was the road to hell (I think Chris Rea’s song was about this very road) and to use the back roads to Luton which is our destination for tonight. You see the English can talk about things other than the weather we can also discuss traffic and football (soccer).

Not knowing exactly which type to buy Jo has purchased several sizes so it is with a mouthful of the “Dinky” size I spit out my order at Costa Coffee. Not exactly sure where they get their staff these days but don’t think it is England. How difficult can it be to understand “Large Americano with Milk to go” well very difficult for the girl with the Spanish accent which is not helped by the Polish assistant on the next till. “Café d’lait, Kofe s-malacom” I offer as alternatives but to no avail, oh for a board with pictures you could point to. It is a coffee shop after all so one would assume that they would understand at least a couple of words from their own brand tite.

Ok one Latte? Later (really I give up sometimes :!) we are outside with only a small fight with the automatic ticket payment system. The people on the next one seemed to have really done something horrendous as the engineer is dismantling the machine, not sure what they put in there but is seems serious and they smile weakly as the people in the queue behind me quietly tut their disapproval whilst secretly thanking god it was not them (it’s an English thing). Let’s hope the engineer finds the thing full of café latte it would be sweet revenge.

 I am designated driver for this trip a fact I deduce as my sister forces the keys into my hand as states she is never going to drive in England again. This is not only due to her care being 1) very small 2) a left hand drive (England is correct drive or Right hand to the rest of you) 3) she has been living in France for a number of years so is out of touch 4) She has no idea where we are going. I am of course fine with this as it matter not to me where the wheel is or what car I drive it is just something I am used to. Follow the car in front of you normally keeps you on the correct side of the road. The only time I ever get flustered is in car parks and people don’t normally drive fast there (Russia is an exception to that rule where they drive everywhere fast even to park). I can’t get the sat navigation going until we exit so I will wing it for a while. I know the area but not the route but I am a man so I don’t need a map or a navigation to get lost I can do that all on my own thanks. A small distraction at the exit gate as of course the ticket eating machine is on the “other” side of the car. Not a problem now there are two passengers but if gave Jo a hard time when she was trying to get in having to get out and go and collect it whilst everyone hooted horns or attempted to change lanes to get to another entrance gate. Maybe that was not driving point No 5.

Ok let’s try and remembers Hayes, Ruislip, Northwood, Watford, M1 Luton should be a breeze. Now quite why or how I find myself in Uxbridge or Denham green or Rickmansworth I am not sure but the sun is on my left hand side so I must be going North which is close enough.  Spotting the M1 and joining the queue of vehicles going where ever they are going on a Friday evening. Possibly some of the people who were on my plane. There is a traditional migration of people back North. Those who are drawn or possibly dragged down to work in the “Smoke” who escape on a Friday to go home and clear their lungs and return to the simpler life back home wherever that is.

We should arrive soon and we are looking good next stop Luton