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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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