It's a bloody hard life ...

.. but I suppose someone has to do it.

Gideon Osborne was born 23 May 1971, therefore under his latest proposals to increase retirement age to seventy he could have a further twenty eight years before that happy day arrives.  Did I hear derogatory remarks such as FFS or 'No, No, No'.  Heaven fore-fend especially seeing the damage he personally and collectively has wrought upon a once proud and prosperous nation.

Should he so choose, however, as an MP he is entitled to retire at the age of fifty five on an MP's full pension which will be considerably more than than the majority of UK retirees.  Currently police officers and firefighters alone may retire at that age due to the rigours and physical demands of their occupation when they will receive only their occupational pension until state retirement age.

Just how the rigours and physical demands of a Chancellor equates with those of fire fighters and police officers would take a much better brain than mine to explain let alone justify.  If re-elected, there may be a further fifteen years or more of grabbing everything permissible and some not quite so from the Westminster communal trough.  The proposed increase in MP's pay in round figures of £10k should not be forgotten either, that must make life very frugal and difficult for the privileged few when retirement beckons. 

It must, to most people, seem a very difficult life to follow under such largesse and potentially reduced circumstances remembering, of course, that he has an estimated stash of around £4m.  Invest shrewdly and a potential annual income from that should be at least 5% at today's rates rather than the miserly 2-3% for small investors.  That 5% will return around £200k per annum, most likely  more when higher rates are possible, given other ex MP perks and pension a cool £250k to live on each year.  Unlike state pension increases restricted recently to around 2% per annum his pension will be inflation proof, gold plated.  Additionally he is entitled to claim state pension for both himself and wife upon qualification.



What a distinctly impoverished future beckons ...

David Cameron and Child Pornography

For probably the only time ever I agree with him in his belief that internet child pornography and access to it must be stopped.  Both Google and Microsoft in a rare show of co-operation have agreed to filter searches for such material, well done to all three parties.

Camoron said that he sees the prohibition of access to such material to be his 'moral duty' - I concur with his belief.  Sadly however it is a great shame that he does not extend this 'moral duty' to many other aspects of his ministerial remit - the NHS, the sick, the poor, the homeless, the disabled, jobs, rejuvenating the economy, British traditions and much more.

Could this be perhaps a Damascene moment for the Prime Minister?  One can but hope but it is probably not a suitable time to hold one's breath ...

Energy Companies Demand Government Funding

It has been reported widely that energy companies need to build new power stations, improve gas supplies and water companies must renew outdated infrastructures.

Despite record profits and price rises in all of these sectors they are demanding government aid for the 'needed' improvements.  Undoubtedly when completed these improvements will further enhance profits and shareholder bonuses.

So the government will undoubtedly fund the requested financial aid.  Hang on a moment, the government does not have any money of its own, much of it comes from the taxpayer, therefore you as a taxpayer will not only face higher energy and water bills but higher taxes to fund these companies from your money that should be spent elsewhere to benefit the nation, not corporate and shareholder greed.

Not so very long ago when a business need additional capital to improve infrastructure a shareholder rights issue would be made whereby existing shareholders would be invited to subscribe to the required funding which would be underwritten by a financial institution.  Any shortfall in the subscription would be bought by that institution.

Shareholder rights issues now seem to have been long forgotten, instead the companies which were once owned by the nation yet sold for profit now demand government funding thus imposing ever greater burdens upon the nation. 

If ever the time was right for a government to refuse such demands it surely is now and refuse to be blackmailed into submission by forcing the shareholders to dip into their pockets rather than robe the nation blind again.  Will  this happen?  Not whilst the present administration reigns and sadly improbable under any of the current viable alternatives.  There are alternatives however, re-nationalise the energy and water companies. 

To re-nationalise these behemoths, we are told, is impossible because of the unimaginable amount of money required  to compensate shareholders.  Compensate them when they have made profits from buying what once belonged to the nation, that is a further insult to the hard working men and women of a once proud and democratic country.  It is often said that when speculating then only money that can afford to potentially be lost should be used as there is always a possibility that losses as well as profits may be incurred, that possibility is the entrepreneurial risk.

No, do not compensate the greedy who both have their cake and yet have eaten it as well.  Either force a rights issue or renationalise the companies stolen from the nation by a straight takeover back into public control without compensation.  A radical step, yes, but unless a positive step is taken to halt this current demand there will be increasingly more and more ...

It is time that a stand was made against treating citizens of a once proud, democratic nation as separate Government Funding Units and cash-cows for the administration to squander and fritter away in ever more expensive fanciful schemes, the latest of these paying mothers up to £200 to breastfeed their offspring.  Make a stand for freedom, democracy, government accountability, your money and living standards now or sink further into the abyss ...

A Racing Weekend at Brands Hatch

British Motor Cycle Racing Club, Brands Hatch, 5/6 October 2013

At last, after an abstinence of some sixteen months I finally managed to get to a race meeting! It was not for want of trying either here in France or to the UK but things just kept conspiring against me. Even on the morning of my departure for England there was another unexpected obstacle when I got into our car to discover that the battery was completely dead. Thankfully a phone-call to a nearby friend resolved the problem with a new item, well, the dead unit was eight years old so it had lasted remarkably well.

The flight from Bergerac to Stansted with RyanAir was smooth and uneventful apart from the actual landing, the pilot must have been an Olympic competitor in the hop, skip and jump. My progress through the long arrivals passageways and UK Immigration was speeded with the very pleasant and helpful personal assistance facility. Having registered at the Hertz Rental desk with a very charming and helpful receptionist my assistant took me to the Hertz car park where I was given a brand new Ford Focus. That particular marque of car has never been a personal favourite but this had just fourteen miles on the clock, looked good, felt good, comfortable and drove well, guess that I was impressed. My only question is why does any car radio need twenty seven (yes, 27) to operate the thing. Confused? You bet ...

The idea of the Dartford Crossing at around 1900 hrs on a Friday evening did not appeal to me but, to my surprise traffic was very light, only three vehicles in front of me at the chosen barrier. Next stop was the M20 service area at Maidstone and home for the next few nights at the Days Inn Hotel, had stayed there previously, not expensive, comfortable, pleasant staff and surprisingly quiet despite the HGV lorry park on one side and the services car park the other.

Friday morning, a little light shopping was needed at Boots, thanks to ridiculous and draconian airport security jobsworths, then on to Sainsburys for some essential victuals. Next was one of my favourite treats when in England that is virtually unobtainable in France - real fish and chips. There is a superb fish and chippery in Lenham village just off the A20 with an excellent, comprehensive menu and very reasonable prices, highly recommended should you be near there at opening times. My choice was large haddock and chips, there is only one way to enjoy such a feast and that is from the paper which I did seated at a picnic table outside.

My next port of call was Lydden Hill circuit, a place which has a very special place in my heart, raced at the first ever bike meeting there and spent many happy weekends amongst great friends over the years as well as inevitably some sad times. Lydden is so special that It is my true spiritual home as some people know, whenever in the UK I always try to spend some time there. As a courtesy I dropped into the circuit office to ask if I might stay a while despite nothing happening that afternoon. I was made most welcome, offered a hot drink and explained my interest and invited to stay as long as I wished. The staff also made it very clear that they would love to have motorcycle racing back there in 2014.

Passed a very contented and contemplative couple of hours there and left feeling very much at peace with the world. Those who know and understand me will need no explanation ...

Saturday morning, snatched a quick bacon roll at McDonalds, must admit total surprise that they now do such things, a quick espresso at Costa's, twenty minutes later arrived at the Paddock Gate at Brands. To my surprise the first person I saw was Eve English (Mum E) and Poppy Dog, a quick welcome kiss and a brief natter during which the man on the gate walked up and said 'Bob Bird?'. 'Yes' I said and he handed me an envelope with my name on it. Mike Dommett, aka MDMD, had very kindly left passes for me to gain paddock access so that I did not have to walk excessively during the day.

The paddock was heaving, the fullest that I have ever seen for a club meeting, apparently there was a total entry of some four hundred competitors, not bad for 'just' a club meeting! Did a couple of laps in the car of the paddock trying to find somewhere to park with little success but suddenly spotted a vacant car sized space nest to an F2 team. I asked if I could park there and was made welcome to find that the team was Ian Conn and Julian Cole, Ian I knew of old from when he passengered Monkey Boy in his first ever race. Superb place to park as it was virtually outside Hailwood's Bar, excellent trackside access and more importantly to the toilets!

Just as I'd parked another car drove in next to me, looked quite full, then out tumbled some of the English clan, Eve, Ian, Michelle, Scott , Holly and Oscar who were soon joined by Eve's partner Tony. We all promptly adjourned to Hailwood's Bar for coffee, a good natter and to catch up with each other. Shortly we went to watch sidecar practice, very busy with a full grid. Over the recent few years I have not seen much modern racing and was surprised at just how fast contemporary machinery is, the sight of outfits hurtling down Paddock Hill never ceases to amaze me at their sheer speed and road holding as well as the seeming bravery of their crews. All too soon that session was over and the real racing began.

Quite a lot has changed in the individual race classes since my last Bemsee meeting a few years ago with the introduction of new ones. The first race of the day was the Thunderbike UK & Thunderbike Extreme event with a full grid of thirty eight machines which began with a thunderous roar as the lights went out. Suddenly Paddock Bend and Hill was completely full of a close packed bunch of very quick machinery all fighting for the same line and inch of tarmac, it seemed impossible yet true that there was not one incident there at the first lap. The race was very closely fought and one of the best that I have had the pleasure and excitement of seeing for many a long year!

There is no intention of boring you, dear reader, with a blow by blow account of each race. The race I was eagerly anticipating was the first sidecar event with a huge grid of twenty seven starters, it could have been more perhaps with the addition of one more but the 2013 Bemsee F1 champions Tony Brown and his stand-in for the injured Ryan Anderson were on BSB Eastern Airways duty at Silverstone. Lights out, away they went and the entire width of Paddock was covered with a very tight pack of screaming outfits, surely one of the most spectacular in any motorsport.

There were many close and personal scraps happening all the way down the field when around half distance coming down Paddock Alison Lawrence and Ginny Bourne got it all horribly sideways bike first before the inevitable chair equivalent of a highside had them upside down in the middle of the track. Ginny tried to scarmble to the safety of the grass but was cannon-balled by Rob Biggs who was probably unsighted until the last moment spinning his bike and hitting the unlucky Ginny with the rear of the outfit before roofing it. Great attempt Rob but not to be. In the meantime a forest of hands shot into the air and almost everyone stopped before reaching the two upside down bikes. A minor casualty was Marianne Walford and Claire Duplock who ended up in the gravel as a result, thankfully without apparent harm nor damage.

The marshals, medics and support crews appeared almost instantly, at one point there were some twenty seven marshals alone dealing with the incident! It is only right to praise the work of all of these volunteers as being of the highest possible standard anywhere in the world without whom there would be no racing, huge respect and praise to every single one. Casualties were taken to the excellent circuit medical centre for assessment and treatment with only Ginny being hospitalised. Thankfully nothing major apart from much discomfort due to multiple cracked ribs she was discharged home on Monday.

Time for a mooch around the paddock again to introduce myself to people who had asked me to drop in. Several stops and cups of tea later I returned trackside to watch some solo practice, realising all too soon that I could no longer stand for long periods at a time. Mum E disappeared returning with a comfortable chair for me that the bar staff had generously allowed her to borrow for the duration. Who said that kindness is dead?

Returned to the paddock to share a magnificent picnic lunch generously provided by Mum E, complete with Oscar adopting a self-service approach to my packet of crisps! After lunch farewells were said to some of the English contingent as they departed for Silverstone to watch the Eastern Airways sidecar race.

Next was a slow postprandial stroll around the paddock to meet more of the sidecar brigade along with more generous offers of liquid refreshment before returning to my own personal and individual grandstand at trackside.

A superb afternoon's racing followed with the second sidecar race being as fiercely contested as ever. Shan't bore you with results as they may be found elsewhere! All too soon the afternoon was over, time to meet some more lovely folk in the paddock before returning to my hotel for a short while.

Had a quick coffee there followed by a short welcome snooze before meeting Team Triplebrew and friends for a curry evening in one of the best Indian restaurants that I have ever been to which is not far away in Maidstone for a very enjoyable evening. Eventually climbed into bed around midnight, sleeping solidly for eight hours – bliss!

Sunday morning, awoke to to blue skies and sunshine, what a welcome sight. A quick bacon roll and coffee followed by the drive to Brands, a really beautiful morning to be out and about! Parked next to Julian and Ian who were in the throes of packing up as their weekend was over due to a holed, unrepairable radiator the previous day. Continuuing my stroll around the paddock I had a chat with Phil 'Slow' Jones who for some odd reason wished to interview me later that day for his Sidecar Show radio programme …

Met up with Ian & Grant Tapsell and the lovely Laura and headed off trackside for the morning's action. Needless to say that the sidecar race was the best of the morning session but despite heroic efforts by many people to get Alison onto the start line it was not to be. An excellent morning's racing ensued before a return to the paddock for lunch and much welcomed bacon rolls as well as nattering with more folk and the odd experience of being interviewed in Phil's car.

Back out to the circuit again to watch some more fun on two wheels. Years back one of the nuttiest classes around was the 250/350cc production classes dominated by the Yamaha RD LCs, the riders of which had to be complete lunatics judging by the way they hurled themselves around the circuit, at each other and occasionally the scenery. It was said that particularly at the early part of the season when faced with a sea of novice jackets LC mounted the marshals quaked with fear and went to hide somewhere! The contemporary version of this seems to be the 600cc Supersport class, not only in Bemsee but any meeting whether novice or experienced riders, they all are absolutely barking but great fun to watch.

Then came the final sidecar race, as full of action, excitement and individual battles as were the previous three of the weekend, congratulations to every single team and their helpers and supporters for a wonderful weekend's racing, long may you all continue in the same way. Commiserations to Alison and Ginny, sure that we will see you both out again next season with even more determination.

Time to say farewell to the Triplebrew lads and head back to Maidstone. Driving towards the Paddock exit I suddenly noticed a black and white Breton flag fluttering in the breeze. My curiosity aroused meant that investigation was needed. Underneath the flag there was a sidecar team packing up for the homeward journey when I spotted a great French friend Fanch (François Beauchamps) busily helping the team of Didier and Helene Siro. I leapt out of the car, or what sadly passes for leaping these dyas, as he came towards me with a big smile greeting me with a huge bear hug. Sadly we did not have much time to talk as they were under pressure for time to catch their ferry back to la belle France. Must get to at least one French meeting next year to spend a weekend together along with Estelle leBlond and her papa Fanch.

So my weekend was virtually over apart from the tedium of the return journey and flight the following day. For me it was one of the most enjoyable weekends for many a year in the company of wonderful people, fantastic racing and camaraderie.

I know that I have mentioned few individuals during my ramblings but I must thank particularly MDMD for his kindness and generosity towards me without whom this weekend might not have been possible. I would also like to say thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone that I met and showed great kindness and hospitality, not in any particular order you understand: Matt MacLaurin & Adrian Hope; Paul Lumley and the delightful Anne Garnish; Sam Ryder; Julian Cole & Ian Conn; Martin Kirk; Alison Lawrence & Ginny Bourne; Lenny Boarer & Phil 'Slow' Jones, Françcois Beauchamps and his lovely wife, John 'Chick' Marsh and several other Steve's Forum members that I had not previously met face to face. Not forgetting the kind member of staff at Hailwood's Bar who kindly lent a chair for the weekend and of course all from Team Triplebrew and some of my longest standing friends from the English clan.

Please accept my sincerest apologies if there is anyone that I have neglected to mention but the weekend passed by in an absolute whirl!

Thank you everyone for a truly memorable welcome and weekend and hope to do it again in 2014.

Bob Bird – aka Bob Bee


The sidecar family - you may stop racing but you can never leave ...

Old wives tales - bah!

We live in what really is a small house, roughly the same sort of space as a single bed-roomed bungalow but on three floors.  You might therefore be able to imagine how bijou the rooms are especially as we have two bedrooms and as small, little used, dining room.  There is however additional al fresco space in the form of a balcony over our living room and a deck outside the doors., both of which are very pleasant during the summer.

Unfortunately due to size storage and cupboard space is very limited creating a need to be resourceful in its use.  Each autumn and spring there is the bi-annual ceremony of the changing of the clothes, winter for summer and vice-versa, usually the actual timing is decided by the turning point in ambient temperatures and by my wife who I am assured knows about these things.

Some four weeks or so back there was a spell of warm(ish), sunny days, time for the six monthly ritual to be observed.  An assortment of storage boxes were duly retrieved from the tops of wardrobes complete with cobwebs and the odd resident spider.  It is not that our house is wanting in the cleaning department but because it is very old, of heavy stone construction, cobwebs and spiders are part and parcel of everyday life.  Said boxes were duly vested of their contents allowing items of winter wear from wardrobes and drawers to be returned to them for their summer holidays.  Having exchanged contents there just remained the small matter of ironing the crumpled assortment of summer wear before placing them in wardrobes and drawers ready for use.

Seems a simple enough concept does it not?  Not so.  In England there is something called Sod's Law.  As yet we have been unable to trace an exact French idea or phrase let's call it, in my best Franglais, le Loi de Sod.  This ancient and fairly reliable rule soon made its presence felt.  Not three days after summer had arrived, or so we thought and hoped,  the weather turned from temperatures in the mid-twenties to the mid-teens, accompanied by showers and northerly winds which have persisted more or less constantly ever since.  Yes we are able to wear summer clothing despite this inclemency but it necessitates several layers to sustain reasonable body temperatures and physical comfort.  This state of well-being is accompanied by appropriate and judicious use of domestic heating as the mornings and evenings are still particularly chilly.

There have been several days of warm weather when the thought of using the barbecue the following day would be a pleasant thing to do, something which is usually eagerly anticipated.  Any such forward planning has been thwarted by a quick change in the weather accompanied by a continuing winter style menu of warming meals and an endless supply of hot drinks.

Summer will come, of that I am persuaded by empirical evidence, an unshakable but possibly misplaced faith in nature and a firm grounding in the laws of probability.  As yet there is little evidence of any such change forthcoming ...

When I was but a sproglet there was an old saying that I never really understood but rationalised it thus - don't thump anyone before the beginning of June.  In its own way that is quite a sweet, kindly sentiment but it was difficult to grasp why, that in one month, people should not be struck but should be acceptable the next.  A number of years elapsed before the actual meaning of this old saw became evident, ne'er cast a clout before may is out.  Obvious really, do not put aside any garments until the may bushes are in flower because they are themselves a portent of summer.  Well, may bushes have been in blossom here for about a month with no vestige of summer on the horizon so bang goes another old wives tale., which in turn, brings us back neatly to where this ramble began ...

You Could Not Make It Up - Part 285

 Tales may have reached th UK's distant shores of new rules from Brussels concerning olive oil (Popeye's turn next month). The latest edict is that olive oil may no longer be served in restaurants etc in open bottles or dishes thus banning a centuries old tradition of dipping things into it nor drizzling over your salad, pizza etc.

 What you may wonder is going on? It's the elf and safetree freaks at it again as they believe that the entire population of the EU is about to be poisoned.

 Not only olive oil, oh no. Bread is also in their sights. It will no longer be possible to have delicious chinks of local baked bread alongside your meal when eating out. Instead said bread must be wrapped in individual, sealed packets so that by the time it is unwrapped it has become soft and squashy.

 Is that it? No. Water. In French restaurants it is customary to serve bottles or pitchers of chilled tap water at every meal, in fact it is enshrined in law that if fresh water is demanded it must be provided. Sorry, but from now on that tradition is being done away with as all water served at tables must be in sealed, labelled containers.

 Thankfully it was made known that these proposals will not be implemented - yet - but are being reconsidered as to how they may be best implemented.

 What's next? Will all meals have to be served in individually sealed portions? I would like a bag of bouillabaisse please waiter, followed by a pot of cuisse de grenuoilles and a box of your best creme brulée.

 Jesus H on a bicycle in the park on a Siunday morning, has the EU machine nowt better to do I wonder?

French Frustration!

No matter where you live and no matter how idyllic that place may seem there are inevitably some things, however minor, which can become irksome.  I love France and the only way that I could return permanently to England is in the metaphorical box.  More correctly in my case a funerary urn as there is a very precious, spiritual place where I wish my mortal remains to be scattered.

Despite my love of this country and its people I occasionally despair of the way things work, or more often, do not work here.  French bureaucracy and red tape is legendary as is equally the general level and concept of customer service.

Bureaucracy for example;  When we exchanged our UK driving licences for French ones it was fairly straightforward as we had researched and found out exactly what documents were needed by the authorities.  At the sous-prefecture the lady behind the desk was polite and helpful, paperwork completed quickly, then came the fee.  We were told that it was €52 each, a cheque was acceptable so one was duly completed for the total of €104.  Oh no, that was not right said the fonctionnaire, it has to be two cheques, each for €52!  One cheque destroyed and the requested two duly completed and handed over in exchange for temporary licences.

On the recent May Day public holiday I needed to book a flight to and from Stansted for a few days.  Not a problem as RyanAir operates from our local airport at Bergerac, flights for which are booked online.  One significant difference between French and UK public holidays is that ,unlike Britain, here it is genuinely a holiday wherein shops, banks, businesses and public offices are closed for the day, it is impossible even to buy a carton of milk.  Having become accustomed to national habits such as this we obviously plan ahead.

Having logged on to the RyanAir website, chosen destination and dates, completed all required information, it was just a simple matter of completing the process with bank card details and clicking on the 'Purchase' button.  So far so good, a box appeared onscreen asking for my patience as the transaction might take up to one minute.

Time passed, after about a minute another onscreen box appeared stating that the transaction had been declined.  What?  My bank account held more than sufficient funds for the transaction, perhaps there was an error in my completed details that may have caused the rejection.  Nothing for it but to go through the whole booking process again.  The 'Purchase' button was duly clicked again, a slightly nervous wait ensued before more information appeared onscreen again - 'Transaction Declined'.

By this time minor panic was setting in, I tried to remain calm and not let the digital world upset my demeanour so the whole process was repeated slowly and deliberately.  Unfortunately hope did not triumph above stark reality as yet again my offer to do business with RyanAir was further thwarted.

Not to be outdone a further attempt was made but this time using both my wife's laptop and bank card.  Great idea in theory - however fortune was not with me rresulting  in a further declination.  By now I was becoming more than frustrated and grumpy not to mention puzzled as to why I had been unable to book a flight.

The following day a further attempt to secure a passage to England was made using my laptop and bank card, my heart was in my mouth as the details were completed, the 'Purchase' button pressed.  Waiting the requested time was similar to to being a victim in the dentist's waiting room, nerves were jangling, fingers drumming, suddenly a notice appeared saying 'Transaction Completed'.  With this great news I can assure you that I was considerably more relieved than Lady Smith ever was at Mafeking!

So what was the problem?  RyanAir's response to an enquiring email was couched in the terms of 'Well, it wasn't our fault'.  The next obvious step was to speak with the French bank which has the privilege of holding our accounts.  Their response was that the Wednesday was a public holiday, therefore why should the bank be working including their computer system.  There really is no logical answer to that  response apart from that I should have known better than to darn well ask!

Wifi Life in France

A little tale for your amusement ...

It all began when I bought my wife a laptop, Jane had finally decided that the time had come to venture fearfully into the twenty first century.  Naively I thought she would be the one to encounter difficulties with the latest in technological developments, oh how wrong I was.

At that time I was using my laptop connected with a cable to my broadband provider, a system that had worked well, apart from an occasional flaky connection, for several years with no need to consider changing it until then.  The initial problem arose in that for her laptop to be used my connection was unplugged and transferred to the new laptop, a simple enough arrangement.  There was the obvious snag that we could not be online simultaneously but as her usage would not be great but not of major import.  However within a few days the retaining clip on the RJ45 cable broke off.  This meant that constant attention had to be paid ensuring that the cable did not slip even one millimetre out of the socket resulting in a broken connection.  Three new cables later ...

Well, the obvious solution was to set up a local wifi network thus eliminating that wretched cable. A previous attempt had failed miserably because the configuration process was so complex that I gave up.  The obvious solution was to contact a local IT man who had been very helpful in resolving problems on a couple of occasions.  A phone call told me that his number was no longer available, both landline and mobile.  Perhaps an email would do the trick, my message was returned in a nano-second stating that the email address was no longer in use.  Bugger ...

At this point an explanation is needed as to how businesses operate in France.  Any new undertaking has to pay up front all taxes etc at startup assessed on what the taxman thinks that they may earn in the first year along with social charges.  After eighteen months, should that undertaking have survived then additional charges levied.  Ah, blessed fiscal relief for eighteen months after which even further charges are demanded, not based upon business activity but a standard charge at that point for all businesses.  Inability to pay is not tolerated, thus few new business ventures survive for more than three years, I therefore assume that my local tame IT man had obviously fallen into that particular black hole.

An advert was duly placed on two Anglo/French fora for expats seeking a reliable computer technician to come to my rescue.  I sat back and waited, and waited.  Eventually there was one reply from someone not too far away from us who had been the network manager for a very busy container port.

Several days on and this person visited us arriving with boxes, laptop and assorted bits of electrical string.  An hour or two later, with no success in getting his laptop connected via wifi he left stating that a little research need to be done.

Two weeks later and the silence concerning the need research was deafening ...

Time for Plan B.  A search of the local Pages Jaune (Yellow Pages) revealed that there were at least two dozen IT specialist in the are of Villeneuve-sur-Lot, one of two towns both about thirty minutes away from us.  Of this number at least did not have an email address &/or a website.  Oh well, that made a final selection easier.

A suitable email stating my requirements was carefully drafted and sent to what appeared to be the four most promising sources of aid, just sit back and wait.  Wait and wait, two weeks had passed without so much as a single reply.  It was at this stage I realised why so many French businesses fail due to a total lack of customer awareness and service.

By this time I was almost beginning to lose the will to live, it seemed that I was seeking the IT holy grail.  My personal frustration factor was rising daily, no, by the very minute as I vainly endeavoured to arrive at a suitable solution.  Chatting with my neighbour one afternoon provided a possible answer, he had a similar problem in configuring a router.  On a trip back to England he sought advice from PC World, something which I have always been loath to do, since, however, a trip was planned in the next few weeks that seemed an avenue for exploration.

A Saturday morning, bright and early, found me in PC World at Ashford, Kent.  Casting around I spotted their technical help corner where I was welcomed by a very pleasant middle aged man, that inspired a little confidence straightaway. Having explained my needs some questions were asked before he took me the router display.  Because I have broadband I wrongly assumed that I needed an ADSL router but was assured because of my setup what was need in fact was cable router.  A suitable device selected on his recommendation and duly purchased all in all a pleasant experience as he did noy try to sell the dearest one to me.

So, back to my little corner of La Belle France.  Having caught up with several days of emails; Twitter and Facebook I summoned my courage in both hands and connected the router as directed in the instructions.  What a pleasant surprise, the whole thing was virtually just Plug'n'Play, no configuration need just set a password and all was up and running!  Next task to do the same with my wife's laptop, in under a minute the local network was detected and up and running!  What a simple thing to do this time!

So, thanks to sound advice from any anonymous man in Maidstone PC World all is peace and calm in my own little IT world despite the best endeavours of Gallic entrepreneurship ...

Sometimes folk ask what do we do all day

Had a very productive day today.  Drove thirty minutes to a large gardening type shop this morning in search of a cover for my wife's miniature greenhouse.  Spent ages wandering about before finding a helpful employee who kindly informed us that they are out of stock.  Asked if any other branches had them in stock she helpfully checked the computer, returned some five or so minutes later and said 'No'.  Asked when new stock would be available she went off to check the computer again.  Upon her return she smiled and said 'Next spring'.

Retreated  home for a light lunch and a lie-down in a darkened room after which we sallied forth again in the opposite direction, another thirty minute drive to a truly vast garden centre in the noble quest for said cover.  Having expended much energy and shoe rubber (well, hardly anyone has leather these days, do they) wandering around acres (sorry hectares) with a singular lack of success amongst every conceivable item even remotely related to gardening unsuccesfuuly.  We decided that an approach to the information desk might prove fruitful.  Our enquiry as to where the desired item could be found was initially fielded with 'I'll ask my manager'.  Ten minutes later the messenger returned to inform us that new supplies used to be delivered every spring but now there is no demand for them.

Dear Deity above, whoever and wherever you are, please protect us from what passes for French style customer service ...

The Air Travellers Prayer

Generally my Blogroll is all my own work (5% inspiration, 20% frustration, 50% perspiration and last but not least 25% total rubbish).  This gem is an exception as I have blatantly lifted it from someone rejoicing in the nom-de-plume of Miss Funnyfanny - find her at wp.me/p1KRv9-iy


Dear God/Allah/Shiva/Buddha/Richard Branson/Michael O'Leary - (delete as applicable),

Please see to it that my flight isn’t the one delayed 14 hours when I made a special effort to be at the airport 2 pointless hours early. Come on God, you know we talked about this last time – if you want me to sit for more than 4 straight hours in one building, I either need to be getting paid for it or facing a free bar.
Please grant me the strength not to strangle the cretin ahead of me in the line for security checks, who waits until the very last possible moment to search their hand luggage for their 27 bottles of lotions and potions, seeming surprised that they then need to fit these into the thoroughly well advertised teeny plastic bag.

Dear deity/Sir Richard, bestow upon me a will of iron so I don’t smack them round the back of the head with my laptop (removed from its case well ahead of reaching the conveyor belt) as they struggle and fumble to remove theirs from the depths of their carry-on suitcase and then cause the line another 10 minute delay as they have to be prompted by the bulldog-esque female security staff member to remove their belt, their Mr T style neck adornments, chain mail vest and suit of armour prior to entering the metal detector.

Please grace the security bulldog with tender hands while she frisks me, and seriously, would it be too much to ask that she at least buy me drinks and dinner before checking my inner thigh and bra underwire quite so thoroughly?

Dear spiritual being, when they start to call people forward for boarding, can you please add me to one of these “priority” groups? It seems to me that you’ve been granting this wish to a lot of people and it’s getting out of hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, now calling forward for boarding all passengers with wheelchairs or who have access issues” – sensible. “Now calling forward all passengers with business class tickets” – fine. “Now calling forward all passengers with small children” – ok. “Now calling all people in rows 17 through 20” – bit random but ok, carry on. “Now calling forward all passengers with a slight lisp and who are afraid of bees” – seriously?!

Dear sweet lord above (or wherever you are Mr Branson), please don’t screw me over in the seating lottery. You know what I mean. Don’t give me a seat next to a snorer, a fidgeter, an arm rest stealer, a laugh-out-loud-at-films-er, a seven foot tall-needs-your-leg-room-too-er, a constant need to pee-er, and seriously, for the love of all that is airborne, please don’t sit me within 10 rows of the screaming brat who will be using the entire plane’s oxygen supply to pierce their neighbours’ eardrums through the excruciating 10 hour flight, while their 5 year old sibling tests the bounciness of their shoe on the back of the seat before them.

May the films be current and not talked through by the overly chatty member of flight crew who is clearly very excited about being promoted to chief announcement maker and number 1 microphone wrangler. May the entertainment system function for the entire duration of the flight and if it doesn’t, please, oh chosen figure of worship, at least ensure that the drinks trolley wheels are well oiled so that the boozy goods are free of flow and free-er of price.

Please bless me with the ability to distinguish three different coloured blobs of congealed matter from each other as the meals are handed out. It doesn’t mean the food will taste any better but it helps to trick the mouth into opening and accepting said congealed globules, if the brain can tell it roughly which of three food groups it’s meant to be; carbs, baby food or boiled dog. Oh, and when the tea/coffee comes around, please can you bless us all with a pocket of turbulence, as having those utterly interchangeable hot brown liquids poured all over our immobilized crotches is immensely preferable to actually drinking them.

Dear deity, please can you explain to me why when the plane lands, everyone rushes out of their seats to stand uncomfortably, cramped and crooked necked, clutching their heavy bags of duty free in the aisle for the 20 minutes it takes the crew to release the plane doors? If it’s their penance for getting on your priority boarding list (they do look a little afraid of bees) then that’s only fair and I’ll skip the priority thing after all, thanks.

Please find it in your almighty power to see that my luggage comes out onto the carousel in one piece. I would ask for you to make sure that it comes out first, so I can escape the vile tourist melee that is the arrivals hall as quickly as possible, without getting my ankles rammed by a child-driven luggage trolley, but really, I’ll just settle for it to appear at all, full stop. Actually, scrap that, I want it to appear without half my soiled undercrackers spewing forth from a freshly broken zip and without a mystery liquid trickling out of one bruised corner. Thanks.

May passport control be swift and may the customs officials have a very blind eye to the 800 cigarettes and 17 litres of mysterious local liquor swinging from my paws, and may the taxis be as bountiful as an air stewardess’s make-up.

Dear God/Allah/Shiva/Buddha/Richard Branson, if you could see your way to hooking me up with all these humble requests, while keeping a huge metal tube up in the atmosphere and not plummeting us all to a deathy doom, that would super. Just one thing, I don’t actually believe in you and I never will… UNTIL I GET A FREE UPGRADE!

The End Of The World Is Nigh

Just eaten a superb breakfast of eggs 'n' bacon, beans and fried mashed potato, first time in a month.  Really, really enjoyed it!  Now for the bad news - that was the last of our bacon :-((

A serious decision has to shortly be made as to how and when to re-stock the freezer with proper English bacon as without further supplies morale will begin to fall, something that is definitely not a desirable thing especially with the onset of winter only six weeks or so away.

There are three possible scenarios, well four if the zero option can be considered as such:  1) return shopping expedition to UK involving a round trip of at least 1600 miles;  2) travel to an English family business who cure their own English style bacon and associated product ( a round trip of some five to six hours and then only on a Wednesday or Friday morning as that is when the shop is open), 3) wait until friends are visiting UK who hopefully will act as a re-supply mission.

Due deliberation will commence shortly but there are no known friends visiting the UK within the next few months so that reduces the available options.  Possible aids to the final decision will probably include the odd drop of wine or two, a splash of Pineau de Charente and ultimately even a sniff of the Armagnac bottle.

Such decision is not to be lightly nor hastily undertaken and ultimately will be effected by the Domestic Victuals sub-committee in due course.

Here for a rest

Have two good friends arriving today for a short break during their motorcycle tour of Western Europe, the break from riding will probably be very welcomed.  Break did I say?  Well, there are a few things that they would like to do in the next few days ...

Tonight we are off out to a typical and good but inexpensive French restaurant for dinner.  Tomorrow morning visit our local market and have a coffee or two after a look round, afternoon probably go to a huge and very impressive 13th century chateau then in the evening there is the hugely spectacular son et lumiére of the Battle of Castillon.  That was the last battle of the Hundred Years War which finally saw the English kicked out of Aquitaine, there is a cast of over six hundred local people, eighty horses and just so much more<;  The show starts at 2230 hrs (allegedly) but is invariably at least half an hour late (well, this France after all) lasting for two and a half hours - should be back home around three o'clock-ish!

Sunday morning off to a monthly custom and classic car meet in Bergerac, after lunch a leisurely afternoon at our local lake and beach.  Cooking a typical French menu for dinner in the evening of Jambon and Melon, tartiflette and haricots vert, cheese and green salad followed by tarte tatin and coffee - all washed down with a drop of wine or two!

Monday - visit Laparade which is an old bastide perched on a two hundred metre high cliff overlooking the Lot valley with spectacular panoramic views, on a good day the Pyrenées can be seen in the far distance.  Thence onto le Temple-sur-Lot which is a superbly restored Crusader castle (now a restaurant), return home via Casseneuil which is a wonderfully unspoilt medieaeval village hardly disturbed by the twenty first century.

Return home for lunch, lazy afternoon the to the weekly summer night market in Villeréal.  Villeréal is an old bastide town built by the French circa 1420 to keep the English forces at bay during the Hundred Years War, not very successfully as it changed hands at least four times.  The centre of the town is a covered market hall of the same period open on the sides where locl growers and producers offer their wares for consumption under the halle where tables and chairs are set out.  It is possible to have an excellent meal there as all manner of products are on sale, lamb cutlets and kebabs, escargots, moules mariniére, jambon (local dried ham a la Parma), foie gras, duck, pizzas, various cheeses, variety of sausages, bread, salad stuffs, assorted patisseries and of course an excellent selection of wine.  There is a strict rule that all of the stallholders must be local and nod their produce too from within a radius of twenty kilometres so the produce is all very local indeed.

Come Tuesday morning the lads will probably be grateful to be back on the road for a rest ...

Coming home

This meaningless phrase has oft been repeated of late in reference to football, usually by fifth rate journalists and so called pundits, so much so that it has become more than a little trite and wearisome.

So what does it mean? It could be assumed that it has been away somewhere, not in my experience because every single news bulletin that I see or hear has some reference to the so called 'beautiful game', in fact it seems to have been increasingly evident of late in the alleged closed season.

Perhaps someone could enlighten me as to the meaning of the phrase. As for 'coming home' that, thankfully,  is just one thing it will never do in our house.

More odd happenings

Some of you may be aware from previous posts on my Blogroll that when asked about such matters I describe myself as a spiritual sort of person.  This because many things have happened in my lifetime for which there seems to me to be no other explanation – should you wish to read these old posts then have a ferret around in the first few months of posts.  During the last couple of months I seem to have been more receptive than usual to odd happenings and things not easily explained away.

Often when I go to the middle floor of our home but nowhere else I smell Golden Virginia tobacco smoke which is a little odd as neither of us smoke at all.  That however was the tobacco of choice for my late father which he smoked for many years.  From what I have been told by several very spiritual friends he is there, I find it very reassuring and comforting particularly in times of stress.

Recently I sensed that my mother was around for several days, that is very unusual because she hardly ever does so but I was more than concerned about a close friend that I was unable to contact.  Her presence was to tell me that everything was alright and no need to be concerned, suddenly one morning just after I had got up mother had gone.  Two hours later and much to my relief I received an email from my friend saying that she had been away for a few days.  Since then Mum has been around several times for a day or so with no particular intent but just being here.

Several weeks ago I knew that another very close friend had made a decision that would greatly affect his life.  He had not told about this because it was two days before it happened with him!  Not only was I aware of that but also knew who the other person involved was, somewhat remarkable as there was nothing between them before this that would have given me any clue.  Having thought long and hard about it there was no reason at all for me to think such a thing.  Within the past week I have had a further premonition that a certain event will happen for them but have no idea as to when.

There is the question, I suppose, that does this dubious ability bother me in any way to which the answer is a resounding ‘No’ because I am comfortable with it and often comforted by it.  It is reassuring to know that there are guardian angels who have my well being at heart often to the point that I am unable to pursue a desired course of action.  Example, quite a few times I have been bidding for an item on ebay, my usual ploy is not to bid almost until the very last moment because I do not want to inflate bids unnecessarily, a tactic known as sniping.  Sometimes I know that I should not really be contemplating a purchase as it is a luxury or that I should not be spending resources wastefully, come the last minute or so before the auction ends having placed a hopefully winning bid  the Internet has crashed or there was a power cut frustrating my intent.  Happened too many times to be just a coincidence ...

On several other occasions I have been planning to do things perhaps such as going on a short trip when every single possible obstacle has been placed in my way to frustrate me.  One particular instance was outstanding when I was intending to go away for a weekend that I could not really afford at the time.  Having booked and paid by cheque for two nights at a hotel the day after the cheque cleared my grandmother was taken ill, unfortunately she died two days later.  Her funeral was arranged, it was natural that I wished to be there.  When?  Ah yes, the second day of my trip.

The hotel was understanding allowing me to change my reservation for one a few days later.  On the evening prior to my envisaged jaunt my car was badly damaged whilst parked by a rather large truck, happily a good friend offered to lend me his for a few days.  Having collected the car from my generous donor I set off to return home late that evening only to be caught up in a police stop and check roadblock.  Requested documents were produced for inspection by the police officer, unfortunately for me the MoT certificate had expired by just one day.  The upshot of this was that I was to be charged for driving a vehicle without a current certificate whilst my friend would be done for aiding and abetting as well as permitting a vehicle to be used on the public highway without proper documentation.

Using phone a friend was pointless in the immediacy as I had charge of his only vehicle and that had been prohibited from use by the police until a legal MoT certificate was obtained.  My journey home perhaps could have been finished on foot or by public transport, the foot idea was not a brilliant one because I was about six miles from home, the public transport option was a non-starter because I had no loose change and my wallet was at home.

Deciding to risk parental wrath  I walked to the nearest public telephone box to phone my father who, it turned out, had just retired for the night.  He was not best pleased but agreed somewhat testily that he would come and rescue me particularly as by now it was raining heavily.

Well, that looked like the end of my proposed short break.  At breakfast the following morning I was offered for the first time ever use of the family car which I gratefully accepted.  Shortly afterwards I was on my way ...  This happy state of affairs however did not last very long, as I got to the end of the road the clutch cable broke.

I knew that I should not have arranged that trip, as I discovered through a spiritual minded friend a little later as did my late mother, she did not want me to go!

So, you see, apart from my previous encounters with the spirit world this left me little choice but to acknowledge such things because logically there were just too many coincidences on this occasion.  Over the years there have been many instances of outside unaccountable influences in my life, no doubt there will be more to come ...

Olympic cycle race

Settled down to watch this event this afternoon.  Good commentating team of Hugh Porter and Chris Boardman made to look absolute incompetent numpties by the computerised info system constantly crashing throughout the race.  From their studio commentary position they could only remark on what was being shown on screen live which was not very helpful - they had no access to times, gaps, group compositions or distances - what a feckin 'shambles.

The French managed to run a faultless info system at the recent Tour de France for three weeks, the Brits could not even manage it for five hours :-(

Then came the ultimate frustration for me - as the race passed Hampton Court Palace we had a tremendous local thunderstorm which totally interrupted satellite coverage of the race, not just for a few minutes but for well over half an hour only to return as the race winner was being interviewed.

On a more positive not there was an obvious difference in the actual race to that of the Tour de France, not the riders but that team radios are not permitted in the Olympic event denying any race information to the teams resulting much inaccurate guesswork concerning tactics.  There was a time when I disagreed with radios as I thought that it was unsporting but having watched part of  a race without such technology it surely is time to introduce team radios for the 2016 Games.

Further passengering tales ...

Still in my first season, 1962, with Jim Spencely as my driver.  Having ‘signed’ an entry form as my ‘Parent/Guardian’ for the Easter Monday meeting at Crystal Palace we duly presented ourselves for signing on and the bike for scrutineering.  There was some debate between the scroots and ourselves as to whether the nuts and bolts securing the sidecar to the bike should be lockwired or not, neither Jim nor myself had ever heard of this before and naturally we objected, in the nicest possible way of course because upsetting scroots is not necessarily a good thing.

After much discussion and no resolution apparently in the offing the chief scrutineer eventually to see what was holding up the queue.  Our pet scroot ‘picturized’ as the Yanks say before we could get a word in on our behalf.  Further deliberation before the boss suggested that the ACU Handbook be consulted for a definitive answer.  Much page turning and hypothesising later it was decided that there was no mention of such anywhere in the rules and therefore our bike should be passed OK.  Further weight was added to our argument in that several other similar outfits had been passed by other scrutineers without comment, we were unlucky to have picked who had either got out of the wrong side of the bed that morning or who was naturally bolshy!

Off we went for practice, neither of us had been on the circuit before although I had marshalled there on a number of occasions.  At that time the paddock was between North and South Tower corners on the inside of the circuit, the start/finish line also between those two bends. First a slight left into the first right hander then swoop downhill through The Glade which was tree lined throughout its whole length and invariably a little slippery because of overhanging trees.  I was uncertain as to whether the straw bales in various places there were to protect the trees from the bikes or vice versa!

Near the end was a gentle right leading onto the straight opposite the athletics track and swimming pool before a fast well cambered right named Ramp Bend which invariably became flooded on the apex in heavy rain, onto the Annerley Ramp, an uphill fast run with a quick but slight left/right before the final corner.  It was only after practice when I walked to the bridge over the Ramp that I was horrified, the whole thing was like a roofless tunnel with steep banks either side and no run-off at all, the banks were faced with old railway sleepers all the way up, definitely not a place to have even a moment let alone an off!

Two races in the afternoon in reasonable weather for Easter, seem to recall that we ended up mid-field in both without any scares or mishaps.  From that day I just loved the Palace despite the obvious safety hazards, there was such a warm atmosphere in the paddock that I always enjoyed racing there so much so that it is still one of my favourite circuits.

Later in the year we did what I thought were some slightly odd races as Jim had this unaccountable wanderlust preferring to travel far afield rather than race at the usual southern circuits.  Bearing in mind that there were no motorways apart from the initial bit of the M6 travel was relatively slow as main trunk roads then passed through many towns with their associated congestion.  This lack of fast travel was not helped by our race transporter as it would be known today, a Bedford CA Dormobile van with the luxury of a three speed gearbox and accompanying trailer.

At that time it was naturally uncommon for many crews to travel far from their own areas to race with the exception of the well known National teams for National/International races.  We were an exception and travelled to places that I had never previously heard of such as Silloth (right up on the Cumberland coast), Llandow in deepest South Wales (before the first Severn Bridge was built), Perton or Purton somewhere in the Worcesteshire/Staffordshire region, Castle Combe and Cadwell Park.

Purton (sic) was a revelation to me, it was an old wartime RAF airfield which did not seem to have any maintenance or repairs done since the cessation of hostilities in 1945.  After just one meeting there my chest was black and blue from lying on the chair along the start/finish straight.  Well, I say straight in the loosest sense of the word as the post-war neglect had particularly left that part of the circuit liberally peppered with an assortment of potholes, ruts and bumps almost worthy of a motocross venue.  Drivers had two options on the ‘straight’, either hold a straight line risking possible structural damage to the bike as well as bodily harm to their passengers or attempt to weave between the obstacles  risking potential collisions with those pursuing similar tactics!

Towards the end of that season I was to marshal at a Silverstone Bemsee meet on the club circuit, as always I had slung leathers etc into my sidecar just in case someone needed a last minute passenger.  For those not familiar with the old Silverstone club circuit it was very simple in layout, startline, into Copse then the flat out left of Maggots into the acute Becketts then along the Club Straight, round Woodcote and start another lap. 

The only two corners of any merit for me were the two rights of Copse and Woodcote, especially the former as it was as demanding and sometimes scary as it ever is today.  One extra part was almost an essential on the bike, well actually in the sidecar nose for the Club circuit, that of an alarm clock to awaken the passenger at the end of the Club Straight which just seemed to go on for ever, a bit like the old Norwich Straight at Snetterton. 

I was about sign on in the marshal’s hut when I heard that a driver was unexpectedly short of a passenger so instead I took myself off to Race Control who tannoyed a message for that driver.  Only a few moments later an expectant looking face appeared in leathers and I was introduced to Steve from Dagenham.  Having bade my fellow marshals farewell I followed Steve to the paddock where I was introduced to his parents and sister, even more importantly to the outfit.  It was his first season of racing,  his bike was an ex Bill Boddice Manx framed machine of unknown vintage now fitted with a Triumph engine and BSA RR2T gearbox.

A good look around showed me one or two odd things about the bike particularly that there were obvious frame repairs in odd places but that did not overly bother me.  Another odd thing was a petrol tap of the lever variety at the bottom leading edge of the sidecar wheel arch but more of that shortly ...

Practice passed smoothly enough and showed me that Steve was one of the last of the late brakers but I remained undaunted.  Back in the paddock His mum provided breakfast, a truly magnificent assemblage for which she was justifiably renowned in the form of a huge chunk of French bread filled with eggs, bacon, tomatoes, sausage, fried bread and mushrooms, truly a magical feast!  

First race, full grid of thirty, flag dropped and away we went from about the third row.  We had dropped a couple of places into Copse, it seemed as though the entire grid had bunched up into an almost solid melée with much paint swapping and hasty avoiding action, all great stuff!  Safely through there I eased out for the flat out Maggots curve, back in again and over the back ready for Becketts.  As Steve changed down a couple of gears the bike spluttered and died, we pulled up safely off line.  Above the noise of passing outfits Steve was shouting something at me and gesticulating towards the sidecar wheel arch, suddenly the penny dropped.  Without realising it I had managed to catch the petrol tap with leathers somewhere around Maggots and turned the wretched thing off, hence our unexpected stop.

Tap on again, pull back onto compression, a few steps and back on board to rejoin the fray, miraculously we were still not stone cold last as we headed off own the Club Straight.  The trip down there this time was even longer because we had a standing start from Becketts so much so that the alarm clock was needed more than ever before.  

Next lap on the same straight I was down on the floor pondering the meaning of life when for no reason I glanced up to my right.  To my immense surprise and shock I actually saw the left top tube of the frame part somewhere near the middle, immediately I tapped my driver and pointed at the break.   He sort of shrugged, smiled and we continued on our merry way.  Having noticed several odd frame repairs earlier in the day it would be safe to say that my mind was not at any particular state of ease.

We continued on our way, chequered flag time and back to the paddock.  Steve seemed pleased with efforts, fuel tap issue notwithstanding and asked if I would step in for next season as his current ballast was retiring at the end of the season.  Having just witnessed a bike literally breaking up as we were racing the idea did not appeal to me remotely and I was just about decline his generous offer with the thought that it was little wonder that his regular passenger, Geoff, was retiring.  Before I could reply he added that he was having a new chassis built for next season, a JSR by the legendary character, welder and driver Jack Rooke.  That changed the whole offer so I agreed there and then.

This offer was very welcome as Jim had told me a few days before that he would be retiring at the end of the season due to a serious ear problem.  That he had any hearing or other aural problems was news to me, my enquiry as to the exact nature of this affliction was met with the response that his wife was insisting, even demanding, that he quit racing for good as she was not happy that her sitting and dining rooms had been stripped of wallpaper some five years previously and were still awaiting new wallpaper.  It is only fair to point out that Jim worked as a builder and decorator!

So that ended my first season of racing as a passenger still without my father’s knowledge.  Enjoyed?  No, absolutely loved it, the biggest buzz ever and the best thing that I had ever done.  Roll on next season ...