Up early. T has an early test today. What will he do? Who can tell? Almost anything is the answer.
Sherbert is allowed in, and beats up the two cats straight away. If the bunny is at the food, they won't go near it!
T is in good form. I take S down to his house and we drop her off to Lighthouse on the way to the test centre. Sadly Emsy is too unwell still to go to Lighthouse. Her illness gives Dan the opportunity to stay at home, ostensibly to do the caring bruvver routine.
To the test centre. A minor stir as war nearly breaks out over access to the parking spaces. yet again I get F for the test. They disappear and myself and another fella escape the warzone and head for a cup of tea.
Before long they are back. I wait, and watch ,and then, yes he's reaching for his licence. He held it together!
But then, for the second time in two days, I am summoned to the debrief! What now?! I look at the form and see the number 15. Fifteen minors???!! No wonder F wants a word.But , no, it's not that. 15 is the route number. He's actually got ZERO bloody faults, and Fred wants to say well done. Nice touch, nice bloke.
I worry though. T could easily take this as a green light to drive like a lunatic for the rest of his life. And tomorrow he is having a curry with, among others, Sophie, and is planning on driving her home.
Back home for a cup of tea. Emsy is feeling a little bit better, and Dan is doing his bit to help. H is taking the car to JH's in readiness for our forthcoming French adventure.
S is seemingly not too nervous, and is relieved to see he doesn't has Andy as his tormentor. In fact A is out on a bike test as S goes out. Nothing to do but chat away and soon they are back. I look hopefully, but no. Again comes the summons, and I can be pretty certain that this time it is not to be informed of a clean sheet.
Poor S. He escaped Andy as examiner, but started his test, didn't check his mirror, and nearly knocked him off his bike on the giratory system!!! Only S could do it. Poor lad. Apart from that he put in a really good drive. Round four coming up!
A three hour marathon with L, then a further two hours with R leaves me tired enough. The sun beats down unremittingly on the magnificent hillsides which surround Princes Risborough, resplendent in the wonderful weather.
Heading home and a car heads towards me.It's clearly full of lads out on the tear, and the driver is hanging out of the window making obscene gestures at me, but in a non threatening, friendly way. Music blasts out. Why is he gesturing at me?? Then the penny drops. It's T of course. So how long did those good intentions last?
Emsy better, and the aircon fixed on the car. Good news
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Jul 29th (Tues)
A really enjoyable lie in as P's test isn't until 12;30. Good quality kip with kip at my side. P is on good form and we do the mandatory hour's pre test drive. He has a fag beforehand and I conclude that this is one benefit to being a smoker.
Off he goes with the same examiner as had failed S last time. Had a chat with a very lithe dusky instructor called Lisa, a jovial fellow from Safeway and an SEADI who is waiting for a check test candidate who fails to turn up. He's a pleasant guy who gives an interesting insight into what goes on from his side of the fence in a part three test.
P arrives back. After a pause he reaches for his licence, and I go back into the centre. To my surprise P comes in and tells me he's passed,but wants me in the car for a debrief. It's not a great pass. 11 minors. He was a bit all over the place, and the examiner let's him know it.
I don't think I have got the hang of Aylesbury, and am worried that this examiner is going to start not liking the look of my car.
L is next and she drives a lot more sensibly. Then it's reunion time with A who has his test on Friday. I wish he had rattled my cage a bit earlier as I have to teach him every trick in Wycombe in two hours flat.
I send S a text apologising for last night.She wants a face to face apology. She'll get it the first time I see her.
When I get home Emsy is not well. she has a horrible temperature and she suddenly throws up all over our bed. Poor her.
I drop off to sleep and don't wake until four.
Off he goes with the same examiner as had failed S last time. Had a chat with a very lithe dusky instructor called Lisa, a jovial fellow from Safeway and an SEADI who is waiting for a check test candidate who fails to turn up. He's a pleasant guy who gives an interesting insight into what goes on from his side of the fence in a part three test.
P arrives back. After a pause he reaches for his licence, and I go back into the centre. To my surprise P comes in and tells me he's passed,but wants me in the car for a debrief. It's not a great pass. 11 minors. He was a bit all over the place, and the examiner let's him know it.
I don't think I have got the hang of Aylesbury, and am worried that this examiner is going to start not liking the look of my car.
L is next and she drives a lot more sensibly. Then it's reunion time with A who has his test on Friday. I wish he had rattled my cage a bit earlier as I have to teach him every trick in Wycombe in two hours flat.
I send S a text apologising for last night.She wants a face to face apology. She'll get it the first time I see her.
When I get home Emsy is not well. she has a horrible temperature and she suddenly throws up all over our bed. Poor her.
I drop off to sleep and don't wake until four.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Jul 28th( Mon)
Last day with P, with an hour of S sandwiched in between. They both have their tests next week. Pete should be capable, who knows what S will pull from the hat this time?
After all this it is S, who starts to reveal quite a telling sense of humour. Good to see.
I am wrecked after all this in the stifling heat. I go home and watch Dragon's Den. then S rings asking where I am and when am I coming to collect here. I take umbrage and unreasonably assume that she is treating me as a taxi service.
Then I shout at little Ems, who has been beautifully snuggling up with me on the couch, and make her cry, all because she has not washed her dish up.
I go to the pub and S rings saying she has walked from Missenden to Kingshill. I put the phone down on her when she claims I had agreed to pick her up at half nine.
When I finish my pint ten minutes late it is pouring. I start to feel guilty. As I head for Kingshill the heavens explode, the sky turning white with lightning and the rain cascading down from the black sky.
H rings and I ignore it. I find S sodden and she just stares at the car with hatred and refuses to get in. It is right on a bend and I have to move on. I turn around and stop again by her new position. Once more she just stares maniacally at me.
I ring home.H has left to pick her up, so I head back, picking a fight with a petrol pump on the way.
I go for a cc shashlick but frankly I did not want it and it is pretty poor. Should have said fuck the cholesterol and had a vindaloo instead.
Very frosty on my return. It would appear I am no one's favourite.
After all this it is S, who starts to reveal quite a telling sense of humour. Good to see.
I am wrecked after all this in the stifling heat. I go home and watch Dragon's Den. then S rings asking where I am and when am I coming to collect here. I take umbrage and unreasonably assume that she is treating me as a taxi service.
Then I shout at little Ems, who has been beautifully snuggling up with me on the couch, and make her cry, all because she has not washed her dish up.
I go to the pub and S rings saying she has walked from Missenden to Kingshill. I put the phone down on her when she claims I had agreed to pick her up at half nine.
When I finish my pint ten minutes late it is pouring. I start to feel guilty. As I head for Kingshill the heavens explode, the sky turning white with lightning and the rain cascading down from the black sky.
H rings and I ignore it. I find S sodden and she just stares at the car with hatred and refuses to get in. It is right on a bend and I have to move on. I turn around and stop again by her new position. Once more she just stares maniacally at me.
I ring home.H has left to pick her up, so I head back, picking a fight with a petrol pump on the way.
I go for a cc shashlick but frankly I did not want it and it is pretty poor. Should have said fuck the cholesterol and had a vindaloo instead.
Very frosty on my return. It would appear I am no one's favourite.
Jul 27th Sun
Haven't seen Kip now for about 4 days. He's done this before of course, but each time he seems to stay away for longer, and we start to fret.
The sun is blazing and H and Emsy go down to the open air pool. I wish I could raise the energy to join them, but do lie in the hammock for an hour trying to expose my milky skin to the sun prior to our vaccances.
The folks are down for lunch so I buy it and cook it and everyone has a jolly time. The kids get a bit hyper as happens from time to time, but generally things go well. Mum wonders if she is going mad, as she has forgotten, for the first time in probably 35 years, to buy me "Wisden" for my birthday.
A pleasant evening. We all watch a few L&H's from the collection H has bought for me.
The sun is blazing and H and Emsy go down to the open air pool. I wish I could raise the energy to join them, but do lie in the hammock for an hour trying to expose my milky skin to the sun prior to our vaccances.
The folks are down for lunch so I buy it and cook it and everyone has a jolly time. The kids get a bit hyper as happens from time to time, but generally things go well. Mum wonders if she is going mad, as she has forgotten, for the first time in probably 35 years, to buy me "Wisden" for my birthday.
A pleasant evening. We all watch a few L&H's from the collection H has bought for me.
Jul 26th (Sat)
No rest for the wicked this Saturday. It's another four hours with P. But no real problem. Then on to G, who is looking as lovely as ever, and is wearing a small pair of shorts revealing acres of delicious brown leg.
She lives with her sister in law in a gated community down a long country lane in an idyllic setting near Henley. I'd love to see the house, but she always meets me at the gate. Strange. When she reveals she has left her purse in the house I offer to drive her up to it, but she quickly refuses the offer. it's most odd. I wonder if the house is so grand that she is mildly ashamed of my seeing it.
I am wrecked by the time I arrive home and snooze in front of the telly. The Twenty 20 final is on , and it turns into a humdinger between Kent and Middlesex, resolved at the very last ball. Good stuff.
Back to the Goblin for a couple, and a nose in the Indie.
She lives with her sister in law in a gated community down a long country lane in an idyllic setting near Henley. I'd love to see the house, but she always meets me at the gate. Strange. When she reveals she has left her purse in the house I offer to drive her up to it, but she quickly refuses the offer. it's most odd. I wonder if the house is so grand that she is mildly ashamed of my seeing it.
I am wrecked by the time I arrive home and snooze in front of the telly. The Twenty 20 final is on , and it turns into a humdinger between Kent and Middlesex, resolved at the very last ball. Good stuff.
Back to the Goblin for a couple, and a nose in the Indie.
Jul 25th (Fri)
So, five months to Christmas. Wimbledon, the Open now behind us, the Tour de France reaching it's climax on Sunday. Talking of France, we have our hols booked, way down in Torreilles Plage. A long drive, and the air con not working on H's car.
Another marathon 6 hour session with P. He's ok, but a bit dodgy on his lane discipline. His eyesight is a worry too. He can barely read a number plate at the required distance. Over lunch it transpires that like me he is a devotee of the Bombay Duck, and he's green with envy when he finds out I have a source!
A couple of hours with L to round off the day. She drives like a wildcat on speed. It is not a relaxing end to the week.
I don't go into Wetherspoon's pre curry. I note that the Goblin has Pedigree on tap. Fabulous news even if the price is close to double. The place is sparsely populated in comparison to days of yore, the need for nicotine herding all into the garden. I find they now keep a copy of the Indie on the bar, and settle in for a browse. A girl starts talking to me about Max Mosley who has sued the News of the Screws for revealing his session with half a dozen dommes. And he won! Good lad. After she's gone, I wish I'd been a bit more tantalising with hints of my involvement in such goings on.
The Bombay Duck tonight are the best I have tasted since their return. Supreme!.
Another marathon 6 hour session with P. He's ok, but a bit dodgy on his lane discipline. His eyesight is a worry too. He can barely read a number plate at the required distance. Over lunch it transpires that like me he is a devotee of the Bombay Duck, and he's green with envy when he finds out I have a source!
A couple of hours with L to round off the day. She drives like a wildcat on speed. It is not a relaxing end to the week.
I don't go into Wetherspoon's pre curry. I note that the Goblin has Pedigree on tap. Fabulous news even if the price is close to double. The place is sparsely populated in comparison to days of yore, the need for nicotine herding all into the garden. I find they now keep a copy of the Indie on the bar, and settle in for a browse. A girl starts talking to me about Max Mosley who has sued the News of the Screws for revealing his session with half a dozen dommes. And he won! Good lad. After she's gone, I wish I'd been a bit more tantalising with hints of my involvement in such goings on.
The Bombay Duck tonight are the best I have tasted since their return. Supreme!.
Jul 24th (Thurs)
6 hours with P today. Could be daunting but he is a pretty sound fella and the time passes reasonably quickly. he is always keen for a fag or tea break so the day is nicely broken up. His six hours were supposed to be broken up by two hours with S,but she texts at the last moment claiming ill health. To be honest it's a relief. Lovely girl that she is, she is very hard work. I am wondering if she is really saying she doesn't fancy continuing. We'll see.
Summer has arrived with a vengeance. It is burning hot and I am glad of the chilly air con. Even with the windows open it is stifling at times.
Bi election tonight in Glasgow.Rock solid labour territory, but the SNP take it, leading to fevered speculation about the future of poor Brown. His story will be a tragic one in retrospect. Waiting in the wings, not always patiently, for so many years, desperate for ultimate power. then, when his moment comes he has but a few days to bask in approval before the ship hits the iceberg. He seems beyond hope, which is grossly unfair. If he is to survive this it can only be as a result of some grave disaster where he can lead us all to salvation. Is he plotting with Al Q as I write this?
Summer has arrived with a vengeance. It is burning hot and I am glad of the chilly air con. Even with the windows open it is stifling at times.
Bi election tonight in Glasgow.Rock solid labour territory, but the SNP take it, leading to fevered speculation about the future of poor Brown. His story will be a tragic one in retrospect. Waiting in the wings, not always patiently, for so many years, desperate for ultimate power. then, when his moment comes he has but a few days to bask in approval before the ship hits the iceberg. He seems beyond hope, which is grossly unfair. If he is to survive this it can only be as a result of some grave disaster where he can lead us all to salvation. Is he plotting with Al Q as I write this?
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
July 23rd (Weds)
A has the first test of the day, so I am picking him up before 8, and in the morning traffic we don't have much to so other than fill up with petrol and drive to the centre. As he goes out, with F this time, Malc is on the phone for cash for a tyre. Plus ca change!
I can't believe A will make another mistake, but nothing is certain with tests. I wander up for a coffee, buy the Indie, and pace around, waiting for his return on the wall outside. He rolls confidently into the centre, and at once I see him reaching for his docs. As it should be. Annoyingly he has 2 faults, equalling my best, but they are for obs on his manoeuvres, so he really was in touching distance of the perfect drive I told him he was capable of. It'd have been especially nice as his dad is an instructor in Swindon and would have been good to send him a son with a zero.
I drive him home and he presents me with a bottle of wine as a thank you. Good lad. He'll be ok!
And so to the end of an era. Our beautiful youngest daughter has her last day at school, and we have the beautiful ordeal of the leaving service to endure, trying not to shed a tear in public.
I have been through this twice before, but this time there is the added poignancy as today our association with this wonderful, happy, Oasis of learning ends as Emsy takes this irrevocable step away from her childhood.
It follows was a familiar format. Small groups of children make their way to the pulpit and recall their happy, naughty, scary, and cheeky memories of their times there, from the beginning as little more than awe struck toddlers, to the elder statesmen of the school they are now.
What always comes through is the great affection the kids have for the school, for each other, and for their teachers. GCKS has been a vital part in moulding them into the happy confident kids they reveal themselves to be.
They recount their days from year zero to the present day, reminding us of school plays and sports days and trips they ventured out on which I was only vaguely aware of and now wish I had shared with them more fully. You can't have something like this without a tinge of guilt.
With so many things like this you want them to hurry up so you can get back to the rest of life, to internet perving, or pointless work, whatever, but today I feel the event rushing past and away from me.
BP is leaving, adding further emotion. They finish not with a hymn but "Turn Turn Turn"
To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep
To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones
A time to gather stones together
To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time of war, a time of peace
A time of love, a time of hate
A time you may embrace
A time to refrain from embracing
To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time to love, a time to hate
A time of peace, I swear it's not too late!
To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep
To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones
A time to gather stones together
To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time of war, a time of peace
A time of love, a time of hate
A time you may embrace
A time to refrain from embracing
To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time to love, a time to hate
A time of peace,
I swear it's not too late!
I am not sure which of these verses their small voices sing, but as the refrain drifts high into the roof I think back to the three of them chubby legged on their first days, their happiness and tears, their little red cardigans, the pink summer dresses, and I want to live every day of it all over again, only this time realise that they are the real worthwhile product of our lives, and savour every moment to the full, uncluttered in my mind with the dross we imagine important.
RD gives the last address of his that I shall ever hear, and the tears are building up in the corner of my eyes. Surreptitious drags of the finger suffice at first, but the uprising is too much and the hankie must come out as the snot builds up in my nose.
RD picks his words with kindness and precision, showing genuine regret for their leaving, yet obvious pride for his part in their forming into adults to be.
I glance at Sophie who has come too, a wonderful young woman who no one could fail to proud of. Emma has it in her to do as well, though of course will head in a different direction. I just hope they all stay close and continue to love each other wherever life takes them.
The kids file out in the orderly fashion they do, many of them in floods of tears, including F who accompanies an oh so Jolly Emsy.
I rush outside to film the cortege of red white and grey as they form a crocodile.
I hug H and Sophie, unashamed of my emotion. Eventually I guide the car safely by, go out onto the road and to the roundabout. I turn around and head past them as the whole school makes their way up towards their little school. And now we are no longer part of it. I can't stop the tears, and they still keep coming as I type this.
A cup of tea. some thoughts , some composure. Back to the mundane. What to do about T?
Rationality. What is he doing wrong? What must he do to put it right. He is far brighter than yesterday, and accepts everything I say. the contrast with Miss Gobby couldn't be more striking. we drive into town, he takes everything on board, and drives like an angel.
Can he take his test? If he drives like that there is no reason he couldn't emulate A.
He is genuinely grateful and I stop and buy us both an ice cream. apparently there was more to yesterday than meets the eye.
His dad, who he clearly loved dearly seems to have left problems behind. Things are coming to light of which the family had no idea of. Court cases alleging malpractice as far as I can tell, and I think it is proving very painful for him. Dad's not there to answer the questions he must want to put. Poor lad. I am so glad he has done so well today. I hope he passes, but he must realise that he has to drive like this the whole time, especially when he has his younger siblings under his wing.
No one is home. Apparently the after service picnic went on longer than anticipated, i am annoyed as had I known I would have gone. But there, wasn't that always the way.
A sad day in many ways, but one which is the beginning of a bright new future to our family which is changing rapidly in dynamic.
Night night Emsy
I can't believe A will make another mistake, but nothing is certain with tests. I wander up for a coffee, buy the Indie, and pace around, waiting for his return on the wall outside. He rolls confidently into the centre, and at once I see him reaching for his docs. As it should be. Annoyingly he has 2 faults, equalling my best, but they are for obs on his manoeuvres, so he really was in touching distance of the perfect drive I told him he was capable of. It'd have been especially nice as his dad is an instructor in Swindon and would have been good to send him a son with a zero.
I drive him home and he presents me with a bottle of wine as a thank you. Good lad. He'll be ok!
And so to the end of an era. Our beautiful youngest daughter has her last day at school, and we have the beautiful ordeal of the leaving service to endure, trying not to shed a tear in public.
I have been through this twice before, but this time there is the added poignancy as today our association with this wonderful, happy, Oasis of learning ends as Emsy takes this irrevocable step away from her childhood.
It follows was a familiar format. Small groups of children make their way to the pulpit and recall their happy, naughty, scary, and cheeky memories of their times there, from the beginning as little more than awe struck toddlers, to the elder statesmen of the school they are now.
What always comes through is the great affection the kids have for the school, for each other, and for their teachers. GCKS has been a vital part in moulding them into the happy confident kids they reveal themselves to be.
They recount their days from year zero to the present day, reminding us of school plays and sports days and trips they ventured out on which I was only vaguely aware of and now wish I had shared with them more fully. You can't have something like this without a tinge of guilt.
With so many things like this you want them to hurry up so you can get back to the rest of life, to internet perving, or pointless work, whatever, but today I feel the event rushing past and away from me.
BP is leaving, adding further emotion. They finish not with a hymn but "Turn Turn Turn"
To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep
To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones
A time to gather stones together
To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time of war, a time of peace
A time of love, a time of hate
A time you may embrace
A time to refrain from embracing
To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time to love, a time to hate
A time of peace, I swear it's not too late!
To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep
To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones
A time to gather stones together
To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time of war, a time of peace
A time of love, a time of hate
A time you may embrace
A time to refrain from embracing
To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time to love, a time to hate
A time of peace,
I swear it's not too late!
I am not sure which of these verses their small voices sing, but as the refrain drifts high into the roof I think back to the three of them chubby legged on their first days, their happiness and tears, their little red cardigans, the pink summer dresses, and I want to live every day of it all over again, only this time realise that they are the real worthwhile product of our lives, and savour every moment to the full, uncluttered in my mind with the dross we imagine important.
RD gives the last address of his that I shall ever hear, and the tears are building up in the corner of my eyes. Surreptitious drags of the finger suffice at first, but the uprising is too much and the hankie must come out as the snot builds up in my nose.
RD picks his words with kindness and precision, showing genuine regret for their leaving, yet obvious pride for his part in their forming into adults to be.
I glance at Sophie who has come too, a wonderful young woman who no one could fail to proud of. Emma has it in her to do as well, though of course will head in a different direction. I just hope they all stay close and continue to love each other wherever life takes them.
The kids file out in the orderly fashion they do, many of them in floods of tears, including F who accompanies an oh so Jolly Emsy.
I rush outside to film the cortege of red white and grey as they form a crocodile.
I hug H and Sophie, unashamed of my emotion. Eventually I guide the car safely by, go out onto the road and to the roundabout. I turn around and head past them as the whole school makes their way up towards their little school. And now we are no longer part of it. I can't stop the tears, and they still keep coming as I type this.
A cup of tea. some thoughts , some composure. Back to the mundane. What to do about T?
Rationality. What is he doing wrong? What must he do to put it right. He is far brighter than yesterday, and accepts everything I say. the contrast with Miss Gobby couldn't be more striking. we drive into town, he takes everything on board, and drives like an angel.
Can he take his test? If he drives like that there is no reason he couldn't emulate A.
He is genuinely grateful and I stop and buy us both an ice cream. apparently there was more to yesterday than meets the eye.
His dad, who he clearly loved dearly seems to have left problems behind. Things are coming to light of which the family had no idea of. Court cases alleging malpractice as far as I can tell, and I think it is proving very painful for him. Dad's not there to answer the questions he must want to put. Poor lad. I am so glad he has done so well today. I hope he passes, but he must realise that he has to drive like this the whole time, especially when he has his younger siblings under his wing.
No one is home. Apparently the after service picnic went on longer than anticipated, i am annoyed as had I known I would have gone. But there, wasn't that always the way.
A sad day in many ways, but one which is the beginning of a bright new future to our family which is changing rapidly in dynamic.
Night night Emsy
July 22nd (Tues)
Pick up H nice and early for a three hour stint. The morning sun is glorious, though by the end the sky has somehow totally filled with high gray cloud. The more I get to know her the more I like her, and her driving is coming along a treat. A couple of hours with P thereafter. He is worried about his eyesight, and his ability to read a numberplate, and has already failed a driving test on this point. We test it and he is very borderline, though apparently glasses cannot be found to correct this. Odd.
T is next, and he has his test next week. He drives like a lunatic, and wouldn't pass his test in a million years. I tell him so,and tell him it's not on for next week. He gets sulky and sullen. I reason with him, and there is a grudging acceptance of some of the points I Make. At one stage he could easily have been involved in a fatal when he failed to slow down for a set of broken traffic lights at a major intersection.
He asks can he try again tomorrow. After Gobby's effort yesterday, I am reluctant to concede this,but he is so upset the softie in me relents. I really need to rationalise what's wrong though and we'll try and sort it out.
A comes as welcome light relief. test tomorrow, and as I keep telling him, he should be driving already. we drive in beautiful evening sunshine, the clouds having parted for us once more.
9 hours in the heat has taken it out of me and I crash on the sofa after a delicious crab salad.
T is next, and he has his test next week. He drives like a lunatic, and wouldn't pass his test in a million years. I tell him so,and tell him it's not on for next week. He gets sulky and sullen. I reason with him, and there is a grudging acceptance of some of the points I Make. At one stage he could easily have been involved in a fatal when he failed to slow down for a set of broken traffic lights at a major intersection.
He asks can he try again tomorrow. After Gobby's effort yesterday, I am reluctant to concede this,but he is so upset the softie in me relents. I really need to rationalise what's wrong though and we'll try and sort it out.
A comes as welcome light relief. test tomorrow, and as I keep telling him, he should be driving already. we drive in beautiful evening sunshine, the clouds having parted for us once more.
9 hours in the heat has taken it out of me and I crash on the sofa after a delicious crab salad.
July 21st (Mon)
Up with the lark. It's an early start in Tring, where P is starting his intensive course. But first, it should be noted that I can no longer claim to be merely 50. There's a small cluster of pressies on the carpet for me,though the quality is, as N might say. "awesome!"
A boxed set of Laurel & Hardy, must be 60 hours of them there, the boxed set of "From the Earth to the Moon" and a French comedy I had never heard off, "Diner de Cons". Thank you everybody.
P is fine. he doesn't need thirty hours training and I have told him that , but he insists that is what he wants, and who am I to argue with a man who has £750 to give me for 30 hours work.
It all goes fine. He is intensely self critical,but should do ok.
Part two of the day is less of a birthday treat.
She's gobby, moany, spoiled, not very clever, knows far more about driving than I can ever teach her, and consequently has not bothered to listen o a single word I have said . In fact the last thing I said was "Don't take your test", but that was ignored along with all over advice. I could, probably should have refused to take her, but to be honest the probability of her failing dismally is outweighed by the thought that when she does, I can wash my hands of her.
She hasn't looked at the smtm question, quelle surprise, and I am not in a mood to labour the point.
I smile sheepishly at her examiner, pitying the woman, who I know will be in for a hard time. She disappears and I contemplate the likely magnitude of her demise. Probably not a record breaker (E was in a league of her own) This one can actually drive a car, she just sees no reason to learn to do it safely and sensibly.
They are back pretty soon I am not invited to the debrief (I didn't mention this possibility to her) an it is a very creditable disaster, 5/13. Another apologetic smile st the examiner, get her home, and get rid of her. She makes an effort to part on good terms, saying "so I'll ring you if I need you," She won't, and if she does, I won't be answering!
Birthday dinner at the CC helps to forget all this. Sophie absent due to a rotten cold, Ali not there either, so my attempts to cross the linguistic divide and drop the hint that it's my birthday come to nought. The bill is £85, of which drinks contribute a whopping £27. Later we agree the food was not top notch. I think the CC may have probs in the kitchen department. It was fun anyway.
H and I watch the french dvd and it's a fast moving off the wall thing which keeps us happily laughing for it's duration. Not laugh out loud like "les visiteurs", but fun all the same.
Holiday talk had been of Turkey, but with quotes coming in at around £500 a head, I felt my chances of heading back to France improving.
The I found a Matthews holiday advertised at £670 for the lot of us and though I might be close to clinching the deal. H is to ring them tomorrow.
Better get used to being fifty bloody one.
A boxed set of Laurel & Hardy, must be 60 hours of them there, the boxed set of "From the Earth to the Moon" and a French comedy I had never heard off, "Diner de Cons". Thank you everybody.
P is fine. he doesn't need thirty hours training and I have told him that , but he insists that is what he wants, and who am I to argue with a man who has £750 to give me for 30 hours work.
It all goes fine. He is intensely self critical,but should do ok.
Part two of the day is less of a birthday treat.
She's gobby, moany, spoiled, not very clever, knows far more about driving than I can ever teach her, and consequently has not bothered to listen o a single word I have said . In fact the last thing I said was "Don't take your test", but that was ignored along with all over advice. I could, probably should have refused to take her, but to be honest the probability of her failing dismally is outweighed by the thought that when she does, I can wash my hands of her.
She hasn't looked at the smtm question, quelle surprise, and I am not in a mood to labour the point.
I smile sheepishly at her examiner, pitying the woman, who I know will be in for a hard time. She disappears and I contemplate the likely magnitude of her demise. Probably not a record breaker (E was in a league of her own) This one can actually drive a car, she just sees no reason to learn to do it safely and sensibly.
They are back pretty soon I am not invited to the debrief (I didn't mention this possibility to her) an it is a very creditable disaster, 5/13. Another apologetic smile st the examiner, get her home, and get rid of her. She makes an effort to part on good terms, saying "so I'll ring you if I need you," She won't, and if she does, I won't be answering!
Birthday dinner at the CC helps to forget all this. Sophie absent due to a rotten cold, Ali not there either, so my attempts to cross the linguistic divide and drop the hint that it's my birthday come to nought. The bill is £85, of which drinks contribute a whopping £27. Later we agree the food was not top notch. I think the CC may have probs in the kitchen department. It was fun anyway.
H and I watch the french dvd and it's a fast moving off the wall thing which keeps us happily laughing for it's duration. Not laugh out loud like "les visiteurs", but fun all the same.
Holiday talk had been of Turkey, but with quotes coming in at around £500 a head, I felt my chances of heading back to France improving.
The I found a Matthews holiday advertised at £670 for the lot of us and though I might be close to clinching the deal. H is to ring them tomorrow.
Better get used to being fifty bloody one.
July 20th (Sun)
It's a day of reasonably guiltless laziness, spent mainly with my nose in this machine, with occasional reference to the bigger screen to check out on the onward march of the South Africans. J had talked of his time during military service in SA last night. It sounded bloody hard, but he also had the knack of making it sound a deeply worthwhile experience. Not sentiments I'd usually adhere to, but he had a very persuasive way about him. Having listened to him though it is not hard to understand the South Africans attitude to their game playing. It is no holds barred, and never say die for sure, and England having bowled forever at Lords are now facing a second solid day of it here for very little reward.
H buys a lovely piece of beef, which I feel I just overcook, but the dinner is lovely and we are joined by Dan's mate N. It's nice to see him developing a coterie of mates, and he is a frequent visitor to N's house. N is a slightly strange, very dry Californian, who is by no means unlikeable.
He discovers tonight that he likes Yorkshire pudding. It's "awesome" Well what else!
H buys a lovely piece of beef, which I feel I just overcook, but the dinner is lovely and we are joined by Dan's mate N. It's nice to see him developing a coterie of mates, and he is a frequent visitor to N's house. N is a slightly strange, very dry Californian, who is by no means unlikeable.
He discovers tonight that he likes Yorkshire pudding. It's "awesome" Well what else!
July 19th (Sat)
Things are getting busy and lucrative on the work front, and I also have a decent bunch at the moment which is making it quite a pleasant experience. Been doing this now for about 15 months and I would have to say it's probably exceeding expectations.
A & G are my Saturday companions. A has his test on Wednesday and should walk it, but then we said that last time! G is great. She worries too much but is pretty good and no trouble at all.
The pm is spent gawping at England's demise up at Headingley. They bowl and bowl and bowl, and wickets just don't happen and SA just bat serenely and unhurriedly on.
In the evening we actually meet the neighbours. We go over to J&K and D & C are also there. There's not much space, K perching on a sideboard and J on a hard chair, but it's an interesting evening, spent mainly chatting about our families and upbringings, which as C hails from Hong Kong, and K& J are South Africans of mixed Boer/English heritage, is more interesting than might be imagined. It's soon 1 am and it's been a lovely evening. I'd like to get the house sorted, get the kitchen organised, and cook for a dinner party. We'll see!
A & G are my Saturday companions. A has his test on Wednesday and should walk it, but then we said that last time! G is great. She worries too much but is pretty good and no trouble at all.
The pm is spent gawping at England's demise up at Headingley. They bowl and bowl and bowl, and wickets just don't happen and SA just bat serenely and unhurriedly on.
In the evening we actually meet the neighbours. We go over to J&K and D & C are also there. There's not much space, K perching on a sideboard and J on a hard chair, but it's an interesting evening, spent mainly chatting about our families and upbringings, which as C hails from Hong Kong, and K& J are South Africans of mixed Boer/English heritage, is more interesting than might be imagined. It's soon 1 am and it's been a lovely evening. I'd like to get the house sorted, get the kitchen organised, and cook for a dinner party. We'll see!
Friday, July 18, 2008
July 18th (Fri)
It's the early show, and over to Thame for 8 where I get lost and arrive ten minutes late. H is waiting, and most understanding. She's another of my current lovely trio of pretty happy competent girls. It's a purple patch for sure!
No probs with H, then over to Amersham for a brief hour with J the lad, which goes fine. Then the lesson I have been dreading. Yes, it's J in Harefield, who moans, whines, whinges, drives like a prat as usual and then ends by saying "So I'll pass on Monday will I?" Pleas God make sure she does so there is no prospect of ever having to conduct a lesson with her again. Realistically the only question is whether she'll fail with some form of dignity, or if she'll have the examiner walking back having abandoned the test.
The second test has started at Headingley. Amazingly this is the fifth test of the summer, which used to be the year's home ration. The fifth test followed certain constraints. Firstly it started on a Thursday. In fact all tests did so, the sole exception I can remember being in 1970 when a general election took place, and the game started on a Wednesday with a rest day to follow (Sundays were rest days too in those days, what a quaint notion that now seems!). Secondly the fifth test took place at the Oval (at least the real HQ of cricket still gets to see the season out), but most importantly the fifth test takes place as the first chills of autumn touch the English evening and the late summer shadows stretch long across the scruffy turf.
Now the imperative is to cram in seven tests a summer, along with god knows how many meaningless ODIs. Soon I suspect Twenty20 numbers will mushroom in turn. England spring a real surprise by picking a 30 year old Aussie, who has played but 12 first class games and taken 40 wickets. I had never even heard mention of him before his inclusion in the team was revealed ten minutes before start of play. Most bizarre.
England collapse to 203 all out, and SA get halfway there for 3 wickets. The new man bowls a couple of overs and is despatched into the long grass. I have the feeling his place in history is to appear in a few highly esoteric pub quizzes. Bizzare.
No probs with H, then over to Amersham for a brief hour with J the lad, which goes fine. Then the lesson I have been dreading. Yes, it's J in Harefield, who moans, whines, whinges, drives like a prat as usual and then ends by saying "So I'll pass on Monday will I?" Pleas God make sure she does so there is no prospect of ever having to conduct a lesson with her again. Realistically the only question is whether she'll fail with some form of dignity, or if she'll have the examiner walking back having abandoned the test.
The second test has started at Headingley. Amazingly this is the fifth test of the summer, which used to be the year's home ration. The fifth test followed certain constraints. Firstly it started on a Thursday. In fact all tests did so, the sole exception I can remember being in 1970 when a general election took place, and the game started on a Wednesday with a rest day to follow (Sundays were rest days too in those days, what a quaint notion that now seems!). Secondly the fifth test took place at the Oval (at least the real HQ of cricket still gets to see the season out), but most importantly the fifth test takes place as the first chills of autumn touch the English evening and the late summer shadows stretch long across the scruffy turf.
Now the imperative is to cram in seven tests a summer, along with god knows how many meaningless ODIs. Soon I suspect Twenty20 numbers will mushroom in turn. England spring a real surprise by picking a 30 year old Aussie, who has played but 12 first class games and taken 40 wickets. I had never even heard mention of him before his inclusion in the team was revealed ten minutes before start of play. Most bizarre.
England collapse to 203 all out, and SA get halfway there for 3 wickets. The new man bowls a couple of overs and is despatched into the long grass. I have the feeling his place in history is to appear in a few highly esoteric pub quizzes. Bizzare.
Jul 17th (Thurs)
G calls. She has a four hour lesson but doesn't reckon she can take me for that long, so we decide on a lie in, and a get another final chance to drop Emsy at HGCS. She jumps out in traffic so I never see her disappearing up the path for one last time. A couple of hours with G. She is a delight, bright, funny,interesting, and a pretty good driver to boot. The ideal pupil! T next, with only one lesson to go before his test and he is driving like a bag of cats. He really thinks he is god's gift to motoring, but at times is totally clueless. He shouldn't be taking a test yet, but with an eight week waiting list it's hard to tell him to change. S has a new test date.....4th September...disgraceful.
An hour off, and then away to GX to pick up S. Again, bright, intelligent and pleasant, and again a decent driver, who is receptive to learning.
The summer drives onwards. All the while, for the past two weeks the Tour de France pounds through the Hexagon. I am no great aficionado, but it does remind me of my happy summers over there, where it seemed to be a perennial backdrop to l'haute saison. The British Open begins. Again, no great passion for the event,, but another sign of summer's inevitable progress. What's not arriving is the sultry summer weather, the sun pounding down on us, wearying us all with it's heat. It may be doing it somewhere, but it is certainly not at Royal Birkdale (not too sure where these golf courses are located, but have an impression it's somewhere northern), and it's certainly not in High Wycombe. The sun pokes through as an occasional visitor, but most of the time the battle is between the mucky grey skies and the rain, which sometimes spits, every now and again pours.
I've never been, but I always imagine the Albert Hall to be heavy with the oppressive summer air as the expectant prommers fan themselves whilst awaiting the arrival of the orchestra. Now, tomorrow is the first night of the Proms, and this suggests, if not the end, then possibly the beginning of the end of the summer. However the season runs for two months, so still time for the sun to shine on us before we start scraping the frost off the windscreens.
Home very grumpy. The place, already a complete state due to the seemingly abandoned decorating, is deteriorating fast. I don't think any of the kids has touched a dish cloth in the last three months. They just dump their used dishes at the nearest convenient dropping off point,saafe in the knowledge that their servants will eventually clear up in their wake. I make my views known amid general unpleasantness.
An hour off, and then away to GX to pick up S. Again, bright, intelligent and pleasant, and again a decent driver, who is receptive to learning.
The summer drives onwards. All the while, for the past two weeks the Tour de France pounds through the Hexagon. I am no great aficionado, but it does remind me of my happy summers over there, where it seemed to be a perennial backdrop to l'haute saison. The British Open begins. Again, no great passion for the event,, but another sign of summer's inevitable progress. What's not arriving is the sultry summer weather, the sun pounding down on us, wearying us all with it's heat. It may be doing it somewhere, but it is certainly not at Royal Birkdale (not too sure where these golf courses are located, but have an impression it's somewhere northern), and it's certainly not in High Wycombe. The sun pokes through as an occasional visitor, but most of the time the battle is between the mucky grey skies and the rain, which sometimes spits, every now and again pours.
I've never been, but I always imagine the Albert Hall to be heavy with the oppressive summer air as the expectant prommers fan themselves whilst awaiting the arrival of the orchestra. Now, tomorrow is the first night of the Proms, and this suggests, if not the end, then possibly the beginning of the end of the summer. However the season runs for two months, so still time for the sun to shine on us before we start scraping the frost off the windscreens.
Home very grumpy. The place, already a complete state due to the seemingly abandoned decorating, is deteriorating fast. I don't think any of the kids has touched a dish cloth in the last three months. They just dump their used dishes at the nearest convenient dropping off point,saafe in the knowledge that their servants will eventually clear up in their wake. I make my views known amid general unpleasantness.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
July 16th (Weds)
A memorable day. Ever since 3rd January 1996, great Kingshill Combined School has been part of our lives. Who knows how many times I have dropped the kids off there. I have walked them up from Limmers Mead on blissful summer days, torn through Wycombe in a foul mood with them for not being ready earlier, played the "name that theme tune" game and the yellow car game. We've argued, discussed, cursed, sometimes cried. But we have always parted on good terms as one or more of them was dropped of at this warm, friendly haven of learning. I've held hands as we have arrived late and led them into the classroom to explain to teacher. I've taken in notes and explained to teachers why this hasn't been done or that will be done tomorrow. I've seen our kids disappear up the path huddled against the foulest winter mornings,and I have seen them skipping up the path full of the joys of spring and summer, their skinny little legs sticking out from their pretty summer dresses, or sturdy boys' grey shorts.
And after today I will never do it again. Emsy has just a week left as a primary school child, and from today I have early appointments. It will be very hard to take to turn our backs on this place, and I earnestly wish it would not happen so soon.
I go to Maidenhead to pick up S. It is her test today. After recent results I am wary of over confidence, but she drives absolutely beautifully. She just doesn't make mistakes, and I am full of confidence for her. Then we get to the test centre. We sit down, and i notice a letter sellotaped to the table. Strike Action, July 16th. Hmm.
CP arrives. Have we read the letter? We all nod. There are three of us and only two examiners. "I am afraid the unlucky one is........."
Poor S. She is quite taken aback, and a little tearful. She has built herself up for this and it is a terrible anticlimax. Public service workers are on strike nationwide. Inflation today hits 4%, but we all know the figure is far higher. Fuel up 20% Milk 20% Bread 15%. Things have a 70s feel to them. Recession seems unavoidable, and in fact the best offer on the table at present.
I drop off S and have an unremarkable lesson with the unremarkable M, then head to Princes Risborough to renew acquaintance with L. She does ok, but manages to destroy one of my new hubcaps. Onto the deathlist then!
In the evening my GKCS torment increases. We go for the kids' presentation re their recent trip to Weston super Mare. It's great to see the enthusiasm they hold for this, and sad to realise that In a few months their outlook on life will begin to be tainted by cynicism as the truth about life comes looking for them. Dodds keeps it short, and doesn't even ask for money on the way out. No more Christmas plays in this hall for us, no glancing guiltily at the watch wondering when can we escape. What I'd give for another five years of all that.
H goes off to the PTA afterwards, and the four of us pick up fish n chips on the way home. We sit and eat them as a family, and then fall out over the washing up. H arrives homeannouncing Sherbert is running loose in the street sowe go on a bunny round up, eventually steering him through the hole in the door which was once a cat flap.
And after today I will never do it again. Emsy has just a week left as a primary school child, and from today I have early appointments. It will be very hard to take to turn our backs on this place, and I earnestly wish it would not happen so soon.
I go to Maidenhead to pick up S. It is her test today. After recent results I am wary of over confidence, but she drives absolutely beautifully. She just doesn't make mistakes, and I am full of confidence for her. Then we get to the test centre. We sit down, and i notice a letter sellotaped to the table. Strike Action, July 16th. Hmm.
CP arrives. Have we read the letter? We all nod. There are three of us and only two examiners. "I am afraid the unlucky one is........."
Poor S. She is quite taken aback, and a little tearful. She has built herself up for this and it is a terrible anticlimax. Public service workers are on strike nationwide. Inflation today hits 4%, but we all know the figure is far higher. Fuel up 20% Milk 20% Bread 15%. Things have a 70s feel to them. Recession seems unavoidable, and in fact the best offer on the table at present.
I drop off S and have an unremarkable lesson with the unremarkable M, then head to Princes Risborough to renew acquaintance with L. She does ok, but manages to destroy one of my new hubcaps. Onto the deathlist then!
In the evening my GKCS torment increases. We go for the kids' presentation re their recent trip to Weston super Mare. It's great to see the enthusiasm they hold for this, and sad to realise that In a few months their outlook on life will begin to be tainted by cynicism as the truth about life comes looking for them. Dodds keeps it short, and doesn't even ask for money on the way out. No more Christmas plays in this hall for us, no glancing guiltily at the watch wondering when can we escape. What I'd give for another five years of all that.
H goes off to the PTA afterwards, and the four of us pick up fish n chips on the way home. We sit and eat them as a family, and then fall out over the washing up. H arrives homeannouncing Sherbert is running loose in the street sowe go on a bunny round up, eventually steering him through the hole in the door which was once a cat flap.
July 15th (Tues)
The idea was to move the Monday appointments seamlessly over to Tuesday, but it didn't quite work out like that, and I am left with nothing till 2. I perve on the net for a while, and then do the righteous thing and wash the car inside and out in preparation for S's test tomorrow. Then off to Aylesbury to see if, in the two week hiatus, S has shown any proclivity whatever for the art of driving. Pretty resounding "No" on that one I am afraid. She is a lovely girl though.
Just before I set off for S, R texts me announcing at about three hours notice that she is unwell and will not be attending today's lesson. I should be stronger. She's paid up front, and I should tell her she's lost the lesson. I don't of course, but I must remember to make these things crystal clear at the outset. the fact that I am too prone to doing the same thing doesn't make this any easier of course.
So I am home early and slump in front of the telly watching not much in particular. "Goodnight Sweetheart" is a prog I have always watched and been intensely irritated by. Great idea, dismally executed, but it tugs me in nonetheless.
I decide to make an effort and get the bike out, it's first excursion since St Omer. I make it up the hill,, and my reward is a pair of Cocquilles St Jacques. Scrummy!
Just before I set off for S, R texts me announcing at about three hours notice that she is unwell and will not be attending today's lesson. I should be stronger. She's paid up front, and I should tell her she's lost the lesson. I don't of course, but I must remember to make these things crystal clear at the outset. the fact that I am too prone to doing the same thing doesn't make this any easier of course.
So I am home early and slump in front of the telly watching not much in particular. "Goodnight Sweetheart" is a prog I have always watched and been intensely irritated by. Great idea, dismally executed, but it tugs me in nonetheless.
I decide to make an effort and get the bike out, it's first excursion since St Omer. I make it up the hill,, and my reward is a pair of Cocquilles St Jacques. Scrummy!
July 14th (Mon)
feeling slightly guilty about having cancelled a couple of appointments, but then,how much guilt is there when I get cancelled at the last moment. Sophie wanted to come to Lords,but revealed that she had work and would have to leave by two. It'd cost her £15 in fares and £20 to get in if we couldn't persuade them she was under 16!! There is also the issue of missing school, as she skived off a day last week.
In the end it's decided, not altogether harmoniously, that I'll go to HQ alone. A drive to Amersham, a pleasant walk through the very pleasant leafy lanes to the station, and almost straight onto a Met train.Never enjoy the met, but bury my head in the Indie. Lovely to read a paper!, and soon we are at Finchley Road, onto the friendly little jubilee train, and dumped at St John's Wood, where the crowds are massing.
Crowd management starts here, LT staff urging the fitter amongst us to eschew the escalator for 110 steps which will do us a heap of good. I feel good as I pass a panting teen half way up, and am still in surprisingly good shape at the top.
More marshalls herd us down a side road I am unfamiliar with. The street is lined with vast cars to complement the vast houses, nay mansions that back onto Lords. What a place to live, and in such style. Lucky bastards, what did they ever do to deserve it?
The queue is expertly dealt with, and a bonus are the kids giving away free milkshakes en route. I manage to get hold of three of them.
Once inside the Boers are at practice on the nursery ground. Andre Nel, not playing in the test, cuts a scowling, glaring presence which is scary even when sending down a few in the nets.
I opt for a place in the Grandstand, a splendid stand affording a good side on view and protection from the sun, which is supposed to beat down on us today.
The game starts slowly, then stagnates. Mackenzie has been batting for about a fortnight for his ton, and at this rate Pluto will have completed another orbit of the sun before he gets to his next. Amla, a shaven headed, crazy bearded Muslim scores the occasional run, but this is not going to be anything other than attritional.
It's pleasant though, watching out on the wonderful sward, peering nosily into the exec boxes with my fantastic £11 Aldi binoculars, and listening intently to TMS in my earphones. Tuffnell has added a new and mischievous dimension to the team, and I am starting to warm to the upstart Pougatch. But where Mr Bond, is Blofeld?
Lunch arrives with barely a shot in anger having been assayed, and I head off down to the canal to the cafe I had visited with R at the NZ test match. Same food, a slightly too cheesy bacon baguette, but nice enough, and a lovely spot where I can watch as the canal boats disappear into the tunnel beneath my feet as I eat. The canal holds great memories of childhood days out at London Zoo, and I can never see a boat chug by without wanting to be aboard.
There's brief excitement back at Lords as Mackenzie finally does something rash and is caught, and Kallis follows not long after. But it is not to be and the match reaches the stage where everyone realises the game is up and goes through the motions. At one stage they go off in perfect light and try and shake hands on a draw. Everyone seems to agree the game is over. But no, the sun shines brightly and this appears indefensible, so out they come again for a couple more overs. Amla meanwhile has actually stirred himself to straight drive for a four to bring up a well deserved century. Even the most maniacal fundamentalist looks less menacing with a broad grin on his face and his bat aloft acknowledging the appreciative crowd.
I wonder whether to go into town for an hour or so. Perhaps it's age,but I cannot summon up the energy. I sit on the concourse at Marylebone and watch the world go by, retire to the bar for a pint of Bass, and struggle up the platform and onto the crowded train home.
Then it's curry as usual, with for no apparent reason a free Bombay Aloo chucked in. That'll help the diet then.
In the end it's decided, not altogether harmoniously, that I'll go to HQ alone. A drive to Amersham, a pleasant walk through the very pleasant leafy lanes to the station, and almost straight onto a Met train.Never enjoy the met, but bury my head in the Indie. Lovely to read a paper!, and soon we are at Finchley Road, onto the friendly little jubilee train, and dumped at St John's Wood, where the crowds are massing.
Crowd management starts here, LT staff urging the fitter amongst us to eschew the escalator for 110 steps which will do us a heap of good. I feel good as I pass a panting teen half way up, and am still in surprisingly good shape at the top.
More marshalls herd us down a side road I am unfamiliar with. The street is lined with vast cars to complement the vast houses, nay mansions that back onto Lords. What a place to live, and in such style. Lucky bastards, what did they ever do to deserve it?
The queue is expertly dealt with, and a bonus are the kids giving away free milkshakes en route. I manage to get hold of three of them.
Once inside the Boers are at practice on the nursery ground. Andre Nel, not playing in the test, cuts a scowling, glaring presence which is scary even when sending down a few in the nets.
I opt for a place in the Grandstand, a splendid stand affording a good side on view and protection from the sun, which is supposed to beat down on us today.
The game starts slowly, then stagnates. Mackenzie has been batting for about a fortnight for his ton, and at this rate Pluto will have completed another orbit of the sun before he gets to his next. Amla, a shaven headed, crazy bearded Muslim scores the occasional run, but this is not going to be anything other than attritional.
It's pleasant though, watching out on the wonderful sward, peering nosily into the exec boxes with my fantastic £11 Aldi binoculars, and listening intently to TMS in my earphones. Tuffnell has added a new and mischievous dimension to the team, and I am starting to warm to the upstart Pougatch. But where Mr Bond, is Blofeld?
Lunch arrives with barely a shot in anger having been assayed, and I head off down to the canal to the cafe I had visited with R at the NZ test match. Same food, a slightly too cheesy bacon baguette, but nice enough, and a lovely spot where I can watch as the canal boats disappear into the tunnel beneath my feet as I eat. The canal holds great memories of childhood days out at London Zoo, and I can never see a boat chug by without wanting to be aboard.
There's brief excitement back at Lords as Mackenzie finally does something rash and is caught, and Kallis follows not long after. But it is not to be and the match reaches the stage where everyone realises the game is up and goes through the motions. At one stage they go off in perfect light and try and shake hands on a draw. Everyone seems to agree the game is over. But no, the sun shines brightly and this appears indefensible, so out they come again for a couple more overs. Amla meanwhile has actually stirred himself to straight drive for a four to bring up a well deserved century. Even the most maniacal fundamentalist looks less menacing with a broad grin on his face and his bat aloft acknowledging the appreciative crowd.
I wonder whether to go into town for an hour or so. Perhaps it's age,but I cannot summon up the energy. I sit on the concourse at Marylebone and watch the world go by, retire to the bar for a pint of Bass, and struggle up the platform and onto the crowded train home.
Then it's curry as usual, with for no apparent reason a free Bombay Aloo chucked in. That'll help the diet then.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
July 13th (Sun)
Lots of wine last night, and not a great night's kip. Linger in bed after H has dutifully taken the girls to cricket. I am up for the return trip. It's a lovely sight to see so many kids playing cricket in the sunshine. In the real cricket, SA recover from following on miles behind to bat all day and only lose one wicket, thus opening the door for a trip to Lords tomorrow.
We drive back to Flackwell to collect my car, and chance upon the "Cherry Fayre", in truth a village fete, but a splendid one at that, with a collection of 50s onwards motor cars, including Vauxhall Victors and Crestas, Ford Prefects, Consuls and Granadas, and even a Hillman limp!
The rest of the afternoon is purgatory involving trudging around Homebase, MFI and Wickes looking at kitchens. The last stop though makes things a little more worthwhile as H meets the kitchen designer she had round the other night, He has entered everything into the PC and produced fabulous 3d plans of the prospective layout. Very impressive.
Back home and cook dinner,then settle down en famille to watch Fawlty Towers. It doesn't quite hit the spot the, and one by one people drift away, Dan and Emsy to their computers and me to the land of Nod. i wonder is the funniest series ever finally reaching it's sell by date. I hope not.
Ring up tomorrow's lessons and try to rearrange. Manage it with two of them, the third simply cancels. Shame, but the sun should shine tomorrow and there is the prospect of a full day's play at Lords.
We drive back to Flackwell to collect my car, and chance upon the "Cherry Fayre", in truth a village fete, but a splendid one at that, with a collection of 50s onwards motor cars, including Vauxhall Victors and Crestas, Ford Prefects, Consuls and Granadas, and even a Hillman limp!
The rest of the afternoon is purgatory involving trudging around Homebase, MFI and Wickes looking at kitchens. The last stop though makes things a little more worthwhile as H meets the kitchen designer she had round the other night, He has entered everything into the PC and produced fabulous 3d plans of the prospective layout. Very impressive.
Back home and cook dinner,then settle down en famille to watch Fawlty Towers. It doesn't quite hit the spot the, and one by one people drift away, Dan and Emsy to their computers and me to the land of Nod. i wonder is the funniest series ever finally reaching it's sell by date. I hope not.
Ring up tomorrow's lessons and try to rearrange. Manage it with two of them, the third simply cancels. Shame, but the sun should shine tomorrow and there is the prospect of a full day's play at Lords.
July 12th(Sat)
Up early an get to G on time. She waits for me at the entrance to her gated community, leaving me to speculate about the vastness of the house she lives in. Good fun, good company, good driver. It's an enticing combination.
Back home to the cricket, and a lethargic Saturday, which is enlivened by Emsy's suggestion that we go watch "Mamma Mia" at the flicks.
The stage show was up there as one of the memorable nights of my life, and though the film never lives up to that it is good fun and beautifully shot in sensational locations.
Try to piece together my Abba history. Waterloo never even touched me, it was just a Eurovision winner that the hardened Zeppelin/ Purple/Barclay James Harvest aficionado simply ignored. I first really noticed them with "Take a chance on me" which genuinely annoyed me. Then one day, and I remember it clearly, I was driving to Kent to watch a cricket match and as I passed through Old Amersham I heard "Fernando" for the first time. I thought it was tremendous,but never admitted so publicly. the stream of hits continued,and I was aware of them, never antagonistic, but never a fan. Then they went away and after they'd been gone a while people said they missed them, and it became acceptable to admit to having liked their music,and as it was played a second time I genuinely did. It was still widely regarded as bubblegum though,, and we all laughed as Alan Partridge confirmed his idiocy by seeminlgy offering a reasoned critique of their music.
Then at some stage in the nineties maybe, Abba Gold came along, and the songs came back on a wave of nostalgia for the days when one in three of us were on strike and the other two were kicking shit out of each other on the terraces. And suddenly serious people were actually deconstructing the music and writing long and thoughtful pieces on the band and what they achieved. Then came the stage show of Mamma Mia, and suddenly Melvyn Bragg is producing Abba documentaries. Bjorn and Benny are close to the apex of the rock and roll hierarchy, and Agnetha is the reluctant recluse the whole world wants to rejoin the fold, the girl with the golden hair who won't say yes to the others.
Emsy and I go home humming, and thanking them for the music. Will take her to the stage show for a treat soon.
Off to N's for the evening. He has a really nice house in Flackwell, and is rattling good company. It's a very pleasant evening to the extent that everyone is startled when we look at the watch and it's 12:30 and time to call for our carriage.
Back home to the cricket, and a lethargic Saturday, which is enlivened by Emsy's suggestion that we go watch "Mamma Mia" at the flicks.
The stage show was up there as one of the memorable nights of my life, and though the film never lives up to that it is good fun and beautifully shot in sensational locations.
Try to piece together my Abba history. Waterloo never even touched me, it was just a Eurovision winner that the hardened Zeppelin/ Purple/Barclay James Harvest aficionado simply ignored. I first really noticed them with "Take a chance on me" which genuinely annoyed me. Then one day, and I remember it clearly, I was driving to Kent to watch a cricket match and as I passed through Old Amersham I heard "Fernando" for the first time. I thought it was tremendous,but never admitted so publicly. the stream of hits continued,and I was aware of them, never antagonistic, but never a fan. Then they went away and after they'd been gone a while people said they missed them, and it became acceptable to admit to having liked their music,and as it was played a second time I genuinely did. It was still widely regarded as bubblegum though,, and we all laughed as Alan Partridge confirmed his idiocy by seeminlgy offering a reasoned critique of their music.
Then at some stage in the nineties maybe, Abba Gold came along, and the songs came back on a wave of nostalgia for the days when one in three of us were on strike and the other two were kicking shit out of each other on the terraces. And suddenly serious people were actually deconstructing the music and writing long and thoughtful pieces on the band and what they achieved. Then came the stage show of Mamma Mia, and suddenly Melvyn Bragg is producing Abba documentaries. Bjorn and Benny are close to the apex of the rock and roll hierarchy, and Agnetha is the reluctant recluse the whole world wants to rejoin the fold, the girl with the golden hair who won't say yes to the others.
Emsy and I go home humming, and thanking them for the music. Will take her to the stage show for a treat soon.
Off to N's for the evening. He has a really nice house in Flackwell, and is rattling good company. It's a very pleasant evening to the extent that everyone is startled when we look at the watch and it's 12:30 and time to call for our carriage.
Friday, July 11, 2008
July 11th (Fri)
Only two today so the afternoon off. An uneventful outing to Amersham and a comfortable couple of hours with J. The I get a call fromG saying can she reduce lesson to 1 hour. Fairly pointless as I still need a 15 minute drive to start her off so we postpone till tomorrow evening.
David Davies has won his on personal bi election/ ego trip . Quite what the point of alll that was isa matter for conjecture.
It's feet up and watch the cricket for the whole afternoon. Pietersen is soon out but Bell bashes on faultlessley until he gets to 199 and gives his wicket away. Broad hits 70 odd too.
The evening is much like any Friday evening, though I go back to the Curry Centre as I have now secured my own supply of Bombay duck,
A rings. She is postponing her test till September so is knocking the lessons on the tete for a few weeks. On reflection not sure how wise this is!
David Davies has won his on personal bi election/ ego trip . Quite what the point of alll that was isa matter for conjecture.
It's feet up and watch the cricket for the whole afternoon. Pietersen is soon out but Bell bashes on faultlessley until he gets to 199 and gives his wicket away. Broad hits 70 odd too.
The evening is much like any Friday evening, though I go back to the Curry Centre as I have now secured my own supply of Bombay duck,
A rings. She is postponing her test till September so is knocking the lessons on the tete for a few weeks. On reflection not sure how wise this is!
Thursday, July 10, 2008
July 10th (Thurs)
Back to the more mundane biz of teaching people to drive! It's all pretty humdrum stuff. A second lesson with H,who is doing fine, and is bright and pretty as a happy bonus. The two hours with T, which he can't pay for (hmm...next week!) I pop home before the next one to find a letter on the mat. Fuck, it's a speeding fine!!! I scour it quickly. Ampthill,, near Bedford. Shit.. I was there, but a couple of weeks back on the way home from Mum's. More scouring BK51RYP. The Berlingo! Phew! But bugger I haven't yet sent of the registration for change of ownership. Stupid. I plough through piles of paper and fortunately unearth it. Hopefully now I can fill in pikey's details and that'll be the end of the matter. I knew this would happen the minute I clapped eyes on him!
G is the day's newcomer,, and she is a delight! 25, gorgeous, and bubbly as a bottle of Bolly. She's driven a bit,but only round a sheep ranch in Oz. I have a feeling there are many interesting tales to hear from her in the weeks to come. she tells me she has a new bloke. Lucky sod!
Last (hopefully) lesson with S to finish. Considering how bad she was at first she has done fantastically well, and is now really competent. She's likeable too, though she rarely says much. I hope she passes, she really ought to, and I need a few passes after recent results.
The place is becoming more and more of a dump. There is not a single tidy room left. H paws over plans of kitchens and cupboard layouts, but who the hell is she kidding. Unless she throws away 80% of the crap that festoons the place we are condemned to live in this squalor forever. A depressing thought.
The second part of the cricketing summer swings into action, with the South Africans the visitors. They should prove more robust opposition in the five day game, though today Pietersen cracks a ton to put England well in command. The rian relents for most of the day, but is promised again tomorrow.
G is the day's newcomer,, and she is a delight! 25, gorgeous, and bubbly as a bottle of Bolly. She's driven a bit,but only round a sheep ranch in Oz. I have a feeling there are many interesting tales to hear from her in the weeks to come. she tells me she has a new bloke. Lucky sod!
Last (hopefully) lesson with S to finish. Considering how bad she was at first she has done fantastically well, and is now really competent. She's likeable too, though she rarely says much. I hope she passes, she really ought to, and I need a few passes after recent results.
The place is becoming more and more of a dump. There is not a single tidy room left. H paws over plans of kitchens and cupboard layouts, but who the hell is she kidding. Unless she throws away 80% of the crap that festoons the place we are condemned to live in this squalor forever. A depressing thought.
The second part of the cricketing summer swings into action, with the South Africans the visitors. They should prove more robust opposition in the five day game, though today Pietersen cracks a ton to put England well in command. The rian relents for most of the day, but is promised again tomorrow.
July 9th (Weds)
So the day of my date with destiny dawns. Fittingly the rain is splashing down out of a swirl of dirty grey and as I head north this shows no signs of improving. The legions of lorries through up blankets of spray along the route which takes me through Brackley and Northampton, and surprisingly quickly to Leicester. I go onto the ring road but find myself heading the wrong way. It takes an age to turn round at a clogged up roundabout.
I find the place without too much trouble, a neat bungalow in a rather unkempt garden, tucked back from a busy road. I find the back door,and clearly have been spotted as the gate opens as if by magic.
Cameron is an initial disappointment it has to be said. No face pics available online, but when I see her i realise at once that she is at least ten years older than I had imagined. Morgan is more what I had imagined, but is a very big woman. I sit down to be interviewed, and they make me a cup of tea.
The interview is quite perceptive,and rather enjoyable. At this stage I have the worry that it may be the extent of today's activities. But no, I am to be put to work.
I am told to strip. Cameron suggests down to boxers, but Morgan insists on full nudity. I am taken to the punishment room and am placed in ankle shackles and chains, as well as a high leather collar, pulled very tight, which actually works wonders on my cricked neck.
I have to clean the leather dungeon floor, vacuum the whole house. I am generally ignored, but am at one stage told to cook lunch.
I serve this and am told to kneel facing the corner whilst they eat. A nice touch. I finish the work,, clean up the things, and then my efforts are inspected. Morgan is generally pleased with my efforts, but I have missed some chalk on the floor of the schoolroom. I have to get out the hoover again, and then am told I am to be punished.
I am a tad worried, The two ladies made no bones about the fact that they are sadists, and that if I am to be taken on they expected me to be able to take pain. I am strapped to the whipping bench and held down very tight. I have never before been so vulnerable. It is both exciting and concerning.
The blows start to land. Not too painful to start with, but by six it is painful and I wonder if that may be that. No chance. It's starting to hurt now. Ten? No we pass that, and I begin to dread the next stroke. A dozen? No, thirteen comes, which leaves me reckoning twenty is the next hope. I am screaming by fifteen. If we go past twenty what does that mean? Fifty? Oh my God One hundred? I am squirming as much as possible in my bonds, and when twenty arrives I sincerely hope that is that. Fortunately it is, and very soon the pain is replaced by a warm glow. I'd like to have been left tied down for a while, but I am quickly released, and my shackles are removed. It has been an interesting couple of ours, and despite the fact that the dommes are neither spring chicks nor in any way beauties, it has been an interesting and exciting experience. I'd travel north again, though Morgan's warning that my pain thresholds must be pushed will see me head that way with some trepidation.
Back in the car, through nondescript Leicester in the dirty rain, back onto the spray fretted motorway, and home to normality and an unsuspecting family. A funny old business. On the news Max Mosely is in court explaining his S&M kinks. A kindred spirit indeed.
I have a long batch to try and soothe my aching neck. H brings home some deep heat which does it some good. I don't catch a glimpse of my arse in the mirror, but I believe there are no marks following my experience
I find the place without too much trouble, a neat bungalow in a rather unkempt garden, tucked back from a busy road. I find the back door,and clearly have been spotted as the gate opens as if by magic.
Cameron is an initial disappointment it has to be said. No face pics available online, but when I see her i realise at once that she is at least ten years older than I had imagined. Morgan is more what I had imagined, but is a very big woman. I sit down to be interviewed, and they make me a cup of tea.
The interview is quite perceptive,and rather enjoyable. At this stage I have the worry that it may be the extent of today's activities. But no, I am to be put to work.
I am told to strip. Cameron suggests down to boxers, but Morgan insists on full nudity. I am taken to the punishment room and am placed in ankle shackles and chains, as well as a high leather collar, pulled very tight, which actually works wonders on my cricked neck.
I have to clean the leather dungeon floor, vacuum the whole house. I am generally ignored, but am at one stage told to cook lunch.
I serve this and am told to kneel facing the corner whilst they eat. A nice touch. I finish the work,, clean up the things, and then my efforts are inspected. Morgan is generally pleased with my efforts, but I have missed some chalk on the floor of the schoolroom. I have to get out the hoover again, and then am told I am to be punished.
I am a tad worried, The two ladies made no bones about the fact that they are sadists, and that if I am to be taken on they expected me to be able to take pain. I am strapped to the whipping bench and held down very tight. I have never before been so vulnerable. It is both exciting and concerning.
The blows start to land. Not too painful to start with, but by six it is painful and I wonder if that may be that. No chance. It's starting to hurt now. Ten? No we pass that, and I begin to dread the next stroke. A dozen? No, thirteen comes, which leaves me reckoning twenty is the next hope. I am screaming by fifteen. If we go past twenty what does that mean? Fifty? Oh my God One hundred? I am squirming as much as possible in my bonds, and when twenty arrives I sincerely hope that is that. Fortunately it is, and very soon the pain is replaced by a warm glow. I'd like to have been left tied down for a while, but I am quickly released, and my shackles are removed. It has been an interesting couple of ours, and despite the fact that the dommes are neither spring chicks nor in any way beauties, it has been an interesting and exciting experience. I'd travel north again, though Morgan's warning that my pain thresholds must be pushed will see me head that way with some trepidation.
Back in the car, through nondescript Leicester in the dirty rain, back onto the spray fretted motorway, and home to normality and an unsuspecting family. A funny old business. On the news Max Mosely is in court explaining his S&M kinks. A kindred spirit indeed.
I have a long batch to try and soothe my aching neck. H brings home some deep heat which does it some good. I don't catch a glimpse of my arse in the mirror, but I believe there are no marks following my experience
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
July 8th (Tues)
Nothing till 5. Bribe the dustmen to empty our overweight bin. Apparently health and safety issues dictate that if the bin can't be moved with three fingers then it can't be moved at all. Oddly the offer of four bottle of Cobra seem to grease the wheels, and the danger is overlooked. I am assure by the dustcart driver that I am a gentleman.
Nothing till 5. Spend most of the day contemplating my date with destiny tomorrow. Definitely going for it. Talk of a CB of some kind, so prepare an appropriate coiffure.
Cricked my neck so take a bath. After my phone is playing up. Seems to have filled with condensation in the bathroom, and is doing all sort of strange things. Every time I press 9, "789" comes up.Then it changes itself into a camera. Then the volume turns itself right down. Then I put it on charge and it says "insert battery".Now no one can hear me when I ring them. Piece of shit. Fortunately I have an old phone, but all of the numbers are a year out of date. Hmm.
Mum and Dad have brought Malcolm home and we agree to go out for the night,
Go to the Saracens in Beaconsfield. Nice enough but again, part of a chain, and lacks excitement or inventiveness. in turn have a row with Dan and Dad, but on the whole a good evening.
Apparently Sophie is opening the new library in Wycombe tomorrow, or so she says!! She is a classic. it's lovely to see her with Emma, who absolutely worships her, and Daniel, with whom she is still just really good mates. Lovely.
Emsy has a school to go to in the autumn. A place in Misbourne is hers, which is good news, but she and Heather are still holding out hope for a place at Beaconsfield. We shall see, but at worst Armageddon is averted.
Nothing till 5. Spend most of the day contemplating my date with destiny tomorrow. Definitely going for it. Talk of a CB of some kind, so prepare an appropriate coiffure.
Cricked my neck so take a bath. After my phone is playing up. Seems to have filled with condensation in the bathroom, and is doing all sort of strange things. Every time I press 9, "789" comes up.Then it changes itself into a camera. Then the volume turns itself right down. Then I put it on charge and it says "insert battery".Now no one can hear me when I ring them. Piece of shit. Fortunately I have an old phone, but all of the numbers are a year out of date. Hmm.
Mum and Dad have brought Malcolm home and we agree to go out for the night,
Go to the Saracens in Beaconsfield. Nice enough but again, part of a chain, and lacks excitement or inventiveness. in turn have a row with Dan and Dad, but on the whole a good evening.
Apparently Sophie is opening the new library in Wycombe tomorrow, or so she says!! She is a classic. it's lovely to see her with Emma, who absolutely worships her, and Daniel, with whom she is still just really good mates. Lovely.
Emsy has a school to go to in the autumn. A place in Misbourne is hers, which is good news, but she and Heather are still holding out hope for a place at Beaconsfield. We shall see, but at worst Armageddon is averted.
July 7th (Mon)
Malc's birthday
He's down. His car has packed up on him for the umpteenth time. He'swondering what he has wasted his life doing. It's hard not to feel sorry for him, but also hard not to be angry about the lack of effort he puts in.
A quiet week ahead, then a couple of humdingers. I check up on the net. Still all on for my visit to the SS on Wednesday. Excited and nervous. A nice combination.
The highlight of the working day is a mock test for J. She is a total disaster. I ask her how I think she did. "I fink I diddle right" she opines with the most astonishingly naive optimism. I don't have the bottle to tell her that I won't let her take a test in my car (she only has one lesson left).
she makes bugger all effort, doesn't listen to a bloody word and just thinks it'll all turn out ok on the day. I should be stronger and just put her straight. this is why I don't like these LDC courses with their artificial targets. I wimp out.
Yeah, Monday. Shaslick and bed,
He's down. His car has packed up on him for the umpteenth time. He'swondering what he has wasted his life doing. It's hard not to feel sorry for him, but also hard not to be angry about the lack of effort he puts in.
A quiet week ahead, then a couple of humdingers. I check up on the net. Still all on for my visit to the SS on Wednesday. Excited and nervous. A nice combination.
The highlight of the working day is a mock test for J. She is a total disaster. I ask her how I think she did. "I fink I diddle right" she opines with the most astonishingly naive optimism. I don't have the bottle to tell her that I won't let her take a test in my car (she only has one lesson left).
she makes bugger all effort, doesn't listen to a bloody word and just thinks it'll all turn out ok on the day. I should be stronger and just put her straight. this is why I don't like these LDC courses with their artificial targets. I wimp out.
Yeah, Monday. Shaslick and bed,
Sunday, July 6, 2008
July 6th (Sun)
Up too late to get Emsy to cricket. We later learn that poor Sophes has walked all the way from Hazlemere to Kingshill only to find it's all been called off. She doesn't come home; apparently she has won some tickets to a gig in London for tonight.
The race gets going and Lewis blasts ahead in clouds of spray. More downpours punctuate the race, and I would be drawn in were it not for the start of the Wimbledon final over on the beeb.
This too is weather affected and the corporation does their best to fill the void. They have recordings of the two protagonists spouting verses from Kipling's desperately overdone rhyme "If". Sorry be en done too often not to be cheesy. an interesting biodoc on Federer, who aims to become the first bloke to win the title 6 times in a row for about 800 years follows.
Meanwhile Lewis battles on on ITV, extending his lead as every lap goes by.
Eventually Lewis triumphs, and by now the tennis is underway. The challenger Nadal sweeeps all before him and soon leads 2-0. But the Swiss is made of stern stuff, and between breaks for rain pulls it back to square.
Another rain break threatens the finish, but they battle on into the twilight. It develops into a Titanic affair, the first tennis match I have watched in full for many a year, and I have to confess, it makes me wonder why I have been away for so long. It's a thriller. Federer always seems to be playing catch up, but at times does so with an audacity that is breathtaking. Nadal is utterly relentlesss though, like a dog with a bone, and in near darkness brings home the bacon.
Fabulous. Apparently watched by 13 million, rare these days for a non footie event, and a bit unfair on Hamilton,whose efforts are rather overshadowed.
So that's Wimbledon done. Henley over too, Ascot behind us. And what before that... the snooker, and way way back now, the start of year darts.
Ahead? The proms must be starting soon, and in a few weeks the kids break up from school. Then hols, though still no news of anything being booked. And before we know it, the nights won't last much past seven, and there'll be that chilly dew lying on the car windscreens in the morning.
The year has almost caught up with my time of life. Just past halfway (whilst I must be well past), but heading downhill faster than we care to realise.
The skies are heavy with massive banks of swirling black cloud filling the sky in ever changing formations. From time to time the rain lashes from on high, hammering against the windows and thudding onto the decking in a manic percussive display.
The race gets going and Lewis blasts ahead in clouds of spray. More downpours punctuate the race, and I would be drawn in were it not for the start of the Wimbledon final over on the beeb.
This too is weather affected and the corporation does their best to fill the void. They have recordings of the two protagonists spouting verses from Kipling's desperately overdone rhyme "If". Sorry be en done too often not to be cheesy. an interesting biodoc on Federer, who aims to become the first bloke to win the title 6 times in a row for about 800 years follows.
Meanwhile Lewis battles on on ITV, extending his lead as every lap goes by.
Eventually Lewis triumphs, and by now the tennis is underway. The challenger Nadal sweeeps all before him and soon leads 2-0. But the Swiss is made of stern stuff, and between breaks for rain pulls it back to square.
Another rain break threatens the finish, but they battle on into the twilight. It develops into a Titanic affair, the first tennis match I have watched in full for many a year, and I have to confess, it makes me wonder why I have been away for so long. It's a thriller. Federer always seems to be playing catch up, but at times does so with an audacity that is breathtaking. Nadal is utterly relentlesss though, like a dog with a bone, and in near darkness brings home the bacon.
Fabulous. Apparently watched by 13 million, rare these days for a non footie event, and a bit unfair on Hamilton,whose efforts are rather overshadowed.
So that's Wimbledon done. Henley over too, Ascot behind us. And what before that... the snooker, and way way back now, the start of year darts.
Ahead? The proms must be starting soon, and in a few weeks the kids break up from school. Then hols, though still no news of anything being booked. And before we know it, the nights won't last much past seven, and there'll be that chilly dew lying on the car windscreens in the morning.
The year has almost caught up with my time of life. Just past halfway (whilst I must be well past), but heading downhill faster than we care to realise.
July 5th (Sat)
A texts to cancel her appointment. the chance of a lie in assuages any annoyance. I mooch around the barren house (everything has been decamped to the garage or our bedroom to facilitate the projected decoration) until I am invited to view kitchens in Reading.Apparently no one there has prepared for our visit, so H starts a war. Emsy comes running to warn me, and we both keep clear.
H & E go to Primark and I am left to my own devices in Reading until 5. Joy! I go to the much vaunted "Oracle" shopping centre. Like Wycombe's pathetic effort, this is mainly outside, though in Reading's case, the buildings front onto the wide Kennet and Avon Canal, which make this as attractive as a modern shopping complex can be. The waterfront is lined with restaurants, and herein lies the tragedy. There are 16 restaurants that I can count, and not a single one of them is independently owned. 16 bloody chains offering perfectly edible, dull, predictable fare. A mock Italian chain, a pretend tapas bar, copious pizza chains, burger joints, tex mex emporiums.Not a single dish that hasn't been approved by committee and proven to be financially viable.
How lovely it could be, in the french style. Two dozen tiny restaurants to browse, each the love of their owners' life,,the dishes lovingly created, and the pride of those who cook them. And in fact it could be so much better than France. In France you eat French, here you could have French Italian Polish, Spanish, Chinese, Indian & Thai. But what do you get? You get heated up chain store food.
Someone is arrested for the murder of the french students.
Back from reading, and again I crash out. This tiredness is what I went to the Doc complaining of about a year ago. I have to a certain extent kept an eye on my weight, but after a promising start, it stopped coming off. I am probably a stone overweight, and my briefly interrupted love affair with butter is now back in full swing.
I bought some terrific dvds in Reading for a quid apiece.3 Laurel and Hardy shorts, and a couple of newsreel type affairs from the Apollo programme. They turn out to be a true bargain.
We have half price M&S Cocquilles St Jacques. They are delicious, and it is ridiculous we eat this delicacy so infrequently. A recipe must be looked up!
Drop off Sophie at her friend's, pick up D and another day is over.
H & E go to Primark and I am left to my own devices in Reading until 5. Joy! I go to the much vaunted "Oracle" shopping centre. Like Wycombe's pathetic effort, this is mainly outside, though in Reading's case, the buildings front onto the wide Kennet and Avon Canal, which make this as attractive as a modern shopping complex can be. The waterfront is lined with restaurants, and herein lies the tragedy. There are 16 restaurants that I can count, and not a single one of them is independently owned. 16 bloody chains offering perfectly edible, dull, predictable fare. A mock Italian chain, a pretend tapas bar, copious pizza chains, burger joints, tex mex emporiums.Not a single dish that hasn't been approved by committee and proven to be financially viable.
How lovely it could be, in the french style. Two dozen tiny restaurants to browse, each the love of their owners' life,,the dishes lovingly created, and the pride of those who cook them. And in fact it could be so much better than France. In France you eat French, here you could have French Italian Polish, Spanish, Chinese, Indian & Thai. But what do you get? You get heated up chain store food.
Someone is arrested for the murder of the french students.
Back from reading, and again I crash out. This tiredness is what I went to the Doc complaining of about a year ago. I have to a certain extent kept an eye on my weight, but after a promising start, it stopped coming off. I am probably a stone overweight, and my briefly interrupted love affair with butter is now back in full swing.
I bought some terrific dvds in Reading for a quid apiece.3 Laurel and Hardy shorts, and a couple of newsreel type affairs from the Apollo programme. They turn out to be a true bargain.
We have half price M&S Cocquilles St Jacques. They are delicious, and it is ridiculous we eat this delicacy so infrequently. A recipe must be looked up!
Drop off Sophie at her friend's, pick up D and another day is over.
July 4th (Fri)
Due to be going to Leicester on Wednesday!!!!
It's an easy day. L was having a freebie in return for fixing the radiators. He rings and says he can't afford the lesson?!
Do a mock test with S who doesn't shine as she can. Hope she can get it together by next week, the old pass rate has taken a battering of late.
There's a big sporting weekend ahead. Not only the finale of Wimbledon, but also the British Grand Prix at Silverstone.Rumour is that Silverstone will not be the venue for more than one year. It's moving to Donnington. I used to like Brand's Hatch,but that seems right out of the picture now. I have completely lost interest in the sport in recent years, but again, something is tugging me back. Hamilton seems a very personable young bloke, and to have achieved what he has at his tender age must mark him out as something a little but special. So on Sunday I have a viewing decision to make!
In my younger days, both these events used to be a Saturday occasion, but at some time in the eighties we fell in with the rest of Europe and switched our major sporting focus to a Sunday. Oddly for a sport that has torn up tradition for cash at every opportunity, footie still keeps the cup final on a Saturday, and let's hope it continues to do so.
The curry tonight is marked by three of the best Bombay Duck I have encountered since their return, and I am moved to order some on the net. I can see the attraction of this form of trading. In the last couple of weeks I have ordered some bits on the web. A camera cable costing £19 in PC world was found for a fiver. Ordered it at 3pm and it was lying on the mat by 10 am the next day. A similar story with a line for my mp3 player.
I await their arrival.
It's an easy day. L was having a freebie in return for fixing the radiators. He rings and says he can't afford the lesson?!
Do a mock test with S who doesn't shine as she can. Hope she can get it together by next week, the old pass rate has taken a battering of late.
There's a big sporting weekend ahead. Not only the finale of Wimbledon, but also the British Grand Prix at Silverstone.Rumour is that Silverstone will not be the venue for more than one year. It's moving to Donnington. I used to like Brand's Hatch,but that seems right out of the picture now. I have completely lost interest in the sport in recent years, but again, something is tugging me back. Hamilton seems a very personable young bloke, and to have achieved what he has at his tender age must mark him out as something a little but special. So on Sunday I have a viewing decision to make!
In my younger days, both these events used to be a Saturday occasion, but at some time in the eighties we fell in with the rest of Europe and switched our major sporting focus to a Sunday. Oddly for a sport that has torn up tradition for cash at every opportunity, footie still keeps the cup final on a Saturday, and let's hope it continues to do so.
The curry tonight is marked by three of the best Bombay Duck I have encountered since their return, and I am moved to order some on the net. I can see the attraction of this form of trading. In the last couple of weeks I have ordered some bits on the web. A camera cable costing £19 in PC world was found for a fiver. Ordered it at 3pm and it was lying on the mat by 10 am the next day. A similar story with a line for my mp3 player.
I await their arrival.
July 3rd (Thursday)
Mugabe seems to have got it all his own way in Zimbabwe. The west grumbles, the Africans can do no more than express concern, and he can go home and carry on his reign of murder and torture untroubled by them all. It now seems the only hope for the country is to wait for the bastard to die. It's not just murder and torture though. The economy is a basket case, but no one can even afford a basket, a packet of fags going for $5billion today and probably double that tomorrow.
The scowling Scot gets his comeuppance at Wimbledon, blown out of site by the Spaniard Nadal. Apparently the final will be between Nadal and Federer, who has won for the last five years. It is reckoned though that Nadal can really give him a run for his money this year, and for the first time in years I think I might try and get to see the final.
A reply is received from Leicester. It's positive. A bit scary, but quite exciting too.
Something horrible has happened in London. In fact horrible things keep happening in London. Young people keep getting stabbed and shot to death. For a long while I just wondered if this was press hysteria, but as the list gets longer and the tales of tragedy accumulate, even my slow brain begins to wonder what's happening. Earlier in the week a young actor was killed in a knife attack, todays' news is yet more horrendous.
Police were called to a fire in New Cross. They found two bodies inside. Some time later it was discovered that the victims had been savagely attacked, one stabbed over 200 times. It turns out they were two french students on an exchange visit, doing no more than playing computer games when an intruder broke in. Having lived in their country for so long in my youth, and having so rarely worried for my safety, it's truly horrifying. Something is going wrong, and it requires some constructive and imaginative action. What we get is the hang em, flog em and stick em in the army response. That'll put an end to violence then.
The scowling Scot gets his comeuppance at Wimbledon, blown out of site by the Spaniard Nadal. Apparently the final will be between Nadal and Federer, who has won for the last five years. It is reckoned though that Nadal can really give him a run for his money this year, and for the first time in years I think I might try and get to see the final.
A reply is received from Leicester. It's positive. A bit scary, but quite exciting too.
Something horrible has happened in London. In fact horrible things keep happening in London. Young people keep getting stabbed and shot to death. For a long while I just wondered if this was press hysteria, but as the list gets longer and the tales of tragedy accumulate, even my slow brain begins to wonder what's happening. Earlier in the week a young actor was killed in a knife attack, todays' news is yet more horrendous.
Police were called to a fire in New Cross. They found two bodies inside. Some time later it was discovered that the victims had been savagely attacked, one stabbed over 200 times. It turns out they were two french students on an exchange visit, doing no more than playing computer games when an intruder broke in. Having lived in their country for so long in my youth, and having so rarely worried for my safety, it's truly horrifying. Something is going wrong, and it requires some constructive and imaginative action. What we get is the hang em, flog em and stick em in the army response. That'll put an end to violence then.
July 2nd (Weds)
Wimbledon is now well into it's second week. It's probably twenty years since I really focused on it,but this year it piques my interest just a litle. Hapless Henman is no more,but has been replaced in the home fans concsience, if not affections, by the surly git from Scotland, Andy Murray. He upset a few two years ago for his support of any of England's opponents in the World Cup. My problem isn't that of course. It's just that he's a miserable fucking git. For someone who will never in his life be called on to do anything approaching a day's work, who will never be filled with terror as a bill thuds onto the mat, who will just be paid vast sums for doing no more than playing the game he supposedly loves playing whilst swanning first class and five star around the planet. you would have thought it might be possible just once in a while to let a smile break across his face.
Happily today he seems to be heading to his doom against some francais I've never even heard of, but then it all goes pierre shaped and he fights back to win the last three sets. The crowd go wild and are apparently now in love with him. FFS he's still the same miserable bastard he was a couple of hours back.
Another dose of J does little to lift my spirits, though she does seem a little more under control today.
On the pervery front, I have written to three dommes in Leicester who run a regime not dissimilar to the OWK it would seem. Let's see what becomes of that!
Happily today he seems to be heading to his doom against some francais I've never even heard of, but then it all goes pierre shaped and he fights back to win the last three sets. The crowd go wild and are apparently now in love with him. FFS he's still the same miserable bastard he was a couple of hours back.
Another dose of J does little to lift my spirits, though she does seem a little more under control today.
On the pervery front, I have written to three dommes in Leicester who run a regime not dissimilar to the OWK it would seem. Let's see what becomes of that!
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
July 1st (Tues)
And so to July. The last couple of days have been more than pleasant, but today the sun beats down in a true impression of summer. It is glorious, and again nothing to do until A's test at 1ish. I pick him up . He's not nervous, and drives perfectly well to the centre. there should be no problem at all.
Having had F for so many tests recently , it comes as a shock when B calls out A's name. But no matter whom, he should prove well capable of passing.
When they return a little while later, I look for signs. It's taking too long. He's not reaching for his documents. And then B is motioning to me. 1 major. Silly sod cut someone up at a roundabout, but 8 minors. A should not have committed that many. Ho hum,the best laid plans.
Bit more perving then off to Heathrow. The mighty J to contend with. She knows so much more than me about how to drive a car. We do the left reverse.She drives backwards at about 30 miles an hour. How many bloody times do I have to tell her to slow done?
She shows zero road sense. In fact she demonstrates no sense at all. She has already been nearly killed in a car accident, and she'll be in another one very soon I suspect. On the way home I discover a former boyfriend ran over her legs after a row and went to nick for six months or two years, I can't remember which.
I am wondering whether I will have the mettle to tell her she cannot take her test in my car if she carries on like this.
Fight club in the evening. Really interesting presentation from KF of Drivetech on speed awareness. All the more galling when a aneighbour's VW overtakes me doing about 40mph on Rutland Ave.
Bonus when I get home. I will finally get to see Capriicorn One from start to finish! Have tried to watch this film a thousand times but for various reasons never made it to the end
I see all the bits I have missed in the past, but then! I am staring at 4am telly and wondering where I am and what I am doing here. Maybe next time.
Having had F for so many tests recently , it comes as a shock when B calls out A's name. But no matter whom, he should prove well capable of passing.
When they return a little while later, I look for signs. It's taking too long. He's not reaching for his documents. And then B is motioning to me. 1 major. Silly sod cut someone up at a roundabout, but 8 minors. A should not have committed that many. Ho hum,the best laid plans.
Bit more perving then off to Heathrow. The mighty J to contend with. She knows so much more than me about how to drive a car. We do the left reverse.She drives backwards at about 30 miles an hour. How many bloody times do I have to tell her to slow done?
She shows zero road sense. In fact she demonstrates no sense at all. She has already been nearly killed in a car accident, and she'll be in another one very soon I suspect. On the way home I discover a former boyfriend ran over her legs after a row and went to nick for six months or two years, I can't remember which.
I am wondering whether I will have the mettle to tell her she cannot take her test in my car if she carries on like this.
Fight club in the evening. Really interesting presentation from KF of Drivetech on speed awareness. All the more galling when a aneighbour's VW overtakes me doing about 40mph on Rutland Ave.
Bonus when I get home. I will finally get to see Capriicorn One from start to finish! Have tried to watch this film a thousand times but for various reasons never made it to the end
I see all the bits I have missed in the past, but then! I am staring at 4am telly and wondering where I am and what I am doing here. Maybe next time.
June 30th (Mon)
Back to normality, though a very easy return to it for me. Drop off the kids then onto the net for most of the morning doing the usual. The SS are seeking staff, and I put in an immediate application. Hmm.
An hour with A. Yes he shoul be ready for tomorrow no problem, and then later on in the evening over to Gerrard's X to pick up S. She is a lovely girl, with such a lively intelligence, and a good sense of humour. It's a pleasure to pass two hours in her company. She is not a bad driver, either, but is not yet the finished product.
When I get home I am tired still from yesterday, but struggle out to the Curry Centre. I spend so long trying to locate anything in the kitchen that the shaslick is cold by the time I get to eat.I have eaten better rubies!
An hour with A. Yes he shoul be ready for tomorrow no problem, and then later on in the evening over to Gerrard's X to pick up S. She is a lovely girl, with such a lively intelligence, and a good sense of humour. It's a pleasure to pass two hours in her company. She is not a bad driver, either, but is not yet the finished product.
When I get home I am tired still from yesterday, but struggle out to the Curry Centre. I spend so long trying to locate anything in the kitchen that the shaslick is cold by the time I get to eat.I have eaten better rubies!
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