Why!

My darling Joyce had a few strange,maybe just odd,ideas.We had a friendship that blossomed into love,then became an affair.My marriage had ended,hers had almost died.I'd given her a key to my flat and even though we might go days without seeing each other I always knew when she had been there.We both smoked yet there was never a dirty ashtray,drank coffee,but never a cup left for me to wash.My bed was always as I left it,but as a poet put it,and better than I ever could."The lily she held,in her hands as she passed by,left her fragrance here."
She,at times,might leave a note,I a letter or a poem,usually written in the early hours of that morning.Maybe foolishly,she kept these romantic ramblings in her purse,where one day Alf found them.It must have been weeks later when,during an argument or after some harsh words,I don't know which,he told her that he had found and read them.She was having the affair yet,"how dare he read her private letters!"
Things must have become more awkward between them after that because a few weeks later Alf told her that she had to make a decision,him or me.But why,couldn't he see that she still loved him.Alright,she needed me or what we had,but that didn't alter how she felt about him.Why couldn't she have both of us,she had enough love for both.
A couple of days later she phoned to ask me to come and bring her home,and that evening was the first we shared a bed,knowing that the next morning she would still be there.
The strange thing was that Alf had flu,and next morning Joyce showered,dressed,kissed me,then went round to see how he was.She remade his bed,made some hot lemon drink and some soup,and continued  doing this until he was better.A couple of years later when Alf remarried,she made sure their son was up,scrubbed,dressed,with a tie,and at the church in time.
Joyce was one wonderful woman,and its lucky this isn't on paper.

A grey bearded bikers question.

I have a question,a bit long winded,but only a simple question.When I first started watching motorcycle racing,at Crystal Palace or Brands Hatch and the only Japanese bikes on the tracks were Honda Benlys with race kits,most of the bikes were naked.The riders used to make themselves as small as possible and were one with the bike.Then we saw Mooneyes Cooper riding a faired in bike and hanging a knee out as he went into a bend.I thought this knee out cornering style was to help late cornering because as the knee came out his head and shoulders came up from behind the fairing and acted as a airbrake.
Now I hear that along with the change in tyre shape and knee pads it helps control the angle of lean.
While I was watching the MotoGP Sunday I noticed some of the riders hanging a leg out at the end of the straight and some way before the bend then put the foot back on the peg and leave a knee out as they hit the bend.Now my question is,why.Why hang the leg out waving in the air.Doesn't it upset the balance,I can see how it might stop someone passing on the inside but there must be some other reason.Anyway,it looks ugly.

Thans Derek.

This piece started out as a question.Which live bands,singers or musicians stand out in your memory.I'd started making my list,not alphabetical,just as they came to mind,when I realised how many of these guys I'd first heard playing as part of one paticular band.The Music Improvisation Company,or just,Company.
In north London there be a building,unless they knocked it down,but they wouldn't dare.It was,at one time,where trams were repaired,cleaned,turned around and sent on their way again.It was a large round building,hence its name,The Roundhouse.After the trams stopped running it lay empty until it started being used for the occasional rock or jazz gig.It was a great place,you could get a pint and a bite to eat,wander about,chat with friends or just sit and listen.This was where I first heard Company and was blown away by my first experience of free improvisation.
Company was a loose......company of musicians,English German,American,Dutch,and if my memory serves me well, a Belgium cellist who had the cello chained to his chair so that if at any time he was moved ,the chair would move with him.It was formed by the guitarist Derek Bailey,who it took me a while to,not understand more, hear properly,realise where he was.Company could be anything from a soloist up to six or seven musicians,blending,mixing,blowing with each other for a couple of minutes or half an hour.And what musicians,Evan Parker,Leo Smith,Anthony Braxton,Hans Bennink.
My record collection would be a lot smaller without that day,thanks Derek.

Have I this thing about.....

First there was Carol.Thirteen when we met,living only minutes apart we passed each other on the way to our schools.What do I remember,ginger hair,freckles,and green green eyes.I heard she became a navy wife,but that was when we were young.
Another four years before Margaret.With her blue,shot silk dress,auburn hair falling halfway down her back,and as I later learned,hidden freckles.We grew together,and then apart,yet even now if she would call.
Joyce,her flame red hair,freckles,and deep green brown eyes,she moved like a cat.Dancing with her was like drifting,and in her arms I floated on a cushion of love.I wake from a dream,the dream is she and I want it never to end,but it does.With a sigh and a tear.

I remember it well.

You may not believe this but I've been known to have a moan,not often,only six or seven times a week.People parking outside my house,my Polish neighbours inability to argue quietly,automated phone calls,automatic tills that shout at me.But there is one moan I have every single day,television repeats.I pay £150.00 for a licence that allows me to watch last years programmes.Maybe thats why I listen to a lot of radio.
The BBC have six radio stations covering everything from pop,rock,MOR,through to classical music and the spoken word.So which one is my favourite,Radio 7,a station whose programming is nothing but repeats.From 5am till 4.59am I can listen to classic radio programmes from the early fifties up to the twenty first century.Now unless  you live in the UK,have friends or relations there, some of the following will mean nothing to you.
If I switched radio 7 on at 5am today,which I did,I could have listened to a chapter of Oliver Twist,followed by Anne of Green Gables.For the next two hours its childrens radio,but then,at 8am its The Goon Show.Peter Sellers,Spike Milligan and Harry Secombe,first broadcast in 1958.At 10am is the second of a three part production of Elizabeth Gaskels novel,Ruth.At 3.15pm its George Melly and Terry Hands discussing Jean Genet's,The Balcony.From 9.15 to10 pm is an 1861short story about an English girl in Salem.
I'll admit that some of these programmes might be on two or three times during the day,this just means that if I miss the Goons first time I'll have chance to hear them later.Tomorrow I can listen to The Navy Lark,Doctor Syn,Journey Into Space and High Table,Lower Orders.
Of course there are many other radio stations,local and commercial,but none like BBC Radio 7.

Summer Holidays.

Once upon a time there was a photo of me standing in a fountain wearing a knitted swimming costume.From what I can remember I must have just got into the fountain as the costume wasn't waterlogged yet,I must have been very young at the time cos I had blonde curls,ahhhh.Just off the south coast there be an island,Hayling Island and I'm certain this is where that photo was taken.For many years mum and I used to spend our holidays there.
There were only two ways onto the island,one by a narrow gauge railway over an iron bridge and the other by bus over an old wooden one.This bridge was so old and dilapidated that passengers had to get off the bus and allow it to cross before themselves crossing over and rejoining the it.Two things on that island have stayed with me,the first being a pond with a small mound and tree in the centre.It was called Monkey Island,don't ask me why,there were never any monkeys on it.The second was a convent school that I'm sure mum was at when she was young.She certainly knew some of the older nuns and the houskeeper and her seemed to be friends.Wether the school is still there I don't know,I don't suppose Monkey Island is.I went back there once with my ex-wife,the school was there then,I didn't go in though.
There were some holiday camps on the island,four I think,and we stayed at three of them  over the years.They had rows of wooden huts for the campers with,from what I can remember,two beds,a table and a wash basin. I would lay there listening to people passing by,on their way out for the evening I suppose.We ate in a large wooden building,there was a smaller one that was used for a clubhouse and bar.There was a swimming pool and bicycles for hire,but not much else,but then it was 1948 and only a year or so after the war ended.
I have a memory of us going to the theatre,it must have been a matinee performance,I would have been too young for an evening one.I don't know if it was an out of town warm up,it couldn't have been a touring production.It was "Call Me Madam".I remember mum and I singing "Your just in love"for days after.
I also remember visits to Portsmouth Navy Day and Arundel Castle.mmmm. 

Words,words,words.

My first school was a nursery school,the only thing I can remember about it was being hit on the head with a wooden spade by Chris Webb.A hard nut even at that age.I can't think of anything I learned there,other than to keep out of Chris' way.
My mother taught me to read at home,we sat on her bed or in the park reading a book or the daily paper.I don't remember the cat sitting on the mat,should I.I remember a childs bible,should I.
The primary school I went to had a small library but they were childish books,the kind I'd read and put aside.It was the same problem when I moved up to the junior school,the books I wanted to read were for the boys a year or so ahead of me.So mum and I went to the local library and got me a library card,oh yes!If I were careful I could sneak into the adult section,okay,some of the books were a bit beyond me.I didn't know what all of the words meant,but they had a dictionary.Later I learned that mum had been told off for teaching me to read too early,or the wrong way.How dare she!
Where we lived it could be difficult for a boy who carried books in his satchel and not a catapult or a knife,or if he preferred cricket to football,tennis to boxing.And when it came to music,well,a boy without a father,not quite the words used,shouldn't listen to Shostakovitch,Glenn Miller or Stan Kenton.Even if he did listen to Chuck Berry and Little Richard as well.
By the time I was in the senior school I new my place at home,at school and on the street.And all I remember is trying not to remember.

Talkin bout my g g g generation.

I was a war baby,born under Scorpio,the illegitimate son of a laundress.Illegitimate,fine word ilegitimate.(does that ring a bell)She,a fallen women and I her fatherless son,were the poor relations of a working class family,and were made to feel it.Even in the 20th century the working class had it's own class system.
My mother worked a 5 day week with a weeks holiday during the summer and we spent what time we had together in our worlds.Film,music,poetry,books,our worlds.My education,if you could call it that,was a state secondary education,meant to fit me for blue collar work.
Like many of us kids from that time and place I was a child of the cinema,our world was bounded by cinemas,there were 7 within walking distance.If you could afford a tupenny bus fare there were another 5 within reach,although 1 was a cartoon and news cinema and another was renown for being the only place you could see French films.I think it was there I saw Rififi for the first time.
Saturdays most of us would be at the"saturday morning pictures".A tanner would get you a couple of cartoons,a serial and a main feature.We went in noisy kids and came out heroes and villians.(now that must ring a bell )
You could fit 4 films into a Sunday and visit only 1 cinema,or 2 if you wanted.The Granada,
Sutton would show 2 films in the afternoon,old films,westerns, musicals,thrillers,war films,then 2 newer films later.You could stay there,cross the road to the Curzon or walk down the road to the County.The County was a picture palace,with a flight of ,what I remember to be marble steps,up to the entrance.I remember a school friend and I being escorted from behind the County by a policman,an ear in each hand.We were under age and had tried to bunk in to see Dracula.
I could leave this out,but once you start something like this,hey.I was fifteen,just left school,and it was a Sunday.I was woken early and told ,"your mums dead",then left on my own.I don't remember much about that day,but I do remember going to the cinema that afternoon.A child of the cinema.

In Our Time.

One of my favourite radio programmes is In Our Time,presented by Melvyn Bragg.
Author,biographer,radio/television presenter.Uncle of Billy and inventor of the card game.: )This programme delves into things as diverse as Art to Algerythems, and Zen to Zoroastrianism and anything between.
Todays was about imaginary numbers,a vital tool in understanding the world,from aerodynamics to radio waves,they said.I come from a working class family and had to leave school at fifteen so never learned any higher mathematics,only the three Rs.Now the idea that if you had a mathematicle problem with no solution but could introduce an imaginary number that would solve that problem seems odd to say the least.
If during a school exam I had slipped in an imaginary number to help answer a long division question I dread to think what the teacher would have said or done.I know what would have happened had I still been at the catholic school,a bunch of keys would have whizzed across the room,straight at my head.And you can't teach a nun much about aerodynamics.

HOW HOW HOW

Please help me I'm drowning,not waving.
How do I block family blogs,fluffy bunny blogs and god blogs from my screen.
I look about me for an interesting blog but in moments they decend on my screen.Happy,smiling mums and dads with their 3.5 happy,smiling children.Bunnies,pussies,puppies,now I love animals,but they have their place and it's not ,unbidden,on my screen.And as for those serene faces with their golden rays of love,whatever it is.There should be a rule,for every one of them there should be a devil worship or atheist or goth blog slipped in.

A lost weekend.

No  visit to Anglesey this weekend,everyone there has gone down with the Welsh Lurgy,very nasty.Mind you,I've picked up a cold and it's gone straight to my chest so I'm not 100%.

A little light reading.

I dipped into Alistair Cooke's The Americans this afternoon and came upon a paragraph in which he looks forward to a time when Britain is only one of the United States of Europe.When,as he says,the half hour television evening news round ups would then carry on the spot reports of not only a murder in Chelsea and a disappearance in Dorset but also a kidnapping in Berlin,a strike in Stockholm,a fire in a hotel in Lyons,a power failure in Oslo,a protest march in Brussels,a bank robbery in Genoa,a drug arrest in Amsterdam,a shoot out inMadrid.
After watching this evenings news I wonder,where ever he is,will he know how right he was.And how does he feel about Britains future,separated  still from the rest of Europe by those few miles of water.

St Pancras to The Crucible,then on to Venice.

I've been watching a series called Climbing Great Buildings,tonight was St Pancras International.I don't want to go too deeply into the design of the building,surfice to say it's what you would call high victorian.The brick,stone,marble and ironwork are fantastic,the gold leaf and grand staircase are,WOW!But,and here I go again,I think I ought to change my name to But,I prefer minimalism.Painting,music,theatre,architecture,all can gain from a little minimalist thinking.
I remember doing the set design,lighting and music for a production of The Crucible.The flats,a table,some benches,all were painted dark grey,luckily we were in a studio theatre and the floor was already black.The costume's were in differing shades of grey,with a little white.Can't remember the music,I think it was Ives,I know it took a while to find.
One small thing brightened this dark production,one of actors,a bit of an historian,thought his character would never wear such a drab colour and would only wear a costume he chose.The director tried to persuade him,but to no avail,no red cloak,wig or feathered hat,then find another actor.As it was only days to the first night he gave in.It went off quite well,though one actor recieved giggles when he entered.
Their next production was a colourful version of The Merchant of Venice,one extreme to another.

To keep CK quiet

Friday morning I shall be riding up and over to Anglesey,I seem to go on about Anglesey rather a lot.I have friends over there,the eldest is,oh,ten years my junior,she might just read this so,thirty years my junior,at least.Ok Princess?Her daughter is,I can't remember,Thirteen,going on sixteen,if I'm wrong one of them will put me in my place.I don't know how old Tommy is,early twenties I suppose,thats me in trouble again.He's.Princess' fiance'.Their fun,and help keep me young,oh alright,feeling young.What's the Mae West quote,"Your only as old as who you feel",I should be so lucky.I use the A5  to get there,there are quicker route's,the M6/A55 for instance,but the A5 is prettier and more fun to ride.There are boring stretches,but there more than made up for by the others.One stretch climbs up into the the Welsh mountains and when it reaches the top winds it's way back down.Bend after bend,left,right,then left again,you lose count of how many.In my Mini I can cut the corners and accelerate through in an almost straight line,can't do that on the trike,I have tried.On one section,up and to the right,are slate grey rocks that reach down to the road.To the left it drops away to an ice cold looking river,one day I'll take my fly rod with me.
Just before Betsy-y-coed you can take a left and visit the Conwy Falls,then later,take a right for the Swallow Falls.If you ever go that way,make time to visit them,I won't have time Friday.

Senior moment?

Either what I'm I'm posting isn't worth commenting on ,or through some technical hitch comments aren't reaching me,one of the two.But without feedback I'm like an author without a reader,a musicion playing to a deaf audience,good or bad we need to know.I know it's not been long,but how does it go,the silence is deafening.
This may seem childish,but I don't want to post my thoughts into an empty ether,or play pooh sticks,hoping they may be found further down stream.So this is the last post for the Ghost
I'll keep reading the blogs I regulaly seek out,those without too many kiddiewinks and no fluffy bunnies.And I apologise for this toy and pram moment.Be seeing you.
Grey Ghost(Paul)

Heads or tails.

The company I worked for,full and then part time,for the last five years,decided,earlier this year,to replace me.It seemed that there had been problems for which they held me responsible,though how I could be responsible for things that occurred on Thursday through Sunday when I was only there from Monday till Wednesday,I don't know.
I worked the month prior to the new butcher joining the two weeks while he found his feet,then left.That was almost four months ago.
Yesterday I recieved an email, from the guy I had worked with for most of my time there,telling me that he had just walked out.The reason being,as I should know,"you can't do anything right for that lot".The real reason I'll find out sometime next week,over a chilled beer.
The thing is,do I offer to cover for them while they find a replacement,or let them stew.
Father and son have a farm to run,leaving just one butcher to run the shop.What to do,what to do.

For a Dark Lady.

I'm going to take up cooking,I have this recipe.
Take one BMW R100 engine and gearbox,add a Fiesta rear axle and brakes.A set of Unit leading link forks and custom rear suspension.A pair of 10"x17"custom wire wheels and a 5.5"x17"with twin ,drilled discs.
While blending all this together drop in a pullback handlebar,a custom 5 gallon tank,a solo saddle and all the other bits and pieces,like cables,wiring loom,feet forward controls etc.
Pour into a stainless steel frame and cook on a low heat for 6 months.Now I'm no expert so I'm sure I've left something important out,but I know a couple of cordon bleu chefs,not an hour away,who I'm sure will know what.
Oh yes,one other small thing,a cake decorator,cos I only know what colour I want,Black.

For Joyce.

I fell in love today,
yesterday,
a life ago,
I'm in love still,
today,
tomorrow and tomorrow.

I couldn't think of anything to write today,so it was gonna be just those few lines.But you don't get off that easy,something else came to mind.

I have a friend who's taking part in her last rally this weekend.She doesn't drive,she navigates,and she's good.Well she told me she was,and who am I to.....
I think she's wrong to pack it in,but she has a daughter and it's her life and her decision.
When I was younger I used to ride in motorcycle trials and enduro's,and for a couple of years rode shotgun on a sidecar-cross outfit.That was until my partner saw us have an accident,not us,me,and not really an accident.The pilot fell off,the outfit rolled down a hill and the ballast,me,stayed with it.I told Joyce and my friends that I knew it wouldn't roll over,but I know I just froze.Joyce asked me to pack it in,and I did.Now its time for Princess to make a decision,one only she can make.Just incase to this first,give it your best luv.

Didn't I.

Everywhere I look someone's trying to sell me a Kindle,a Wimble or a Dimble,whatever,so I've been online to find out what it's all about.It looks to me as if it's just what those I.T. people have threatened us with for years,an electronic library.And if all it does is give me any number of books at any one time,I don't see the point.
If I take a cruise to the coast or a ride up into the High Peaks I'll have my saddlebags with me and plenty of room for a real book.For a weekend in the Lakes the sissybar pack will have space enough for a couple of books.Even for a week I could still use The Angel,two and it would have to be JB,but then I'll have room for the five volumes of Plato's Dialogues.My problem is that I love the feel,the smell and the look of real books.
A few weeks ago I was in Caernarfon,and I could smell a book shop.We passed by burger bars,chinese take aways,kebab houses and still the smell of print was in the air.We turned down an alley,and there it was,a second hand bookshop.Even as I was telling myself,you have books enough at home and Princess was telling me,NO! I knew I would give in to the temptation.We went into the castle,climbed up and down towers,walked along endless battlements until I couldn't face another stone staircase,so I went outside and sat on the wall.
Somehow I found myself walking down that alley,and it was then I succumbed.Alistair Cooke's ,The Americans.Well it needed a home,and I had a space on a book shelf,and,well I had to.Didn't I.

In ten days time I shall be visiting friends on Anglesey,a lovely island just off  the coast of North Wales.It's a beautiful place,with so much to see and do,considering it's size.One weekend I took a wrong turning and in what seemed only a short while I had crossed the island and was just outside Holyhead.I turned around and had riden two thirds of the way back before Princess found me.
Princess,her daughter,Princess and her fiance,Tommy are the people I'm visiting.Now Princess,like me,has a Mini,it's called Princess.I know,sometimes even I don't know who or what I'm talking to or about,I wouldn't change it though.Except for the Princess,I'd like to see her back on the road,not many jobs to do now,so I'm told.
Were supposed to be visiting Plas Nywedd,Penman Priory,Black Point and fitting in some Go Kart racing.I say supposed because the idea was to fit the visit in before winter set in.A few days ago a fellow triker mentioned that Autumn was officially here,and it's rained,on and off every day since.Now I don't mind riding in the rain,it's these car drivers.They have to carry raincoats,an umbrella,wellington boots,hot drinks,whistles to call out the rescue services,must be why they drive round with a trailer all the time.
I think Princess reads my blog so, if you don't hear from me for a while it maybe because she and her druid friends have cast a spell on me.

Strange titles.

Just a quickie tonight.Late last night I was listening to a jazz programme on BBC Radio 3, they were playing a track by Chris Bisco, called."All the things you could be by now if Sigmund Freuds wife was your mother."And I thought,now thats a strange title,then I remembered,I've got a couple of strange one's in my collection.
"Man carrying a drop of rain on a leaf through a thunder storm." Keith Tippett.
"Mummy was an asteroid,daddy was a small non-stick kitchen utensil."Quiet Sun.
Then I got to thinking,maybe my taste in music is a bit strange,or has anyone out there got any as strange,or stranger.

After finishing Firegirl's song game I started looking through my albums,many of which I can't even remember buying.Some I know Joyce brought with her but there are some I'm sure she wouldn't have bought.The Music Hall albums,the G&S operettas,some steam organ and folk music could have been hers,but where did the others come from.They weren't my ex wife's,she took hers and some of mine with her.
One I found was a BBC recording called"English with an accent".On the sleeve it says,"Examples of the ways in which people from many parts of the world would speak English.Wherever possible we have used recordings of people talking off the cuff as this seems to produce the most authentic accents".
So I have an album of English spoken in many accents,including,"American(non regional)and American(southern states).
It also says,"This LP complements the earlier BBC record"Some British Accents and Dialects",which was deleted and reissued under the  title,"English with a Dialect".Oh I must get a copy of that.lol.

I've cheated

I've cheated today,I've stolen,dare I say my friend,Firegirl's Song Game.Well I have to post my answers somewhere don't I,and I have more room here.I'm sorry FG but I've had to go over the ten,too many memories.

1/Any thing by an Osmond or a Jackson.
2/Down Down.(Status Quo)
3/Send In The Clowns.(Millicent Martin)
4/Love In A Bottle.(Jim Croce)
5/Clever Trevor.(Ian Drury)
6/Stardust.(Hogy Carmichael)for the wedding that wasn't to be.
7/Sultans Of Swing.(Dire Straits)
8/Sweet Baby James.(James Taylor)
9/Sweet Home Alabama.(Lynyrd Skynyrd)
10/Paint It Black.(Rolling Stones)

Now the extra one's.
11/Best cover
The Ballad Of Lucy Jordan.(Marianne Faithfull)
12/Best Dylan cover
Don't Think Twice.(Susanna And The Magical Orchestra)
13/14For a lost love
Losing My Mind.(Julia McKenzie)
Angel Flying Too Close To The Ground.(Willie Nelson)

Right thats it,and not a Hendrix,CSNY,REM or Coltrane amongst them.Don't know whats up with me today.

There has to be a reason,but.....

August has ended,September has just begun,and with a bit of luck we still have a month of warm weather ahead.Autumn is almost here and the leaves begin to turn a golden brown,but we still have weeks before winter,don't we?Halloween isn't till next month,then in November we have Guy Fawkes night,and it still won't be December for weeks,but today when I went into Tesco's,what did I find.Christmas puddings,Christmas cakes and mince pies.What next,crackers,wrapping paper,booze,and it won't even be November.
It seems to me that Christmas begins earlier every year,costs more and goes on for longer.Until last year I was a butcher and we worked a seven day week for the three weeks leading up to Christmas,we closed the evening of the 24th,opening again on the morning of the 27th.High street shops now open on the 26th,how long before their open on the 25th as well.
I'm not religious,but when the two major events in the christian calendar are celebrated by overeating,excessive use of alcohol and the spending of money I wonder,isn't about time we remembered just what we were supposed to be celebrating.

Movie Magic.

At 2.30 tomorrow morning the BBC are showing The Lion In Winter,and who I ask,apart from myself,will be up watching it.It's one of my favourites,a wonderful cast,great direction and a script to die for.Ignore the three sons,the Dauphin and the mistress,if you can,and you have HenryII and Eleanor battling to decide which of their boys will  inherit the English crown.And what a Henry and Eleanor,Peter O'Toole and Katherine Hepburn at their peak and acting each other off the screen.
I've just glanced up at my DVDs to see three of my favourites,side by side by side.lol.
Shaws,Caesar & Cleopatra,The Red Shoes and The Lion In Winter,they don't make films  like them anymore.Hark at me pontificating on film,and I haven't been able to make sense of The Matrix after three viewings.

Past,present and........

If it was possible to bring someone back from the past and have them write a blog,who would you choose?
I thought,The Bede,Pepys,maybe Dickens,but no.I would choose John Aubrey,"who he"
you ask,"and why he".Aubrey lived from 1626 till 1697 and would have been a blogger for his time,and no one was safe from his wicked yet honest pen.
I knew nothing of Aubrey until, the quartet,Margaret and I andJoyce and Alf,went to see Roy Dotrice in a one man show called "Brief Lives".It was a stunning piece of theatre,I was pinned to my seat for the whole evening,even during the interval.Dotrice never left the stage,he seemed to be snoozing in a chair,twisting and turning,scratching,even laughing to himself,as if dreaming.I can picture the set even now,after all those years.
Who's this about? John Aubrey the diarist or Roy Dotrice the actor..I started off on one and drifted off onto the other.I do apologise.

Miles of smiles.

I logged on to a Mini forum yesterday and got quite a suprise,a Mini owner saying that 114 miles is too far too drive just to pick up an engine.
As I've mentioned before,I have a Mini and a trike,and I'm no spring chicken yet,I can't see how 114 miles can be too far.You don't drive a Mini for the comfort of it,or for relaxed, high speed cruising.It's not the most beautiful of cars or of the most up to date design,but it has it's good points.
Now I live in Stafford and this year I've ridden to and from Anglesey 3 times,Leeds once and one sunny Sunday to Barmouth and back.In JB I've driven to Bridgend a few times,done the Huntingdon to Hunstanton charity run,and how many miles that was,I don't know.I've also driven from home to Boston,along the Lincolnshire coast to Skegness then home.And I still ended the day with a smile on my face.Those runs must average,what,200 miles per day.
Maybe it's because I was around when the Mini first came out,that my first two cars were an Austin A30 and an A35,or that the bikes I rode at that time were nowhere near as smooth or fast as todays.But still,114 miles is too far?
One thing I forgot to to say,in a Mini or on a trike you get noticed,in the nicest possible way.

Journeys end.

I love my country,if you think of the UK as one country.I think of Ireland as one country,separate from the UK,no less beautiful I'm sure but separate.
So from the Scilleys to Westray,Uist to Yarmouth,so many places I want to see.The drive along the A5,narrow winding roads cutting through high Welsh hills.London to Lands End,stopping at Stonehenge on the way.Along the coast road from Cromer to Brighton,the hills around Fort William to the scattered islands of the Orkneys.We think of them as long journeys,though compared to the other two I would love to make there only short.

For many years I've wanted to see New England in the autumn,to ride beneath those high,gold leafed tree's,to gaze over hills and valleys covered by natures own patchwork.Tell me,is it really like that,no don't,you never know,one day I might.

The second is journey I think I'll never make.

I never knew my father,all I know about him is that he was a Canadian,I say know but maybe I should say,was told.I dont want to find out who he was,I'm too old for that,but I would like to see some of his country.The short train journey from East to West is all I want.I've seen films of such a train,and I want to ride it.
Is that too much to ask,yes I think it is,I would have to win the lottery to be able to afford it,although.Although I could always sell the house and rent a flat somewhere.I have no family,so have no one to leave it to,and the thought of it going to the state ,thats irksome.
I could die poor yet happy,so.........
Be seeing you,sometime,maybe.

Who.

Sometimes I think that I should change the name I use here.it depends  how I feel when I wake.One day I might wake an old romantic,the next,a miserable old git.Some days I live in the past,some in the future.There are days when a smile never leaves my face and others others when the smallest thing can cause a tear to roll down a cheek.So if one day you visit here and find a new name,its just that the Grey Ghost is having the day off.At the the moment I have REM's "Night swimming"on con/play,so who am I today.

I wandered down to the bank today,just to check on my account,solvent,but only just . Made my way to my local supermaket,did my weekend shopping and began to make my way home.As I crossed the carpark I heard a helicopter,hovering above my head,I carried on walking,out of the carpark,along the path leading to Friars Terrace,and as I reached the road there was the helicopter,hovering above my head.I turned right,walked a few yards then turned left and hovering above and to the right was the helicopter.Now I began worry a little.I carried on toward the A449 Wolverhampton Road,glanced up and realised it was theStaffordshire Flying Ambulance and relaxed a bit,but wait a moment,what was it doing still following me.Was it looking for an accident about to happen,and was I that accident.
I needed to cross this main road so I looked right then left and then again,to make sure nothing was coming for at least a quarter of a mile either way.I crossed,turned right,walked a few more yards then turned left into my road.A sigh of relief,I was almost home,but still not out of danger.A roofing tile could fall on my head,a car could mount the pavement,the helicopter that still hovered above might fall on me.Turn into the gate,open the door,and I'm home.I walked through to the kitchen and started  to put the shopping away,but what was that.I looked out of the window,and what do you think,yes it was still  there.Maybe I still wasn't safe,maybe I was going to become one of the 40% of accidents that happen in the home.
An hour has gone by and I am still uninjured,but that bloody helicopter is still hovering,out of sight and above my house.

Who or what?

Sometimes I mention Joyce, JB, or the Angel,and I wonder,should I explain.
Joyce and I were in the same political party, I first saw her,and I suppose began falling in love,at a constituency meeting.She was wearing her favourite colours,a white trouser suit,shoulder bag and and a gold bracelet,and as she took her seat every male eye must have been on her,mine certainly were.Somehow we became members of the same committees,went to the same meetings and were once dragged over the coals together for upsetting some local councilers.After a while we drifted apart but during that time nothing had happened between us.After all we were both married,old fashioned things that we were.We didn't meet again till after my marriage was over and hers was on the rocks,then found that for all those years we had loved each other.We had been together for thirteen years when,after an evening at the theatre,she had a heart attack and died in my arms.
One Friday evening we were at a jazz concert in the Buxton Opera House,Joyce,as usual,had booked front seats and was wearing a white dress trimmed with gold lace,and carrying a gold clutch bag, wth her flame red hair you couldn't have missed her.The saxophonist came to the front of the stage and asked her name,stepped back,and said,"We're gonna play a blues now,it's called,Joyce's Blues."Three years after Joyce died I bought a black Mini,and called her Joyce's Blues,or J B.
A year ago I decided to go back to riding a motorcycle.I fancied a trike so I bought a cheap one,to see how I got on.I liked it,but it wasn't quite what I wanted.In January I found the one I was looking for,a black and chrome Yamaha Virago trike.I was going to call her The Dark Lady,after a Shakespeare sonnet.But my Welsh friends daughter thinks Dark Angels are cool and so is my trike,so she became The Dark Angel.

Sad but true.

I missed a custom bike show a week or so ago,this Sunday I have a Mini show to go to.It's the British Mini Club Councours Finale at Uttoxeter Race Course,phew,what a mouth full.
I'm meeting friends there and shall be in deep,deep trouble if I don't make it.I'll have no excuse,their coming from Anglesey and I have only a short journey.The only thing that may ruin it will be rain,and an English summer being what it is.......
Now I don't mind riding The Angel in the rain,and my Welsh friends will be driving there,but who want's to walk through rows of classic Mini's in the rain.And thats what it will be,row upon row of spotless,sparkling,polished Mini's.Every model and every engine size,standard,modified or tuned.As the judges arrive the last spot of rain or dead fly will be wiped away.Every screw or nut will be checked to make sure it's facing the same way,and every blade of grass will be removed from polished tyre's.
I've been thinking,what would look worse,hundreds of Mini's and one lone trike,or hundreds of Mini's and a stand out,dayglo green Skoda.Mmmmmm.
Mind you,if the weathers too bad on Anglesey my friends may not come,in which case their sure to text me.Then I'll look up into the sky,sniff the air,weigh up the pro's and con's,and then go back to bed.

The never ending circleI

I mentioned my strange taste in music and I've been trying to remember when it reared it's head.
I'd been through my Chuck Berry,Little Richard,Fats Domino period,listened to a little jazz and drifted into classical music.Mozart,Beethoven,Strauss,the classical mainstream as it were.Then one day,while decorating the bathroom,I heard the first few notes of The Star Spangled Banner,the Jimi Hendrix version.I stopped painting,listened,and began a musical journey.Hendrix to John McLoughlin to Weather Report,then on to Billy Cobham and Charlie Haden.
I had some records by the pre electric Miles Davis but then heard a track from Bitches Brew and off I went again.John Surman,Keith Tippett,Evan Parker,Company,then Stockhousen,Cage,Tan Dun,I was back in the never ending circle that is music.
This strange taste in music I'm supposed to have,maybe it's this journey I've been taking thats strange.
To give you some idea of where I'm at,my last three CDs are:
The Trio of Doom.
Evan Parkers,The Moments Energy.
Canteloube's,Chants d' Auvergne.
Not that strange,surely.

I've only been here since Tuesday,and I know thats no time at all,but is anyone out there reading what I post.There's been no comments,not even a rubbish,or a blog off,yet either of those would show that someone had noticed me.Maybe I should just begin a diary and put my thought's in that,the extraction of them and their placement on a page would be the same as blogging.Or maybe!write them down,take them out into the yard and set fire to them.My ramblings would then float up into the sky,and be carried by the winds across continents and land.......I know not where or when.lol.
I was told to search through other blogs and sign in as a follower or friend of blogs I found interesting,the only trouble is,I can't find any that interest me.My problems are that I'm not religious,have no family,hate gardening and have no business to promote,which wipes out 90% of the blogs I've come across.There was one I came across this morning with a lovely photo of a husband and wife and their two son's,the youngest of which had white eye(the opposite of red eye),the name Damien came to mind.
I apologise to anyone who reads this,but its lightened my mood from purple/black to a paler shade of blue.

Voices

I have to belive that someone is reading this,other wise what's the point,and if you are I have a question.Is there a voice that curls your toe's,sends a shiver up your back.Joyce once said that she could listen to Roger Livesey reading the telephone book,is there a voice  that does the same for you.
John Arlott's was the voice of summer for me,but it never curled my toes.Joan Greenwood's did,from the very first time I heard it to the last.Hers was a voice I could feel as well as hear.Alistair Cooke's was another,when I read his Letter's from America its his voice I hear.Without trying Carl Sagan,Katherine Hepburn and Gore Vidal come to mind,and of course Joyce,who's voice inhabits my dreams.

A game of numbers.

Its the second day of five of the fourth of the four match test series between England and Pakistan.It's the first session after lunch and England are 98 for 5.I'm listening to it on Radio 5 live and it's bringing back so many memories.At the moment the comentators are discussing the name given to a group of ducks,is it a gaggle,a skain,they can't decide.Oh dear!thats another wicket,and England are 102 for 6.Sorry,103 for 7.Swann has just been caught for a duck,making Swann one of four ducks today.
This is so exciting,I shall have to stop for a while.

Next time

I checked the fridge this morning and all that was left was half a tub of Flora,a little coleslaw and two tomato's,and as the bread bin held only four slices  and two fruit buns  I popped into my local supermarket.A right idiot I must have looked in my crash helmet,waterproof trousers and drovers coat.Five minutes earlier it was chucking it down,you couldn't see through the rain,but now.Now it was high summer,blue sky,sunshine,and me standing in a puddle,steaming.I put my helmet and gloves in a trolley,hung the saddle bags over the front and folded the coat over the handle.
I found a few things in the reduced section,then some fruit,a loaf and one or two other things,nine items in all.The five checkouts that were open all had long queue's,as did the ten items or under checkout,so I thought,I'll use the self service checkout.WRONG!
The three reduced items wouldn't register and while I was looking for what to do next a young member of staff came up to me."are you having trouble"she asked,"no,no,I'm alright"I answered.She stepped between me and the trolley and took over."these can be a bit difficult if your not used to them"she said.I'm sure everyone within earshot must have thought,"poor old bugger".She put everything through,then said,"all you have to","I know what I have to do"I said.
"CHOOSE HOW YOU WISH TO PAY"the checkout shouted,it's lights flashing,I clicked on cash and began feeding it.A £5.00 note,a £2.oo coin,two £1.00 coins,one of which it spat out.It looked alright so I put it in again,and of course it spat it out again.I had two fifty pence pieces so in they went along with two twenties and a two pence and that was it,the right money.
"Do you want a hand packing"the young lady was back again"."No thanks"I said"I have these",pointing at the saddle bags,well I couldn't load up and get out quick enough.
It'll be easier next time.Won't it!

Daily,weekly or.......

Iv'e been thinking,should I write a daily blog,a weekly blog,or a blog only when interesting blog.
I find nothing interesting in how Bobby Jnr is getting on with his potty training or that Rufus has chewed his new lead.Now if Bobby had tossed a full potty out of the window and over a passing stranger,or if Rufus had chewed his way through a door and dug up a newly planted hydranger bush,that may have interested me.
A week or so ago I made use of one of this summers warmer days by going for a cruise on The Angel.There I was,all in black and cruising along Watling Street thinking,how cool I must look to the oncoming drivers in their metal boxes when my right leg began to feel cold.I glanced down to find my left trouser leg had risen up to almost my knee.I was riding along with one black denim covered leg and one naked,white leg,and not looking anywhere near as cool as I had imagined.
This was more than made up for when a few days later one of those large people carriers passed me on the M6.As it passed I saw three children looking through the windows,one smiling and waving and the other two taking photo's.I assumed they were thinking,Gee,how cool.ha,ha,ha.

In the beginning.

I hate coming in halfway through films,old films with a beginning,a middle,and an end.So as a blog is a kind of rolling memoir I'll give you a beginning today,start the middle tomorrow and let someone else write the end.
That I was born in Stourport on Severn is due in no small part to a Mr Hitler.It was thought at the time safer if mothers to be were sent from Surrey to just outside the engineering centre of a war torn England to give birth.Mother and son soon moved back to Surrey,so I class myself a southerner.I married in my early twenties and divorced fourteen years later.I spent the next twelve years with a lady who I loved dearly and who died in my arms.
I have a strange taste in music,or so I'm told,a library of books,many of which I'll never get to read,drive a classic Mini and ride a trike.
I should have ridden over to Chorley for a custom bike show last Sunday,but as a fellow triker said,"Divide state pension by petrol=not much in the kitty."Anyway,I have two events to go to next months,they may make up for this lost weekend.
Grey ghost