“Ash” the way to do it!

As I may have mentioned before in this column, I left school to join the world of work at 4pm on Friday 18^th July 1969.

I did not, however, commence the search for paid employment immediately because I had just gone through the gruelling process of GCE “O” Level Examinations and, frankly, I needed a break!

Besides that I didn’t know what sort of job to look for until the results came out and that wasn’t until sometime in August.

The particular break that I took began the very day that school ended when, at about 7pm, I joined my friends from the 3^rd Ipswich Boys Brigade Company on a coach taking us to a campsite at Haytor on Dartmoor.

This was quite a trek from Ipswich (given the limited number of motorways or even dual carriageway roads compared to the present) and while there must have been a number of “pitstops” along the way I can only recall one – a “greasy spoon” type Transport Cafe (pronounced “caff”) just outside Basingstoke! I had been napping on the bus, was feeling a bit groggy and not inclined to eat anything much at that time of night (somewhere after 10pm). I think most of my companions felt the same so we just availed ourselves of the toilet facilities and waited around while those few who DID want to eat queued up, placed their orders and received a cloakroom ticket with the order number on it.

While they were queuing I observed a middle-aged waitress carrying a plate and yelling the ticket number to try to identify the owner. She passed by me on her journey around the tables and I saw that the contents of the plate were the two triangular halves of a disgusting looking sandwich with curled up corners – the sort of thing that comedians of old used to mention regularly in skits about British Rail Cafeterias!

It became apparent that whoever HAD ordered it had also seen it on its travels and had decided, probably wisely, to cut their losses and keep quiet! I think this was dawning on the waitress too as her cries were becoming increasingly loud and angry.

Whenever I hear anyone shouting things out in that kind of establishment now the temptation to yell out “Number 99, Bacon Sandwich!” in imitation of her becomes almost irresistible!

But I digress.

The most memorable thing about the holiday itself was experiencing the Apollo 11 moon landing and the Astronauts’ subsequent excursions on a transistor radio with fading batteries – TV had not reached the wilds of Dartmoor by then! I have, however, told you about all that in a previous post (http://littlealfie.wordpress.com/2009/07/20) and it was a more personal “first” that I am supposed to be telling you about here.

The campsite we were using was reserved for youth organisations such as ours and was situated in a clearing in some woods just outside the village of Haytor Vale. The only permanent building was a large cabin constructed from logs and stone. It had electric lighting and a large cooking stove and so combined the roles of kitchen and dining room for us – but that was the full extent of permanent “facilities”.

The toilets consisted of wood-framed canvas covered “tents” and the “toilet boxes” within them were positioned over a slit trench (about 18inches wide and 3 foot deep) that the site owners had cut out with a JCB at the start of the holiday season. Every other day it was necessary for members of that day’s Orderly Squad to move the frames and boxes about 8 feet further along the trench and to fill in the “used” portion from the piles of earth left by the trench cutting machine. This had to be the most unpleasant, smelly task of the whole holiday and in an effort to make things better for those whose turn it was our Captain, Bernie Walker, would hand out cigarettes to the over 16s in the hope that the smoke would keep the other smell out of our noses!

It worked too!

It also, unfortunately, got me hooked on cigarettes and the holiday money that my parents probably thought I was spending on sweets and fizzy pop actually went on packs of Players No.6 cigarettes and beer (the village pub was the only place around that sold the fags and it would have been rude not to have a quick pint while I was there, wouldn’t it?). Yes, I know I was only 16 but after those bloody exams I LOOKED older! OK? So while Armstrong and Aldrin were ahoppin’ and aboppin’ round the Sea of Tranquillity I was getting a Nicotine habit!

Those cigarettes were not, it has to be said, the first things I had ever smoked – that distinction goes to a pack of miniature cigars that my friend and classmate Hank and I purchased for consumption on our weekly sociable strolls around Rushmere Heath (or “Cross Country practice” as our PE teacher incorrectly thought they were called!)  - if you wish you can read more about THAT aspect of my schooldays here: http://littlealfie.wordpress.com/2009/04/20

Anyway, once started on the evil weed it proved somewhat difficult to stop smoking it again and it was to be 24½ YEARS before I succeeded.

I eventually succumbed to financial pressure and the emotional blackmail of my two daughters and agreed to have a go at a permanent cessation! Fortunately a colleague at work found out that she was allergic to Nicotine patches and bequeathed me a four week supply of the highest strength ones. Not having to pay for the first lot up front meant that I could put aside the money I would have been spending on smokes to buy the next lot of patches and so on. The only other thing necessary was to slightly change my walk to work so that I never passed the spot where I habitually lit up the first one of the day!

And so, finally, we get to the point!

Today, 24^th January 2012, marks the 18^th anniversary of my first day without smoking since that trip to Dartmoor!

And what’s really depressing is the thought that the babies born on the day I gave up are now eligible to vote – perhaps I should go out and crash some 18^th Birthday parties (but only if they’re non-smoking ones of course)!

Alfie

 

Blockbuster!

Those of you who have been with me since the beginning of this little project, or who have come in a bit late but have diligently gone through all of my “archives”, will recall that in May of 2009 I wrote a very short piece entitled “Blocked”.  It comprised 14 words including the title and if you blinked and missed it you can find it here: http://littlealfie.wordpress.com/2009/05/08/blocked/

The suggestion that I made in it – that I was suffering from the horrible condition known as “Writer’s Block” – was in fact a lie that I published for 2 good (to me, anyway) reasons.

Firstly, I did not wish to give away to any of my readers, who might have been potential burglars that my lack of contributions (which, at that time were appearing with great regularity) was down to my wife and I being on holiday in Majorca.

Holidays?  Oh yes, I think I remember those! I believe I had one in 2010! I must try another one sometime.

Secondly, I wished to keep the information of our absence from certain acquaintances who not only used to read my scribblings but were also friends of my daughter who remained at home and might just have prevailed upon her to host a party or two! By the time it was realised that we had gone it was way too late to arrange any such events at our home before we got back. So we didn’t return to loads of empty Lambrini, WKD, or Vodka bottles plus empty (or partly so) Pizza boxes in odd corners of rooms or under sofas – which was nice!

And because I see fit to mention all that I imagine that some of you might suspect that my meagre output of late (6 postings in the last 3 months) is an indicator that this time I am indeed suffering “Writers Block” for real!

I explained in my Christmas message 2 postings ago that the working hours of my IT contract in Norfolk meant that I wanted nothing to do with any more computers at the end of each day but as the job ended just before Christmas THAT can no longer be an excuse!

No, my particular difficulty is most emphatically NOT Writers Block, which I would define as the inability to START writing things.

My problem lies at the other end of the process – at present I’m having considerable trouble FINISHING my articles.

I have a number that I have started during the last half year or so but they don’t seem to want to let me finish them! Either the narrative starts to drag itself off in directions other than where I want it to go or I get so bogged down in detail (or should that be BLOGGED down!) that they just keep on going to an unwieldy extent.

Plus I seem to have found the (for me) optimum number of partly completed pieces that will guarantee that I cannot work on any one of them without feeling I should be doing something to conclude any of the others. As an example, this piece was actually started on 24^th December 2011 but I have only managed to make further progress with it today (18^th January 2012) because I wanted to finish other (as yet still unfinished) articles first!

So, it may not be “Writers Block” in the accepted sense of the term but it is certainly a “Block” of some sort – maybe “Word Block”, “Blog Jam” or perhaps “Verbal Constipation” describe it best! Any suggestions?

And the cure? Well I have to work THAT out for myself but I am currently trying to implement the following simple rules:

1. Don’t start anything new until the old ones are all done.
2. Move ONE partly completed article into a “Do next” folder and ONLY go to that one whenever the writing mood is upon me.

As I moved the current work into the folder as in Rule 2 about a week ago it looks as if it might be working!

Time will tell – but I must ask you to consider what the possible side effects of clearing up a nasty case of “Verbal Constipation” might be!

You have been warned!

Happy New Year.

Alfie

 

The CD of my life: Sultans of Swing – Dire Straits

Oft repeated message (that you can ignore if you’re a regular reader): this article is one of a series listing songs that trigger a particularly strong or significant memory of some event in my life. These jottings provide what amount to the sleeve notes of the as yet uncompiled “CD of my life”.

In November 1977 I had been working in the Barclays Bank Trust Company office in Chelmsford for just over a year and, while I was still commuting to and from Ipswich every day I did my utmost to throw myself into the social life of the office which in that day and age meant particularly the inter-branch tenpin bowling and darts competitions.

As a train commuter I naturally had to scrounge lifts to these events and would always try to pick someone who would have to travel back from the venue past the railway station in time for a late train home. Remember that I had a 15 minute cycle ride to do in the pitch dark at the other end PLUS I had to be back at Ipswich station for the 8.12am train next morning and you will see that I had to be quite keen on the activity concerned in order to be bothered!

Sometimes, however, the draw for a darts match would pit us against one of the Chelmsford city centre branches and the match would take place at a pub not too far removed from the railway station.  And on one occasion we were drawn against a team from our near-neighbours (the Trust Company Taxation office was a portacabin in their car park!) at the main High Street branch and arranged the event for a pub (The Wheatsheaf?) just down the road opposite the Police Station and a few minutes stroll from my train home. I know we won the match but it was mostly memorable for my realising that I rather fancied one of the young ladies we had been playing against!

I endeavoured to visit her at her till in the branch as often as possible and managed at the Chelmsford District disco, held in Zhivago’s night club in Southend-on-sea  a week or two later, not only a few dances with her but (better still) the promise of future “dates”.

We were still seeing each other as the summer of 1978 approached and decided to go to Somerset and Devon for a couple of weeks together. As I was more than a little bit skint at the time we did this the cheap way – borrowing some camping gear and driving down in her car, an old style (i.e. TINY) Mini! Actually I should point out that SHE drove the entire way there and back– if you’ve read some of the earlier items in this series you will recall that I only had a motorcycle licence and had never been able to afford car driving lessons.

Remember also if you will that I am about 6’ 4” (no, I’m NOT going to convert it to metric for you!), that we were taking full camping gear, clothes etc. for 2 weeks in what was, for all practical purposes a two-seat car and it shouldn’t be too hard to see that I had to get in the car and have the gear packed around me with little chance of moving until a scheduled “pit stop”!

In all we spent our first week at a campsite on the Bristol Channel coast of north Somerset near the little fishing port of Watchet and the second just outside Totnes in south Devon – a stones throw from the seaside towns of Brixham, Torquay and Paignton, the so-called “English Riviera”. And a really fantastic holiday it was too – a whole 2 weeks away from work, lovely weather (I got sunstroke on the last day!) and a pretty young girl on my arm!

We spent a great deal of time that fortnight with either the car radio on as we drove around or my battery powered radio/cassette player going while in the tent and the track that I recall hearing the most (to the extent that hearing it now brings back memories of that whole holiday really strongly – which is the very point of this series) is the Dire Straits track referred to in the title above.

I seem to recall that either it had been re-released having failed to “take off” the first time or was possibly just a slow starter because it was not a new song to me in June 1978 – it just didn’t have any special meaning to me until then.

Anyway here, as usual, is a link to a YouTube recording of the song in question:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xo-J1wf2KHc

And what, you may well ask, happened to the young lady I went on that holiday with? Well to slightly misquote Charlotte Bronte in “Jane Eyre” I can happily say “Reader, I married her!”  And remain married to her to this day – so I owe it all to a darts match, a Disco and a tent!

Alfie

 

The official Alfie Christmas message, 2011

To my loyal readers, greetings from your humble scribe!

Now I know that the last couple of months have been a little sparse as far as contributions to this column are concerned but as many of you will know I have been working rather hard and haven’t been up to writing very much!

My latest contract, which has involved converting a rather large network (meaning about 1500 PC users) to Windows 7 has finished today – Hurrah! This has entailed going around the days “customers” to make sure that all of their data has been backed up, rebuilding their PC with the new operating system after they have left for the day and then returning at their arrival time next morning to help them through the changes. I have consoled myself during these times by calculating roughly how many WEEKS Jobseekers Allowance I have earned each DAY!

Because of this regime I have, since October, frequently suffered 12, 13 or 14 hour working days and on returning to my room in a Bed & Breakfast establishment in Heacham each night the last thing I have wanted to look at has been a computer! I am glad to be out of that B&B right now as it is currently occupied by shift-working coppers from the Royal Protection Squad working at Sandringham – I’m extremely surprised to find that there is insufficient “staff” accommodation in that bloody great house for them!

Still, as I said earlier, it’s all over now and I’m delighted to be back amongst you all again.

My generous employers kindly allowed us to leave the premises at 3pm on Friday – a whole hour before the normal leaving time – which meant that I did the first 20 miles of the trip home in daylight. I mention this because it enabled me to see a rather inebriated gentleman walking up the grass verge towards me and repeatedly shaking his fist at a field full of pigs! I REALLY want to know what THAT was all about!

And just as I was about to leave Norfolk and re-enter Cambridgeshire, I caught a Radio Norfolk traffic broadcast reporting an accident somewhere in the County involving “two cars and a Bull!”

Only in Norfolk, readers, only in Norfolk!

Anyway, I am now looking forward to catching up on some of my partly completed pieces and getting this show back on the road again. So while you wait for those dubious delights to appear I will simply wish you all an enjoyable holiday and a prosperous new year.

Best wishes,

Alfie

 

The CD of my Life: “Silver Machine”, “Hawkwind”.

Basic message (repeated using slightly different words each time): any article beginning “The CD of my Life…” tells you of an event in my life which is brought clearly back to mind by my hearing a particular song.

Now, if you’ve been paying attention to my personal timeline as previously mentioned in WAY too many of these articles, you will know that I left the confines of Copleston School in Ipswich in July 1969 and, after several weeks of family holidays and Boys Brigade camps, started work with the good old Inland Revenue in September of that year as a naïve, spotty 16 year old.

My previous mentions of my early employment (see: http://littlealfie.wordpress.com/2011/05/27 and http://littlealfie.wordpress.com/2010/04/13 amongst others) refer to those VERY early days when I was a mere
Clerical Assistant at the office of H.M. Inspector of Taxes, Ipswich 3^rd District.

However, this particular memory concerns events that happened after I had sat and passed a Civil Service examination and attained the exalted rank of Tax Officer.

“Exalted” because in the rest of the Civil Service the grade was “Clerical Officer” and their pay scale was slightly lower than ours – presumably because of the specialized and complex knowledge we were expected to have that our colleagues in other departments could get along without.

Incidentally, I received the news that I had passed the exam with some trepidation as Tax Offices in those pre-computer days were much more widespread than now and your initial posting could be ANYWHERE! The staff lived in constant fear of an unexpected transfer to Wick on the extreme  north coast of Scotland but I think that was kept as the “punishment office” so you would have had to foul up pretty badly to end up there!

The sense of humour of the people at the Inland Revenue Head Office Establishments Division (who handled all
appointments and transfers) was legendary! One of my own colleagues, on being elevated from Tax Officer (Higher Grade) to the god-like status of “Inspector”, was offered a position at Ilford in East London. As a Suffolk boy born and bred this was a nightmare scenario for him and his young family and he scornfully told those concerned:

“Ilford!  I’d rather go to the bloody Isle of Wight than THERE!”

See if you can guess where they generously changed his assignment to!

I also knew two gentlemen, both bearers of the surname “Cole” who lived constantly with the thought that one day someone at Head Office would find it amusing to “send Cole to Newcastle”!

What I had failed to take into account, however, was that I was still under 18 when I passed the exam and the rules said that “minors” could not be posted anywhere outside of daily travelling distance from their home.

So I finished up at HMIT Ipswich 2^nd District – half a mile nearer the town centre and therefore something of an improvement!

Anyway, to return to my proper track, it was the acquisition of those special skills (i.e.  knowledge of the
practical application of the Income Tax Act 1952, (plus subsequent amendments, the annual Finance Acts that followed and its re-birth as the Income & Corporation Tax Act 1970) that had to be accomplished next following the new assignment.

And that was achieved in three ways.

The first of these was the wonderful printed loose leaf training manual which, while not strictly relevant in this article, is worthy of mention for the one particular piece of it that I can still remember.

As well as “up through the ranks” people such as me this large ring binder was intended for those with better qualifications than mine who were able to enter the Civil Service directly at this grade.

Consequently, the first module contained a “look around the office” section for the newcomers and the first person considered worthy of mention was the holder of my own former position, “the filing clerk”. I am not sure that what I remember of the description is 100% accurate but the bit in capitals certainly is:

“…this is the person who looks after our files. THESE ARE THE COLOURED COVERS WE WRAP ROUND OUR PAPERS”.

Now you know why they sometimes cocked up your tax in those happy days before they got computers in to cock it up for them!

It was because your tax affairs were being administered by someone SO thick he or she had to be told what a file was!

The second form of training was the “at the desk” type and was accomplished on a Training Group in company with a couple of other “learners”, two experienced “mentors” and an extremely patient Tax Officer (Higher Grade) as our Manager. These people helped with the practical side of things which were not covered in the manual – letter writing skills, conducting interviews at the counter and how to rifle the stationery cupboard without getting caught – that sort of thing!

And finally…..

We get to the bit that is actually associated with the tune mentioned in the title – Training Courses!

There were various Inland Revenue Training Centres scattered around the UK and the one that people from my
part of the world got to attend was called “London Training Centre B”. It was situated in North London between Edgware and Harrow in a small suburb called Canon’s Park and was a former military encampment of some sort, just across the road from the eponymous London Underground Station.

And what an adventure going on those courses seemed to be! I had been to London many times – but never on my own. I had been away from home for a week at a time – but never in the company of complete strangers or staying in the house of strangers.  For that is how we were accommodated – no hotels for us – just a room in the house of a nearby resident who presumably had some reason to keep on good terms with the tax man!

I recall staying with a Mrs. Whale in Uppingham Avenue and being charged the grand sum of £7 for 4 nights Bed, Breakfast and Evening meal. Against that, however, I was able to claim £3.86 per night for “subsistence” leaving me £8.44 a week for beer and fags without touching any of my own money! Bearing in mind that a pint of beer and a packet of 20 cigarettes cost no more than 20p and 30p respectively in 1972 and figuring in other expenses “fiddles” such as claiming second class rail fare and then travelling by coach you will see that I was able to spend most lunchtimes and evenings in a local pub with my classmates without unduly straining the finances!

The pub in question stood in Honeypot Lane near the junction with Whitchurch Lane and I vaguely recall that it was (for obvious reasons given the location) called The Beehive. I could be wrong though as Google Maps shows it no longer to be there and I can find no reference to a former pub of that name in that area.

Any former North London Taxi or Minicab drivers care to comment?

Wherever it may have gone now we used to meet there each evening after our evening meals at our “digs” to imbibe vast amounts of beer and tobacco each night and while we did so this track always seemed to be playing on the juke box! I then remember wandering uneasily home down unfamiliar roads, letting myself into the B&B and trying way too hard not wake anyone!

Happy days!

Anyway here is my usual You Tube link (which as usual is subject to amendment if friend Vincent tells me he’s posted a better version).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MoZ_Lg21b14

Actually I just watched that performance – Lemmy hasn’t changed a bit and there’s rare footage of “performance artist” Stacia with her clothes ON! Wow!

Incidentally it was to be another four or five years or so before I heard the entire album that Silver Machine came from and it still, to this day, blows me away!

Alfie

 

The Stars like dust….!

I currently have no less than three posts nearing completion for your “entertainment” – two almost finished at the typing stage and another still in the initial hand written phase.

I have, however, been forced to put all of those aside this evening and start this new one.

Let me back up a bit and explain.

Following three weeks of my current job involving early starts, late finishes and anything up to a ninety minute car journey at each end, common sense eventually prevailed and I booked into a Bed and breakfast establishment about eight miles away in the small north Norfolk seaside resort of Heacham. It is a small place having more caravans than houses and as the holiday season has now ended it is extremely quiet.

The plan to save me from total exhaustion has worked so far and I have actually been arriving at my work in a reasonably awake state. I am not even tired out when I get back to the B & B.

The one problem I have now is what to do after my evening Skype call to Faith in Peterborough - spending every evening in your room watching TV very soon gets boring.

So tonight I decided to go out for a walk – initially just to see what the place had to offer but when that turned out to be “not much” I decided to follow the main street towards its termination at the beach. It was by now pitch dark and with very little activity in the caravan area the number of working street lights seemed to have been cut right back but I had a small torch to prevent me from falling off the pavement.

On reaching the sea wall I looked out across The Wash towards Lincolnshire (this is the only part of the east coast of England that faces west – look it up if you don’t believe me!) and could see faint glows opposite representing Boston to the left and Skegness away to the right. Behind me the muted lights of Heacham merged into the somewhat brighter ones of Hunstanton but neither of those patches of yellow sodium lamps could compete in any way with the REAL glory – above!

I have remarked in another item on this site (http://littlealfie.wordpress.com/2010/08/22) about seeing the true wonder of the clear night sky while night fishing on the Suffolk coast and this was just as amazing! I thought at first that there were patches of cloud obscuring the view above but soon came to realise that this was the plane view of the arms of our galaxy – or the Milky Way as it is known – winding like a glowing ribbon across the sky.

I was able to move down the stepped sea wall enough to block out all landward lights and actually lay down on the concrete to savour the experience fully – fortunately there was no-one else around to see me – for about fifteen minutes. During that time I saw half a dozen shooting stars apparently emanating from the constellation Taurus – I have a feeling that is one of the scheduled meteor showers each year!

It was a very moving and wonderful few minutes and I will be watching the weather forecast in order to repeat the experience when I return here next week – must remember binoculars next time!

Alfie

 

Rebranding – the lazy way to write!

I have been going through my little notebook (the one in which I started jotting down the notes that ultimately became this blog while keeping seats for the quiz team on Thursday nights) and I found my original list for the “CD of my life” series.

On reading through that list I found that some of the memories that I wrote down four or five years ago along with their associated songs were already turned into articles long before I conceived of the idea of the “CD of…..” series.

In other words, I have already done the “sleeve notes” for a large chunk of that CD without actually realising it.

You may have read (and if not; why not?) my recent piece concerning my employment in deepest darkest Norfolk and I have to add to that the fact that the job is turning out to require me frequently to be in at 7.30am and out at 7.30pm several days each week! Add to that the 90 minute drive at each end of that day and you will realise that by the time I get in at night I am too utterly knackered to do anything creative like writing!

Before you start to worry too much about me I would just like to say that the daily pay rate, even working  an average of 10 hours a day, still equates to an hourly rate higher than anything I’ve ever earned before – so I am not unhappy about it! Thanks for your concern anyway!

So, as I am sure you are already beginning to work out, I have spotted a very simple way of keeping activity going on this site while not having to spend hours cudgelling my tired brain into activity to create new stuff.

I will, quite simply be going back to some of those old articles which have a “music to memory” association and tarting them up to make them fit into the “CD of my life” format.

Or, as I prefer to think of it, “Filing off the serial numbers and selling them to you all over again”!

I don’t see it as cheating – you may have missed some of them first time round – at least I have warned you so you won’t be fretting about weird “déjà vu” feelings.

There will be new stuff too from time to time – I have by no means exhausted the list of things I wish to write about.

Sorry about that!

Alfie

 

I’m in the middle of nowhere!

New readers may be unaware that, ignoring the series of “CD of my life” articles which HAVE by their very nature to include them, I do try to make the titles of these pieces contain either song titles or song lyrics. Have a run through the archive and see how many you can spot.

This one is named after a song by the late, great Dusty Springfield and it describes my current situation very well indeed.

Yes! In answer to your unspoken question – I have changed jobs again!

When I last updated you on the state of my somewhat patchy recent employment history (3^rd July 2011) I was working on a contract for a company in Huntingdon. That job ceased to be fun when the main phase of the project (which involved “migrating” the staff of a huge network of Old People’s Homes to computers running Windows 7) came to an end after the 8 weeks I was initially hired for and they shifted me into the Support Desk Office – that’s “Helpdesk” to you – and I had to spend all day on the telephone wearing a silly headset!

Even that wasn’t so bad while I was only getting calls from the company whose migration I had worked on – I knew their systems very well by then – but after another month I started to get calls from people from other companies who were also clients of my employer.

There were two bad things about that. Firstly, no-one bothered to tell me it was going to happen and, secondly, I was given no training whatsoever in either what I should expect from these new callers or how I should answer their questions. I know I’m supposed to be intelligent but trying to answer questions on unfamiliar systems with all the people around me too busy to help while not letting on to the caller that I hadn’t a clue what they were talking about was a total bloody nightmare!

From a job security point of view it was also extremely unsatisfactory in that once the initial 8 weeks were up they were only prepared to extend my contract 2 weeks at a time. This meant that every second Monday I had to go to the manager and remind him that I would be finishing that Friday unless another extension was forthcoming. THAT got rather boring because there are only so many ways you can ask and I do SO like to be original!

Then, a couple of weeks ago, I got an “out of the blue” call from an agency who had found my details online and wanted permission to pass them on to a company assembling a team for a changeover to Windows 7. The location was rather off the beaten track but the daily pay rate was 166% of what I was then on so I agreed.

Following a lunchtime telephone interview  (conducted with me sitting in my car with a VERY dodgy mobile phone signal) I was offered a position to commence on Monday 3^rd October – the working day after my latest contract extension was due to expire – and I accepted it.

So when, just for once, my manager came to ME and said “I presume you’d like another 2 weeks” I was able to say with some satisfaction, “Thanks very much but I’ve found something new that will last me until at least next Christmas”.

And so, somewhat regretfully (because it was only the work I wasn’t happy with – the people I worked with were all utterly brilliant!) I ceased my 30 minute, 20 mile trip down the A1 from Peterborough to Huntingdon at the end of September and now have a new daily odyssey!

As I said earlier I now work “in the middle of nowhere” or, as it is better known “The National Construction Skills College, Bircham Newton, Kings Lynn, Norfolk”.

Now the ancient port of Kings Lynn is about 40 miles from my home and is reached by the A47 trunk road which as you probably know already, starts at Great Yarmouth on the east coast then cuts across Norfolk to Kings Lynn and onwards to Peterborough and Leicester. It is THE main road in that part of the world and some of it – only about 12 miles of the 40 mile bit that I use – is even dual carriageway! Very modern for northern East Anglia! It is only because of those 12 miles that occasionally I do actually manage to overtake some of the multitude of Heavy Goods Vehicles which dictate the speed that the rest of have to creep along at!

The strange thing about going to work in the morning now is that, of the final 15 miles, no less than 6 are actually on very minor roads approaching my destination and this means that while10% of my trip is on narrow “B” roads this ISN’T the slowest part of the journey! That distinction goes to the bit of A47 that crosses the river Great Ouse and the queue for the roundabout that leads me off onto the A149 up the right hand side of Kings Lynn – I sometimes seem to be the only person on that bit who knows which bloody lane he should be in while all around me others are weaving back and forth trying to queue jump! Especially, as I probably do not need to tell you, the drivers of BMWs, Audis and VW Golf GTis!

The place I eventually arrive at is indeed miles from anywhere and for the years 1916 to 1966 was a Royal Air Force Coastal Command airfield. The fact that it is now a College for the construction industry means that while it does have the feeling of a University campus about it sometimes, at other times you look at the chunky, red brick buildings and expect to see men in air force blue uniforms saluting Wing Commanders with handlebar moustaches!

I think I’m going to enjoy it – I’m part of a good team and this is helped by the fact that three of the four of us in it actually worked together on the aforementioned Old People’s Home project (although none of us knew the others were applying for the job)!

So, if my output here drops off again as it did over the summer you will know this time that it isn’t because I’m fed up with computers when I get in – I’m just too damned tired from all that driving!

Finally, as a way of closing out this piece I wish to share with you something that I saw by the roadside on Monday on the A47 somewhere between Wisbech and Kings Lynn.

A series of blue Police notice boards hove into view, duly spaced out for ease of reading, and these were worded as follows:

“Accident here”

“Monday PM”

“Witnesses required”

“Please call police”

Now, knowing as you do the way my mind delights in deliberately and knowingly taking things the wrong way and given that this was seen on Monday MORNING, I’m sure it won’t surprise you to know that I was sorely tempted to call them up, enquire the price of a witness ticket and ask what time they would like me to turn up for the accident!

On reflection though it doesn’t do to start a new job with charges of “Wasting Police time” hanging over one’s head, now does it?

Alfie

 

The CD of My Life: “I Guess that’s Why They Call it the Blues” – “Elton John”

Reminder to my regulars and information for new readers – this article is a part of a series that I have been doing for some months now, listing those pieces of music that trigger the opening of detailed “memory boxes” concerning events in my life. It also works the other way in that if something else triggers that memory the song in question pops up as integral part of it. This is, I think, “Track 7”.

This one is related, as you will see, directly to one major event in my life and indirectly to TWO other less exciting but still significant ones. All three were, from my wife’s point of view, distressingly close together!

About six months after I started work earning the grand sum of £6.88 per week I got fed up with being tied to the buses for my journey to work and to the worn out, 1940s bicycle that I plodded to Boys Brigade meetings and football matches on. So with my father acting as guarantor I entered into a credit agreement and bought myself a Honda 90 motorcycle which set me back £6.00 per month for the next year and a half. Quite a significant percentage of my salary at the point of purchase in April 1970 but by the time that 18 months was up my earnings had risen to £11.50 per week plus overtime. You will be pleased to know that it had a one gallon (4.454 litres if you insist) petrol tank which cost the monumental sum of FIFTY PENCE to fill from empty!

I used that bike until it finally packed up in the autumn of 1975 which was probably just as well as I would have been well over the drink/drive alcohol limit for a lot of 1976 and 1977! Somewhere in the intervening years, however, I passed my motorcycle driving test (at the second attempt) and am, indeed, still entitled to ride them to this day.

I bought another motorcycle in the spring of 1979 for daily travel from Ipswich to my new office in Norwich and for weekend trips to see Faith in Chelmsford. This was a Suzuki TS250 – a single cylinder machine that I could ride in a comfortable upright position. I’m not constructed for the “laying along the fuel tank” type of vehicle!

This is the bike that got a mention in my account of the 24 hours before our March 1980 wedding (http://littlealfie.wordpress.com/2010/04/03/poolside-jottings-part-1) and I eventually sold it to help pay for car driving lessons in the spring of 1982, taking a heavily subsidised (and therefore cheap) bus for the 10 mile trip from Long Stratton to Norwich for work every day.

The stories relating to my driving lessons belong in a post of their own but suffice it to say that I passed my test (at the second attempt) on 23^rd March 1983. This was just as well because Faith was heavily pregnant and insisted that there was no way that she was going to drive herself to the maternity hospital!

I never dared make the comment that occurred to me at that point:

“We shouldn’t have got rid of the motorbike then!”

That would have gone down REALLY well!

There was a further complication in our lives at that point because in January 1983 I got promoted and transferred back to Chelmsford again. Somehow we managed to make the house move coincide with the expected date of arrival of our first born!

The stress of having a baby AND planning the house move with me working in Essex and staying with my in-laws raised my good lady’s blood pressure quite substantially and on visiting her parents’ doctor after being fetched by her Mum to be with me over the Easter weekend (1^st to 4^th April) she was admitted into the Chelmsford maternity hospital immediately as a precaution.

I had taken a week off work for the move and returned home alone on the train on Easter Monday to finalise the packing – with the timely aid of my parents who drove up from Ipswich to help!

On Wednesday 6^th April the removal van arrived, my parents left ahead of it to prepare to receive it at the new place along with Faith’s mum and dad; while I was left to see the van off, check nothing had been left behind, get the electric meter read and deliver the keys to the Estate Agent in the village. I then got to do my first “solo” since passing the test – 80 miles along the A140 and A12 in our little Vauxhall Chevette to our new home. That was fun!

On arrival I checked that the collective parents were coping with unpacking our belongings (it was to be months before we found where they’d put some of it!) then rushed off to the hospital to visit Faith who was still “waiting” although she had been told that the delivery would be induced the next day.

So I came back the next morning and waited. And waited. And waited! I don’t know how things are now but in 1983 expectant fathers were regarded by the hospital staff as something that had to be endured – they certainly didn’t want to encourage them to stay by giving them anything to eat or drink!

I sat or stood by Faith’s bed from about 9 am until the baby arrived at just after 4.30 pm and for a couple of hours after that and the only sustenance I got was an occasional crafty swig from the glass of Complan that was kept filled to enable Faith to keep her strength up. Still it meant I was there right through the birth and a fantastic experience it was too!

Painful as well – I was wearing a jacket with padded sleeves and my dear wife still managed to leave long-lasting finger marks on my forearm as the “moment” approached! Don’t let anyone tell you childbirth doesn’t hurt – it REALLY does for all concerned!

Once I’d been to the public telephone box (no mobiles at that period of history!) and informed everyone concerned of my daughter’s entrance in to the world (with all relevant statistics, of course) I reluctantly left to allow her and her mum to sleep. I did not go home immediately though; I walked around the corner from the hospital to a Fish & chip shop and treated myself to a large portion of chips and a couple of saveloys! Then I went home and slept for some considerable time.

And when I drove home, I found that I wanted to sing out loud! So I put the car radio on and tunelessly bellowed along to the first song played – which was the track named in the title of this article. The lyrics aren’t particularly cheery but that didn’t matter – I just sang it loudly and happily anyway!

Faith stayed in hospital for 10 days, which was normal practice then for first time mothers so I had a week and a half to get really used to unaccompanied driving and the redoubtable Mr Reginald Dwight’s track was played (and sung along to) quite a lot during that time.

To this day I have to forcibly stop myself from singing loudly along to it!

Here is the link to it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6KYAVn8ons&ob=av2n

Regrettably there was no equivalent “sing-along song” around when my other daughter was born two years and six weeks later. She arrived very quickly (we had only been at the hospital for an hour) at about 6.15 am and was home around 48 hours later so nothing had the chance to burn its way into my memory.

Just so she doesn’t feel left out here, as an added bonus, is the track that was number 1 in the UK on her birthday:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b8JlTIo–CQ

Don’t say I never give you anything!

Alfie

 

Left or Right of Centre?

There was an item on the BBC East news programme (which covers the area in which I live) last night (26^th September) concerning political utterances at the Labour Party Conference affecting the region.

I would not have heard the words in question first hand as they were spoken by the Labour “leader” Mr Ed Miliband – a man who not only resembles one of Nick Park’s animated characters from the “Creature Comforts” series but also possesses a Doctor Who style “perception filter” which causes my attention to wander FAR away the moment he opens his mouth!

The words he is supposed to have spoken concerning East Anglia are these:

“The Eastern Region is central to Labour’s plans”.

Knowing my way with words as you do, can you see where I’m going with this?

Of course, the sentence was uttered in the context that Labour has only two MPs in East Anglia and the message referred to target seats if there is ever another General Election – NOT as any kind of reassurance to East Anglians looking to improve their job prospects or the prosperity of the region generally.

It was, basically, advice to potential Labour candidates to the effect that “Here is where you will have to lie the hardest”!

However, since there are always boundary changes in the offing, I hope that said candidates will bear in mind that if East Anglia is CENTRAL to their leader’s plans then some of them are going to wind up with constituencies in the middle of the North Sea!

Perhaps based on the huge numbers of offshore “Wind Farms”!

That would be apt!

Alfie

 

The CD of my life: “Substitute!” – “The Who”

Back story: this is part of the series of “sleeve notes” to the CD(s) I intend to compile featuring music that brings events from my life back to me with great clarity. It also might help me remember my own life if someone accidentally formats my brain at some time in the future.

Those of you under 35 years of age will probably not remember, first hand, the Falklands War and the ships that formed the South Atlantic Task Force transporting British troops down to that remote corner of  the world. One of them, conscripted into service as a hospital ship, was the SS Uganda.

The Uganda does not, itself, have any connection to me but it had a sister ship that DID.

And THAT was the SS Nevasa, a former troopship that was converted (very minimally, I should say!) to take large numbers of schoolchildren on “Educational Cruises” around the Mediterranean Sea in the 1960s.

Places on these cruises were offered to Local Education Authorities in rotation but I have no idea how the LEA covering Ipswich decided which schools to invite to fill its allocation. It may be that Copleston was included because it was one of the few non grammar schools to take GCE “O” Levels (actually outdoing Northgate Grammar school on an “average passes per head” basis) and this was a reward.

If it was, then the people who had achieved those results for the school didn’t benefit from them – they had already left!

In November of 1966 some guys from my class got to go on one of these trips along with others from our year and it sounded like fun. They must also have behaved themselves impeccably because shortly after their return
the school was offered more places on a cruise due to start in March 1968.

Rather surprisingly applications were invited from pupils in the 2^nd and 4^th years (years 8 and 10 in new money) which meant that my own year got another go despite being about 14 months away from the big examinations.

After discussing it with my parents it was agreed that I could apply but ONLY if I agreed to find half the cost by my own efforts.

And the cost of this 16 day Mediterranean cruise (including flight home)?

SIXTY THREE POUNDS!!

So I had to find the colossal sum of Thirty One Pounds, Ten Shillings (£31.50) in less than a year to fulfil my part of the bargain!

It doesn’t sound much now but consider my income which came solely from my newspaper round – the grand sum of 15 shillings (75p) per week or £39.00 per year if I didn’t take any holidays (which I did).

This weekly total would have been 7 shillings (35p) a week higher if my Dad hadn’t used the same system that HIS father had used – pocket money stopped when you got any kind of paid job!

I only managed it by asking for cash for Christmas and Birthday presents, by charging the other paper boys for doing their evening deliveries when they couldn’t do it for any reason and by working occasional Saturdays in the shop – but make it I did!

So, at the beginning of March 1968 a coach full of Copleston Boys School pupils (the girls school had a turn a year or two later – my sister went that time), including yours truly, set out to join the ship at Southampton docks. Oddly, the only thing I remember about that coach trip is that I consumed over half a pound of wine gums on the way.  Working part-time in a sweet shop had its advantages!

At Southampton we were herded with our luggage into a massive shed which contained passport and customs desks and access to the ramps up to the doorways high on the side of our vessel. From there we descended to
our dormitory just above the waterline, chose our bunks and then rushed up to the main deck to watch the departure which was memorable for two reasons.

Firstly, just as we were about to leave, our vessel was required to wait while the liner QE2 moved gracefully up the Solent to a berth just behind us. It must have been returning from one of its very early cruises (having only been launched the year before) and it was MASSIVE! It seemed to be at least four times the size of our 22,000 ton ship and towered over us as it passed us.

The second thing I recall very clearly is the fantastic sunset that we were able to watch as we came out of the Solent and rounded the Isle of Wight. I think that was the first time I ever saw the sun SET over the sea (I had seen it RISE from the water lots of times from my Grandmother’s caravan at Felixstowe) and it was very red!

Our days between ports were spent attending lectures on the places we would be visiting and doing the copious amounts of “homework” that the teachers back in Ipswich had given us to ensure that we didn’t get too far behind the rest of the class.  To ensure that we completed this work two teachers accompanied us – Mr Keeble (aka “Tom”) and Mr Chenery (known as “Min” after the Mary Poppins song), possibly the most laid-back pair we could have wished for. After “lessons” they left us to our own devices and adjourned to the Teachers-only bar until “dormitory lights-out” when one or other of them would come down, smelling strongly of alcohol, and call the register before saying goodnight.

The itinerary, in case you are interested, was as follows:

Ceuta, Morocco – the port on the North African side of the Straits of Gibraltar from where we had a coach trip inland to the old Spanish enclave of Tetuan. They sold a lot of hand tooled leather stuff there and I recall some of us attempting to exchange a small second year boy for some camel whips! I’m sure the trader was willing but we failed to complete the transaction because teachers have old-fashioned views about such things and intervened!

Heraklion, Crete – including coach trips to the ancient Minoan cities of Knossos and Phaestos. Northern Crete was, twelve years later, to become much more famous as the venue of my honeymoon with Faith!

Istanbul, Turkey – many tourist-trail places were visited but I mainly remember getting lost on foot with a group from my school during an hour or so of free time in the city and winding up at the main fish market ankle deep in stinking fish scales!

Piraeus, the port of Athens, Greece – again we did all the usual tourist things in the main city but my prime memory is of more free time which I spent wandering around the port in the company of my classmate John Lamb who, at that time had a thing about boats – I seem to remember that his dad kept a yacht at Woodbridge.

He spotted some masts showing over the top of a wall about eight feet high and resolved to take some photographs by the simple expedient of standing on my shoulders! It was at this point that we were accosted by a member of the English-speaking Tourist Police who advised us that while there were indeed yachts behind the wall it was mainly a base for the Greek Navy who, then as now, did not approve of such acts of espionage. He let us go back to the ship but bearing in mind that Greece had only recently (1967) chucked out its Monarchy and replaced it with a Military Junta I think we were quite lucky not to have been slung into jail!

I remembered that part with something of a shudder a few years back when a bunch of British ‘plane-spotters were locked up for quite a while in a nasty Greek prison for something essentially similar!

Venice, Italy – we woke up here on the last day of the trip and all we saw of the place was whatever came into view as we passed along the Grand Canal on a waterbus from the dock to the point on the mainland where a normal coach picked us up and drove us to Marco Polo airport and the flight home. Still, we did get to see the Rialto Bridge, the Bridge of Sighs and the Doge’s Palace even if it was only from the water.

The flight home was on a chartered Dan-Air BAC 1-11 jet and the trip was remarkable mainly for it being the first time I had ever flown.

And where, you are probably screaming, does the piece of music mentioned in the title come into this tale?

Well, every morning aboard ship they would wake us up by playing a current chart hit very loudly over the  Tannoy system and “Substitute” was the one that cropped up most often. I do keep a running list of songs for inclusion in this series along with a note of the specific memories they evoke – and this one wasn’t on it. Then I heard it on my mp3 player and ALL of the stuff I’ve spouted above just popped into my head.

Anyway here is a good link to it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eswQl-hcvU0&ob=av2n

(this may of course be an amendment to what I originally typed if my friend Vincent tells me he’s done a better one).

Enjoy!

Alfie

 

…. And you’ve just had some kind of mushroom!

Thus sang the 60s psychedelic band “Jefferson Airplane” in their famous hit “White Rabbit” in 1967.

They were, of course equating the events narrated in Lewis Carroll’s “Alice” stories with contemporary drug culture particularly, in the case of the quote I’ve used above, various hallucinogenic fungi known generically as “magic mushrooms”.

Relax! I’m not planning on discussing THAT aspect of mushrooms any further so let’s turn instead to a spot of family history!

I think I’d better explain!

A while ago I mentioned the existence of a folder copied from one of my old hard drives that contained sound files for a 1960s radio show. In the same general area I have just rediscovered a similar folder that I haven’t looked at for years. This one contains a series of scanned images which my late father made of some typed transcripts of newspaper reports from the East Anglian Daily Times dating from September 1907.

Readers of my previous forays into family history will remember my paternal Grandfather “Jack the Milkman” and HIS father who I named “Biggest Alfie” in order to tell him apart from others of that name. Oh all right, since you insist, here are the links!

http://littlealfie.wordpress.com/2009/12/04/jack-the-milkman/

http://littlealfie.wordpress.com/2009/09/13/roots/

Well, this story is connected to the previously unmentioned wife of “Biggest Alfie”, Jack’s mother, my Great-Grandmother, a lady named Maria.

Specifically it is connected to Maria’s sister, Laura, and her family who were living, at the time of the news story, at 22 Tovells Road in Ipswich.  This was a fairly small terraced place and she lived there with her husband Samuel and their children:

Charles (aged 17)

Laura (15)

Mabel (13)

Ernest (11)

Beatrice (9)

Willie (5)

Alfred (3)

I have looked at that house on Google Street View and how they all fitted in it I’ll never know!

Anyway, my Great-great Aunt Laura was, on Friday 13^th September 1907, also being visited by her married and pregnant 22 year old daughter Ruth (who, with hindsight, should definitely have stayed at home). Laura herself was pregnant yet again – a fact which may have been relevant in considering the reasons for what happened next.

By all accounts they were an impoverished family, Samuel and Charles were almost continuously out of work and as there were no State Benefits to keep them alive they were dependent upon the small earnings of the
two oldest girls, the charity of other parts of the family and what could be grown or picked themselves.

On the aforementioned Friday 13^th September Samuel and his son Charles walked out of town to Kesgrave to pick blackberries which they would then sell for a small sum to a local greengrocer. They picked some for sale and I imagine it would have had to have been a LOT to be worthwhile but they also came upon some mushrooms in a wood by the main road which Samuel gathered for consumption at home.

Son Charles apparently questioned his father as to whether these were edible as they did not resemble the ones that were normally brought home and cooked by his mother. Samuel angrily objected to the suggestion that there was anything amiss and Charles stopped arguing with him.

On arriving home most of the mushrooms were duly stewed and served up for dinner (with what other food the reports do not say) and were eaten by most of the family – Charles had none because he had always seriously
disliked them while Ernest, Beatrice and the visiting Ruth had a small amount.

Apparently there were no immediate ill effects but 24 hours later on the evening of Saturday 14^th September the mother and father (Samuel and Laura Senior) along with Laura junior, Mabel, Willie and Alfred all became very, very unwell indeed!

At around midnight a doctor was called (remember there was no NHS so he would have to be paid and thus would only be summoned for dire emergencies) and he records that all six were exhibiting violent symptoms of
diarrhoea and vomiting that continued all night and into the next morning.

By noon on the Sunday this proved too much for 3 year old Alfie and he passed away followed a couple of hours later by 5 year old Willie. We do not know if their mother was in any state to be aware of this but she
also succumbed at around 5pm having first given birth to a premature and stillborn baby. At about 7pm 13 year old Mabel died too.

This left Samuel, the father, and his daughter Laura fighting for their lives while the surviving children were put up by relatives. And a good job too! Just picturing that small house awash with vomit and excrement and with dead bodies of close family in some of the rooms causes even my powerful imagination to give up and quiver in horror!  I cannot even begin to think of what it would have been like to spend the night there!

On the Monday, while an inquest on the four dead from the previous day was convened, Beatrice (9) and her brother Ernest (11) also showed some signs of the poisoning and the former became quite unwell. Ernest,
however, had been with some other children (probably my grandfather Jack, then aged nearly 4, and his siblings) and had eaten an excessive number of Plums, the laxative effects of which seem to have shifted the poison through his system before it could damage his internal organs! I wonder if “scrumping” saved his life!

Beatrice must also have received a comparatively minor dose and recovered eventually.

The married daughter, Ruth, also suffered from a mild version of the symptoms but in her case the doctor was more concerned for her imminent child. The baby was, however, born on that very day with no particular
problems.

More horror was to come, however, as Samuel and daughter Laura both suffered more and more pain during the night (presumably as their organs began to fail) and after some hours of thrashing about in agony Samuel
died at 4.30 on the Tuesday morning followed by Laura some six hours later.

So, six out of a family of nine (not counting babies or people “living out”) died very hard and nasty deaths and it fell to the coroner and his jury to try to find out how and why they died. That is where it emerged that Samuel had become quite short-tempered with his son Charles following the latter stating that there was something “not right” about the colour and smell of the “mushrooms” he had picked.

Experts in fungi and toxicology confirmed from fragments of the “mushrooms” found in the kitchen that these were, as suspected, a highly poisonous and deadly strain looking and smelling nothing like the common edible
type. It was felt that both the father and mother of the household should have realised this.

Testimony was also given by the greengrocer who usually purchased the fruit gathered by Samuel to the effect that Samuel had remarked the previous April that he “would rather see my lot stiff than put up with another winter like the last” Despite this there was no other evidence that this was anything other than a stupid and fatal mistake by a man who should have known better.

Consequently six verdicts of “Death by misadventure” were recorded. I leave you to your own conclusions as to whether that was right.

The funerals of the six were provided free by Mr Singleton, a local undertaker (who certainly got his money back in free advertising in the EADT reports!), and the case was such a sensation in Ipswich that a crowd
estimated by the police to have numbered around 7000 attended it.

The surviving children went to stay with various other parts of the family and Ernest actually shared a room for some years with my grandfather, Jack. When Ernest grew up he married his cousin, Jack’s sister
Mabel, and they had two boys who my father knew very well. Both of them are now dead (the elder passed away in Canada only a couple of years ago) but three great-grandsons of Samuel still survive for which reason I have not mentioned the surname concerned.

I have, you will be pleased to know, no snappy ending for this piece but dedicate it to those distant cousins who died 104 years ago this week and also to the memory of my own father who died 5 years ago on 15^th
September. He would have made a much better job of writing this up than I have.

My father, incidentally, loved mushrooms; as do I.

Alfie

 

Going Back!

Just for the sake of getting something posted – it’s been over a month and I now have seven or eight other articles looking for an ending – I offer you the following:

For the first thirty years of my working life, (which covers, The Inland Revenue, Barclays Bank Trust Company and temping at the Norwich & Peterborough Building Society) I was required to wear a suit and tie. This was in spite of the important (to me anyway) fact that for the last six of those thirty years I was not in direct face to face contact with my clients and I don’t believe that they would have been able to detect it by phone or letter if I hadn’t been wearing them. Except, of course that my telephone voice would have sounded a lot less choked without the tie!

I had to wear that “uniform” because of the whim of small-minded Managers who get off on exercising that type of petty and unnecessary power over others!

And then I got my first IT job which involved a lot of crawling about under desks and dressing up in protective gear for going into supposedly sterile factory areas. I discovered to my great relief that not only was I not expected to wear either suit or tie but that it was positively discouraged! I think my IT Managers would have thought I was after their job if I’d turned up looking smart!

Ever since that first break into the computer industry my suit, along with my ties and smart shoes, has been reserved for job interviews, weddings and the very occasional funeral.

And what, you may ask, got me thinking about that?

Well, it was the follow-up to considering pockets, their contents, and how they have changed over the years.

When I was at school my jacket and trouser pockets contained all of the traditional schoolboy things – furry unwrapped toffees, a penknife, pieces of string, a grubby handkerchief, a comb (sometimes!) and (in the right
season) any number of conkers!  Then when I started office work my suit pockets contained money, a penknife, a clean handkerchief, a comb, keys and various pens and pencils that would have been stolen by colleagues had I left them on my desk!

Later when I moved to IT work the pockets of my casual black trousers and the fleece jacket that I can now get away with instead of a suit jacket contained an assortment of small screwdrivers, a device for testing network cables, a USB memory stick, a clean handkerchief, a comb and a penknife.

“But why” I still hear you asking, “were you thinking about pocket contents at all?”

OK, I’ll tell you. I was doing the usual Monday morning thing of swapping the contents of the jeans I’ve had on all weekend into my work trousers when I noticed something interesting.

The items I took from my jeans included a penknife, a grubby handkerchief, a slightly sticky mint imperial and a couple of pieces of string! Just like a schoolboy!

I think I must be regressing to my childhood and will have to go for a walk at lunchtime to try to find some conkers!!

Alfie

 

The CD of my life: “Slade” – “Born to be wild”

Loyal followers of my reminiscent outpourings and those of you who may have come upon them accidentally may recall that there have been two occasions since February 2009 http://littlealfie.wordpress.com/2009/04/23 and http://littlealfie.wordpress.com/2010/07/27  when former work colleagues and friends have drifted back into contact with me only to be cruelly snatched away again!

I don’t wish to dwell on those sad stories because they represent only the negative side of the “lost friendships balance sheet”.

So, what’s on the positive side of that balance sheet?

Well, to start with there was my sudden, surprising, fun and (initially anyway) intensely wordy resumption of contact with my former classmate, Vincent, after nearly 40 years. This man, who has retired to the wilds of an ancient eastern kingdom (prompting me to refer to him as “my old school Thai”) inspired me by his own literary efforts to start this humble blog and has been instrumental in drawing in another classmate, Richard (aka Hank) with whom I had only had fleeting contact previously.

Now there are more “plusses” – not school or work friends this time! And all as a result of a tiny link to this site that I placed amongst my details on the Friends Reunited website about 18 months ago.

To put things in their correct historical context I refer you to my offering titled “Saturday” http://littlealfie.wordpress.com/2009/10/05  which gave you a little snapshot of weekends during 1976 and 1977. There was a similar, even smaller, snippet of that time in “The song remains the same…” here http://littlealfie.wordpress.com/2009/12/06/

In these pieces I referred to my lodger, Andy.

The reason why I had a house, and a mortgage at that place and time belongs to a chapter of my personal story that I shall probably never bother to set down here – suffice it to say that while I had the mortgage I really, really needed the lodger and the fact that we got on so well was a brilliant bonus!

From that you will, being intelligent, reasoning beings, have deduced that my latest resumption of old friendships came from him. Not quite. It was “near enough” though as the initial contact came through a comment made to an old post on this very site in the names of Andy and Chris, his wife.

And now that communications are open Faith and I are emailing Andy and Chris and trying not to exhaust all the history, news and events concerning our respective families at one go so that we can stay in touch and maybe even resume contact with other old friends from those times. I really do hope we don’t drift away again!

If you remember the title of this piece you may recall that articles with titles beginning “The CD of my life..” concern tracks which trigger (or are triggered by)fond memories of particular events and you may be wondering how that ties in with the previous ten paragraphs. 

Well, when Andy’s name appeared in that comment last week a whole raft of the little boxes, into which my memory is divided, floated to the surface levels of my consciousness. They all related to our time residing together at 9 Beaconsfield Road, Ipswich between January 1976 and January 1979 inclusive.

And the most prominent of them all was the one labelled “Party!”

I don’t know how things are now but in the 1970s a situation with two 20-something blokes in a house, removed from the restraints of either parents or permanent partners would inevitably result in loud, drunken soirees involving dozens of people squeezing into a 1930s semi-detached house on occasional Saturday nights.

We wouldn’t have wanted to be the ones to buck THAT trend, now would we?

So, every so often, and usually with no particular event in mind, the word would go out for a forthcoming weekend (preferably one with no home football match) and the preparations would begin.

As far as beer was concerned (let’s discuss the important factors first!)we did make quite a contribution ourselves and I believe that one of the local off-licence chains held a “trade” account in the name of “The Inland Revenue Social Club” of which the local offices of said Government Department had no knowledge whatsoever!  That was fine for the crates of Light Ale and so-called “Ladies’ drinks” but for serious consumption we went much more locally.

I had, of course, two next door neighbours; the adjoining semi-detached was occupied by some not very nice people who were acquainted with my ex–mother-in –law. We didn’t speak to them at all! The end of terraced house on the other side, however, was occupied by an absolutely lovely family!

 Brian, a forty-something train driver with a magnificent Walrus moustache, lived at number 7 with his wife Ruby and their two young children. They most certainly DID get invited although the youngsters weren’t allowed to go and Ruby stayed at home to babysit them.

Brian’s contribution to the festivities (and I have to state quite categorically that he was invited because he was a great bloke and NOT because of what he brought) was some of his home-brewed beer. Not a few bottles but a NINE GALLON barrel! That’s 72 pints, or if you want to go Euro, just over 40 litres.

So, we were well equipped on the booze front – the next item was food. And, would you believe, I don’t have the faintest memory of what food was provided or who provided it! I’m guessing that, as it was a 1970s party, it would have included various combinations of sausage, cheese, pineapple pieces and pickled onions on sticks and the catering was probably done by various wives/girlfriends of my mates. Perhaps someone who attended could let me know!

And to get back on topic, the one remaining factor to be prepared was the MUSIC.

Not so much the content – plenty of people offered us albums to use and I had a whole load of cassettes laboriously recorded from the BBC’s chart shows – but the volume.

We reasoned as follows: a house full of people on party night would tend to muffle the sounds of the music even with the volume cranked up, therefore if we played some REALLY loud stuff every night for the week before with just the two of us there and DIDN’T get any complaints the neighbours would have no grounds to call the police on the Saturday!

In fact, what we did was stick the loudest album we could find on the record deck and clear off to bed!

The album in question comprised concert recordings by Slade, was titled “Slade Alive” and it literally rattled the windows at the front of the house. My room was right above one of the speakers and I could FEEL the sound through the floor just as well as I could hear it! Needless to say I couldn’t sleep until it finished and the end was heralded by this track which sums up the whole experience for me:

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S2Kmch2swn8

To me it is, in terms of volume, power and sheer awesomeness WAY better than the comparatively weak, sanitised version offered up by Steppenwolf for the movie “Easy Rider”.

And the parties?  Invariably successful I should say! The Coppers never asked us to “turn it down”, there never seemed to be a shortage of beer and I always had a terrible hangover for the next few days! On the down side the kitchen floor where Brian’s barrel had dripped, would, even after mopping, be sticky for weeks but we lived with that!

My good neighbour always had an interesting time too! Brian’s other hobby after brewing was making curries – the sort that you prepare, leave to marinate for a few days (or weeks!),  and then warm up when you’re feeling brave enough to eat it! At the party he would chat up some unattached female by telling her what a great cook he was and invite her back next door for a curry!

 I gather that Ruby, his long suffering spouse was quite accustomed to this and would be sitting in the kitchen waiting with her dressing gown on and her hair in curlers to greet them and put the oven on for him!

They were indeed Great Days but would I want to go back to them?

Errrrm, well………..!

Alfie

 

On the passage of time and the passing of paper!

I’ve just noticed that it has been almost 5 weeks since I last posted anything here (and I expect there will be emails soon tentatively enquiring as to whether I’ve quietly gone and died) and while it is true to say that I currently have about 4 started articles all looking for an ending that is not the main reason for my absence.

As many of you know I work in the realms of “I.T.” doing various things just to keep the bills paid.

There are, in fact, two types of that line of work that come my way.

The first is the “hands on” sort of thing where I’m helping run a network, getting my hands on broken PCs and rebuilding them, or sitting with people and showing them how to do the things they want their computer to do.

The second is the “helpdesk” type of job where people with no idea of what they’re doing call you up and ask you to fix it for them! This involves the serious mental effort of imagining what they are seeing on their screen, assuming that they have just pressed the key you asked them to and then getting them to tell you in understandable terms what has then happened while, at all times, keeping your temper.

When I do the first type of job I have no problem sitting down at my own computer at home, relaxing and doing creative stuff with it.

When I have a “helldesk” type of job I come home, scream at any family member who suggests I might like to look at their laptop and sort something out for them; and then will not go near my own computer if I can possibly avoid it!

See if you can guess which sort of job I’ve had for the last four weeks!

So I’ve been busy doing other things instead – gardening, fishing, replacing all the tiles that fell off the wall of the en-suite bathroom last winter, and numerous tasks of that sort.

The Service Centre job continues but I have managed to grab some time on this Sunday evening to try to create something new for you.

One of the other things I’ve been doing instead of writing is reading. This has always been something I’ve done a lot of but I recently found that I have read everything on my bookshelves at least once this year so I wanted some new material.

And having some unspent Christmas /Birthday present money still burning a hole in my account I decided to go electronic on the reading front and purchased an Amazon Kindle e-book.

This is the very first time I have managed to get hold of one of the real sci-fi gadgets from my youth!

OK we’re still lacking the jet boots, shiny Inter-city monorail systems and the carbon filament “space elevators” to cities in synchronous orbit but the other thing most stories had was the “book plaque” providing news updates and casual literature wherever in the Solar System (or out of it) the reader might be. And now I’ve got one too!

Of course, what they never, ever mentioned in those stories is that you have to pay for the content you read. Or you would if you weren’t as tight with the pennies as I am!

OK, if I come across a book I do REALLY want to read quite badly I WILL pay for the download (which goes straight to the Kindle via my home wireless internet connection) but I decided that there exist so many books I never got around to reading that are also out of copyright that paying out should not be necessary for some time!

The Amazon site contains a substantial number of literary classics that some kind soul has converted to a suitable digital format and with that and the previous output of the awesome but cumbersome “Project Gutenberg” I’m downloading freebies like there’s no tomorrow.

Currently the contents page of my Kindle has on it:

“The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes “

“Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”

“The first Men in the Moon”

“Gulliver’s Travels”

“The Illiad”

“The War of the Worlds”

With the exception of the last one I have never read any of these before.

One thing I have noticed so far is that ANY of those that have been made into movies have been made into movies that bear little or no resemblance to the book. And if you saw the movie first you are in for a shock when you do the book!

For example, if Walter Elias Disney had not prettied it up in a cute cartoon format I am sure that no-one in this day and age would ever regard “Alice” as a children’s’ book!  It scared the crap out of me – nearly as much as “Lord of the Flies” at school!

Also WAY different to its movie is the one I didn’t mention in the list which I am actually reading at the moment – Mark Twain’s “A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court”!

If you are round about my age (late 50s) I am sure you have memories of those winter Sunday afternoons watching the TV with your family and marvelling at the adventures of the wholesome Bing Crosby as the 19^th Century Blacksmith flung back in time 1300 years or so.

As I recall some play was made of his using “modern Science” to gain a privileged position amongst the primitives but I mainly remember “Sir Boss” going off on a jaunt with a disguised King Arthur and singing “We’re busy doing nothing”!

There is no singing in the book and I was surprised at the venom with which Twain gets in his anti-monarchist sentiments. I haven’t finished it yet but so far “The Boss” (more menacing than “Sir” when everyone else is a knight or higher) has set up hidden villages with schools to educate the peasants and factories to produce needed items (such as soap!) with a view to overthrowing the “Rights” of the Aristocracy and the superstition and terror used by the Church to keep them in order. The fact that both these institutions are still in existence today suggests that he doesn’t succeed but I for one wish him well. Read it yourself and find out what really happens!

Oh, in case you were wondering I had the idea of telling you about my Kindle when I decided to charge the battery tonight. I had done this over four weeks ago when I first got it and have read it for at least 30 minutes every day since. The battery charge was reading just under half full! So, in addition to being capable of transporting a sizeable library in a unit 7 ½ inches by 5 inches by ¼ inch thick, the damn thing uses hardly any power! Wonderful!

Alfie