Have I found my calling?

(dedicated to Richard and Jeni, who both tried but ... ... ...!!)

 

It seems some time since I have written anything creative, vaguely intellectual or indeed irreverent; it’s got something to do with her indoors and a cracked record that keeps repeating things like “Why aren’t you on the roof!” “Oh, there you are, I thought you were on the roof!” “Once the roof is finished you can do what you like!” ... ... ... ad infinitum!! In fact, I’m thinking of walking to Santiago along the route of St Jacques or Camino de Santiago de Compostela, it’s only about 1500 km, and as well as a clue as to what might come later it might give me a month or three’s peace!!

So, be warned what follows is certainly irreverent, possibly creative but may fail intellectually!

In the distant past, it might surprise some of you to know, that I thought about becoming a vicar, yes you did read that right – taking the cloth, become a priest!  I was only about six at the time and became a choir boy at St Mark’s Church, Biggin Hill, a church with a remarkable history that, quite literally, started in Peckham, SE London, with an equally remarkable vicar, the Rev Vivian Symonds. He moved to Biggin Hill as a curate, in 1951, found there was no proper consecrated church there and therefore he couldn’t be ordained.  So with limited funds he quite simply set to and almost singlehandedly, moved a redundant church “All Saints, Peckham,” brick by brick and created the current St Mark’s Church in Biggin Hill, also not surprisingly known as “The Moving Church,” whilst carrying out the job of parish priest and chaplain for the nearby famous RAF Station.  For the full story, visit www.bigginhill-history.co.uk/movingmain.htm.  Now whether it was the amazing story behind the church and particularly the herculean task carried out by the vicar, or simply the fact that he would fairly regularly give me and the other choir boys half a crown for services rendered, and I know many of you will have jumped to the wrong conclusion here – the press have a lot to answer for!! -  it was for singing at weddings!, but he made a great impression on me and for a time, I wanted to be like him.  But, at six, I also wanted to ring the bell on a fire engine, with my brother as the driver!

Then many years later, having moved on through being an architect, a vet, a chef and various other diverse and varied careers, I was influenced by a young teacher at my secondary school, who made a similar impression, although being only small when he tried to tackle me on the rugby field, it was me who made the impression and left him rubbing a sore head and asking how much I weighed!!  But, as I guess the expression is, that was it and the rest is history, as I headed for the blackboards in various parts of the country.  Interestingly, throughout my career, said blackboards, for politically correct reasons, became chalk boards, which in turn due to technological advances became whiteboards – I certainly taught through interesting times!!  (Why I ask myself can we h have whiteboards but not blackboards?)  Although, briefly during this time there was another vicar who had a profound effect on me, but again it might have been for ulterior motives, quite simply that he got me legitimately out of the rather Victorian boarding school in which I was incarcerated!  The Headmaster could barely object if we wanted to go out in the evening to “prayer meetings” at the vicarage, even if we didn’t have any of our 3 late passes left for the term!!  These evening meetings took place in the converted garage of the Vicarage, included girls (a rarity as I was at an all boys school!), coffee, discussions on a variety of issues which were certainly not exclusively religious and more importantly introduced me to Folk Song and life on the streets, as in down and outs rather than prostitution!  Now, I should explain here that these seemingly rather revolutionary evenings didn’t get me thrown out of school and into the gutter, but the vicar in question had come to our sleepy little south coast town from the bright lights of London, the church of St Martin’s in the Field off Trafalgar Square to be precise, where he had been instrumental in setting up the Crypt Folk Club, as well as being very active in the Soup Kitchen for “down and outs” or homeless people, also in the Crypt, and Centrepoint, a hostel for young homeless people set up by the church and housed in a next door building.  Through his contacts we were to visit both the Folk Club and Soup Kitchen and, with the latter in particular, to broaden my experience and outlook on life.  He went on to open a Folk Club in a redundant church in the town, where again due to links with the church we were able to go.  It was here I saw such amazing acts such as Decameron, Davey Graham, Holly Gwinn Graham, Mike Moran, Keith Pearson (now part of Coup de Grass) and many more who started my enduring love of Folk Music.  All exciting stuff, and set up by a vicar, so as an impressionable young lad ... ... ..., just perhaps ... ... ... the cloth ......... nah, not really!!  A recent blog post you may have read, chronicled my return to the stage! after an absence of many years, and watch this space for a future post – Musical Moments in Time – Remember Monster Mash, sung by Bobby and the Crypt-Kickers in 1973, well ......... but, that’s another story for another time!!!

And, it was fairly recently, whilst still “teaching,” although this involved increasingly filling in forms, maintaining buildings, fighting with budgets, percentages, jobsworths and supposed educational experts, as well as the odd unruly pupil, that two very different vicars; one who found religion whilst in prison and another who wore Doc Martin boots and swigged pints of bitter with the best of them, when she wasn’t feeding the chickens or polishing the old VW campervan, that both the aforementioned tried to convert me, or maybe that should be save me!!!  One simply saw me as something of a light-hearted challenge, although like the young teacher above found me to be something of an immovable object, the other tried more subtle means!!

Both might now be rather surprised to find I am regularly in the habit of rescuing lost souls and returning them to the correct path to enlightenment!  Maybe I’ve been saved as well as those I rescue, and here I continue with an article I recently wrote, in a series entitled “View across La Manche.”  La manche meaning sleeve in French and what the French call The English Channel, to go in the Magazine of the Association of Countryside Volunteers, of which I am the Magazine Editor and current Vice Chair

View across La Manche

 

I’m sure that many of you will recall Marian Shepley’s moving account “Easter 2011 ~ A walk along a Camino (......and Alan came too!)?”  You may also recall the extract I included of a letter I had written to Marian after receiving her account.  In this I mentioned that one of the official Ways of St James passes through St Laurent de la Salle, very close to our new house, and how the gîte opposite has regular pilgrims staying overnight on their journey along the route.  They often have interesting stories to tell and I thought it would be interesting to tell you a little more about “Walking to Santiago,” although rather irreverently when stopped by one of these pilgrims asking  “Is this is the way to Santiago” I do have to stop myself bursting into song and singing “Show me the way to Santiago!”.  Yes, I know it should really be “Is this the way to Amarillo” but it scans just as well and there is something rather bizarre about being stopped by a complete stranger in the heart of rural Vendée, France, and being asked the way to a small city of some 95,000 population in the north western tip of Spain about 1200 km (750 miles) away by foot or 750 km (460 miles) if you happen to be a crow!!

The Way of St James or St James’ Way has many different names: Chemins de Saint-Jacques-de-Compostelle (French), El Camino de Santiago (Spanish), O Camiño de Santiago (Galician), Jakobsweg (German), Done Jakue bidea (Basque),as well as simply The Pilgrim Route, to name a few and is not just a single pilgrimage route to the  Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia in northwestern Spain, where tradition has it that the remains of the apostle St James are buried.  And, although there are four main routes identified across France and all converging on the main route across northern Spain, there are many other official routes spreading widely across Europe, including several starting across La Manche in England, as shown on this Wikipedia map below.  Indeed, for a very full history of The Way of St James and associated references go to:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Way_of_St._James.  The whole route was designated a UNESCO cultural World Heritage Site in 1993.

But, all the routes have in common, the scallop shell route markers, the shell ridges orientated in such a way as to show the direction of the route and designated stopping points (such as the gîte opposite our house and churches or public buildings) where pilgrims are able to get their “St James Passports” or credencial stamped with official stamps and a recent pilgrim staying in the gîte told us that this passport is vital to be allowed to stay in one of the hostels or refugios along the route in Spain.  “Ours” and I believe the other routes, also have guide books with the Way shown in them, but those I have seen to date, when rescuing pilgrims who have strayed, are very simple and quite difficult to follow, however experience also tells me that the route is extremely well marked, except perhaps when there is warm wet summer weather, and the undergrowth takes a spurt!!  I am not sure if I would want to rely on these simple guides, but I suppose there is the consideration of not carrying too much weight when walking for two or three months, and as pilgrims I guess they have a powerful friend on their side, or at least kindly natives who will rescue them when they are in need!!   I have fairly often found a lost soul walking around in circles completely off the map and with no idea where they are, often it is a case of bundling them in the car and returning them to a part of the route I know is nearby and wishing them God’s speed, or at least “Good-bye enjoy the rest of your walk.”  The pilgrims also often carry a scallop shell like a badge attached to their rucksacks, but this was also a useful item in the past, being suitable as both a drinking vessel and a makeshift bowl.

In pre-Christian times the route was a Roman trade route christened “The Milky Way” as it followed the Milky Way to the Atlantic Ocean.  Then, in Medieval times a common Spanish legend about El Camino de Santiago, a popular name for the Milky Way, tells of how the stars of the Milky Way are actually formed by the dust created by the feet of all the pilgrims and indeed Compostela itself means “field of stars!” 

In pre-Christian times the route was a Roman trade route christened “The Milky Way” as it followed the Milky Way to the Atlantic Ocean.  Then, in Medieval times a common Spanish legend about El Camino de Santiago, a popular name for the Milky Way, tells of how the stars of the Milky Way are actually formed by the dust created by the feet of all the pilgrims and indeed Compostela itself means “field of stars!” 

Well in excess of 100,000 pilgrims have “completed” the route in recent years and in 2010, a Holy Year, over 279,000 pilgrims received a Compostela, or certificate of completion.  However, to qualify for this you must have walked a minimum of 100 km or cycled a minimum of 200 km and your passport is carefully checked to verify this before you are asked if the purpose of your camino or walk was “religious”, “religious and other” or simply “other”!  For the first two you will receive a Compostela in Latin, but for other your Compostela will be in Spanish and will ask for this heathen to be blessed!

Each day at noon a pilgrim’s mass is held in the cathedral and those pilgrims who received their Compostelas the previous day are announced, with their country of origin and starting point of their pilgrimage. 

“Pilgrims” walk, or indeed cycle or ride on horses or donkeys for many reasons, be they religious or simply as sport and a challenge.  For many it is a spiritual journey to remove themselves from the rigours of modern day life, or others use it as a religious retreat.  In “autrefois” (olden days) such pilgrimages might have been made as a penance to “atone for temporal punishment” and to this day there is a tradition in Flanders, to free one prisoner each year, on the condition they walk the route to Santiago, accompanied by a guard – I wonder if the guards are volunteers or perhaps it’s part of a disciplinary procedure, for misconduct!! 

Well, some of you may recall that whilst still a Headteacher, if there had been a particularly trying day I would joke with my staff and say “If I’m not here in the morning I’ll be on my olive grove in the south of France!”  Well, I ended up not in the south of France and certainly not in an olive grove, however, should I go missing, it might just now be worth a look along the route to Santiago!!

A final thought, and not wishing to be irreverent, you must have to be fairly well off to be a pilgrim these days (so maybe I won’t get far!!); one last year was walking as far as he could in two months starting in northern Brittany, having flown over from Canada, to where he was flying back after two months and he had allowed a generous fifty Euros a day for the duration.  If you do the maths it certainly isn’t a cheap package holiday, although some of the refugios on the popular stretches are very cheap some even free, and you have to get up most days and walk anything up to 25 to 30 km at least (15 to 18 miles), day after day after day!!  But, the walk provides lots of time to admire the scenery, to think, take stock and for many to find peace or spirituality, as well as a hell of a sense of achievement.  And, the pilgrims come regularly, often alone or in pairs, in all shapes and sizes as well as ages from 20 ish to 86 being the oldest I’ve heard about and he was walking from London to Santiago de Compostela, following the death of his wife.

P.S.  The roof is indeed now finished so, as they say hereabouts à bientot.

 

 

 

It was summer half term back home last week, a time when for many years we visited "The Fortunate Isles" that incredible archipelago of islands off the southwestern tip of Cornwall - The Isles of Scilly.  And, after a break of a few years, some of the family went back to this little paradise set in an azure sea, when the sun shines!  Unfortunately, I didn't, but went walking and therefore thinking on one of the days and this is the outcome:

Journeys                                      June 2012

Thousands of footsteps o’er thousands of years

Have trod these stones beneath my feet.

Journeys; long and short, happy or sad,

Leisurely or rushed, sun or rain,

Day or night, alone or in a crowd.

Journeys for reasons untold or forgotten

Through different seasons, over countless years.

I journeyed here in the hot evening sun

Just a day or two before,

An expedition leisurely but secretive,

On the lookout for shy deer that come from

The dark shadows of the wood as the sun’s shadows lengthen.

But my journey, this afternoon; alone but less leisurely

As the sun shines weakly and the wind blows strong,

Clouds racing across the sky

Like billowing sails high o’erhead.

Into the trees and into my thoughts,

Memories of now and yesteryear,

As into a shady “silent” spot

Sheltered from the wind that blows.

High above leaves roaring and thrashing like an angry sea.

Beneath, dark gnarled trees like ancient stags at bay

Or Tolkienesque statues, with many a tale to tell.

Wind on the corn like rolling waves,

I closed my eyes to the sound of the sea

Transported to an exposed rocky shore,

At that moment rain carried on the wind

Like saltless spume.

Wind; wild, strong, warm

With the hint of faraway lands

Distant shores and hidden whispers of journeys taken.

Wrote this some time after the events and reminiscing now, one of the main events (the surgeon's knife or OFSTED's big stick, sorry visit, still remains somewhat unpleasant!  But, I'll leave you to decide which one, suffice to say I'm glad I'm out of it and before you jump to conclusions, it just could possibly be the hospital!!!

Both the Head and Deputy were on a trip!

It was the start of a very strange fortnight, at the end of a week of contrasts:  The previous weekend the campsite on the island on which we were staying, warm and snug in a solid granite-built luxury converted cowshed, had been all but obliterated by a near hurricane, before the weather turned gloriously sunny for the remainder of the week.  That is until the Saturday, when the mist came down and neither the helicopters nor the small fixed wing aircraft that would normally be carrying holiday makers across the 28 mile stretch of water from the Isles of Scilly and the mainland, took to the skies.

By midday it was obvious that we would not be leaving the islands, as the early boat had gone and the second boat been filled with passengers from the flights earlier to ours.  So it was a case of visiting the Tourist Office, as refugees looking for somewhere to stay – two adults and a dog!  The latter was the problem, but maybe also turned out to be the salvation, as the only places available that could take a dog, was Star Castle Hotel, one of, if not the finest hotel on the islands.  Pound signs flashed in front of my eyes, but fortunately there was a “stranded rate,” which given the nature of the place was good value, particularly as the dog was thrown in.  Duly booked we arrived some time later, wet and bedraggled, were royally greeted and shown to a magnificent garden room, with the offer of a four course dinner for just another £15-00 per head.  We sank onto the enormous soft bed and contemplated luxury and later after a sumptuous fish dinner in the Conservatory Restaurant, washed down with a fine bottle of wine, followed by a visit to the dungeon bar for a nightcap, felt that being modern day Robinson Crusoe’s wasn’t so bad after all!

After a fine nights sleep, lost in the soft waves of the ocean of a bed and after a hearty breakfast, we waited to board the extra sailing of the Scillonian, hoping that the crossing would be as smooth as the previous night’s bed.  Departure wasn’t until early afternoon which meant that, with a brief stop at Plymouth to collect my daughter’s things from uni., we didn’t get home until gone nine that evening, just in time for my wife to go to work and for me to contemplate the lost day, when I was due to have updated the school’s Self Evaluation Form and the following two days.  On my return an appointment had come through for a knee operation that I had been waiting for a number of weeks, and I was due in early on Wednesday morning.  A number of things would need sorting over the next two days at work, I’m the Headteacher of a primary school in Gloucester; diary checked, meetings changed, arrangements made for my absence and some work planned for my convalescence – after all, they were only operating on the knee and hopefully despite having to keep my foot up my brain would continue to function and it would be a good chance for some uninterrupted quality time to continue updating the SEF.  OFSTED last visited us in February 2003 so the call was due some time soon.

The two days flew by, and before I knew it I was sitting in the waiting room of Day Surgery at Gloucestershire Royal hospital, then on to the ward, pre-oped, put under and back in recovery, puzzled as to where I was and desperate for a drink, whilst drifting in and out of consciousness.  Next I awoke back on the day ward, still a little drowsy and certainly thirsty.  The proffered water was hastily dispatched and the promised tea and biscuits eagerly awaited and similarly dispatched.  Then I felt awake enough to return to reading my walking magazine, an article about the Lyke Wake Walk a 43 mile stroll, the challenge being to do it in a day!  I had done it many years earlier and told my wife when she picked me up a couple of hours later, after a slight relapse where I felt very nauseous and had had to lie down and have an injection to combat the feeling, that if the op were successful I had my sights set on a repeat of the epic walk!!

As I took those first tentative steps, on my discharge, a mile seemed a better challenge!  I had also been given something of a surprise, a doctor’s note for two weeks having previously been told I could return to work after 3 – 5 days, and slightly out of character, my wife when told confirmed what I said about ignoring it and being back the following Monday.  The short walk to the car was plenty and the anaesthetic had obviously not totally worn off, as the outside world seemed quite strange – a little like being drunk but without loosing other faculties, perhaps I mused a little like being under the influence of something illicit!!  Safely, ensconced in the car my wife asked me what, at the time, seemed a very strange and unnecessary question.  She asked what would have been the worst thing that could have happened at school, whilst I was under the surgeon’s knife?  Still feeling too woozy, I told her that I didn’t feel like playing games, although I remember a list including: a fatality or a fire or similar catastrophe.  She then said: “You’ve had a call from OFSTED and they’re coming to see you on Tuesday!”  Panic, none of the sort, in my drug induced state I vividly remember the word “OFSTED” fluttering over my head circling a few times and flying into the distance and then uttering a fairly feeble: “Oh s..t!” before declining my wife’s strange request (she would have had me convalescing for at least six weeks, given her way!!) as to whether I wanted to pick up anything from school before we went home.

A mile or so down the road, the fluttering “OFSTED” returned and I thought perhaps I should visit school just to reassure everyone I was through the op and back in the land of the living.  A quick “walk” around school reassured me at least, that everyone else was all right, but at that point everything remained rosy and things continued to flutter daintily around me!  I waited for my Deputy to return from her trip, made some forgotten arrangements and left to go to bed, vaguely hoping that the lead inspector wouldn’t phone too early in the morning, not realising at that point, that she hadn’t been able to download the necessary paperwork, so tomorrow was going to be busier than expected.  I was also hoping that Monday, and my return to work, wouldn’t come around too quickly.  It did, but the hour or so waiting for the inspectors to deliver their verdict took days!!  

Back at school the morning of my op, my Deputy was left to take the call, just before she took her Reception class on a day trip to the Cotswold Wildlife Park – bet she can’t remember what animals she saw!!  The rest of the staff?  Somewhat shell shocked, but also now hoping I don’t have another anaesthetic in a hurry!! 

Oh…… and the knee?  As well as expected – much as the outcome of the inspection!!

June 2007

Intelligent Technology

Remember, I recently told you that I’m someone amazed that car ferries and ocean going liners actually float, that ginormous passenger aircraft take to the air and other amazing things actually work although largely mystified as to how – mobile phones, www, computers, large Hadron Collider (as I write I believe they are still looking for the elusive Higgs!! For those that don't know I'm a Higgs, it's my surname!) and even small things like sand, cement and water combining to make a rock hard material that in our new house often seem to be just where you don’t want it and is immovable!!  

I was also excited earlier today to find out the front of our post box (in France most people have actual boxes on posts outside their houses sometimes at some distance) has been replaced and now our box also has a spring loaded flap to allow letters to be posted into it.  How, I hear you asking did letters get into the box previously, well M. ou Mme Postier have a key and previously had to open the door to put it post.  This did explain why, shortly after we came to France, I saw someone taking out a parcel that as near as damn it filled the 30 cm cubic box, usually with a 4 or 5 x 20ish cm slit.  At the time it was a little like a magic trick until I realised!  The excitement was somewhat short lived as our old key doesn’t fit and so we can’t at the moment get anything out – we can however now look through the spring loaded flap to see if there is anything in there that we can’t get out – maybe the key will come tomorrow, or sometime next week or month, well this is France!!

I suppose I’ve got to admit it, it’s a case of little things not only pleasing little minds but also amazing them!  Although, I suppose the www is pretty huge even if it’s not really there and the Hadron thingy is also immense, which could account for why the Higgs has found such a good hiding place!  Sorry, I’m in danger of getting carried away and this is only the introduction!  Actually the main purpose of this short piece is very short, so it is helping to pad it out a little!!

So, back to intelligent technology, the title of this blog post.  Some weeks ago sitting at the computer after a very busy day DIYing and I don’t know if it was obvious that I was well and truly kn----ed, perhaps it was something to do with the strength with which I was hitting the keyboard, but a friendly little message came up saying “your battery is coming to the end of its useful life!” Polite and friendly it might have been but on closer inspection potentially a little scary, so I slowed up a little hoping to recharge my battery a little, despite having to face increased nagging from “her indoors,” she just said you can’t believe all that you read!

Well, the self same message kept coming back, and try as I might to slow down and take things easy, it wouldn’t go away.  Then, it changed and as I put on my specs to slowly read the next message, hoping it was along the lines of “Well done your sensible work / life balance has improved your battery no end – keep up the good work!”  But no, it appears that all the energy conservation measures I had undertaken werea to no avail – it simply said in bold letters “YOUR BATTERY NEEDS CHANGING!”  I think I need a holiday!  Hear, hear I hear you say, but you won’t get rid of me that easily, I’ll be back next month!  

French Supermarket Toilets

vs English Supermarket Car Parks

It seems to me that competition between English and French supermarkets is rife and healthy, but as the title suggests it’s not about the price of fair trade teabags or wine, to name a couple of items dear to my heart, in each case one country wins hands down – I’ll leave you to decide which is which!!

No, the competition is more basic and involves which of the supermarkets on either side of The English Channel or La Marche, depending on which side of this narrow stretch of water you are reading this!!, wins the “RH Bizarre Design Award!” 

First, am I the only person to wonder on the issue of car park design for new English supermarkets?  They seem to always take the bulk of the customer traffic right past the main entrance, where people are either hurrying in to get that item they forgot or was out of stock, or rushing out having had their nerves stretched to breaking point by; empty shelves for many of the items you came in for, screaming parents threatening to “kill” their children if they don’t stop making an exhibition of themselves, constant colleague announcements, special offers that are more expensive than the regular priced item next door on the shelf and  multiple choice for a simple item like a jar of strawberry jar (with sugar / without, with fruit / without, own brand basic, own brand normal, own brand finest, this make or that make or that one or that one or that one ....).  In both scenarios all the customer wants to do is get out, get home and have a nice soothing cup of tea preferably full caffeine, washed down with a large tumbler of something stronger!  The last thing these unfortunate people will want to think about is the Green Cross Code!  But, it also works both ways and drivers trying to leave with their shopping, some of whom may be the self same people as above, will pay little heed to the Highway Code, particularly at busy times when there is a constant flow of people, both ways (many stressed – see above), crossing the zebra crossing across the main exit road and into and out of the main entrance to the shop. Surely, there must be another and better way to deal with all these fraught people!?!  

A further thought, it’s on a par with Fire Exit signs!  What’s the first rule for evacuating a burning building? DON’T RUN - Leave slowly in an orderly fashion through the marked Fire Exits – Marked with the regulation sign; a green arrow pointing to the escape route followed by a green man – RUNNING!

But now a quick hop over that thin stretch of water separating them and us, and all that water will no doubt have you running for a loo in no time after disembarkation, particularly as you will have been waiting uncomfortably in your vehicle (with at least one or two people who failed to understand the announcement, not to start you engine until told to do so), for some considerable time, maybe worrying about whether French customs will want to unpack your carefully stacked up car, that you have spent several hours jig-sawing together and have since added a number of last minute purchases such as sandwiches for lunch, duty free that isn’t now but still seemed a good buy, newspapers to gloat over and make you realise what you’re missing back home all of which will never go back in anything like you have managed to do it before.  But, just maybe you’re hiding an illegal immigrant or too many bottles of English wine!

Now, the first thing you see as you grind slowly through the oily urban sprawl that seems to surround all ferry terminals, is a big hypermarket, there predominantly for stocking up with wine and the more smelly cheeses on the way home, but handy for filling up with cheaper petrol (coming or going) and with a handy loo.  Now, not wishing to be sexist here, but I’m really only thinking about urinals and don’t want to get into the old argument, it’s alright for you, you can go behind any old hedge without having to bear your behind!  No, here we are talking about your average, modest UK MALE holiday maker fresh of the ferry and not yet relaxed enough to “when in Rome...” and wee anywhere, oui où vous voulez (yes wherever you like).

So, with great relief you’re standing there and suddenly you realise that the stall you are using is both right next to the lady’s cubicle and without the help of a modesty screen, as well as in full view of the main entrance / exit to the store with the outside coffee tables from the bar on the other side of the concourse, marching ever closer.  Until, you’ve acclimatised and you find this situation the length and breadth of France, even in brand new supermarkets with the most modern of conveniences, so you’ll have lots of practise, there’s a good chance you’ll need the hand drier not just for your hands!

I rest my cases and being democratic the voting is now over to you!

Other awards I’m inclined to present are “The Dyson Airblade Award,” presented by someone doing a Tommy Cooper impression “Like that, not like that!”  Sorry for those of you not old enough to remember Tommy Cooper or to understand the significance of this.  If that’s the case ask a grown up, or a wrinkly as I’ve heard you referring to them as!!  James has certainly come up with a winner this time, a hand drier that not only works efficiently, but for a fraction of the cost in electricity, the only snag I see is if you have recently arrived in France and are not yet acclimatised the gap between the blades is only wide enough for your hands!!

And, then there’s the ...... “Illogical Product Placement Award,” yes we’ve all awarded this one on numerous occasions!  Just why do managers insist that the tomatoes go with the veg and not the fruit!!!!!!!!!  Sorry about that, I’m just struggling to remember what it was that even the shop assistant who led me on the expedition to find said item went the long way around!  Whatever it was, it was on that shelf where they direct the customer when all else fails and  when you have already exhausted all the other possibilities and taken the despondent customer all around the obvious shelves they have already tried, and then these same people have got to get out of the shop across the main entrance / exit road and safely home!!!   

Some brief thoughts and commentaries

The shape of the world, at least the human’s in it, is changing!

I wonder if any of you, my loyal readers have noticed how the world’s people are changing shape.  No I’m not talking about obvious changes like large numbers of the population becoming obese, or as the human race evolves, each subsequent generation becoming taller.  No, maybe more subtle, albeit huge all encompassing changes that I’m sure in time will become as far reaching as the two examples above.

Here are just a few examples of what I mean – maybe we should see how many others we can come up with – post a comment below with your suggestions.

·        Visit a tourist attraction and take a look at the view, then turn around and look at everyone else admiring the view and taking photographs.  How many of them are taking pictures by looking through the camera viewfinder?  I bet not many, as most will be holding their cameras, or in many cases mobile telephones, at arm’s length peering at the small screen on the back as they line up the shot!  This also allows you to take a picture of yourself with the view behind you; I’m tempted to ask if tourism is going backwards and will the sign language for “can you please take a picture and me and my friend with the ‘Eiffel Tower / Arc de Triomphe / Christ the Redeemer / Niagara Falls / etc etc’ coming out of our heads” be lost for ever!!

·         Thinking about mobile phones and whereas initially everyone under a certain age seemed to spend their lives walking around with one hand up by their ear, now that’s all changed.  Perhaps due to health scares about overuse of mobiles and also due to the increase in the use of text messages, these same folk now walk about staring into the phone held in their palm stretched out in front of them, and often quite disconcertingly appear to be talking to themselves into the bargain – so maybe too much phone use does drive you mad! Oh no, on closer inspection they’re stretching one ear out of shape with an earpiece and talking “hands free” as it were!

·        Off on holiday – again look around and see if you can see that rarest of humans – someone who is actually carrying in their hand their suitcase – no more often than not even the smallest briefcase now has a set of wheels and an extending handle, or their luggage is in the form of a backpack with straps over each shoulder.  That said even backpacks are now sometimes fitted with wheels!!  I worry however, and wonder how long it will be before an in depth survey (sponsored no doubt by the luggage industry – oh how cynical I’ve become!) confirms my worries that twisting to pull your luggage along behind you is not good for your posture and new ergonomically designed luggage floods the market!  

·        Dog walkers now have a new must have accessory, a plastic bag strangely often clear, stuffed casually into their pocket with one end quite obviously intentionally on view.  I guess it’s a bit like the youth of today who wear, only just, their jeans so low that it is quite easy to know the make of their underpants as well as the shape of their upper buttocks!

But, back to the dog walkers who would previously stride out occasionally reaching down for a stick or a ball to throw for the dog, saving them having to walk as far!  But now, added to the walk is the ritual pulling out of the plastic bag, inserting one of their hands into the bag, carefully bending down (for the more sensitive amongst them pretending to tie their shoe lace), picking up the business that has just been done and nonchalantly sealing the bag and swinging it in their hand whilst looking around for a red bin in which to deposit it.  There seems to be this strange balance between trying to make out that the bag (remember often see through!) contains the remnants of their picnic or some shopping they have just done and the “look at me aren’t I good” brigade!

·        Couch potatoes have now changed, at least for periods of time, particularly around public holidays and birthdays, as now instead of sitting idly watching they now Wii in front of the sofa, whilst taking up any manner of sport accompanied by a very necessary item of equipment – a can of beer!  Well, standing still playing tennis or golf does work up a thirst.  Mind you when they have improved their fitness levels sufficiently, they can progress onto the dance programme and then they’ll never look back, couch potatoes maybe will then have had their chips!!

As darkness fell the beauty moved outside

Turning to more “poetic” matters, we recently visited the local church for a wonderful Christmas concert, given by a local quartet of very accomplished musicians, all English and one an organ maestro with a string of recording and other credits to his name.  They have made this area their new base, bringing even more culture to an already culture rich Southern Vendée.  The concert included a good selection of Christmas music and a number of audience participation Christmas songs sung with the verses alternating between French and English – entente cordial in the flesh!

The church is long, narrow and high as well as being like many French churches very ornate and full of statues and carvings.  However, unlike many churches it is light and airy inside, partly due to the light coloured stonework and the lack of much heavily ornate dark carved wood, but also due to all the windows except for those behind the altar, being clear glass.

As we entered it was cold outside, but the last vestiges of a bright winter afternoon were beginning to fade, the sun however reflected off the buildings behind and through the magnificent and very vibrantly coloured windows above the apse pouring coloured light down into the assembled crowd.

The music started as the daylight faded and it struck me that now those outside would be able to see the splendour of the stained glass as the lights inside now shone into the night outside – hence the title: As darkness fell the beauty moved outside.

What I noticed and did when I went to Lourdes

Having just been in church I’m sorry if this section appears a little irreverent, so apologies beforehand to the more religious amongst you who might want to skip this section.   But, I’m afraid Lourdes didn’t do it for me and I found much of the experience rather tacky – huge numbers of cheap tourist shops selling cheap overpriced souvenirs, mostly plastic and I’m sure made in Hong Kong or China.  The final straw was the large empty plastic bottles waiting to be filled with “Holy water”, customised to say they were from Lourdes, but barely hiding the fact that they were little more than lemonade or bulk detergent type bottles!  Although, the shrine or grotte itself has remained fairly simple and as such has a certain “air” to it and the more ornate industry that had built up around it had to be admired to some extent for its beauty, I’m sorry it didn’t move me, rather the opposite I came away pleased on one hand to have been and seen, but on the other hand rather depressed and wondering just how many of the thousands and thousands of people who make pilgrimages there come away disappointed after many months of hope and expectation.  There was also something about the thousands of candles burning everywhere and others piled up for sale.  They ranged from simple night lights to enormous six foot plus edifices, with enormous price tags attached, making me feel that the more money you were prepared to spent the greater your chance of redemption or cure.  Maybe, I’m missing something, but to me that doesn’t seem very Christian.  But, each to their own and if religion helps some people so be it, for me I guess it’s a walk in the woods or along a mountain top.

However, one of my lasting impressions was a visit I made to the conveniences bordering the Esplanade des Processions, which could well have been themselves described as grotte, and contained one of the few sharps bins that I have ever seen in a French convenience, giving them something of a seedy feel, although I’m sure they were there not for a surfeit of druggies, but rather for the number of people on sound and legal medication who came hoping to be cured, which actually did little to lift my depression.

I suppose my next thought, as I said somewhat irreverent, is really a case of black humour that I sorely needed to lift the moment.  Standing there giving water rather than taking it away, I found myself wondering how long it would be before my water left again in one of the rather tacky plastic bottles I had seen earlier!  I’m sorry, but you were warned!

Armchair conservation!

This has got to be quite simply the ultimate in armchair conservation, a true story recently reported in the press and not on 01 / 04 / 2012!  A scientist obviously in the know recently visited a restaurant in Vietnam and found in a tank, awaiting the choice of a discerning diner, a previously unknown species of lizard!  Continuing the black humour theme, let’s hope that this wasn’t one of the last pair in existence, its mate having been “chow meined” the night before.  Sorry, it’s obviously one of those days!! 

How these snippets grow!

These snippets and many others, be they thoughts, commentaries, observations call them what you will all germinate with a similar process.  Be it an idea from a magazine, a newspaper cutting, a snippet of conversation, a smell, a view, a likeness, a memory, a taste or even a déjà vue, they’re all like lighting a fire – first the tiny spark deep in the paper and kindling, which in time flares and bursts into flame, hopefully spreading warmth as they go!

Then it’s simply a case of burning to get it written down, or at least a firelighter of a snippet jotted down for later in my little black book!

Hence the above, too little to make into a full blog postings, but hopefully worth a brief mention if only to cross out the growing number of entries in the book, because as you get older it’s hard to keep up with what’s in your little black book!!

American Movie Star

A simple "what if" story, well it happened for Cinderella!!

Not wanting to brag, but there is a good chance that I was once big in the US of A, indeed I’m quite surprised that one of my many readers hasn’t crossed the pond on holiday and returned with a souvenir tee-shirt or video featuring a picture of yours truly, although it might be a rather youthful picture, from a time when I had hair – lots of it!!  So maybe, many of you have walked past whole stalls touting me without recognising me.  In fact, as you read this, it might well cause one of those “that’s who it was” moments, having spent several years racking your brains as to who that handsome young film star that you saw wherever you went was, as you said at the time – “I’m sure I know that person!!” But, what I can’t tell you is what the tee-shirt caption might be or what nom de plume my adoring public christened me, because during the summer of my fame, amazingly I remained anonymous, which may be why your nagging “I know that person” wasn’t solved at the time with large banners saying “Roger Higgs inc. Old York!”.  Read on and I’ll explain all!

Many years ago, during my disreputable past, I spent a lazy summer in York, early in my teaching career, which had I been discovered by Pinewood and identified, rather than become anonymously famous in America, could have ended prematurely, with fame, stardom and fortune and I would never have befriended all my many and varied readers, although interestingly you would all have known me!!  It’s a bit like a riddle!  Alternately, if what I did had become known to the local constabulary, I might have been charged with a public order offence and similarly my teaching career cut short and you my loyal readers wouldn’t have known me, nor I you! Interestingly, I’ve just finished a great book (“Oh my Stars” by Lorna Landvik) in which the main character Violet, towards the end of the book is thinking about her long and productive life and thinks: “It’s not that I’m becoming vainglorious in my dotage; no, the more you live, the more you see that your story is interdependent on the stories of others,” sort of fits rather well!

But back to the summer of about 1980 in York, and my then impending fame!  Having just become jobless, a victim of redeployment, when there were too many teachers to find jobs for and those on temporary contracts might find themselves replaced by someone from another school that needed to shed staff, which is what happened to me, so being out of work and somewhat short of money, some fortune if not fame wouldn’t have gone amiss!  It’s not until you are without a job and income, fortunately an occurrence that only happened for one term in my teaching career, that you realise that very little in the world doesn’t cost something!  It narrowed down in the end to visiting the local County Library and making sure that books were returned on time to avoid a fine and walking, trying to tread lightly to save shoe leather, both of which I spent hours doing.  But it’s the latter that almost started me on the road to stardom and the “Walk of Fame!”

Much of my perambulation was around the streets of York, combining another favourite pastime of people watching, and it was this that led towards my potential public order offence.  One day walking close to York Minster on High Petergate, and heading towards then Young’s Hotel, now Guy Fawkes Inn, I spotted from a distance, an American pointing his video camera at the blue plaque that tells passers by that this is the birth place of the notorious Guy Fawkes, although as with much of history this is up for debate, Wikipedia telling us that he was actually born around the corner in Stonegate!  Arriving at the amateur cinematographer, I casually glanced at said blue plaque and it suddenly struck me, that hundreds of Americans would after the summer be returning home with many hours of home video, which in this the early days of this technology didn’t allow for simple desktop publishing and editing, so what you took is what you got!  Excitingly, said filmmakers would in turn have social evenings and instead of getting out the photo albums, it would be a case of draw the shades, pop the corn and invite around friends and family for a fascinating evening of lengthy blue plaques, information boards, views, old houses and building all complete with commentary, often of things that you could well read for yourself!  Ten minutes of a blue plaque saying Guy Fawkes was born here on 13 April 1570 at the same time as be told on the commentary that this is the blue plaque that is situated on the house where Guy Fawkes was born in 1570, and did I remember to mention that it’s in York, “Old” York not New York, that is in the old country, with a non too quiet partner picked up in the background saying “Ruben, you’ve told them that a hundred times already, honey!”  It was then that I decided something needed to be done to save the poor defenceless family and friends who would probably be too polite to say what they were thinking, if not too busy stifling a yawn to be able to utter – what utter rubbish, I thought the out of focus, sloping pictures from last year were bad enough, but this takes the cookie!

So, the plot was hatched and now every time I spied a rolling camera, it was a case of a subtle enter stage left or right, whichever could be achieved with the minimum of fuss, no leering at the camera, insipid waves with a mouthed “hi mom!” attached, or indeed geeky grins at camera.  No, it was simply a ploy to add a little human interest, nay simply to add any interest and some movement to give the unfortunate friends and family “back ‘ome” at least a chance to stay awake and something to comment on – “Fancy that dude walking in front of that interesting blue plaque, stopped me reading it,” then adding just in time to avoid the host from thinking they weren’t paying attention – “Good job you added the commentary!”

Therefore, over the following fall, as the nights closed in, the leaves started to change colour and fall from the trees and the videos were slid into betomaxes the length and breadth of America, it’s not hard to imagine the scene as the more unfortunate and popular friends and families were invited to numerous holiday video screenings, more and more of these unfortunates would suddenly sit up wide awake and notice someone they recognised, and later began to think they knew, walking across the small screen in front of them.  Then, in time, they would find a renewed interest in trying to spot; now what’s his name, and before you knew it I’d become a household “name” or at least well know by sight.  With one thing leading to another, a name would be plucked out of somewhere – look there’s Charles, William, Edward or some other typically Royal English name, you know that well known philanthropist who’s got nothing better to do all day but wander thoughtfully around! 

The fact that during the summer I managed to visit certain other tourist hotspots and continued my walk on parts wherever I went, meant that I received even greater coverage.  Before you knew it I had become a household name with a whole history built up around me by the simple process of Chinese whispers and the amazing grapevine; better than any mail system at transferring information, trends, topical rhymes, jokes, fashions and star ratings far quicker and more effectively than any other communication methods or media.  One thing then obviously led to another and people had “spot the philanthropist” parties and had tee-shirts printed from their videos, with captions such as “I captured Charles” on the front with a picture of yours truly and either a back view on the back, or comments like “Have You?” or “I’ve phildled with the philanthropist” Quite simply; A star “was born!”

Unfortunately, there wasn’t to be a rags to riches ending to this little “folk tale” as the next teaching appointment came along and took me to deepest Huntingdonshire, on the edge of the Cambridgeshire Fens, where the only Americans were from the local airbase, working in departments with wonderful names like “People Generation Unit” and who were more intent on shooting something other than videos!, so the film career finished almost before it started!  In fact as a young poor teacher, it was some time before I was able to afford to cross the pond, some 20 years to be precise, to visit New York.  Although, I strutted my stuff under the flashing lights of Times Square on Broadway my earlier fame had been extinguished like a candle, and the only flicker left was that of the lights on the giant advertising hording – I was too late to be recognised and to pick up the pieces, although thinking back I did get some funny looks!  Perhaps, these people turned to the person walking with them and said “Gee, I’m sure I know that that person!”  Maybe I should submit this to the “New York Times” and all those people would have their own “Gee, that’s who it is” moments and the whole thing could start all over again and although this piece perhaps should have been called “American Home Movie Star” it might then have to be rechristened “Hollywood here I come!,” after all as those of you who know me well will vouch for, I’ve always had my head in the stars!!!!