Late Bank Holiday Monday

The Best Beloved spent most of yesterday making bread by hand. We were introduced to the idea of making our own bread last year when we were in France with our friends, the Cattermoles. Terry has his own bread making machine and apparently they are all the rage over here as well now. However the independent and headstrong Best Beloved is determined to make her bread without the initial outlay of money for an electric breadmaker (£50 in Comet). Her effort yesterday wasn't as successful as she hoped and she has gone back to the recipe books to find out why. I am sure she will succeed because she is a determined lady.

There was a letter in the Times about someone describing joining the officer's mess of a regiment. There he was asked to behave like an officer and gentleman by his commanding officer. He asked the latter to define what was meant by an officer and a gentleman. The reply was, "A gentleman is never seen to be carrying a parcel. A gentleman never dances backwards in a waltz. Every woman in his presence feels like a lady." I am not sure about the first two but feel I could make a go of the last one.

I had my annual health check and everything seems to be in working order. My blood sugar level came back at 5.3, which I think is normal. My weight seems to have only dropped 1 kg since I was measured the same time last year. This is not very accurate as when I was measured last year I had just come out of hospital and had lost two stone as a result of my experience. I then gained weight up until Christmas but have been losing it ever since. I was nearly 18 stone at Christmas and am now hovering around the 17 stone mark. I was 16 stone 13lb last week. I am confident of achieving the 16 stone mark by December this year ( or 2lbs per month). Debbie has promised me a party if I make 16 stone. It will give me an incentive to drop to 15 stone by this time next year. Onwards and downwards as far as weight goes!

I read back over my own postings and re-read the one about PE and Games. I realised this week is half term week. I used to hate the half term week in Summer as it was the one I inevitably spent writing up the children's annual reports. I have always been a deadliner and always promised I would construct the things piecemeal but inevitably it would come to this week and the only way I could get them finished was to put my head down and do them. So my condolences to all my teacher friends out there who are writing reports! Mind you, our school used to write a half way report in Spring too so the Spring half term week was also spent writing reports.
I understand from somewhere that one of the ideas afoot is that teacher comments on pupils will be published online so that parents can access them via a secure intranet. It seems like a jolly good idea for parents - they can avoid the termly parents' evenings - but would mean extra strain for the teacher in making time during the week to update records online. From my experience, children learn in a similar fashion to the way in which they grow. Growth spurts take place after a plateau when nothing seems to be happening on the surface. Underneath though all the nutrients and chemical needed to promote growth are being accumulated by the body and then whoosh inches are added seemingly overnight. Learning is a bit like that. The child seems to have made no progress and seems to be on a plateau of achievement. But underneath the concepts are being gathered and assessed until one day the light goes on and the plateau becomes a steep curve before levelling out again. The weekly access to pupil records seem to be an equivalent of pulling the new plant out of its pot to make sure the roots are growing. We will have parents asking why their child hasn't made progress since the previous week. If all the subjects are okay, they will find the one subject that isn't, e.g. "Why isn't my child's progress in speaking Outer Mongolian as good as his other subjects?"

Ah well I have used up all my Tuesday writing time updating this blog so must go off and see the beautiful Debbie now. She was talking of filming this afternoon's session for use on the website. Oh what it is to be surrounded by cameras!

Cuckoo in the Nest

I have just finished reading “Cuckoo in the Nest” by Michelle Magorian. Both Kat and Best Beloved had read it previously and both wanted me to read it to see my reaction. It took me two days but I have guffawed and wept in equal measure as I read through the story of the Hollis family in the winter of 1946 and early spring of 1947. This was exactly the period in which I was born (January 1947) and the book recounts vividly one of the worst winters in recorded history.

It concerns a working class lad who has been to grammar school and gained his School Certificate. This puts him at odds with his family, especially his father, and his background. I know we all claim to come from the working class but I really did. I also went to Carlton Grammar School when I was 11 and gained my GCSEs. I recognise the syndrome of being a Cuckoo in the nest.

The empathy is doubled as one reads about the Palace theatre, Winford and Ralph (‘Rayfe’ as the actors pronounce it) tries to embark on an actor’s life. I loved the descriptions and accounts of the life backstage and eventually onstage. Magorian lovingly reconstructs the theatrical company. I loved the way Ralph falls for the beautiful stage manager, Isla. “He had been aware that he found Isla attractive, but he did not realise how deep his feelings for her were. It was as though someone had taken his heart out, smashed it into pieces and shoved it back in again without putting it back together again, so that everything hurt and jangled inside him.” (page 92).

There is something intoxicating about the theatre that invites deep passions. “…..Ralph felt such a mixture of tenderness and desire to get right inside the very skin of her that it overwhelmed him. Yet he felt fiercely protective of her too.” (page 342). I just think Magorian captures feelings so clearly and well; and feelings that I know and recognise keenly.

The standing in the wings, the rehearsals and the camaraderie of it all is poignantly caught. Watching an actor’s performance transform onstage into a thing of truth and beauty is described and caught so well. Finally the characterisations of Mrs. Egerton- Smythe and John Hollis, the father, are so well drawn I felt I knew them both as people I would want in my own life rather than simply as an author’s creations in a book. I must admit I sobbed at the end. Thank you, Michelle Magorian!

I finished the book in two days and now have given myself a quandary. I am achieving my target of one novel per week without any difficulty and thoroughly enjoying the experience. However this is the second week running that I have finished the book by Monday night and so have four more days left in the week. Admittedly the books are not the great classics and therefore capable of being read thoroughly but quickly. I suppose I could up my target to perhaps two novels per week. However I also have a great backlog of modern plays I have bought and not yet read. Therefore I could spend the time profitably working my way through some of those. I have transferred the rest of this internal debate about reading plays with a list of my current play library to my sister page, “Bench Hamlet 2008”, which I consider a more suitable venue for the rest of my ramblings on this subject.

In low gear

At exercise class yesterday, Kate reminded me that I hadn't blogged for a while. There is an article in today's Guardian magazine that says something to the effect that retired people think themselves so busy because they are operating at such a low gear it takes them half a day to buy a newspaper. This morning has been such a morning.

What was even more interesting yesterday was that Kate recounted some of her stories as a company runner at Pinewood Studios working on the James Bond films. I enjoyed these stories thoroughly as you can imagine. I also appreciated the warning that if you start at 0700 you won't finish before 1900 if working on a film. I was fitted out on Wednesday in tails, white shirt and tie, 1930's style. I enjoyed being dressed but found some of the measurements I gave last year have expanded. My 44 chest was now 47 and my slim 42 waist more like 44. The strangest was that my 29 inside leg was actually 31. It was drummed into me that measurements have to be accurate and so I was relieved to find that the dresser was patience personified. I also made the mistake of bringing my white chit home when I should have left it with Lucy of the production company. But an exchange of texts and phone calls sorted out that little touch of inexperience on my part. I am now awaiting a call on the 29th from my agent to tell me the details of the shooting planned for Sunday June 1st. I need to work out how to get to the location in time for a 0645 start.

I was saddened to be informed of the death of one of the parents I knew in my time as deputy head at school. He was only 47 and suffered a massive heart attack last Friday. After my own experience of last year, I can now relate more closely to the experience than ever. But 47 is far too young surely! He was a great bloke who I got on well with over the many years he put three sons through the school. He treated me like a human being rather than a teacher and a deputy head, which is a rare thing, let me tell you, and I have met hundreds if not thousands of Dads in my thirty odd years of teaching. I wrote some words of condolences to his widow to that effect and she has invited me to give a brief eulogy at his funeral this coming Friday. I am now feeling nervous about doing so and I don't usually feel nervous performing these days. It must mean the event means something special to me.

I have spent some blogging time doing reviews on my sister page, "Bench Hamlet 2008", and will review both "Cherry Orchard" at Chichester and "Brassed Off" at Theatre Royal this week. At least I am keeping my theatre going at respectable levels.

I was delighted that Pompey won the Cup even if the manner of victory wasn't as conclusive as I had hoped. I was worried that when Kanu missed his first opportunity that that was going to be it. When he finally scored, I spent the next hour or so up to the final whistle with every muscle clenched in mental and emotional defence of the Pompey goal. I was physically exhausted by the end of the game. I didn't think we ever looked like scoring a second goal but there again I didn't think Cardiff looked like scoring either. The consolation is that it is all now history. The final itself will soon be forgotten and it is Pompey's name on the Cup. Europe next season!

I am thinking I will continue this season's idea of attending Pompey home games but when they are playing away (although what to do about European ties?) to support the Hawks here in Havant. I am still toying with the season ticket idea but want them to get a move on now with new training facilities and above all a new stadium.

On my sister page, "Bench Hamlet 2008", I have just reviewed "Funny Girl" at the Minerva in Chichester. All I will say here is read the review but go and see the show!

This week I was sitting in the garden on Monday and Tuesday enjoying the warm sunshine and reading a book. I have read two novels in a fortnight so am on course for my new regime of reading a novel a week. This is one of the things I promised myself I would do once i retired and it has taken me 18 months to get myself organised enough to do so.

Anyway, there I was sitting in the garden in the sun and I thought of school. I promised my colleagues I would never cross the threshold under any circumstances when I left there in December 2006. I have been as good as my word except for the farewell assembly to my retiring ex head teacher.

As I sat there sipping my cold drink and pausing before the next exciting chapter, I allowed my thoughts to wonder what it was like back at school. The summer was always too hot for me indoors. I prefer being out of doors when it is hot and appreciate a nice cooling zephyr of a breeze. I am not an avid sun worshipper or sun bather, although I do like watching others doing it! I love summer clothing, or lack of it, but I digress...

What crossed my mind was a touch of regret for, of all things, PE and Games. I just to enjoy teaching gymnastics, folk dancing and the skills required for football, hockey and cricket. I especially enjoyed cricket in the summer and football in early autumn. I wouldn't want to teach in school and have never been tempted by supply teaching, even if the money is good.

I paused long enough to sharpen up some of my thinking as follows.

All this would require working closely with a particular teacher or team of teachers at an understanding school. I would come into school ready to do PE. I would get the equipment ready while the teacher and Learning Support Assistant got the class ready.
I would run the session according to a lesson plan, which I would supply the teacher and she would have agreed. The teacher, Learning Support Assistant and I would be involved in the lesson. The lesson would comprise of a warm up and cool down, skill circuits and small group experiences (this covers gymnastics, folk dance and outside games). The lesson plans would be numbered 1 to 6 and would be sequential, following any syllabus required by the school. During the session, the teacher would be invited to make comments or notes. At the end of the session, the teacher and Learning Support Assistant would take children back to class to change and to get on with next lesson.

Meanwhile I would clear away equipment and make my way to the staff room for refreshment. I would begin work there and then on the next session’s planning based on the experience of that day's session before going to the classroom. Quietly in a corner I would update records on class and individuals (this covers gymnastics, folk dance and outside games) probably by hand, but it could be done on computer or laptop. This would be left with teacher for data protection. The reason for doing it in class is to identify children correctly by asking teacher or Learning Support Assistant.
I would then leave and not return until the second session to repeat the same process.
I would arrive 15 minutes before time of session to set out equipment. Session would take 30, 45 or 60 minutes, depending on the timetable of the school and class. Refreshment and planning would take 15 minutes and recording 15 minutes. The whole experience would be 45 minutes either side of the session, so total time spent could be, depending on session planned, 75 minutes, 90 minutes or 105 minutes. This could be once or twice a week.

It sounded quite idyllic and I quite enjoyed thinking the ideas through. I especially enjoyed folk dancing because of the discipline and team work. It also lent itself to performances at assemblies and other school events. I wouldn't anticipate being paid for this work but would consider it as my voluntary contribution to the work of the school and the community. I am not sure I would do it for any school but might consider it as a Waitender.

I turned my attention back to my book, sipped once more on my chilled drink, sighed deeply and took up reading where I had left off.

Literary Festival Event

This is an event being organised by the Havant Literary Festival Society, of which I am the treasurer. I have tickets and can be contacted directly or the tickets can be bought on the door. The event clashes with the third performance of "Bronte" at the Arts Centre so this is one way of reconciling the fact that I personally haven't sold sufficient tickets. Watch this space for news of other events designed to raise the profile of the Havant literary Festival in September 2008.

Me in my Pompey shirt

Me and this shirt went up to the semi final at Wembley in April 2008. We are both hoping to be able to go to the final on May 17th.

London Visit

The trip to London went well. Best Beloved and I realised this was one of very few occasions we had been up together alone. I have made solo trips in the past or we have made lots of trips with other people. However, this was the first time in a long time, we had travelled up to London together as a pair and by train. It was a good feeling and a good experience.


I bought a ticket for the Wednesday matinee of "Gods of Carnage" and am now looking forward to a return visit to the capital this week. The Best Beloved wants to get on with props making for her "Bronte" production so is allowing me to go up unaccompanied. I hope to write a 250 word (or thereabouts) review on my sister page, Bench Hamlet 2008, before the end of the week.


We visited the National Portrait Gallery to gaze at the portrait of the three Bronte sisters painted by their brother, Branwell. He eventually painted himself out and then the painting was lost. It was found about 80 years later in 1914 by the second wife of Rev Bell Nicholls folded up on top of a wardrobe. The painting has an almost medieval look and shows the limitation of Branwell's artistic technique, especially in a gallery surrounded by wonderful examples of contemporary Victorian portraiture. We spent some time in the Victorian galleries as this was the period of history I studied long ago. The great Whig and Tory statesmen beam down from the walls. sprinkled with the occasional radical or Liberal reformer.


We went downstairs to the contemporary portraits and the Camera Press Gallery. Camera Press is 61 years old, having started in 1947. Part of the exhibition is contemporaries who were born in 1947. I must admit that year was a particularly good vintage. I may no longer be fit for purpose and the old virility is not what it was, but I can be good company. Or at least I have often found myself to be so on my solo excursions or rambles - is that eccentricity or mental instability, I hear you ask?


The exhibition that really caught my eye was Underexposed, photographs of black actors by Franklyn Rodgers. This is several triptychs, which rotate through a sequence. Each photograph is beautifully and remarkably lit. Each photograph is accompanied by a comment from the actor or actress about their craft or art. The beauty of the photographs and the depth contained in the simple statements about acting contained everything I need in art and I could have watched the sequence through again and again. You can see what I mean if you visit http://www.4therecord.org.uk/index.aspx?pageid=41.


We found the Cockpit Theatre and a nearby little Italian restaurant. I have a little collection now of Italian restaurants in London; Da Mario's, Carluccio's, Da Paolo's. The Zonzo is not quite in the same class but it does sit exactly opposite the Paddington Green Police station, the most secure police station in the UK. Therefore the Zonzo is a quiet little establishment up near the Edgeware Road tube station on the Bakerloo line (north from the station) which I can recommend.


And so to the Showcase. We spotted the agents in the audience immediately. They were the ones with all the CVs gathered together in neat sheaves and organised in order of the pieces we were about to see. Fourteen duologues and one monologue were lined up taking in a couple of Pinters, a Marber, an Austen and a couple of film scenes, whose titles I recognised, such as "A Life Less Ordinary" and John Fowles' "The Collector". I have just realised that the two film scenes quoted contain a kidnapping and a young woman chained to a radiator. Am I revealing further examples of eccentricity or mental instability or peccadilloes? I love that last word but I had to look up its definition: http://www.thefreedictionary.com/peccadilloes.


Anyway the evening began and I realised that the choice of material revealed a theme of sex anyway. It isn't just me, you know? There was a parade of very pretty and attractive young women either interacting with men, such as the scene from Marber's "Closer" , or with other young women ,such as the scene from "Sense and Sensibility". Now don't get me wrong here - in most circumstances, I welcome an array of pretty women (see me yesterday at the Mad Dog registration day talking to 5' 4" air hostesses, young but head turningly good looking) - but after a while the appeal wears off. As an audience I need more and the scenes were brief and a lot of the acting didn't start until the scene was well underway and sometimes hadn't started when the scene had finished. I felt a bit of a Simon Cowell coming on and 45 years of non-professional theatre was weighing heavily upon my shoulders. Kat was appearing top of the bill in an excerpt from "Birthday Party". My parental nerves were being stretched and it was with almost a sense of relief that we arrived at her duologue. I know I am highly prejudiced but it was the best performance of the night. The performance and characterisation started offstage and it was Meg who appeared as the scene started. She wrung laughter and pathos from the part. The scene got audience reaction, which had been lacking earlier, and both Kat and Andrew also added the Pinter menace for good measure. I am proud of my girl, not just because she is my girl, but because she is an awesome actress. I watched her later in the week rehearsing the part of Charlotte Bronte with enormous integrity and emotion. The difference in roles was marked but she carries both off with real style and verve. Kat has the makings of a good professional actress, she is talented and has lots of technical ability, and I hope she is motivated enough to make a go of it in a very tough world.

It was certainly heartening to see one of the agents make a beeline for Kat in the bar afterwards and engage her in a very long conversation.

Over on my 'Bench Hamlet 2008' blog I review "Speed-the-Plow" and "God of Carnage" as mentioned above.

I am also a fully signed up member of the Mad Dog Casting Agency and met several interesting people (beside the 5' 4" air hostess) while we were all being filmed by a BBC3 camera crew. Hopefully job opportunities will now start to come my way - yyyyyayyyyy!

Showcase

I was going to dazzle you with a photo of me in my new Pompey shirt but I couldn't find it when I wanted it. Mind you, after Pompey v Newcastle on Saturday, when we played like the away team and missed out on the chance of closing the gap on Everton, it may have been a psychological omission rather than a technical one.

I have finally succeeded in adding 2GB of memory chips to my computer rather than the measly 256MB it arrived with. Thank you, Trevor, for the advice, and thank you ,Crucial, for the chips and installation guide.

We are off to the Cockpit Theatre in NW8 today to see Kat perform in a showcase after her work with the London Actors' Workshop over the last three momnths or so. You can read snippets of her activities on her blog, Adventures in Blogland (see links to right). She has to be there from 1.00 p.m. so the Best Beloved thought we would make a day of it ourselves. We intend booking a matinee seat for "Gods of Carnage" this Wednesday. We are visiting the National Portrait Gallery to look at the Bronte family portrait, which has dominated our lives for the last few months (see Bench Hamlet 2008 in links for up to date news of the production). I had hoped to pick up Robert Holman's play, "Jonah and Otto", from the National Theatre Bookshop but may have to postpone that until Wednesday as the Best Beloved doesn't think we will have time to do it today. I suppose we will have to find somewhere to eat in NW8 so she could be right! She usually is but it doesn't make it any easier to take!

I was a bit glum on my last posting especially about the old school. Since then I have been able to have a conversation with an ex colleague and that has cheered me up enormously. She reassured me that I was still a "honorary Waitender" and that felt good to hear. You do get a feeling of dislocation at times in retirement, which is maybe why I have become a more fervent supporter (I am not sure that is possible but it helps my argument) of Pompey this season. I had expected to throw myself with greater fervour and effort into the Bench Theatre, but that hasn't materialised as I expected. I am working hard on trying to get John Sawtell elected as a LibDem councillor here in Bedhampton but feel a little ignorant as to the rules of engagement. I have lived in Bedhampton for an awful long time but it is only now that I could tell you which streets comprise Bedhampton and what issues beset the place. Being a Waitender for 21 years was time consuming and I knew more about the school and its catchment area than I did about the place where I live. It is a danger that all my ex colleagues should be wary of and that a private life (the desired work/life balance) is of the utmost importance as a person and as a professional. I am now looking forward to the evening meal being planned for the retiring headteacher and will probably behave disgracefully!

Advance, Australia

Australia has increased the pressure on the UK to grant asylum to Iraqi interpreters who have worked with our forces by offering resettlement to those who have worked with Australian forces in Iraq.

The Australian government will grant permanent humanitarian visas to Iraqi citizens whose lives are in danger because of their work with Australian forces.

Why, oh why, can't we do the same? We owe these people a debt of honour and I would still like to believe that the English respect a debt of honour. I know we can be one of the most cynical nations on the planet but fair's fair.

Martina Hyde, in a recent Guardian article, was writing about Englishness, and our concept of nationhood. She quoted from a Second World War poster and I admit it caught my attention and interest. "Keep calm, and carry on."

It appeals to me because I have always believed in the sentiments of the "If" poem and have used them throughout my life as a sort of moral bearing.

"If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same:"

"If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build' em up with worn-out tools:"

"If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

"If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!"

Thank you, Rudyard Kipling.

Dubya

President George W. Bush was told that chlamydia, which is a sexually transmitted disease, was on the rise.
He replied: "Sounds like a good investment"

PUP

I had a really exciting four days at the end of last week. It makes blogging worthwhile to be able to recount some of the bittersweet experiences of yours truly. Be prepared for a long read, O faithful reader!


I suppose Wednesday's experience really began on Tuesday April Fool Day with a series of texts and phone calls. A friend and Waitender, Carole Cunningham, had promised me that good luck would come my way at the beginning of April. The cynic in me sneered and indeed on that very same Tuesday I had turned down lucky heather from a gypsy lady in Havant Market. How could I have so badly misjudged you, Carole? Mind you, seeing the date, I did think the first text message was a hoax and that you were not beyond sending it yourself, Carole!


The text read: " MAD DOG are looking for men to be extras in a new film shooting over the next fortnight. Please call Brett if you can attend a casting tomorrow. (Phone number given)" Mad Dog Casting are one of the agencies with whom I had shared my information last year. They wanted to know if I was available for a casting audition on the Wednesday. Of course I said yes on the phone and dropped everything in order to get up to London that Wednesday. I had to take my passport with me to prove I was eligible to work in UK. I decide not to go up by train as there are still problems on the line to Waterloo and i didn't fancy twiddling my thumbs for two hours on the train. I, therefore, took the car up to Wimbledon and used the Tube to get me to Kentish Town. I have used the Wimbledon route many times but still have to check that I have taken the right exit past Wimbledon Common. I had a cornish pasty at Wimbledon station and hurtled across London. I got to Mad Dog at about 12 noon so took about three hours to get there. The casting took about 30 minutes of an interview with Brett, mainly concerned with getting all my details for where my pay would go, and a photocall. The film is being directed by Richard Linklater and stars Zac Efron and Claire Danes. They have been filming on location in the UK but next three weeks are at Pinewood Studios. The film is set in the Thirties. No one will be asked to work the full three weeks but we are all on standby for occasional days here and there. We will be phoned by Roger, the Team Manager, if and when we are needed. There was a steady stream of people as I was at Mad Dog but fingers crossed I could be one of the lucky ones to get a phone call. If not at least I have been seen by Mad Dog and am now firmly on their books so am in with a chance of future films. I do hope I get a chance on this one though as it would kickstart my film extra CV a treat. I am now awaiting that phone call. It can come as late in the day as 5.00 p.m. depending on the filming schedule and director's decisions relayed to the second assistant director who is in charge of hiring extras. The second assistant director contacts Mad Dog and they phone us to say, "You are wanted at Pinewood Studios at ....... in the morning. You should report to........ at..........." After that, you have to make sure you are there on time and prepared to spend a 10 hour day doing very little except wait around for your scene. You hope you do a good enough job that if the second assistant director needs more extras the next day or in a few days he asks Mad Dog to send you.


That was Day One of my exciting four days and though a bit of an anti climax had set in on the way back from Wimbledon I owe my chance to a lucky email from Carole Cunningham. Part of the anti climax was that I have had some really exciting days out centred around trips starting at Wimbledon and this wasn't quite in the same league.


The next day, Thursday, I was picked up by my county councillor, Councillor Ann Buckley, at 0700 a.m. and taken to Winchester. I was privileged enough to be allowed to sit in on the LibDem pre-meeting before the April County Council Meeting in the Great Chamber. The LibDems are the main opposition party in Hampshire with an even smaller Labour representation. Hampshire is a Conservative stronghold. Sitting in the public gallery, I was reasonably interested in the motions and debates and watching the traditional workings of the full County Council. Most of the really important work is done by the Cabinet and in committees. However it got a bit tasty when the party politics hove into sight. Apparently an absent LibDem and made a political comment in a LibDem election broadsheet that upset the Conservatives and the Leader of the Council. Until then I had almost forgotten that he was also the leader of the Hampshire Conservatives as well as Leader of Hampshire County Council. Harsh words were exchanged between Party Leaders. I am still not convinced that party politics have any real place in local government but haven't developed my ideas on that matter too clearly yet. Anyway I was very grateful to Anne for a most interesting day out and I found a pound coin in Winchester High Street. I intend buying a lottery ticket with it as my luck seems to be in.


I have covered about 500 houses in Bedhampton over the last week or so giving out election leaflets on behalf of John Sawtell, the LibDem candidate, for whom I am - and get this, folks!- his political agent.


So that was my second busy day and on Friday I had rather a sad experience. I attended the farewell assembly for my old headteacher at Waite End Primary School. I had retired in December 2006 and she was taking early retirement at the end of the Spring Term 2008, of which Friday was the last day. I had sworn blind that I would never go back into school under any circumstance and some ex colleagues, especially the same Carole Cunningham as above, had wagered I wasn't going to turn up. In the circumstances, I thought the loyalty I owed to Anita Williamson was greater than my promise never to darken the doorstep. I had spent more time together with Anita than either of us had with our spouses over the years we worked as a management team. The children and staff gave her a great assembly and a great sending off. She managed to hold back the tears though her grown up daughter and the chair of governors were both seen to blub copiously. Apparently my presence hadn't been expected so as I entered the assembly hall I was instantly aware of my name being whispered by the children who had once been in my own class back in 2006. I was greeted warmly by my ex colleagues and was shown around the newly decorated school even as prospective candidates for the now vacant headship were being shown around by my successor as deputy head. I was even invited to the pub with the staff, who were looking forward to letting their hair down after a long and strenuous term. I turned down their kind offer as I was beginning to feel an outsider. The school had changed, I had changed and my ex colleagues had changed. I envied their collegiality but knew I could no longer be a real part of their team but was only an onlooker, a supporter on the sidelines. Some of those colleagues had been as close to me as my family and it was with real reluctance and a sense of anti climax that I dragged myself away. I still have that sense of loss three days later.

On Saturday I was at Fratton Park at 0600 a.m. waiting to board a coach to Wembley with the Natty Chap, Geoff and Matthew. The four of us were on Coach 26 and soon on our way to London. I texted this information home via the landline and unfortunately Kat was a bit p****d off to get an automated message at 0630. I ask you - I only thought my family would be interested in which coach I was travelling in case there was one of those dreadful crashes on the motorway - I was only trying to save them unnecessary worry after all! We reached Wembley at about 0830 and took another 30 minutes to go round it to park in the coach car park. The stadium didn't open until 1015 so we joined the Pompey blue masses swarming up and down the Olympic Way as Wembley Way seems now to be called. we met up with other members of the Natty Chap's family, we ate unhealthy cheeseburgers, we joined in the raucous but good natured song of the somewhat limited Pompey repertoire, we met hundreds of people we knew from all different walks of life and other interests. It is amazing that despite going to several home game sin a season and meeting some people on a weekly basis such as exercise classes it still came as a shock to find them at Wembley as well. I never found Terry the Tiger but there was young Alan, one of the youngest (40's?) and fittest members of our rehab exercise class stuffing his face with a cheese covered hot dog. I tried to reprimand him, Debbie, but I was stood in the cheeseburger queue at the time. Finally we were allowed into the stadium. God it looked enormous on the outside but once we were through the stringent security (they removed the top from my water bottle and frisked me and searched my shoulder bag) and up the escalators to Level 5, we saw the sheer size and magnificence of the seating and pitch. I had worried that we would be so far away and so high up it would be like watching a subbeteo game. However it was nothing like that although I did get touches of vertigo and panic attacks whenever balloons drifted past me. The stadium filled with supporters and we certainly seemed to have more blue clad Pompey supporters than the Baggies had. Over and over again we sang the Pompey chimes and worked our way through the limited but stirring repertoire of Pompey football songs. The game started and Pompey were crap in the first half! Obviously 'Arry Redknap had a go at them in the interval and we sang even louder and more supportively than ever. The two wide players moved in to stifle the Baggie midfield and lo and behold we scored one hell of a scrappy goal. My Little Bro watching on telly at home texted me to tell me it was handball by Milan Baros and shouldn't have been allowed to stand as a goal. However we in the stadium didn't care and the Pompey Chimes, "Play Up Pompey, Pompey Play Up", rang and rang around that stadium. The Pompey luck which had seen us through so many stages of the FA Cup this season was still with us and perhaps 2008 is the year with Pompey's name on the cup. The exit down several flights of stairs surrounded by several thousands of Pompey fans singing "the Blue Army" raised the hairs at the back of my neck. It was tribal and primitive and I was a part of it.
We are now waiting to see what the arrangements are for tickets for the Final between Pompey and Cardiff City managed by ex Scummer, Davy Jones (not he of the Monkees). The numbers for fans of the two clubs are reduced for the Final as the FA use the tickets as a way of thanking its county and grassroots FA members. I am hoping that Natty Chap can once more work his magic and that we shall be there on May 17th. PUP! Play Up Pompey!

Mam's birthday on Sunday the 6th and we raised a glass at the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding family dinner cooked by yours truly. She would have been 91 this year but died shortly after we married and had been too ill to attend our wedding. I am not sure she would have recognised the son who has turned his hand to roast lamb, roast pork, roast goat and roast chicken dinners during the Best Beloved's recuperation period. I think she believed me to be a lazy b****r even if she loved me. I still am, Ma, but have just got better at disguising it as at disguising so many other things!

Optimising and safeguarding my computer

"Most teachers are part-time IT pros at their schools so I expect you are pretty experienced in optimising and safeguarding PCs."

Thus spake Trevor Hare as a comment on the end of a previous post.

I have looked up adding 2GB of memory to my operating system, using the Crucial UK System scanner tool. I will do this soon. At present it is running on 256 Mb., so will multiply by 8.

I have downloaded the Acronis True Image system on a 15 day trial to provide me with a back up system.

I have downloaded the Mozilla browser although, out of laziness, still tend to use Internet Explorer.

The defragmenting software has been downloaded and is in use.

Norton 360 regularly scans my system and provides a firewall.

I am impressed by the Dell Latitude D630 laptop but am also struck by a Toshiba model.

A cable broadband and a wireless network join two computers at present but we have the capacity to include a laptop for working downstairs or in the garden.

Googlemail is my free email service, as well as using my ntlworld and frostymarsh email servers.

I was lucky enough at school to work alongside Steve Long, a very gifted ICT technician, and before him, the lovely Lynne Tandy. I learned a lot from both but want to thank Trevor for all the advice given. I have learned even more in these past few days.

The aftermath

The week after a show goes down tends to feel rather flat and anti climactic, especially after the adrenalin rush of the previous week. Certainly "Attempts On Her Life" prompted more adrenalin rushes than most shows I have been in.

I have started work as movement director on "Bronte", the next Bench production, which opens on April 24th. However I will keep you up to date with how that goes on my companion blog, "Bench Hamlet 2008".

The Penroses, Best Beloved and I went to see Sondheim's "Merrily We Roll Along" on Thursday for a matinee at the Watermill Theatre in Newbury. Again this is reviewed on my companion blog. I have realised I have lots of Sondheim compilations and am enamoured of favourite pieces by favourite artistes such as Mandy Patinkin and Maria Friedman but don't have many of his musicals on CD. This is because I have a magnificent collection of musicals on tape, which cost me hundreds to gather and haven't yet replaced them with CD versions. I can see another project arising.

The Bench Club Night was fun as the Best Beloved led a session on "Bronte" and it reminded everyone that Club night have become a bit sedentary. We have tended to sit around a lot and talk about future productions, rather than get up and do something. I was a bit "giddy" and silly and owe apologies for embarrassing behaviour all around. I did start a post about embarrassing behaviour to which I am prone but decided to abort it as it was too navel gazing even for me.

This week has also seen me looking at the Internet in a more organised way to see what i can get out of it rather than just idly surfing aimlessly. I have updated various aspects of my computer but am still appalled at how slow it is. I have plenty of storage memory but the operating system slowly grinds its way through tasks. I am now back online with Messenger but have only two people on my contact list. I like the idea of video calling but obviously need more contacts to make it worthwhile.

Today is a sporting day with Pompey taking on Man U at lunchtime in Old Trafford, followed by England tackling Scotland in the Rugby Calcutta Cup at teatime. The family is attending the wedding of Damon and Vicky ( he was director of Bare Bards' "Measure for Measure" in November 2007) and the Best Beloved and I are going to the evening reception. We wish the young couple the very best in their married life together.

The Best Beloved has an operation lined up on Tuesday and will then be out of action for five or six weeks recuperation thereafter. I will be her nurse and housekeeper. I have all the skills necessary but am unreliable if I get stuck into my own activities. The Firstborn and Cat will relieve me on occasions and will no doubt keep me up to the mark if they observe any slacking on my part. I have observed many times in the past a genetic tone of voice that the female members of my family possess when they find it necessary to reprimand me. If the Best Beloved is not there to take charge herself, the Firstborn sounds remarkable like her as does Cat if the other two aren't around. To my ear it sounds like the Best Beloved has never left the building. I am reluctant to get my greyhound, "Rosie", because I think this phenomenon would only confuse her. She would have to rely solely on the voice of her master to know whether she was coming or going.

In recompense the details of our canal boat holiday in June, our extension building in the summer and our nephew's wedding in September in Italy are beginning to firm up beautifully.

This has been posting for the sake of posting but I do have plans afoot for revitalising my blog so patient reader please stay with me. I must go now, someone has signed in on Messenger. I wonder if they will talk to me? "Rosie", heel, girl!

In Memoriam

Michael John Patrick Corrigan
born 9th January 1943
died 13th September 1943
aged 8 months.

First son of James Patrick and Nellie Corrigan.

Elder brother of Peter John and Andrew Patrick.

The Jokes Circuit

I am a sucker for jokes. I can never remember the punch lines and roar with ill-contained mirth at the same jokes over and over again.
I am therefore a recipient of lots of these email circulated jokes from a number of sources and in the main I enjoy them. I am sometimes caught out when someone on the distribution list says, "Wasn't that joke about Viagra funny?". I simply cannot remember the joke! It must appear at times that I am displaying prudism but generally the dirtier the joke the more I laugh. However it does not improve my remembrance of said joke one iota. The similarity of lots of these jokes do make them merge one with another. I am also an Einstein disciple. When asked why he didn't remember his phone number, he replied that it was written down somewhere in a book. He didn't need to waste valuable memory space on such trivia. I like that explanation.
I read the jokes and then pass them on to other distribution lists of people I think will enjoy them. So I am a culpable and involved participant in such email rubbish. I wouldn't dream of passing them on to such a discerning person as you , dear reader, although occasionally one or two do slip on to the pages of my blog.
I have recently been included on a distribution list of someone in the rehab class. The sheer amount of distributed material is overwhelming and I need to indicate clearly what I like and what I don't. Amongst the material is a great deal of what I can only describe as invective aimed at immigration and immigrants. I am distressed that such material exists, which runs counter to my personal and political stance. I am really upset though that anyone who knew me would think that I would endorse this material in any way. We are not allowed to discuss sex, politics or religion during rehab classes as these are subjects which invariably lead to heated debate at least. In a band of recovering males, who are beginning to rediscover themselves after a traumatic physical experience, led by a very fit young woman, the first one of the banned subjects may not be too overt but is there in the sub text constantly. The last two subjects are frowned upon. However one of the warm down exercises is to perform a series of prescribed activities to the numbers, one to ten. One is raise left arm, three is clap hands, eight is stand on right leg with left leg in air, etc. Debbie decide to change the routine by introducing the numbers in another language - so far we have done French and German. The numbers 1 - 10 in a number of languages is well within the scope of an ex primary school teacher (although I cannot comment on the accuracy of the pronunciation). In the event the number of other people in the group who knew these numbers in German surprised Debbie. When the idea was broached, Debbie approached me for the numbers in German (she can see a parallel in what she does with what I did professionally), and there was comment from the list distributors. I explained that I was a pro-European and, despite some subsequent scoffing, felt a glow inside. I had stood up - oh I know in a very minor way - for one of my political ideals and, you know what, it feels good.

Bits and pieces

Over on my "Bench Hamlet 2008" blog, I am writing a personalised review of "Attempts On Her Life", last week's production of the Bench Theatre at Havant Arts Centre. I might send an edited version to go on the rehearsal blog of the show and perhaps to the Benchpress.
Here, I just wanted to vent my spleen at a couple of things that caught my eye this week. Both were to do with education, which still clings to me like an old familiar smell.
Firstly there was the Tesco CEO banging on about education standards of school leavers not being good enough. I am not sure what educational level is expected of a store replenishment assistant but what takes the biscuit as far as I am concerned is that this comes from a company, which like many others of its ilk, is finding ways to avoid paying tax in this country. Once upon a time tax avoidance was the domain of giant multi nationals but now even companies of the size of Tesco are doing the same. One figure I have seen quoted for the amount of tax thus avoided is £12 billion. That would be enough to build 50 new hospitals and would certainly be enough to invest in state education. The CEO will probably claim he is paying his own personal tax but companies like his are directing money away from this country. In education I constantly heard the expression, "you can't solve a problem by throwing money at it." You could solve a number of problems by looking closely at what the problems actually are and investing wisely to overcome them. Over 300 secondary schools are under-performing and there are probably as many reasons as there are schools. However there must be some generic problems.
Based on personal professional experience, a school with difficulties usually finds itself militated against. The inspection team arrives and identifies the fairly obvious faults in the system prevalent in the school. They report on these faults and publicise them. They then move on to the next school in the system. The school management and staff in the affected school are virtually left to drag themselves out of the trouble they are in. Wouldn't it be better if a team of dedicated specialist teachers (if such things exist?) moved in alongside the existing staff until such time as the school recovered to the standard expected? It may also be necessary to axe some of the current staff and replace them with more capable staff on a higher pay scale. The number of staff should be deliberately increased to improve immediately the chances of the children currently at the school. This would reduce the numbers in teaching groups and give the teachers more preparation time working alongside more experienced qualified staff. What usually happens in reality of course is that the inspection report causes an abandonment of the school by those parents and children who can move. This reduces the numbers on roll and staff is reduced accordingly as they are made redundant. It doesn't take much imagination to see that the ones who move voluntarily are the ones that can. None of this works in a free market capitalism based education system but it could if that £12 billion was used to improve buildings, resources and staffing because that is what the common good needs, not what the market demands.
The other point was exclusions. Apparently if a child is excluded from a private school, the fees are retained by the school as part of the contract entered into between the parent and the educational establishment. In the state system, if a child is excluded from a school, the funding for that child must be forwarded back to the local authority or on to the next school receiving that child. The original school is therefore penalised all the way round for excluding a child. I am not advocating that it should be made easy for children to be excluded, but rather it is usually followed by a lot of bureaucratic hand and arm waving in the air, accompanied by tutting noises, and basically total inaction. This helps neither the individual child or the school. The blame for the inaction usually is laid at the door of inadequate budgets provided for thos in authority. I did wonder again if some of that £12 billion in avoided taxes could have been used to take an excluded child from a state school and that the state then invests in a private education for that child. It might be cheaper for the state to do that in the long run, it would then have an investment platform in the "much better" private education system and the child would be given a true new start in life. Of course there are lots of flaws in this idea and perhaps the most glaring one is that unscrupulous parents might encourage their state educated children to misbehave in order to attain this "new start". As if parents have any responsibility for the behaviour of their children in school! What a socialist idea that is!
I read in the letters published in my local paper that we have a "socialist government". Which country do they live in and which century?

Family history

The Kid Brother, who is the family historian, having traced back the family tree some distance at least on my mother's side, has intervened to correct some information I put out in an earlier post. I claimed my father was the sire of two sons but in fact he had three sons. Unfortunately my older brother,Michael Patrick, caught pneumonia at the age of six months and did not survive. When I caught pneumonia at six months and nearly died (perhaps a reason for my smaller lung capacity?), except for the persistence of my mother against medical complacency, in the days when that sort of thing was not expected of working class mothers, I was given the saint name of John rather than Patrick. My mother did not want to name another child after St Patrick, a saint who failed to look after her firstborn. She must have relented when my Kid Brother was born, as he was named Andrew Patrick, a name already in currency in the family as one of my father's brothers was also named Andrew Patrick.

My Kid Brother also texted me this week to report that he was awoken at 1.00 a.m. by his bed shaking and his roof timbers creaking. It was the Market Rasen earthquake. The epicentre was also in Wombwell, which is a name from our family past.

The Kitten referred me to an episode of "Lark Rise to Candleford", so I watched it, wondering why she thought I would find it interesting. I found it intriguing as it seemed to revolve around a young couple with family and the husband, susceptible to drink, had given his wife a black eye. The wife of the local Liberal workman had taken an interest in their case and he utters the immortal line, "Now I begin to understand what it must be like for you to be married to me." I wasn't sure what I was supposed to get out of the episode. Kitten replied that the drunken married couple (not a reflection of her mother and I fortunately) had made her think of "Nelly and Patrick". Now these are the names of her paternal grandparents and shows that my stories of family history have made an impact on our younger daughter. The strange thing was I failed to recognise "Nelly and Patrick" in her description.

There are two reasons for this. Firstly, I never referred ever to my Mam as Nelly. I knew that was her Christian name and heard other adults call her that. However to me she was Mam. In Alan Bennet''s wonderful "Untold Stories", he recounts a moment when he heard his parents call each other by their Christian names. He realised then that he had only ever heard them refer to themselves as Mam and Dad, and rarely by their Christian name. Parenthood is a strange occupation and surprisingly time consuming.

Secondly, my Da was never referred to as Patrick because all the men in the family could claim that name as their own as well. His brothers, sisters and sisters in law called him Seamus. Aunt Lucy, the Mrs Corrigan, being married to the eldest brother, called him James, which sounded like an admonishment. Everyone else called him Jim or Jimmy, even the Bradford police. He was Big Jim or Big Jimmy, although in stature he was not much bigger than my brother or I are now. However he was a man who talked with both fists to make his points. Big Jim was a mark of respect from those who had felt those points being made on them. Jimmy was the epithet of those who wanted the fists behind them or who had reason to call Da a friend.

Unheroic

I have just had a glass of cognac to round off the weekend but am feeling distinctly unheroic.

I decided not to stand as a candidate in the local borough elections in May this year. I took advice from Best Beloved and close friends before deciding it wasn't for me. I am still thinking about county council elections in 2009 but maybe the same reasons will dissuade me then as did this time. I have a splurge personality and can throw myself into an endeavour with a will and a real fervour. I believe I could have managed the elections but then would have found holding the post difficult. I like theatrical works because they are always of a limited duration. People who don't know me see me as extrovert. However those who know me well know that I am an introvert and that I act as a means of disguising this fact. The social aspects of being a councillor would have eventually worn me down. I think I could have coped with the paperwork and reading, the committee meetings and the full council. I am not sure I would have liked the political infighting as I am not particularly thick skinned just thick! The worst aspect, however, was the imposition of a new structure of time. I am coming round to the idea of a February winter sun break, a holiday in June and another one in September, especially if these are in term time, away from families and children. Being a councillor would mean being restricted to the recess month of August. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt, didn't like it that much and don't want to go there again.

I am also interested in doing an M.A. in Theatre. Portsmouth University do one but I am not sure that my second class Bachelor of Education (Hons) is a good enough entry level. I am quite proud of my degree. I went to College in the late sixties when the degree courses were just starting to be offered for teachers. At the time I didn't want to put in the extra year of study and settled for a Certificate of Education with Distinction. Looking back and knowing what i know now I would probably stay on for that degree. Instead I waited until I had been teaching for about seven years and had two daughters before signing up for a three year part time degree course at was then Bishop Otter College, Chichester. Boy, was that a tough three years but I ended up with a second class Honours degree and two toddlers. I don't know whether I have the academic cojones to do it but next Tuesday i am going to the Postgraduate Open Day and finding out.

My second hope is that I can, with the help of my mate, David, get a local touring theatre company launched. A friend, Tim Taylor, runs the cloak and dagger murder mystery company and I'd like to run a similar troupe doing theatrical things. I am already talking to Herself about doing a Conor Macpherson monologue, which would come neatly under the auspices of our touring theatre company.

Okay I began this posting feeling unheroic but I seem to have a bit of a plan coming along - a cunning plan in fact. Pass the cognac.

Cognac for heroes

"Claret is for boys, port is for men and cognac is for those who would be heroes" so said Samuel Johnson or at least something like that as I may have paraphrased him a little. The quote came to mind as i read back over some of Trevor Hare's comments to my blogs at Christmas 2007. I like the bit where all his personal pleasures such as strong cheese and a particular brand of beer, which once were abhorred by his daughters, are now seen by them as pleasures too. He feels he is left with port as his own masculine pleasure. I like the image and raised a glass of port in salute last night. I like cognac but only rarely imbibe and usually after a meal as a degustif. Perhaps I need to be more heroic?

It was a very pleasant surprise in Friday's exercise class to find that Kate is also a reader of this blog as well as a sweating member of Debbie Hobbs' rehab regime. On Tuesday we were discussing the validity of the waist hip measurement ratio. Apparently there is a ratio of dividing the hip measurement into the waist measurement and this shows I am not sure what. I do know that for a healthy male the number 0.95 has been mentioned and something like 0.80 for women. WHR or waist hip ratio is the ratio of the circumference of the waist to that of the hips. It measures the proportion by which fat is distributed around the torso. (Wikipedia). The concept was originated by one Dr Devendra Singh in 1993 and is said to be a better measure of assessing aperson's risk of heart attack than Body Mass Index (BMI). A WHR of 0.7 for women and 0.9 for men correlate strongly with general health and fertility. Men are more healthy and fertile with less risk of protrate and testicular cancers. Western ideas of attractiveness in females is based on WHR. A WHR of 0.7 or the waist circumference is 70% of hip measurement includes such diverse beauty icons as Marilyn Monroe, Sophia Loren and the Venus de Milo. Their weights differed but their WHR was 0.7. The Wikipedia entry also says that women with a low WHR are said to be smarter. Having probably suceeded in alienating all my female readers, I must hasten to add that I am only interested in WHR from the male aspect of physical health and well being. I have attempted to lose weight and a couple of weeks ago I was crowing over the loss of a couple of pounds. I am sorry to report that I have since gained four punds in weight. Thus putting on the two pounds I lost and a further two pounds, hence my interest in other forms of health measurement. The idea was introduced to the Tuesday class by Terry the Tiger (an ardent Pompey fan) and by Debbie herself. I haven't yet measured myself in those two areas and am rather afraid of the result. Or more strictly, not being able to find my waist! I was very impressed when Debbie measured herself . I don't know what she is as a WHR and am a bit reluctant to do the necessary calculation in case Debbie herself reads this blog. She is definitely one of the main reasons for attending the exercise classes besides all the respectable ones about exercise being good for you especially after a heart incident.

In a previous blog I mentioned "Rosie", my fantasy greyhound. I have been thinking about taking on a retired greyhound in the twilight of my years but am delaying the decision until 2009. I got an impassioned plea from Kitten asking me to bring my decision forward as she is staying with us at the present time and would look after the dog in any holiday absence. We always try to have an evening meal around the dining room table and a Sunday family meal. We have time and occasion to talk but obviously Kitten was so taken by my last blog she had to write a comment. I didn't want to paint a picture of a non-conversational household, communicating only electronically. Anyway, Kitten, having thought over your proposal, I am still reluctant to get a dog at this time. In the summer we are having an extension built and for at least two or three months there will be considerable upheaval with builders etc. Also I would want to bring a dog into a settled household rather than one in disarray. I would also want to bring a dog into the family when I can spend a lot of time with it to make sure it feels settled and at home. This would be best between the May and the late September holidays. Notice how easily I have begun to construct a timetable for the year. Your idea has one basic flaw, Kitten, in that you work during the daytime. I am not of the opinion that dogs should be left at home while their owners are out at work. I think cats can survive like this but they are very different and individual creatures from the pack animal that is a dog. My feeling is that I want eventually to be able to take the dog with me whenever and wherever possible, even on holidays camping in France. I would want the doggie passport and correct injections etc to make it possible. We would still have the problem with the February winter sun holiday as that will mean flying out to somewhere warm. The May holidays after 2009 and September holidays from 2009 will probably be reachable by car packed with tent and dog.

I have signed up as the local British Heart Foundation walkabout co-ordinator. I am working on a historic walk in Winchester for early September with Mary Bareham, the regional director. Mary has done the walk before so all the hard work has already been domne. However it enables me to learn the ropes (Imitate, imitate lots more, innovate and invent: Pie Corbett model of learning) before drawing up a similar walk for Historic Portsmouth. In the meantime I am working on a local walk starting at Broadmarsh and taking in the Farlington Marshes. I will try this out with the rehab class members sometime in May I hope.

As treasurer of the Havant Literary Festival I am in the process of organising bank accounts and book keeping. Lucy Flannery is the Secretary and Director of the Festival and I have been mightily impressed by her energy and creativity.

Finally I am looking at the pros and cons of standing as a Liberal Democrat councillor in my own ward of Bedhampton. The Tories rule Havant and have a huge majority. We have only 3 Liberal Democrats on the Council. I think local politics works better with a narrower margin as huge majorities make the incumbent party complacent. On second thoughts, this applies to our national government as well. I need to decide this week as the election campaign draws near. The pros are good but there are some substantial cons as well.

Anyway gentle reader I will leave you there. My thoughts on the play selection process at the Bench Theatre, which chose its plays for the July and September 2008 slots last Thursday, and on Pompey's match at Bolton, where they meet old boys, Matt Taylor and Andy O'Brien, can be found on my sister blog, Hamlet 2008. I will also give an account of my first visit to West Leigh Park as a supporter of the Hawks. I have been to West Leigh before for Pompey reserve games but never before as a supporter of my local team. An inveterate bandwagon jumper am I! Usually I jump just as the bandwagon starts moving and miss the bloody vehicle all together. Still it is hard for an old leopard to change his spots!

Nah then, ar lad!

"Nah then. ar lad!"

Immortal words uttered in a West Yorkshire accent from somewhere around Huddersfield.

The Best Beloved and I spent five days in Los Alcazeres in Spain last week. We caught an Easyjet flight to Murcia and stayed at an apartment owned by some good friends. On the Friday before coming back on the Saturday, we decided to catch the bus to Cartagena. The friends had recommended it as a worthwhile day trip out so we pondered over which bus to catch. Should we go for the earlier bus at 0930 or the later one at 1130? This was the choice - not like one evry 10 minutes - you understand? We decided to have a more leisurely morning and go for the 1130 and arrive just in time for lunch in Cartagena. We had a bit of a search for the bus stop as there is a different in season as to where the bus decides to stop. We had a bit of a wait so chatted amicably with the steadily growing queue. Best Beloved climbed on first to pay the driver for dos. I followed her on and up the aisle.

"Nah then, ar lad! What the 'ell are yer doing on this 'ere bus?"

Now I am not often gobsmacked or at a loss for words but this was one of those occasions when I did my goldfish impression. There, as large as life, was my cousin Robert and his wiife Anne, grinning at us from their seats. The last time I had seen him was at his mother's (my Auntie Annie) funeral and wake last year. We see each other very occasionally but sure enough here he was.

Later we discovered they are spending nine weeks in the area at a villa they rent and will be there until the end of March. Anne's brother and wife were with them. By sheer chance they had decided for no particular reason to visit Cartegena that day and to use the 1130 bus.

Cartegena was lovely and the city are renovating a glorious Roman ampitheatre discovered by chance under the front door of the old cathedral accidentally when some demolition work was been done. As a young guide told us there had lonng been folk tales about its existence but it had only recently come to light. Cartegena was founded and known by the Romans as Nuova Cartage after the Punic wars to celebrate their victories over Hannibal and his lot.

One of the things we discussed with Robert was a world cruise they had gone on when they first retired about seven years ago. We don't want to emulat their exploits but what was interesting was the fact that once they had completed their world trip, they didn't want to do such a big trip again. They were now more than satisfied with much less ambitious holidays such a sthe curent one in Spain! I got to thinking and have now resurrected an earlier idea I had. I would love to do the USA Coast to Coast by train. You fly out to New York for a few days, you then cross the country in a series of rail journeys, taking in some specialised tours such as the Grand canyon, the Rockies, Monument Valley, etc, ending up in San Francisco. From there you fly back to the UK. I am thinking of making the trip in May 2009 to celebrate the Best Beloved's 60th! It is expensive but nothing as compared to this year's extension plan.

After that we would tailor our holidays to the February, early summer and early autumn periods and flying only if necessary. That way I might finally be able to consider rescuing a greyhound as a pet. I would hope we would be able to take it with us on our camping trips rather than leaving it with others or putting it in kennels. I would like a bitch (having grown used to a feminine household) and call her perhaps "Rosie" , although she would probably come with a name already.