Still not a request or command, thank you! The number of semi-intelligent programmes seems to be declining almost weekly in favour of populist, audience grabbing reality shows, daft game shows where the ability not to answer questions correctly but to be falsely over enthusiastic is paramount, endless antiques Trash in the Attic/Bargain Hunt facsimiles and those devoted to buying, selling &/or auctioning property type offerings. What on earth has happened to sensible and intelligent programming on the nation's television channels?
Due to the ever burgeoning Murdoch empire terrestrial broadcasting has lost cricket, most rugby matches, much motorsport and many other sporting fixtures. It is understood from friends that there is some intelligent and informative programming produced and available through Sky TV such as the History and Discovery channels etc. Due to the dearth of what we consider reasonable programmes on terrestrial channels we have reached a decision that we have always said would never be taken by us - finally we have subscribed to to Sky Sports and Knowledge channels. Sky certainly does offer things to interest and entertain us especially during the winter months when our local community hibernates.
In one way I can grudgingly offer a mite of thanks to Murdoch for these programmes but in another I say 'Damn Murdoch' for his overarching greed and desire to dominate world media!
An occasional rambling of unrelated events, thoughts and trivia ... Please feel free to leave comments as you wish!
Wednesday, 2 February 2011
Friday, 28 January 2011
Economic woes and despair
As a war baby I grew up in an era of rationing and shortages but it was largely a happy time, as I recall, only marred by the premature death of my mother. Finally in the early fifties the last vestiges of rationing ceased with sweets and bread freely available. The country and economy was prospering and blooming as disposable income grew. It grew to the point that in the early sixties the then Prime Minister Harold Macmillan, aka 'Supermac', famously declared in an election campaign that "you've never had it so good".
From that perceived highlight of postwar Britain it was only a few short years until 1964 when the Labour Prime Minister Harold Wilson who was under great economic and political pressure devalued the pound sterling by twenty five per cent overnight whilst proudly proclaiming that the pound in your pocket was still worth one pound. From thereon it was on the slippery slope to 1967 and the 'Sunny' Jim Callaghan administration where interest rates soared to an astonishing twenty seven per cent and the country was under the rigid control of the International Monetary Fund, suffering all manner of harsh industrial action and social deprivations.
The country gradually clawed its way out of this economic and social hell with yet another change of government, this time led by Ted Heath only to disappoint as further economic woes followed shortly and he was replaced by Margaret Thatcher. She was but a humble grocer's daughter from middle England, trained as an industrial chemist and thus apparently eminently qualified to oversee UK plc and its people.
Thatcher wanted change and espoused the theory of monetarism as propounded by one Alan Walters, not an elected representative of the people but a 'personal adviser' to her. His vision of the future was enthusiastically implemented by the Iron Lady with wholesale privatisations, the destruction of British industry, the emasculation of trades unions and ever greater political divides between right and left political factions. All on the whole proudly proclaimed claimed as progress towards a more equitable society.
Suddenly there was another national economic crisis in the early eighties leading to yet another damaging and divisive recession from which the country slowly and gradually staggered to recovery. All this economic, social and personal misery gradually gave way to an air of quiet optimism fromthe political masters and population in general. Only a short ten years later there was yet another damaging recession which to some extent caused Thatcher's downfall and the election of the much promising John Major. Unfortunately like many of his predecessors he promised much and returned very little positive outcome, in fact yet another triumph of aspiration over reality.
Eventually the country at large grew disenchanted with right wing politics and elected a new and seemingly bright shining star, Tony Blair. Under his patronage came a new Chancellor of the Exchequer who reigned for some ten years or so promising the end of the boom and bust cycle for the British economy, a truly Utopian ideal.
You do not need to guess what comes next do you? That's right, yet another recession under Brown's stewardship of the nation's finances and then as Prime Minister. Not just any ordinary recession but one of hugely destructive proportions nationally but globally due to the coincidence of financial meltdown in America. This latest economic holocaust was generally deemed to be as bad if not worse than the Great Depression some eighty odd years previously.
If governments are to be believed then currently things are gradually improving and within a few years all in the garden will be rosy again. The question inevitably is for how long this time? From all of the commonly available indicators it is looking increasingly likely that a further recessionary period is imminent despite political reassurances as to the contrary.
It should be pointed out that this is not intended in any way shape or form as a political rant decrying one wing of political dogma in favour of another, hopefully this is an objective and apolitical comment.
The principal question that all of the foregoing raises, apart from why should ordinary citizens continually and cyclically suffer the misery and despair that these economic upheavals bring, It is more than blindingly obvious that the current and pre-existing regimes do not work, they are totally dysfunctional. Other systems have been tried and largely failed, witness communism in all of its various manifestations, dictatorships of various degrees and brutality, in fact it would seem that most political systems are at best ineffective and somewhat lackiing in respect of the wishes and aspirations of ordinary people, the very people that in many cases have placed these machines in power!
My whole life has been subjected to these violent, disturbing politcal and economic forces never much more than a decade apart. The impact just on my own financial, social life and work has been enormous in many cases totally negating any attempt at some form of planning for the future to bring security and stability to my little world. Multiply this effect to include the entire population and the effects made and it must truly devastating on a national scale. Obviously the macro economic situation suffers even worse.
There must be, surely there has to be a better way then the seemingly never ending seesawing, roller coaster cycle which bedeviled the last century and would seem to be about to promulgate more of the same for this epoc. Please do not ask what I foresee as a new way forward to a new world, there are far superior intellects in life who cannot devise a suitable solution. What is certain that the old ways have failed and that change is sorely needed.
There is a quote that comes to mind that 'Britain is the mother of all parliaments', by very extension surely it is therefore the home of democracy. If this be the case then perhaps Britain should look to the past, learn from history and return democracy to where it belongs in the very hands of its citizens because apart from every general election democracy is blatantly ignored by those in power who were put ther by the people. Perhaps it is time time to remind those in power that they hold that very power to carry out the wishes of the people, not for those in power to force the people to fulfill their political aims and ideals.
From that perceived highlight of postwar Britain it was only a few short years until 1964 when the Labour Prime Minister Harold Wilson who was under great economic and political pressure devalued the pound sterling by twenty five per cent overnight whilst proudly proclaiming that the pound in your pocket was still worth one pound. From thereon it was on the slippery slope to 1967 and the 'Sunny' Jim Callaghan administration where interest rates soared to an astonishing twenty seven per cent and the country was under the rigid control of the International Monetary Fund, suffering all manner of harsh industrial action and social deprivations.
The country gradually clawed its way out of this economic and social hell with yet another change of government, this time led by Ted Heath only to disappoint as further economic woes followed shortly and he was replaced by Margaret Thatcher. She was but a humble grocer's daughter from middle England, trained as an industrial chemist and thus apparently eminently qualified to oversee UK plc and its people.
Thatcher wanted change and espoused the theory of monetarism as propounded by one Alan Walters, not an elected representative of the people but a 'personal adviser' to her. His vision of the future was enthusiastically implemented by the Iron Lady with wholesale privatisations, the destruction of British industry, the emasculation of trades unions and ever greater political divides between right and left political factions. All on the whole proudly proclaimed claimed as progress towards a more equitable society.
Suddenly there was another national economic crisis in the early eighties leading to yet another damaging and divisive recession from which the country slowly and gradually staggered to recovery. All this economic, social and personal misery gradually gave way to an air of quiet optimism fromthe political masters and population in general. Only a short ten years later there was yet another damaging recession which to some extent caused Thatcher's downfall and the election of the much promising John Major. Unfortunately like many of his predecessors he promised much and returned very little positive outcome, in fact yet another triumph of aspiration over reality.
Eventually the country at large grew disenchanted with right wing politics and elected a new and seemingly bright shining star, Tony Blair. Under his patronage came a new Chancellor of the Exchequer who reigned for some ten years or so promising the end of the boom and bust cycle for the British economy, a truly Utopian ideal.
You do not need to guess what comes next do you? That's right, yet another recession under Brown's stewardship of the nation's finances and then as Prime Minister. Not just any ordinary recession but one of hugely destructive proportions nationally but globally due to the coincidence of financial meltdown in America. This latest economic holocaust was generally deemed to be as bad if not worse than the Great Depression some eighty odd years previously.
If governments are to be believed then currently things are gradually improving and within a few years all in the garden will be rosy again. The question inevitably is for how long this time? From all of the commonly available indicators it is looking increasingly likely that a further recessionary period is imminent despite political reassurances as to the contrary.
It should be pointed out that this is not intended in any way shape or form as a political rant decrying one wing of political dogma in favour of another, hopefully this is an objective and apolitical comment.
The principal question that all of the foregoing raises, apart from why should ordinary citizens continually and cyclically suffer the misery and despair that these economic upheavals bring, It is more than blindingly obvious that the current and pre-existing regimes do not work, they are totally dysfunctional. Other systems have been tried and largely failed, witness communism in all of its various manifestations, dictatorships of various degrees and brutality, in fact it would seem that most political systems are at best ineffective and somewhat lackiing in respect of the wishes and aspirations of ordinary people, the very people that in many cases have placed these machines in power!
My whole life has been subjected to these violent, disturbing politcal and economic forces never much more than a decade apart. The impact just on my own financial, social life and work has been enormous in many cases totally negating any attempt at some form of planning for the future to bring security and stability to my little world. Multiply this effect to include the entire population and the effects made and it must truly devastating on a national scale. Obviously the macro economic situation suffers even worse.
There must be, surely there has to be a better way then the seemingly never ending seesawing, roller coaster cycle which bedeviled the last century and would seem to be about to promulgate more of the same for this epoc. Please do not ask what I foresee as a new way forward to a new world, there are far superior intellects in life who cannot devise a suitable solution. What is certain that the old ways have failed and that change is sorely needed.
There is a quote that comes to mind that 'Britain is the mother of all parliaments', by very extension surely it is therefore the home of democracy. If this be the case then perhaps Britain should look to the past, learn from history and return democracy to where it belongs in the very hands of its citizens because apart from every general election democracy is blatantly ignored by those in power who were put ther by the people. Perhaps it is time time to remind those in power that they hold that very power to carry out the wishes of the people, not for those in power to force the people to fulfill their political aims and ideals.
Wednesday, 26 January 2011
English or French?
No, not a choice of restaurant or wine but a state of mind. Having lived in rural southwest France now for six years the thought occasionally passes as to whether I consider myself to be English or French. Having lived in England for almost sixty years before we came here I never questioned as to my thoughts on such matters except that occasionally there was a slight hint of being European in an odd sort of way.
The relatively few years spent here, only ten per cent or so of my life, have gone very quickly, possibly because everything is new with so much to learn and experience in a totally different culture to that of my previous life. Obviously a major change is language something which was and still is challenging but I have adapted and learnt and am able now to converse, read and write fairly fluently, thanks in great part to our local community who are very tolerant of English idiots trying to speak French.
Gradually it became apparent that there were many other differences between the two cultures which it was essential to understand if only to make life as uncomplicated as it needed to be. One major difference is the French lunch hour, well, two or three hours in most instances, except for hypermarkets, everywhere shuts for lunch. Sunday shopping is almost unknown over here and is still treated as a special day of the week where families and friends get together. Some degree of personal change was need to find these shopping hours not inconvenient but it just took a little foresight and planning on my part.
Another difference is in eating habits and diet, we now eat much more fresh meat, fruit and vegetables because much of the produce is locally sourced and grown. Along with this change came the delight of occasionally eating out and discovering new dishes and ingredients which we have espoused wholeheartedly. In short we now eat better, more healthily and more cheaply than we ever did before and buy very little processed or ready meals. Wine, oh yes, wine! There are several excellent wine growing areas locally, some of international renown, all producing superb wines at prices we could only dream of before!
Generally the local people are very polite and friendly, polite and welcoming even if somewhat slow to become friends - that is nothing personal but the way that things are done around here. Whether in shops or in our village people always greet with a warm 'Bonjour', even strangers will do so. There is no reluctance to make eye contact or to exchange smiles in passing something which was found yo be totally alien back there.
I could go on and on about differences and the way that my life has changed in the past few years but I shall not. Again I ask the the question as to whether I am English or French, the reply is an unequivocal 'FRENGLISH'!
The relatively few years spent here, only ten per cent or so of my life, have gone very quickly, possibly because everything is new with so much to learn and experience in a totally different culture to that of my previous life. Obviously a major change is language something which was and still is challenging but I have adapted and learnt and am able now to converse, read and write fairly fluently, thanks in great part to our local community who are very tolerant of English idiots trying to speak French.
Gradually it became apparent that there were many other differences between the two cultures which it was essential to understand if only to make life as uncomplicated as it needed to be. One major difference is the French lunch hour, well, two or three hours in most instances, except for hypermarkets, everywhere shuts for lunch. Sunday shopping is almost unknown over here and is still treated as a special day of the week where families and friends get together. Some degree of personal change was need to find these shopping hours not inconvenient but it just took a little foresight and planning on my part.
Another difference is in eating habits and diet, we now eat much more fresh meat, fruit and vegetables because much of the produce is locally sourced and grown. Along with this change came the delight of occasionally eating out and discovering new dishes and ingredients which we have espoused wholeheartedly. In short we now eat better, more healthily and more cheaply than we ever did before and buy very little processed or ready meals. Wine, oh yes, wine! There are several excellent wine growing areas locally, some of international renown, all producing superb wines at prices we could only dream of before!
Generally the local people are very polite and friendly, polite and welcoming even if somewhat slow to become friends - that is nothing personal but the way that things are done around here. Whether in shops or in our village people always greet with a warm 'Bonjour', even strangers will do so. There is no reluctance to make eye contact or to exchange smiles in passing something which was found yo be totally alien back there.
I could go on and on about differences and the way that my life has changed in the past few years but I shall not. Again I ask the the question as to whether I am English or French, the reply is an unequivocal 'FRENGLISH'!
Friday, 14 January 2011
Scientific breakthrough
Some years ago I visited Black's Outdoor Store in High Holborn to buy some tent pegs and a few other bits and pieces and noticed in the backpacking section a great selection of dehydrated foods. It is obvious why such things appeal to backpacker fraternity because the heaviest item to carry is water especially in tins of prepared food. One item that struck me as a superb idea were packets of dehydrated water weighing virtually nothing but containing all the necessary salts and minerals to make a good quality drinking water.
The instructions were quite simple: empty contents of packet into a two pint saucepan or billy, add one and three quarter pints of water, bring to the boil stirring occasionally. Let simmer for three minutes and you will have a litre of perfectly good drinking water. Simples!
Later that evening at the weekly TOMCC meet in the depths of Epping Forest I told some clubmates about this new product who were fascinated by the idea, so much so that one intimated that he would visit a local branch of that shop and buy some!
Thursday, 13 January 2011
Australian Floods
The live images carried by the media of the devastating floods in Queensland make for terrifying viewing and thanks that it is not us in that awful situation. My thoughts are with them and a desire to help in some way rendered totally impotent by distance and logistics. Hopefully most people will be covered by insurance but for the unprotected they are left in a truly desperate situation.
This led me to ponder if any of the insurers may reject claims because they are seen as ‘an act of God’. No doubt some may try to abdicate responsibility by means of this dubious subterfuge but hopefully not.
My musings wandered further to wondering whether this counter claim would be rejected by atheists, after all if there is no over-arching being then how can such devastation be deemed an act of God? Perhaps if challenged it may lead to a potentially interesting court case and what might be the possible outcome.
The mind, as it it is wont to do, continued this train of thought a little further. It is obviously true to say that advertising a product sells that product because without that publicity the product would remain unknown. Any such advertising is obviously at the behest of the manufacturer or creator who wishes to maximise the potential return on their efforts. One source of publicity is by endorsement, not by celebrities, but by satisfied users who are prepared to say the goods do exactly what it says on the tin.
If, as some believe, there is an omnipresent deity then why does this entity not advertise personally rather than have others espousing the cause by proxy? An even better endorsement would be if a satisfied user were to return from the ultimate destination of their faith and proclaim loud and long that the product does indeed work.
I for one have yet to see nor hear of any such claim in the face of which I shall be vehemently challenging any claim of an act of God that may come my way ...
Wednesday, 12 January 2011
Her Majety's Royal Mail
Before Xmas Her Majesty's Royal mail warned that there might be slight delays in delivered due to inclement weather. Yesterday a package arrived from Kent by 1st class mail that was posted on 8 December, today another, 1st class again, posted on 3 December from Hertfordshire. Naturally I checked with the senders of these items and all assured that they had indeed been sent. Next step was to check with La Poste who assured me that any delay was due to their UK counterparts. Even given my slightly impaired mobility I could have walked here with both of those packages in considerably less time.
Have been on the phone to Royal Mail today to complain bitterly about their utter ineptitude and hopefully to find out what the hell is going on over there. Having been referred and transferred any number of times to the 'right department' I was finally told that they are not responsible as I am an overseas recipient and as such they have no liability for delays, losses etc.
There is the makings of a bill going through Parliament today to privatise the Royal Mail, mercifully so I believe. What a totally inept, incompetent shower of tossers they are. I never ever thought that I would say these words 'Roll on privatisation'.
Have been on the phone to Royal Mail today to complain bitterly about their utter ineptitude and hopefully to find out what the hell is going on over there. Having been referred and transferred any number of times to the 'right department' I was finally told that they are not responsible as I am an overseas recipient and as such they have no liability for delays, losses etc.
There is the makings of a bill going through Parliament today to privatise the Royal Mail, mercifully so I believe. What a totally inept, incompetent shower of tossers they are. I never ever thought that I would say these words 'Roll on privatisation'.
Sunday, 2 January 2011
Apropos of my last post
Mark Twain once said of the New Year, "Now is the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual."
Happy New Year - everyone!
Happy New Year - everyone!
Saturday, 1 January 2011
New Year and all that ...
As perhaps many do at this time of year I'v been thinking at odd moments about New Year, what is it and why? Obviously it is the beginning of another year, time marches on relentlessly and it is obviously such an important event for many folk to celebrate in whichever way that they may choose.
When I was a lad and then a callow youth living in England I could never understand the fuss that the Scots made about it, even less comprehend the traditional television broadcasts of Moira Stewart, Jimmy Shand and His Band etc. As for the odd practices such as knocking on stranger's doors after midnight and offering them coal that was just too much! Even after my teens the turn of the year was insignificant to me except that I thought it rather unfair that those north of the border had a Bank Holiday that we sassenachs did not enjoy.
Later it became the 'in thing' to receive invitations to parties from family and friends which were accepted as part of the social scene and not wishing to become a pariah. There is only one New Year's Eve that I found particularly enjoyable at a bash given by friends from a motorcycle club, otherwise I was left generally unmoved.
So why this personal indifference? Well, the whole party thing of being with some folk that you know and like as well as probably many others who do not fit into that category can be a bit of a trial, too crowded, music not necessarily to taste and invariably too loud as to make any normal conversation at best difficult, excessive alcohol consumption and all that goes with it and finally trying to hold a glass on one hand, a paper plate of assorted bits and pieces in the other and always a paucity of seating. Me a grump? Quite possibly ...
Recent years for us the revels have changed, usually a quite evening with or at friends homes culminating in sincere greetings at the witching hour all round. there is never any pressure to stay until sillyo'clock in the morning, guests leave as they wish. Best bit is that the Auld Lang Syne thing does not rear it's ugly head
at all.
So what else does the turn of the year mean? It makes think back of what has passed, good times, bad times, new friends made and others no longer with us. There is a forward looking aspect too in trying unsuccessfully to divine what the forthcoming months may bring and reveal, more an exercise of hope and futility in a way. As for resolutions that idea was forsaken many years ago except for one and that is always broken as soon as it has been made. What is it, oh yes, the resolution not to make any more resolutions! See what I mean? Broken as soon as made.
What I suppose I am saying is that I am content to celebrate in my own way, some may say curmudgeonly, but that is my choice!
When I was a lad and then a callow youth living in England I could never understand the fuss that the Scots made about it, even less comprehend the traditional television broadcasts of Moira Stewart, Jimmy Shand and His Band etc. As for the odd practices such as knocking on stranger's doors after midnight and offering them coal that was just too much! Even after my teens the turn of the year was insignificant to me except that I thought it rather unfair that those north of the border had a Bank Holiday that we sassenachs did not enjoy.
Later it became the 'in thing' to receive invitations to parties from family and friends which were accepted as part of the social scene and not wishing to become a pariah. There is only one New Year's Eve that I found particularly enjoyable at a bash given by friends from a motorcycle club, otherwise I was left generally unmoved.
So why this personal indifference? Well, the whole party thing of being with some folk that you know and like as well as probably many others who do not fit into that category can be a bit of a trial, too crowded, music not necessarily to taste and invariably too loud as to make any normal conversation at best difficult, excessive alcohol consumption and all that goes with it and finally trying to hold a glass on one hand, a paper plate of assorted bits and pieces in the other and always a paucity of seating. Me a grump? Quite possibly ...
Recent years for us the revels have changed, usually a quite evening with or at friends homes culminating in sincere greetings at the witching hour all round. there is never any pressure to stay until sillyo'clock in the morning, guests leave as they wish. Best bit is that the Auld Lang Syne thing does not rear it's ugly head
at all.
So what else does the turn of the year mean? It makes think back of what has passed, good times, bad times, new friends made and others no longer with us. There is a forward looking aspect too in trying unsuccessfully to divine what the forthcoming months may bring and reveal, more an exercise of hope and futility in a way. As for resolutions that idea was forsaken many years ago except for one and that is always broken as soon as it has been made. What is it, oh yes, the resolution not to make any more resolutions! See what I mean? Broken as soon as made.
What I suppose I am saying is that I am content to celebrate in my own way, some may say curmudgeonly, but that is my choice!
Thursday, 30 December 2010
Spooky - or what?
Some say that flirting with unknown forces may be dangerous, others that there are no such things and that it is a matter of individual choice as to whether such things exist or not as well as to become involved or not with such. From this rather vague opening remark it is hoped to relate a personal experience of strange and maybe unexplained events. Please bear with me ...
One Tuesday evening in mid-March we were using a Ouija board at home, this was not the first occasion as it had been used many times before. After a number of inconsequential contacts through the board a very positive one was made, this one eventually gave his name as 'Pa'. Seemingly at first nothing remotely unusual in that many men over the years had been known as Pa by family and friends. When asked "Pa who?" there was a response of "Norton". Now the name of Pa Norton definitely meant something as he was the founder of the Norton motorcycle manufacturers in the early twentieth century. Just for those who do not know me I have been involved with motorcycles in one way or another for over almost sixty years now, they are an abiding passion.
It just so happened that only a few weeks before we had bought a Norton racing sidecar with the idea of racing it, what else? The morning after this Ouija board session we were off to Snetterton circuit in Norfolk for a practice day for a shakedown for us and the bike.
Back to the Tuesday evening - our next request for any message was met very quickly and vigorously with the planchette speeding from letter to letter spelling out D-A-N-G-E-R. The next message was C-A-U-T-I-O-N and that was the end of contact with Pa Norton.
The outfit had been stripped and rebuilt by us over the previous weeks with any necessary work carried out and we were happy that we had not missed anything at all. The Wednesday morning found us at the circuit, after preliminary safety checks and warming up the engine we went onto the track for some exploratory laps to get used to the machine and satisfy ourselves that there was nothing amiss. Returning to the paddock various checks and minor adjustments were made, fuel topped up and off we went again with the idea of improving lap times. Having completed half a dozen laps or so top engine revs were being used on the faster parts of the circuit and our times were falling. Crossing the start/finish line something suddenly felt different about the handling of the outfit, probably imagination. Near the apex of the next corner, a right hander, it became apparent that it was not in my mind, there was definitely something wrong as the bike wanted to go straight on rather than turn, the effort involved just to stay on tarmac was huge. After what seemed an eternity we got onto the straight and pulled off. Quick inspection showed nothing significant, no puncture apparent which was the obvious possible fault so slowly we returned to the paddock. After a quick discussion the fairing was removed and a thorough check begun particularly around the steering and front forks where the fault was obvious - the brazed joints of the frame to the steering head were all cracked, thus the difficult steering. Presumably the fault was either due to poor brazing which was unlikely as the frame etc around that area was original factory brazes or caused by a previous crash unknown to us. That was that then, unfortunately an abrupt end to any further testing and a visit the next day to the man with the brazing torch.
Pa Norton was right that there was danger, the end result could have been very serious for us both. As far as strange forces are concerned there is little personal choice but to accept that such things certainly exist and something for which I am more than grateful.
Maybe a little more in this vein may follow ...
One Tuesday evening in mid-March we were using a Ouija board at home, this was not the first occasion as it had been used many times before. After a number of inconsequential contacts through the board a very positive one was made, this one eventually gave his name as 'Pa'. Seemingly at first nothing remotely unusual in that many men over the years had been known as Pa by family and friends. When asked "Pa who?" there was a response of "Norton". Now the name of Pa Norton definitely meant something as he was the founder of the Norton motorcycle manufacturers in the early twentieth century. Just for those who do not know me I have been involved with motorcycles in one way or another for over almost sixty years now, they are an abiding passion.
It just so happened that only a few weeks before we had bought a Norton racing sidecar with the idea of racing it, what else? The morning after this Ouija board session we were off to Snetterton circuit in Norfolk for a practice day for a shakedown for us and the bike.
Back to the Tuesday evening - our next request for any message was met very quickly and vigorously with the planchette speeding from letter to letter spelling out D-A-N-G-E-R. The next message was C-A-U-T-I-O-N and that was the end of contact with Pa Norton.
The outfit had been stripped and rebuilt by us over the previous weeks with any necessary work carried out and we were happy that we had not missed anything at all. The Wednesday morning found us at the circuit, after preliminary safety checks and warming up the engine we went onto the track for some exploratory laps to get used to the machine and satisfy ourselves that there was nothing amiss. Returning to the paddock various checks and minor adjustments were made, fuel topped up and off we went again with the idea of improving lap times. Having completed half a dozen laps or so top engine revs were being used on the faster parts of the circuit and our times were falling. Crossing the start/finish line something suddenly felt different about the handling of the outfit, probably imagination. Near the apex of the next corner, a right hander, it became apparent that it was not in my mind, there was definitely something wrong as the bike wanted to go straight on rather than turn, the effort involved just to stay on tarmac was huge. After what seemed an eternity we got onto the straight and pulled off. Quick inspection showed nothing significant, no puncture apparent which was the obvious possible fault so slowly we returned to the paddock. After a quick discussion the fairing was removed and a thorough check begun particularly around the steering and front forks where the fault was obvious - the brazed joints of the frame to the steering head were all cracked, thus the difficult steering. Presumably the fault was either due to poor brazing which was unlikely as the frame etc around that area was original factory brazes or caused by a previous crash unknown to us. That was that then, unfortunately an abrupt end to any further testing and a visit the next day to the man with the brazing torch.
Pa Norton was right that there was danger, the end result could have been very serious for us both. As far as strange forces are concerned there is little personal choice but to accept that such things certainly exist and something for which I am more than grateful.
Maybe a little more in this vein may follow ...
Thursday, 23 December 2010
Nothing really ...
Haven't written anything since last Saturday for a couple of reasons: the first that there appears to be a severe attack of writer's block ongoing making it difficult for the creative juices to flow especcially about nothing; the second is that until yesterday there was no Interweb connection from my provider due to difficulties occasioned by the extreme weather in the north of the country. Admittedly that we live only some two hundred miles away from the Spanish border and that as the more astute will realise is nowhere near the northern part of the country but my provider's central distribution is, just outside Paris in fact. Now all is restored to normal service - thankfully!
It is only when something that is taken for granted and then taken away that the realisation comes of how important that now missing something is, in this instant t'Interweb. Instead of being absorbed with assorted forae, emails and other diversions there suddenly was this yawning great chasm each day of just so many hours to fill. Too cold to go out into the workshop not spend time outside in any other way, thankfully the portent of Christmas intervened in some measure with joyful hours passed in various retail establishments whilst gathering sustenance for the festival and last minute gifts. Even more thankfully during the course of these forays there is always a welcoming café for a decent coffee and a browse of the newspaper.
An idea occurred whilst in one of the huge hypermarkets arising from the presence of créche facilities for harrassed mothers with youngsters to safely deposit kids and shop unhindered, why not have a grown-up créche for husbands where wives can safely leave t'other half and likewise enjoy unhindered retail therapy. requirements could really be quite modest for such an establishment, decent coffee or beer, comfortable easy chairs, a selection of suitable reading material, television showing a variety of programmes and of course appropriate staff for such a place. Now how many men would be only too happy to go shopping given such inducements? Me for one ...
Amazing isn't it? Set out to write nothing and what happens? A further outpouring of assorted, miscellaneous drivel! Oh well, back to the concept of creating nothing ...
It is only when something that is taken for granted and then taken away that the realisation comes of how important that now missing something is, in this instant t'Interweb. Instead of being absorbed with assorted forae, emails and other diversions there suddenly was this yawning great chasm each day of just so many hours to fill. Too cold to go out into the workshop not spend time outside in any other way, thankfully the portent of Christmas intervened in some measure with joyful hours passed in various retail establishments whilst gathering sustenance for the festival and last minute gifts. Even more thankfully during the course of these forays there is always a welcoming café for a decent coffee and a browse of the newspaper.
An idea occurred whilst in one of the huge hypermarkets arising from the presence of créche facilities for harrassed mothers with youngsters to safely deposit kids and shop unhindered, why not have a grown-up créche for husbands where wives can safely leave t'other half and likewise enjoy unhindered retail therapy. requirements could really be quite modest for such an establishment, decent coffee or beer, comfortable easy chairs, a selection of suitable reading material, television showing a variety of programmes and of course appropriate staff for such a place. Now how many men would be only too happy to go shopping given such inducements? Me for one ...
Amazing isn't it? Set out to write nothing and what happens? A further outpouring of assorted, miscellaneous drivel! Oh well, back to the concept of creating nothing ...
Saturday, 18 December 2010
Driving advice
Heard on Sky News this morning from a driving expert from the AA - "If your car gets stuck then use the floor mats under the wheels to gain traction and get under way again".
Great advice, unless you think about it. A rubber tyre on ice has little traction as we all know, a tyre on a mat will have greater traction than on ice, obvious ennit? Now interpose said mat between tyre and ice and try to drive off . Assuming that the scheme works and you are moving then how do you retrieve the mat? Obvious, stop, get out put mat back in car and drive away. Ah, problem - no grip so get out put mat under wheel again ... ad infinitum.
Reality - tyre grips mat which slips on ice thus propelling it rearwards at some rate of knots into the air landing down the road a few yards. If everyone tried this the road would look like a demonstration of flying carpets in Baghdad :lol:
Great theory but it does not work. How do I know? Just trust me on this one ...
Great advice, unless you think about it. A rubber tyre on ice has little traction as we all know, a tyre on a mat will have greater traction than on ice, obvious ennit? Now interpose said mat between tyre and ice and try to drive off . Assuming that the scheme works and you are moving then how do you retrieve the mat? Obvious, stop, get out put mat back in car and drive away. Ah, problem - no grip so get out put mat under wheel again ... ad infinitum.
Reality - tyre grips mat which slips on ice thus propelling it rearwards at some rate of knots into the air landing down the road a few yards. If everyone tried this the road would look like a demonstration of flying carpets in Baghdad :lol:
Great theory but it does not work. How do I know? Just trust me on this one ...
Tuesday, 30 November 2010
'Ello, 'Ello, 'Ello - Part 2
Just two tales today, one amusing and almost worthy of the Keystone Cops, the other at the opposite end of the scale as far as that scale goes.
One warm, pleasant summer's evening a fellow Special and I were making our way back to the station for what in the job are known as refreshments and anticipating a decent cuppa. As we turned the corner into a main road only a couple of hundred yards away from our break we saw a car parked on the zig-zag lines on the approach side of a pedestrian crossing adjacent to which there was a pub of a certain local reputation. The vehicle was checked for tax disc etc while I went into the pub to find the driver. My polite request for the driver of this car, a MkII Jaguar was met with a somewhat rude and belligerent response from two men seated near the door. After several requests from me, eachh stronger in tone, they came out and rudely demanded what was going on. My colleague explained the error of their ways in quite reasonable terms with the simple intent of getting the driver to move his car some thirty or so yards along the road so as to be clear of the crossing.
Seemingly they both wished to return to their beer in the pub and refused very pointedly and suggested that we might like to go away and do something useful. I asked for appropriate documents, unsurprisingly none were forthcoming but a torrent of further invective was instead. When asked what the car boot contained we were told that it was none of our business. By this time the two 'gentlemen' were talking themselves into being nicked, especially when both declined to furnish any personal details. My fellow officer went to open the boot and the driver of the car roughly pulled him away whilst offering further advice to us both. So what started just as a polite enquiry and request was now escalating into something potentially ugly. Both were again warned that further hindering the police in the course of enquiries would lead to arrest and possible court action. Yet again our desire to ease the situation was bluntly rejected.
Just at this moment the station van turned the corner, stopping to ask if all was OK or did we need any assistance which we readily accepted. The two inquestion were briefly spoken to by the other officers and arrested due to their lack of co-operation. When asked again to open the car boot one did so after some altercation revealing a blanket over some items in there. When the blanket was removed a sawn off shotgun and another shotgun as well, examination showed that both were loaded.
To cut this tale short the two villains, as it turned out that indeed they were, were on very unsafe ground - one was out on licence from prison for violence, the other had a number of outstanding warrants against him for non-appearance in court. So really a simple parking offence led to the arrest and return to jail of one and the other receiving a jail sentence for this and other outstanding offences. Two nasty pieces of work out of circulation in one evening, not bad!
It was only whilst writing up our notes etc over a well earned cuppa that the possible enormity of a very different outcome was realised.
Now for the other tale. Just before midnight one autumn Friday evening a mobile unit was called to a domestic break in, the property was in a quiet white collar residential area. By the time that the unit arrived the burglar had left with his haul. Several local people said that a furtive figure had been seen heading towards the local park, quite large and fenced, secured at night except for umpteen holes in the railings and fences. Various units answered to go to the park and the search began.
One of the features of this particular park are several large shrubberies and one or two are quite dense. Reasoning that a fugitive burglar might choose to hide in the undergrowth those areas were targeted for a search. It was a very dark night with no moon not helped by a lack og lighting within the park. Obviously we all had torches and radios to keep in touch but it was deemed that radio silence was essential to avoid giving our positions away. Quite how that was arrived at is unclear but some dozen or so heavy footed police officers crashing about in the undergrowth was sufficient to alert anyone as their positions.
Suddenly there was a shout which seemed to indicate that a capture had been made. Indeed it had but in the almost Stygian darkness an officer could easily be confused for our burglar - this was the case, the unfortunate 'burglar' bought down by a heavy rugby tackle which resulted in a broken collar bone. Several more false alarms with other officers being apprehended followed culminating in one being bundled into the boating lake. Silent approach? The whole episode was reminiscent of a herd of rampaging elephants!
Oh, almost forgot, the burglar was not found and the end was called eventually to this event. Not one of the finest searches in the history of a certain North London police station.
One warm, pleasant summer's evening a fellow Special and I were making our way back to the station for what in the job are known as refreshments and anticipating a decent cuppa. As we turned the corner into a main road only a couple of hundred yards away from our break we saw a car parked on the zig-zag lines on the approach side of a pedestrian crossing adjacent to which there was a pub of a certain local reputation. The vehicle was checked for tax disc etc while I went into the pub to find the driver. My polite request for the driver of this car, a MkII Jaguar was met with a somewhat rude and belligerent response from two men seated near the door. After several requests from me, eachh stronger in tone, they came out and rudely demanded what was going on. My colleague explained the error of their ways in quite reasonable terms with the simple intent of getting the driver to move his car some thirty or so yards along the road so as to be clear of the crossing.
Seemingly they both wished to return to their beer in the pub and refused very pointedly and suggested that we might like to go away and do something useful. I asked for appropriate documents, unsurprisingly none were forthcoming but a torrent of further invective was instead. When asked what the car boot contained we were told that it was none of our business. By this time the two 'gentlemen' were talking themselves into being nicked, especially when both declined to furnish any personal details. My fellow officer went to open the boot and the driver of the car roughly pulled him away whilst offering further advice to us both. So what started just as a polite enquiry and request was now escalating into something potentially ugly. Both were again warned that further hindering the police in the course of enquiries would lead to arrest and possible court action. Yet again our desire to ease the situation was bluntly rejected.
Just at this moment the station van turned the corner, stopping to ask if all was OK or did we need any assistance which we readily accepted. The two inquestion were briefly spoken to by the other officers and arrested due to their lack of co-operation. When asked again to open the car boot one did so after some altercation revealing a blanket over some items in there. When the blanket was removed a sawn off shotgun and another shotgun as well, examination showed that both were loaded.
To cut this tale short the two villains, as it turned out that indeed they were, were on very unsafe ground - one was out on licence from prison for violence, the other had a number of outstanding warrants against him for non-appearance in court. So really a simple parking offence led to the arrest and return to jail of one and the other receiving a jail sentence for this and other outstanding offences. Two nasty pieces of work out of circulation in one evening, not bad!
It was only whilst writing up our notes etc over a well earned cuppa that the possible enormity of a very different outcome was realised.
Now for the other tale. Just before midnight one autumn Friday evening a mobile unit was called to a domestic break in, the property was in a quiet white collar residential area. By the time that the unit arrived the burglar had left with his haul. Several local people said that a furtive figure had been seen heading towards the local park, quite large and fenced, secured at night except for umpteen holes in the railings and fences. Various units answered to go to the park and the search began.
One of the features of this particular park are several large shrubberies and one or two are quite dense. Reasoning that a fugitive burglar might choose to hide in the undergrowth those areas were targeted for a search. It was a very dark night with no moon not helped by a lack og lighting within the park. Obviously we all had torches and radios to keep in touch but it was deemed that radio silence was essential to avoid giving our positions away. Quite how that was arrived at is unclear but some dozen or so heavy footed police officers crashing about in the undergrowth was sufficient to alert anyone as their positions.
Suddenly there was a shout which seemed to indicate that a capture had been made. Indeed it had but in the almost Stygian darkness an officer could easily be confused for our burglar - this was the case, the unfortunate 'burglar' bought down by a heavy rugby tackle which resulted in a broken collar bone. Several more false alarms with other officers being apprehended followed culminating in one being bundled into the boating lake. Silent approach? The whole episode was reminiscent of a herd of rampaging elephants!
Oh, almost forgot, the burglar was not found and the end was called eventually to this event. Not one of the finest searches in the history of a certain North London police station.
Sunday, 28 November 2010
Red tape
I want to buy a couple of stationery items, some card pin badges and some microperforated card for address cards. Cannot find anything like in any of the hypermarkets, stationery retail stores are as scarce as hen's teeth in our little bit of France. The obvious thing is to buy online, a quicj Google search finds quite a number of online stores. Great stuff ...
So I explored the first hit, they have exactly what I want at prices that I like, put them in the virtual shopping basket and proceed to the checkout. Easy so far. Filled in the usual required details etc and went to pay. Instead of the payment screen The details one reappeared, apparently I had missed something on there. Having checked it showed that I needed to enter a Siret number, that effectively is a business registration number which as a private individual I do not have. Tried entering a series of numbers of the appropriate length and on to payment again - still no joy.
Oh well, back to Google and another online store. Come the payment bit and again the same problem, so a few more sites were tried, each with the same result.
Now to Plan B, go to a UK site such as Staples or Office World, both of whom had the desired items. Towards the end of the transaction both stated quite clearly that items will noy be sent outside of the UK. This nothing unusual as many retailers online will not psot to Europe. Why for heavens sake? There is no additional paperwork now thanks to the EU only extra postage, no customs formalities nor anything else.
So, here am I totally frustrated and wanting to support French businesses and I cannot because of red tape. UK companies do not want my meager trade either for different reasons.
AAAARRRGGH!
So I explored the first hit, they have exactly what I want at prices that I like, put them in the virtual shopping basket and proceed to the checkout. Easy so far. Filled in the usual required details etc and went to pay. Instead of the payment screen The details one reappeared, apparently I had missed something on there. Having checked it showed that I needed to enter a Siret number, that effectively is a business registration number which as a private individual I do not have. Tried entering a series of numbers of the appropriate length and on to payment again - still no joy.
Oh well, back to Google and another online store. Come the payment bit and again the same problem, so a few more sites were tried, each with the same result.
Now to Plan B, go to a UK site such as Staples or Office World, both of whom had the desired items. Towards the end of the transaction both stated quite clearly that items will noy be sent outside of the UK. This nothing unusual as many retailers online will not psot to Europe. Why for heavens sake? There is no additional paperwork now thanks to the EU only extra postage, no customs formalities nor anything else.
So, here am I totally frustrated and wanting to support French businesses and I cannot because of red tape. UK companies do not want my meager trade either for different reasons.
AAAARRRGGH!
Sunday, 21 November 2010
What can possibly go wrong?
Friends coming over for dinner this evening, what could be nicer? Not cooking anything special, just a standard English Sunday roast. Decided that instead of just 'gravy' to accompany the meat I would make a sauce chasseur, basically that's simply a wine and mushroom sauce. The necessary ingredients are already in the kitchen so it's just a case of 'let's do it'.
First task is to weigh the ingredients for the sauce, simple eh? No, the electronic kitchen scales are dead, do not work, a set of ex-scales. Can't be the batteries are flat as they were only changed a week or so ago. Right, change batteries, first problem - no spare batteries in the house. Raid my wife's little English/French translator for the batteries, put them in the scales and ... the display shows a meaningless load of garbage. Call for assistance from she who knows about these things, whom after much much muttering, incantations and repeated button pressing finally the correct display condescends to appear.
Right, where were we? Oh yes, weighing mushrooms etc, fine, all done. Next open a bottle of wine as some is needed for the sauce. Said bottle of wine opened and is found to be 'off', great for use as vinegar on chips but not much else. Open another, this time as the cork is extracted the bottle slips out of my grasp, dropping to the floor. Tiled kitchen floors are mercilessly unforgiving to anything remotely fragile that drops onto them. Result? One shattered wine bottle, wine and glass fragments all over the floor. There is now an added complication of two inquisitive kittens sniffing the floor, the last thing now needed is drunken kittens or an emergency trip to to the vets to have shards of glass removed from delicate little paws. Kittens shut temporarily in the bedroom and 'Operation Cleanup' can begin.
In England shopping on a Sunday is taken for granted, regrettably not possible here as all shops are closed on Sundays. A quick trot to our neighbours over the road in rain of biblical proportions elicits the loan of a bottle of wine, happily this is safely opened and the requisite amount dispensed into a pan.
Other ingredients are added to said pan and the gas lit. Some thirty seconds later the gas burner goes out - we are out of gas, not having the luxury of mains gas we use bottled. Not a major problem except that to change the cylinder necessitates going outside the house because the bottle is kept in an insulated container below the kitchen window. The rain of biblical proportions has by now intensified to monsoon level as only previously seen in 'It Ain't Half Hot Mum', so having donned wellies and foul weather gear sufficient for a single handed voyage around the globe a sortie to the bottle store is made.
One added luxury is that the roof two storeys above the kitchen window has no guttering so the exchange of the empty cylinder and the spare is made not only in torrential rain but in a waterfall cascading directly from the roof above. Mission accomplished and once more safe indoors, drying off and changing a soggy shirt and jumper, not from a leaking jacket but cold rainwater pouring directly down my neck, it is time to return to the kitchen. The next discovery awaiting me is that recently purchased shallots are all bad under the skin, unfortunately a phone call to our neighbour goes unanswered because they have by now gone out for the day.
So, having phoned a friend who lives several kilometres away and happily has some shallots for the scrounging a further waterproof jacket is donned. Upon reaching our car it is observed that a rear tyre is flat. No, I am not going to change the offending wheel is this downpour as scuba gear is not readily to hand. Returning home amidst a torrent of somewhat picturesque language I am met with an enquiry as to whether anything is wrong. Wrong? Yes there certainly is something wrong - I got up this morning!
Dinner this evening? Ah yes, I'm sorry but you will have to be content with ordinary, standard issue gravy.
First task is to weigh the ingredients for the sauce, simple eh? No, the electronic kitchen scales are dead, do not work, a set of ex-scales. Can't be the batteries are flat as they were only changed a week or so ago. Right, change batteries, first problem - no spare batteries in the house. Raid my wife's little English/French translator for the batteries, put them in the scales and ... the display shows a meaningless load of garbage. Call for assistance from she who knows about these things, whom after much much muttering, incantations and repeated button pressing finally the correct display condescends to appear.
Right, where were we? Oh yes, weighing mushrooms etc, fine, all done. Next open a bottle of wine as some is needed for the sauce. Said bottle of wine opened and is found to be 'off', great for use as vinegar on chips but not much else. Open another, this time as the cork is extracted the bottle slips out of my grasp, dropping to the floor. Tiled kitchen floors are mercilessly unforgiving to anything remotely fragile that drops onto them. Result? One shattered wine bottle, wine and glass fragments all over the floor. There is now an added complication of two inquisitive kittens sniffing the floor, the last thing now needed is drunken kittens or an emergency trip to to the vets to have shards of glass removed from delicate little paws. Kittens shut temporarily in the bedroom and 'Operation Cleanup' can begin.
In England shopping on a Sunday is taken for granted, regrettably not possible here as all shops are closed on Sundays. A quick trot to our neighbours over the road in rain of biblical proportions elicits the loan of a bottle of wine, happily this is safely opened and the requisite amount dispensed into a pan.
Other ingredients are added to said pan and the gas lit. Some thirty seconds later the gas burner goes out - we are out of gas, not having the luxury of mains gas we use bottled. Not a major problem except that to change the cylinder necessitates going outside the house because the bottle is kept in an insulated container below the kitchen window. The rain of biblical proportions has by now intensified to monsoon level as only previously seen in 'It Ain't Half Hot Mum', so having donned wellies and foul weather gear sufficient for a single handed voyage around the globe a sortie to the bottle store is made.
One added luxury is that the roof two storeys above the kitchen window has no guttering so the exchange of the empty cylinder and the spare is made not only in torrential rain but in a waterfall cascading directly from the roof above. Mission accomplished and once more safe indoors, drying off and changing a soggy shirt and jumper, not from a leaking jacket but cold rainwater pouring directly down my neck, it is time to return to the kitchen. The next discovery awaiting me is that recently purchased shallots are all bad under the skin, unfortunately a phone call to our neighbour goes unanswered because they have by now gone out for the day.
So, having phoned a friend who lives several kilometres away and happily has some shallots for the scrounging a further waterproof jacket is donned. Upon reaching our car it is observed that a rear tyre is flat. No, I am not going to change the offending wheel is this downpour as scuba gear is not readily to hand. Returning home amidst a torrent of somewhat picturesque language I am met with an enquiry as to whether anything is wrong. Wrong? Yes there certainly is something wrong - I got up this morning!
Dinner this evening? Ah yes, I'm sorry but you will have to be content with ordinary, standard issue gravy.
Saturday, 20 November 2010
Sunday, 14 November 2010
Seasonal activity
Living in the heart of the country it is noticeable that the changing seasons are more obvious than for townsfolk. Autumn arrived a couple of weeks ago cladding the world in a riot of colour from pale yellow, through orange and red to deep russet browns. The fields have changed too from the golds and yellows of ripened crops to rich ploughed earthy shades speckled with small pieces of natural limestone which is the underlying bedrock. Winter seed has been sown and is already casting a gentle green tinge to otherwise bare fields. Most herds of cattle have been moved from summer pasture into winter deep litter barns to protect them from the elements.
Other seasonal things are happening too, the local hunt or 'chasse' is now in full swing until the end of February, the main quarry being deer, wild boar, hares, rabbits and an assortment of game birds. There is a strict quota of deer and wild boar that may be taken each season which in traditional French bureaucratic fashion is meticulously recorded by each hunter and association and then submitted to the necessary authorities. The most popular days for hunting are Sunday and Wednesday when groups of twenty men or more gather to arrange the day and then disperse with guns, dogs, horns and walkie talkies. All will be dressed head to toe in camouflage clothing appropriate to the country to keep a low visible profile. There is an exception to this low visibility aspect, each and every hunter will wear a high visibility cap or jacket to avoid being shot by his his chums, thus nullifying any potential advantage of sneaking up on some unsuspecting creature. It should be pointed out that during the course of each season there are some dozen or so fatalities to hunters caused by gunshot throughout the whole country.
Another shorter seasonal pursuit is collecting wild edible fungi which lasts only some six weeks or so which is when the choicest varieties abound. These range from ordinary common mushrooms through the delightfully coloured morelles to a range of dark beefsteak varieties. Often this activity is not a lone pursuit, groups of men band together to seek these delicacies, the usual means of access to the wooded ares is by quad bike. It is not uncommon to see anything up to fifteen or so pass our home en route to the growing areas which are often closely guarded secrets as some of their pickings are sold commercially.
The ultimate prize at this time of year are wild truffles which grow around the roots of specific types of oak tree. The usual method of unearthing this walnut sized delicacy is to use the sensitive nose of a trained dog or pig to seek them out but the hunter has to be very alert otherwise the pig particularly will eat them. Truffles are very desirable merchandise to the restaurant trade and gourmands and are used in minute quantities to perfume suitable dishes the most common of which is probably a truffle omelette. This latter dish will cost anything upwards of €20 in any restaurant. That may seem a somewhat exorbitant price for an omelette but in specialist markets truffles sell for anything up to €1500 a kilogram but that obviously reflects the desirability of the fungus.
Something we always look forward to is the first couple of weeks in January which is the lambing season here, it is a sheer joy to see the new lambs in the fields and to watch them grow. That particular annual event is the precursor to spring arriving in another few weeks when the countryside awakes again ready for another glorious and colourful summer.
Other seasonal things are happening too, the local hunt or 'chasse' is now in full swing until the end of February, the main quarry being deer, wild boar, hares, rabbits and an assortment of game birds. There is a strict quota of deer and wild boar that may be taken each season which in traditional French bureaucratic fashion is meticulously recorded by each hunter and association and then submitted to the necessary authorities. The most popular days for hunting are Sunday and Wednesday when groups of twenty men or more gather to arrange the day and then disperse with guns, dogs, horns and walkie talkies. All will be dressed head to toe in camouflage clothing appropriate to the country to keep a low visible profile. There is an exception to this low visibility aspect, each and every hunter will wear a high visibility cap or jacket to avoid being shot by his his chums, thus nullifying any potential advantage of sneaking up on some unsuspecting creature. It should be pointed out that during the course of each season there are some dozen or so fatalities to hunters caused by gunshot throughout the whole country.
Another shorter seasonal pursuit is collecting wild edible fungi which lasts only some six weeks or so which is when the choicest varieties abound. These range from ordinary common mushrooms through the delightfully coloured morelles to a range of dark beefsteak varieties. Often this activity is not a lone pursuit, groups of men band together to seek these delicacies, the usual means of access to the wooded ares is by quad bike. It is not uncommon to see anything up to fifteen or so pass our home en route to the growing areas which are often closely guarded secrets as some of their pickings are sold commercially.
The ultimate prize at this time of year are wild truffles which grow around the roots of specific types of oak tree. The usual method of unearthing this walnut sized delicacy is to use the sensitive nose of a trained dog or pig to seek them out but the hunter has to be very alert otherwise the pig particularly will eat them. Truffles are very desirable merchandise to the restaurant trade and gourmands and are used in minute quantities to perfume suitable dishes the most common of which is probably a truffle omelette. This latter dish will cost anything upwards of €20 in any restaurant. That may seem a somewhat exorbitant price for an omelette but in specialist markets truffles sell for anything up to €1500 a kilogram but that obviously reflects the desirability of the fungus.
Something we always look forward to is the first couple of weeks in January which is the lambing season here, it is a sheer joy to see the new lambs in the fields and to watch them grow. That particular annual event is the precursor to spring arriving in another few weeks when the countryside awakes again ready for another glorious and colourful summer.
Thursday, 11 November 2010
Confusion
Much confusion and downright puzzlement is caused to a good number of British drivers venturing to France is caused by the idiosyncratic traffic law of 'give way to the right. Perhaps unsurprisingly this particular rule of the road gives rise to roughly one in ten of all road traffic accidents in the country.
So how did this quaint concept arise? Before the era of mechanically propelled vehicles everything was drawn by animals, horses, donkeys, oxen, some of these beasts particularly oxen and horses were of not inconsiderable size. Just think of the size of a Shire horse for example, a huge and magnificent animal. The local breed of cattle, Aquitaine Blondes, are so big that I can barely see over the back of one and weighs on average one and a quarter tonnes.
Imagine that you are driving a cart or wagon drawn by even just two of these animals and approaching a junction in the road; the power units are some two and a half metres long, allowing another half a metre for the bit of the wagon between you and them makes forr roughly ten feet in old money. That is a rather large lump in front of you - before you have any view of the other road that you are approaching there will obviously be the animals already intruding onto that road. Thus it made sense to give way to traffic from the right as the French drive on the right.
A simple explanation perhaps which although it may not help your state of mind when driving it gives you an understanding as to why things are the that they are!
________________________________________________________________________________
No apology is made for reproducing the following from a webpage. a regular question asked by continentals and those from much of the world overall is why does the UK drive on the left.
Perhaps this may help just a little in explanation and may also amuse at the same time:
" Why do people in Britain and some of their former colonies drive on the left side of the road? Is it just a case of clinging stubbornly to an outdated tradition, such as the confusing English system of measures?
— Billy Bob, Memphis, Tennessee
Dear Bilbo:
Try to be tolerant. Seven hundred years ago everybody used the English system, and if distressing numbers of us have proven fickle in the centuries since, that's no reason to rubbish the Brits.
In the Middle Ages you kept to the left for the simple reason that you never knew who you'd meet on the road in those days. You wanted to make sure that a stranger passed on the right so you could go for your sword in case he proved unfriendly.
This custom was given official sanction in 1300 AD, when Pope Boniface VIII invented the modern science of traffic control by declaring that pilgrims headed to Rome should keep left.
The papal system prevailed until the late 1700s, when teamsters in the United States and France began hauling farm products in big wagons pulled by several pairs of horses. These wagons had no driver's seat. Instead the driver sat on the left rear horse, so he could keep his right arm free to lash the team. Since you were sitting on the left, naturally you wanted everybody to pass on the left so you could look down and make sure you kept clear of the other guy's wheels. Ergo, you kept to the right side of the road. The first known keep-right law in the U.S. was enacted in Pennsylvania in 1792, and in the ensuing years many states and Canadian provinces followed suit.
In France the keep-right custom was established in much the same way. An added impetus was that, this being the era of the French Revolution and all, people figured, hey, no pope gonna tell ME what to do. (See above.) Later Napoleon enforced the keep-right rule in all countries occupied by his armies. The custom endured even after the empire was destroyed.
In small-is-beautiful England, though, they didn't use monster wagons that required the driver to ride a horse. Instead the guy sat on a seat mounted on the wagon. What's more, he usually sat on the right side of the seat so the whip wouldn't hang up on the load behind him when he flogged the horses. (Then as now, most people did their flogging right-handed.) So the English continued to drive on the left, not realizing that the tide of history was running against them and they would wind up being ridiculed by folks like you with no appreciation of life's little ironies. Keeping left first entered English law in 1756, with the enactment of an ordinance governing traffic on the London Bridge, and ultimately became the rule throughout the British Empire.
The trend among nations over the years has been toward driving on the right, but Britain has done its best to stave off global homogenization. Its former colony India remains a hotbed of leftist sentiment, as does Indonesia, which was occupied by the British in the early 19th century. The English minister to Japan achieved the coup of his career in 1859 when he persuaded his hosts to make keep-left the law in the future home of Toyota and Mitsubishi.
Nonetheless, the power of the right has been growing steadily. When Germany annexed Austria in 1938, it brutally suppressed the latter's keep-left rights, and much the same happened in Czechoslovakia in 1939. The last holdouts in mainland Europe, the Swedes, finally switched to the right in 1967 because most of the countries they sold Saabs and Volvos to were righties and they got tired of having to make different versions for domestic use and export.
The current battleground is the island of Timor. The Indonesians, who own west Timor, have been whiling away the hours exterminating the native culture of the east Timorese. The issue? Some say it's religion, some say it's language, but I know the truth: in east Timor they drive on the right, in west Timor they drive on the left."
— Cecil Adams
So how did this quaint concept arise? Before the era of mechanically propelled vehicles everything was drawn by animals, horses, donkeys, oxen, some of these beasts particularly oxen and horses were of not inconsiderable size. Just think of the size of a Shire horse for example, a huge and magnificent animal. The local breed of cattle, Aquitaine Blondes, are so big that I can barely see over the back of one and weighs on average one and a quarter tonnes.
Imagine that you are driving a cart or wagon drawn by even just two of these animals and approaching a junction in the road; the power units are some two and a half metres long, allowing another half a metre for the bit of the wagon between you and them makes forr roughly ten feet in old money. That is a rather large lump in front of you - before you have any view of the other road that you are approaching there will obviously be the animals already intruding onto that road. Thus it made sense to give way to traffic from the right as the French drive on the right.
A simple explanation perhaps which although it may not help your state of mind when driving it gives you an understanding as to why things are the that they are!
________________________________________________________________________________
No apology is made for reproducing the following from a webpage. a regular question asked by continentals and those from much of the world overall is why does the UK drive on the left.
Perhaps this may help just a little in explanation and may also amuse at the same time:
" Why do people in Britain and some of their former colonies drive on the left side of the road? Is it just a case of clinging stubbornly to an outdated tradition, such as the confusing English system of measures?
— Billy Bob, Memphis, Tennessee
Dear Bilbo:
Try to be tolerant. Seven hundred years ago everybody used the English system, and if distressing numbers of us have proven fickle in the centuries since, that's no reason to rubbish the Brits.
In the Middle Ages you kept to the left for the simple reason that you never knew who you'd meet on the road in those days. You wanted to make sure that a stranger passed on the right so you could go for your sword in case he proved unfriendly.
This custom was given official sanction in 1300 AD, when Pope Boniface VIII invented the modern science of traffic control by declaring that pilgrims headed to Rome should keep left.
The papal system prevailed until the late 1700s, when teamsters in the United States and France began hauling farm products in big wagons pulled by several pairs of horses. These wagons had no driver's seat. Instead the driver sat on the left rear horse, so he could keep his right arm free to lash the team. Since you were sitting on the left, naturally you wanted everybody to pass on the left so you could look down and make sure you kept clear of the other guy's wheels. Ergo, you kept to the right side of the road. The first known keep-right law in the U.S. was enacted in Pennsylvania in 1792, and in the ensuing years many states and Canadian provinces followed suit.
In France the keep-right custom was established in much the same way. An added impetus was that, this being the era of the French Revolution and all, people figured, hey, no pope gonna tell ME what to do. (See above.) Later Napoleon enforced the keep-right rule in all countries occupied by his armies. The custom endured even after the empire was destroyed.
In small-is-beautiful England, though, they didn't use monster wagons that required the driver to ride a horse. Instead the guy sat on a seat mounted on the wagon. What's more, he usually sat on the right side of the seat so the whip wouldn't hang up on the load behind him when he flogged the horses. (Then as now, most people did their flogging right-handed.) So the English continued to drive on the left, not realizing that the tide of history was running against them and they would wind up being ridiculed by folks like you with no appreciation of life's little ironies. Keeping left first entered English law in 1756, with the enactment of an ordinance governing traffic on the London Bridge, and ultimately became the rule throughout the British Empire.
The trend among nations over the years has been toward driving on the right, but Britain has done its best to stave off global homogenization. Its former colony India remains a hotbed of leftist sentiment, as does Indonesia, which was occupied by the British in the early 19th century. The English minister to Japan achieved the coup of his career in 1859 when he persuaded his hosts to make keep-left the law in the future home of Toyota and Mitsubishi.
Nonetheless, the power of the right has been growing steadily. When Germany annexed Austria in 1938, it brutally suppressed the latter's keep-left rights, and much the same happened in Czechoslovakia in 1939. The last holdouts in mainland Europe, the Swedes, finally switched to the right in 1967 because most of the countries they sold Saabs and Volvos to were righties and they got tired of having to make different versions for domestic use and export.
The current battleground is the island of Timor. The Indonesians, who own west Timor, have been whiling away the hours exterminating the native culture of the east Timorese. The issue? Some say it's religion, some say it's language, but I know the truth: in east Timor they drive on the right, in west Timor they drive on the left."
— Cecil Adams
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
Armistice Day, 11 November
A time for remembering and reflection. A time for hoping that lessons have been learned from the two savage wars that swept Europe and the world twice in just over thirty years. From the carnage and ashes and economic desolation of six long years of savagery and man's inhumanity to man came an idea that perhaps such a tragedy could never happen again. The idea was born in France that an initially small brotherhood of nations might be forged to create a more secure and understanding world. From this eventually came the Common Market and latterly the European Union. This is neither time nor place to argue the merits and problems of that union but to appreciate what it has done in terms of European peace.
Armistice Day here is a public holiday, shops and businesses closed with only essential services running on a day of remembrance. We shall be at our local ceremony at the war memorial in our village as will millions of others in this land to acknowledge the sacrifices made by ordinary people who were fighting these two dreadful wars. Their names are inscribed on the memorial, some twenty four from our village in the first conflict, a village of less than ten times that number. Several family names are there with brothers and fathers killed too. There is also, thankfully, just one name from the second conflict largely due to France being overrun in June 1940.
Others who perished particularly are also remembered, those deported under compulsory labour orders who never returned, political and 'anti-social' elements as well as vast numbers of Jews living in France. An address of remembrance will be read by our mayor, the hub of the local community, the same address will be read at every other ceremony throughout the country unifying an act of remembrance.
Wreaths will be laid then children from the village primary school singing the Marseillaise then two minutes silence. No prayers or other religious symbolism is involved in this simple yet moving event because this is a secular country.
Afterwards at the village hall attached to the Mairie a 'vin d'honneur' will be taken in memory of those who gave their lives for their country.
France has a saying about the war - 'Forgive but don't forget'
Armistice Day here is a public holiday, shops and businesses closed with only essential services running on a day of remembrance. We shall be at our local ceremony at the war memorial in our village as will millions of others in this land to acknowledge the sacrifices made by ordinary people who were fighting these two dreadful wars. Their names are inscribed on the memorial, some twenty four from our village in the first conflict, a village of less than ten times that number. Several family names are there with brothers and fathers killed too. There is also, thankfully, just one name from the second conflict largely due to France being overrun in June 1940.
Others who perished particularly are also remembered, those deported under compulsory labour orders who never returned, political and 'anti-social' elements as well as vast numbers of Jews living in France. An address of remembrance will be read by our mayor, the hub of the local community, the same address will be read at every other ceremony throughout the country unifying an act of remembrance.
Wreaths will be laid then children from the village primary school singing the Marseillaise then two minutes silence. No prayers or other religious symbolism is involved in this simple yet moving event because this is a secular country.
Afterwards at the village hall attached to the Mairie a 'vin d'honneur' will be taken in memory of those who gave their lives for their country.
France has a saying about the war - 'Forgive but don't forget'
Monday, 8 November 2010
Who am I?
My version of the question in the BBC programme tiled 'Who Do you Think You Are?' Several years ago my wife was becoming increasingly curious as to her past family because she knew almost nothing about her ancestors even as recently as her grandparents. In most families of our generation family relationships and many other things were certainly not discussed with children as they are today. Again, like many others, it has been in later life that a desire for knowledge has grown with the almost inevitable situation that most of those able to explain matters are no longer here. Thus it was in our case and made all the harder because we had by this time moved from the UK to live in France.
One really useful tool today is the Internet and the World Wide Web where all manner of information may be found with relative ease. Having signed up with a well known genealogy website the search began using newfound knowledge to build a family tree. That is a relatively simple matter for the living generations, then there came the first difficulty. There is much info on the Web with many government records readily available, such as Censuses up to 1911 and much more. The problem was, and is, that there is a gap of roughly one hundred years from the last available Censuses until the present day. Yes there are birth marriage and death records available but they can be expensive to access and do not always have much useful information.
It was decided to go back in time from around 1900 and fairly soon relatives from the late eighteenth century were uncovered. There is always the slight question on the mind as to potentially famous ancestors as well as the frisson that skeletons in cupboards may be found. Probably the most interesting link for my wife that she is related to a number of the Tolpuddle Martyrs, founders of the trades union movement. To date her earliest family dates to the early seventeenth century.
Naturally I became curious about my family too, nothing remarkable there except that I have positive links to a French count born in 1010 AD who was part of William the Conqueror's invasion force.
What began as mild curiousity has blossomed into a major interest which now the winter days are here passes many hours of discovery. It's a bit like a treasure hunt in some ways, instead of corners to turn there are web pages and just the next one could unlock whole new chapters!
One really useful tool today is the Internet and the World Wide Web where all manner of information may be found with relative ease. Having signed up with a well known genealogy website the search began using newfound knowledge to build a family tree. That is a relatively simple matter for the living generations, then there came the first difficulty. There is much info on the Web with many government records readily available, such as Censuses up to 1911 and much more. The problem was, and is, that there is a gap of roughly one hundred years from the last available Censuses until the present day. Yes there are birth marriage and death records available but they can be expensive to access and do not always have much useful information.
It was decided to go back in time from around 1900 and fairly soon relatives from the late eighteenth century were uncovered. There is always the slight question on the mind as to potentially famous ancestors as well as the frisson that skeletons in cupboards may be found. Probably the most interesting link for my wife that she is related to a number of the Tolpuddle Martyrs, founders of the trades union movement. To date her earliest family dates to the early seventeenth century.
Naturally I became curious about my family too, nothing remarkable there except that I have positive links to a French count born in 1010 AD who was part of William the Conqueror's invasion force.
What began as mild curiousity has blossomed into a major interest which now the winter days are here passes many hours of discovery. It's a bit like a treasure hunt in some ways, instead of corners to turn there are web pages and just the next one could unlock whole new chapters!
Sunday, 7 November 2010
'Ello, 'ello, 'ello ...
... what's goin' on 'ere? That's a very traditional constabulary question that you may be asking! Simply this ramble is a little reminiscence for an old friend when we were both special constables in the Met.
It began for me with a series of interviews to assess my suitability as a special followed by a medical and references being taken up. All proved satisfactory so a warm May evening found me at Scotland Yard for a swearing-in to office and attestation ceremony followed by measuring for uniform.
Well, that's it, so far. Next was thirteen weeks part-time classroom training and then my first duty as an SC at YE, known to all as Edmonton Police Station. Naturally there was a longish probationary period part of which was being 'puppy walked', that is on duty with an experienced officer to show me the ropes and the area as well as how things were done. Towards the end of that year I was deemed to be sufficiently safe to be let loose on the streets on my own, although often we patrolled the streets in pairs.
Enough of the background and now to narrate a few tales. One SC decided to launch his own war on road users with defective lighting without seeking official blessing from our skipper (sergeant) who was quite an amiable sort of bloke. This particular evening he targeted London Transport buses because our sharp eyed sleuth had noticed that the vast majority of local buses were showing only one headlight at night and saw this as a potential haul of brownie points. It is only right to point out that these one eyed monsters were in fact totally legal because the headlight system was not double dipping as on cars as each headlight had only a single filament bulb. The nearside light was focused in a dipped beam and when the main beam switch in the bus was operated the nearside lamp went out and the other came on acting as a main beam. This lighting oddity was also enshrined in a specific piece of legislation ...
Our 'hero' having been on a lone patrol returned to the station just before midnight and was totally chuffed with himself having bagged more than a dozen buses for this single offence, proudly proclaiming to all in the special's office his deeds then sat to sort out a mountain of paperwork. Some while after the skipper returned and enquired as to the paper mountain whereupon he was given chapter and verse. A short silence ensued followed by an almighty explosion and a tirade most of which cannot be repeated in polite company. In short the errant SC had issued a HORTI1 to each driver requiring production within seven days of assorted documents including insurance details, telling each hapless victim that an offence would be reported for further consideration. Well, the mayhem that followed was unbelievable, bus garage managers were complaining to senior police officers, Head Office at 55 Broadway were doing likewise to Scotland Yard, our skipper was getting it in the neck from regular senior officers, whilst anyone unconnected with the affair was keeping a very low profile. After some weeks, suitable reprimands and advice given to certain officers the whole thing died down.
One regular duty for Met specials was to police the annual Armistice Day ceremony at Whitehall and the surrounding area. The day began very early at local stations where serials were formed, detailed and bussed to St James's Park. From about seven o'clock everyone was take in separate units for breakfast, usually at Knighstbridge Barracks where the general fare was a standard issue full English breakfast with gallons of tea. One particular we arrived at the mess and noticed a somewhat odd smell for breakfast time, not of bacon and eggs but a distinctive aroma of curry. It turned out that breakfast was indeed curry and rice as that was also the the mid-day menu and saved on cooking and kitchen staff. Now I can eat most things at most times of the day but curry for breakfast was not one of those things. The only possible contingent of specials that may have not objected were a few from the Hanwell and Southall areas of London ...
One evening in late summer my regular mate and I were out on patrol when a radio message asked for our location. This was given and instructions made to remain there. A few minutes after the area van arrived with twos and blues going, we were ordered into the van and away we went picking up other officers on the way. There had been a call from several officers in Tottenham for urgent assistance in Bruce Grove just on the edge of the soon to be notorious Broadwater Farm estate.
Several minutes later the van skidded to a halt in the middle of Bruce Grove, we alighted and a local inspector briefly explained what was happening and what needed to be done. The whole area looked like a battle zone with some forty or so officers including some from Traffic Division were trying to contain a much larger number of mainly black youths who were determined to cause violence. First thing I noticed was that a number of them were lobbing glass bottles of soft drink at the police looted from a nearby chip shop. All manner of scuffles were going on with arrests being made where possible despite the arresting officers being attacked and threatened. The disturbance was eventually contained after about thirty minutes, there were casualties sitting and lying in the road and on the pavements. Ambulances were summoned and injured take to hospital whilst a fleet of police vans were taking arrestees to various local police stations for processing.
We accompanied several other officers with three detainees to north London station and the charge room looked like a casualty clearing station. Eventually we were returned to our won nick and a decent cuppa ensued as well as the inevitable admin resulting from the evening.
The casualty total for that little encounter was thirteen officers injured, some of whom were off work as a result for some weeks, twenty odd arrests and a number of injuries amongst the rioters. What we did not know at the time was that a similar incident of much larger proportions would take place nearby in just a few short years resulting in the murder of PC Keith Blakelock.
Enough for the moment. Yes I largely enjoyed my years as a Special Constable and made some good friends as a result. Often I'm asked would I do the same thing again today, my answer is a very assertive 'No' because things are just so more dangerous and unpredictable now.
It began for me with a series of interviews to assess my suitability as a special followed by a medical and references being taken up. All proved satisfactory so a warm May evening found me at Scotland Yard for a swearing-in to office and attestation ceremony followed by measuring for uniform.
Well, that's it, so far. Next was thirteen weeks part-time classroom training and then my first duty as an SC at YE, known to all as Edmonton Police Station. Naturally there was a longish probationary period part of which was being 'puppy walked', that is on duty with an experienced officer to show me the ropes and the area as well as how things were done. Towards the end of that year I was deemed to be sufficiently safe to be let loose on the streets on my own, although often we patrolled the streets in pairs.
Enough of the background and now to narrate a few tales. One SC decided to launch his own war on road users with defective lighting without seeking official blessing from our skipper (sergeant) who was quite an amiable sort of bloke. This particular evening he targeted London Transport buses because our sharp eyed sleuth had noticed that the vast majority of local buses were showing only one headlight at night and saw this as a potential haul of brownie points. It is only right to point out that these one eyed monsters were in fact totally legal because the headlight system was not double dipping as on cars as each headlight had only a single filament bulb. The nearside light was focused in a dipped beam and when the main beam switch in the bus was operated the nearside lamp went out and the other came on acting as a main beam. This lighting oddity was also enshrined in a specific piece of legislation ...
Our 'hero' having been on a lone patrol returned to the station just before midnight and was totally chuffed with himself having bagged more than a dozen buses for this single offence, proudly proclaiming to all in the special's office his deeds then sat to sort out a mountain of paperwork. Some while after the skipper returned and enquired as to the paper mountain whereupon he was given chapter and verse. A short silence ensued followed by an almighty explosion and a tirade most of which cannot be repeated in polite company. In short the errant SC had issued a HORTI1 to each driver requiring production within seven days of assorted documents including insurance details, telling each hapless victim that an offence would be reported for further consideration. Well, the mayhem that followed was unbelievable, bus garage managers were complaining to senior police officers, Head Office at 55 Broadway were doing likewise to Scotland Yard, our skipper was getting it in the neck from regular senior officers, whilst anyone unconnected with the affair was keeping a very low profile. After some weeks, suitable reprimands and advice given to certain officers the whole thing died down.
One regular duty for Met specials was to police the annual Armistice Day ceremony at Whitehall and the surrounding area. The day began very early at local stations where serials were formed, detailed and bussed to St James's Park. From about seven o'clock everyone was take in separate units for breakfast, usually at Knighstbridge Barracks where the general fare was a standard issue full English breakfast with gallons of tea. One particular we arrived at the mess and noticed a somewhat odd smell for breakfast time, not of bacon and eggs but a distinctive aroma of curry. It turned out that breakfast was indeed curry and rice as that was also the the mid-day menu and saved on cooking and kitchen staff. Now I can eat most things at most times of the day but curry for breakfast was not one of those things. The only possible contingent of specials that may have not objected were a few from the Hanwell and Southall areas of London ...
One evening in late summer my regular mate and I were out on patrol when a radio message asked for our location. This was given and instructions made to remain there. A few minutes after the area van arrived with twos and blues going, we were ordered into the van and away we went picking up other officers on the way. There had been a call from several officers in Tottenham for urgent assistance in Bruce Grove just on the edge of the soon to be notorious Broadwater Farm estate.
Several minutes later the van skidded to a halt in the middle of Bruce Grove, we alighted and a local inspector briefly explained what was happening and what needed to be done. The whole area looked like a battle zone with some forty or so officers including some from Traffic Division were trying to contain a much larger number of mainly black youths who were determined to cause violence. First thing I noticed was that a number of them were lobbing glass bottles of soft drink at the police looted from a nearby chip shop. All manner of scuffles were going on with arrests being made where possible despite the arresting officers being attacked and threatened. The disturbance was eventually contained after about thirty minutes, there were casualties sitting and lying in the road and on the pavements. Ambulances were summoned and injured take to hospital whilst a fleet of police vans were taking arrestees to various local police stations for processing.
We accompanied several other officers with three detainees to north London station and the charge room looked like a casualty clearing station. Eventually we were returned to our won nick and a decent cuppa ensued as well as the inevitable admin resulting from the evening.
The casualty total for that little encounter was thirteen officers injured, some of whom were off work as a result for some weeks, twenty odd arrests and a number of injuries amongst the rioters. What we did not know at the time was that a similar incident of much larger proportions would take place nearby in just a few short years resulting in the murder of PC Keith Blakelock.
Enough for the moment. Yes I largely enjoyed my years as a Special Constable and made some good friends as a result. Often I'm asked would I do the same thing again today, my answer is a very assertive 'No' because things are just so more dangerous and unpredictable now.
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