May 20th

In commenting on these letters, Phil Burrell suggested that they are ‘in my voice’. I took that as a compliment. As a consequence, I try to make these read as though I’m talking to you rather than presenting a management report or, Heaven Forfend, writing a conventional letter as we did as children. Even without the effs and blinds that pepper my Basildon Boy commentaries when vexed or in a playful mood, you should be able to detect my mannerisms and idiosyncrasies in the phrasing and sentence construction. As a great man once said “It’s the way I tell ’em.” While it would be lovely to see you and recount these experiences in person, and perhaps I will for some of you, there are over 50 who receive this letter and you’re dotted about all over the world so letters  ‘in my voice’, make the best of our situation.

In 2013, I made a New Year’s Resolution to write more personal notes. For the most part, I have kept it. Admittedly, not enough but some of you receive proper notes and letters now and then. A few have received personalised Thank You cards featuring photos in purpose-built cards using pics that are meaningful to just us. I’m running out of stocks of blanks so must find another craft shop soon. It is nice though, isn’t it - to get something through the letter box that’s not a bill or another chance to get into debt at a knockdown APR of Arm and a Leg percent?

So much happened in Paris that the last letter was devoted to that trip. Plenty else has happened too though, giving us lots more photos and stories to explore.

Desirée and Rob came back from Paris for a few days before they jetted off to New York. My sister and I took them to Audley End, the stately home near Saffron Walden. This is the sight of astonishing topiary that greets you as you glide down the drive from the road to the car park.

And this is the house - with a river at the bottom of a 300 yard front lawn.

The house is open to the public via English Heritage whose friendly guides tell you about its history as you stroll from room to room.

Photography is not allow inside the building for some legal reason to do with insurance that I couldn’t quite grasp, but accepted. Hence, other than the kitchens, which seemed to be allowed, I got no pics of the inside. For those of you who like to cook, imagine being let loose in here?

In front of the house, the river at the foot of the front lawn is said to be home to a black swan. 

The car park man thought this would be of interest to Des & Rob as they are from Perth in Western Australia, and the Black Swan is the State Bird. Frankly, I’ve seen them more excited at the chocolate shop near our hotel in Paris.

It was the briefest of visits as they had a full itinerary ahead with many bits of America and a cruise to jam in so I took them back to London the next day and returned to Lincs briefly. Two weeks later I was at a Masons weekend in Bournemouth which offered the chance to visit Christchurch. These dos are just an exercise in eating, drinking and socialising - and you must take exercise whenever you can.

Blessed with good weather, we were spoiled for sights and photographic opportunities. F’rinstance they have a ducking stool, apparently used in the 14^th century to show scolds the flaw in their approach to conversation or to punish them for brawling and other anti-social behaviours. Their use to identify witches seems to be an urban myth.

The men tended to get the stocks to show them the error of their ways, where they got better acquainted with old fruit & veg. As these devices were in use for 400 years, it took a while for the great and the good to realise that they weren’t that effective as a deterrent.

Christchurch was a revelation, there was a yacht club and a quay, 

also a pleasant riverside walk where I saw, for the first time, a swan by her nest (with eggs).

In town, there was a Dorset beer on offer, called ‘Piddle’ which might make you think twice before considering a sip.

As you can see from the date, I started this in May and it’s now July. A week’s golf at the Ashbury Hotel in Devon took its toll on my time and to my surprise, also on my body. An otherwise enjoyable week taught me that I must play less golf. The wobbly legs simply can’t stand that much exercise. As a result, I now play twice a week with a few days rest and recovery in between. On the upside, this gives me more time for these letters, the Castletown golf society’s web site and the writing of my Lottery Win story, which, incidentally, has a wealth of storylines, engaging characters and sub-plots but is still only about 20 pages long as a story. I add to its design in the Planning Matrix almost daily, but not much to the story itself. A weakness to be remedied now it is admitted. You’d have to wonder, am I dodging it sub-consciously? Looks like some soul-searching is needed. Maybe a little self-discipline wouldn’t go amiss?

This morning I saw an article on Breakfast TV about how Mandarin should be taught in schools rather than French, Spanish and German. An interesting piece speculating on the language skills needed by tomorrow’s workforce. At the end of the piece, Naga Munchetty trying to close with a  funny comment as BBC presenters do so embarrassingly badly, asked the language teacher “Is it too late for Roger and I?” - this right after she had asked the other interviewee if he felt ‘disadvantaged’ in business by knowing Mandarin. Before answering, he corrected her as she had meant ‘advantaged’.

Naga apparently didn’t know that she should have said ‘Roger and me’ and not ‘Roger and I’. It is ‘I’ when you are the subject of the verb and ‘me’ when you are the object, e.g. “As it was raining, Pete and I were given umbrellas”. Or - “As it was raining, umbrellas were given to Pete and me”; simple grammar. If you can’t remember the ‘subject/object’ rule, the test is to leave out the other person. You wouldn’t say “An umbrella was given to I.” You’d say “An umbrella was given to me.”

You’d think BBC presenters would be able to speak English wouldn’t you? They’re supposedly grads. But they and far too many MPs, private education notwithstanding, make this pretentious mistake every day, along with spelling and pronunciation errors. We should not expect too much from these people who, allegedly, speak English as a first language. So, the answer is “Yes Naga. As you struggle with English, Mandarin is probably going to be a bit too much.”

To rub this in, I’ve just heard John McGuire, another BBC presenter tell me that Morph (making a comeback), is a “mis-chee-vee-ous little character” (02-07-14). It’s official - the BBC has no standards. How can they present news items about immigrants not speaking English when their own presenters can’t either?

It’s not just the BBC, the NHS is at it too. On a recent news item about the NHS overspending its budget, they showed scenes from a hospital as a backdrop. One clip showed a trolley with drawers for medical equipment. The drawers were labelled to show their contents; for example, “DRAW 1 needles and syringes” - “DRAW 2” something else. “DRAW 3”, “DRAW 4” - other equipment descriptions. I recognise that many hospital staff are from the Far East and Africa but managers and doctors are responsible for admin. and organisation. Wherever these individuals are from, if they’re administrators, I expect them to be able to spell simple everyday words like ‘drawer’. I’m going to stop now as I hear a heart attack thundering my way and I don’t want my life in the hands of people who can’t spell a word I learnt at junior school.

Also on Breakfast TV, was an article about Base Jumping. This is a fancy title for jumping off a cliff and hoping the parachute will work after a short period of free fall. It is apparently a growing sport - which is great! As a committed opponent of the Health and Safety ethic, I’m all in favour or letting stupid people kill themselves. For me, this is Nature’s way of cleaning the gene pool.

I send around emails on The Darwin Awards and risk-takers who stand on ladders to fix something, balanced on other ladders - all built on a solid base of a wonky ladder that’s balancing on one leg and a couple of bricks. These emails have other photos, N.B. photos, not cartoons, of similar adventures in other scenarios. All of which leads me to the view that while children need protecting from their actions, adults who can vote should be left to discover consequences of simple stupidity for themselves. Coincidentally, a mate has just sent me an email with the footnote “Good judgment comes from bad experience ...  most of which comes from bad judgment.” Wonder why he sent that to me? Oh - I know.

I’ve made mistakes in my life, got my knees skinned, nose bloodied and egg on my face as a result - all of which was down to me so I have to live with the consequences. Luckily, at the time of writing, none have killed me, however I doubt I’ve made my last mistake. Watch this space.

Been watching a lot of BBC4 music biopics again. One particular revelation was Neil Sedaka, the Bob Monkhouse lookalike. I never realised what a good musician he was. As a child he would practice at the piano for six hours a day. One day, his dad threw a baseball mitt at him and told him to go out and play but he just loved the piano, winning a scholarship to New York’s prestigious music school - Julliard.

For the most part, he provided the melody of over 500 songs written in collaboration with Howard Greenfield and then Phil Cody. Many were made famous by other artists: Stupid Cupid (Connie Francis), Solitaire (Carpenters, Shirley Bassey and Andy Williams), The Hungry Years (about 50 artists) and Show Me The Way To Amarillo (Tony Christie and Peter Kay). A celebrated songwriter said of him at the end of the programme, “I write songs that the whole world knows. He writes songs that the whole world sings.”

There’s so much wisdom in lyrics that are passed over far too glibly for comfort. Today I heard on the radio the blinding wisdom that - “It’s not getting what you want, it’s wanting what you’ve got.” Then, from The Hungry Years, a song about looking back to a time when many of us were first starting out in married life and had very little (or so we thought at the time) - “…When everything we wanted - was everything we had.” And one I have mentioned before from Joni Mitchell “You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.” Just words when we first heard them 40 years ago but now - perhaps sit and dwell on these for a moment and see how they apply to our lives?

If you’ve not received a personal notelet or letter, at least these mails tell you that you are still in my thoughts. As I write these words, I imagine your reactions if we were speaking face to face.