After the trip to Munich in 1983 I wrote a book about the trip. It was only an exercise book with about 32 pages so it was hardly War and Peace, but it had a poem in it. The whole book is of course lost now, and if it's ever found I doubt The Time Team members of the future will be knocking each other out to get their hands on it, but I've had a go at recreating the poem. Some of it rhymes and some of it totally doesn't but I haven't got hours to sit around trying to shoehorn phrases into it that rhyme with Badminton and the word incriminating, so just pretend it's one of those modern poems that don't rhyme because the person who wrote it is so clever it doesn't need to.
Avoiding Swingball in the English Garden
In 83 we went to Germany
but it wasn’t football and it wasn’t a war
There weren’t any tanks and there weren’t any trenches
We sat on the grass, there weren’t any benches
The most dangerous thing we faced all trip
Was a naked German with his designs on a game of Badminton
As we sat on the grass and politely declined
His penis swung dangerously near
We made sure we reclined.
Bloody hell it’s supposed to be badminton not swing ball
I didn’t yell after him.
We got to see German girls breasts and underarm hair
The English kept their tops on, it wasn’t fair
We used to go swimming in the English Garden
The water was cold, I lost my trunks
I was fully naked but no-one saw
because my penis had shrunk
(Except Helen Winn, but she would have needed an electron microscope to see anything incriminating.)
I got lost going to see Tootsie,
the police couldn’t find me
A young English idiot in a stripey top
asking for directions in broken German
It should have been easy.
We saw the castle from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
But I haven’t got any pictures
Because I mostly photographed girls then
(And also I’d have had to be miles away to get the whole castle in
and I only had a crap disc camera and it wasn’t even any good at photographing stuff close up.)
There was one girl in particular
She was called Pamela
I liked her but she liked Darren more
So I had a lemon ice cream
To commiserate myself with.
It was okay in the end
Because I was friends with Darren too
And we went out for a picnic together
I proved I could handle rejection like a man,
a skill I would need a lot in later life
Not just with girls but with interviews.
I was always trying to be funny then
Just like I do now
Sid was there
he was trying to be funnier
But he cheated by taking a Monty Python book
I had to make my own stuff up
After we came back we mostly lost touch
But then we waited 25 years and they invented
Social networking.
So I got to reminisce about 83
With Pamela and with others
About being thinner
And about going to Germany
Not for football, and not for a war
Where there weren’t any trenches,
And there weren’t any benches
And there weren’t any tanks, except for the memories.
Saturday 31 December 2011
Thursday 29 December 2011
Mrs Hammond, E M Forster and me.
When I was 17 I used to have double English with Mrs Hammond once a week. That was 80 solid minutes of studying literature. There were about 6 of us in the class. I used to talk more than most, a fact which I was probably hated for by the others.
One week we were doing A Passage to India, and I made myself very unpopular 1 minute into the lesson by saying 'You know, Mrs Hammond, I just don't get this book, what's it all about?'.
For 79 minutes she spoke, without anyone else uttering a word. She hardly paused for breath. It was one of the longest monologues in history, it made Hamlet's soliloquy look like a limerick.
I can't recall anything she said, but the one thing I can remember from A Passage to India is 'Only Connect', which I take to mean that we don't really know the meaning of life, so we just need to connect with others, and there's meaning in that.
I had to wait for social networking to be invented for this to happen fully but now I'm more connected than ever.
I've found Paul and Stephen in Spain, Fraser in Australia, Charlie and my cousins in New Zealand, my other cousins in Sheffield, my friends the indestructible Holdsworths from up the road, Ute in America who used to be a German, I've found Pamela and Vanessa from Germany 83 and Sylke and Carola from Germany 85. I've found Mandy and Andy from 1990 at the CSC, and Phil and Alan and Dean and Kat and Elsa from just last year on the yacf forum.
I don't know what the mearning of it all is, but I'm more connected than ever. To the present and to the past. And a small part of everyone is in me. And a small part of me is in everyone else. And now I think I understand what Mrs Hammond was going on about.
As a postscript to this, I tried to find a reference to 'Only Connect' in Passage to India, but I could only fnd it in Howards End, another Forster book I read while I was attending Mrs Hammond's English classes. It was a bit like an early book group in that we all had to pick a separate book to read and report back on and I chose Howards End because I thought it sounded amusing to shout out 'I'll take Howards End', whereas I think Mrs Hammond had seen it all before and just thought I was being idiotic.
So, this has forced me to question my memory of the event, and it could be that during the 79 minute speech Howards End came up as well, I'm not sure. It doesn't really matter though, because ever since then I have had the little mantra of 'Only Connect' playing in the back of my head, and it also fits in with one of my other favourite quotes from Kurt Vonnegut which is 'We are here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is'.
I lack the certainty of conviction to be a sincere follower of one of the big religions, but I do sincerely want to connect, because when I look back at my life, all the times I was happiest was when I was connected to others, doing things, having fun, running around the English Garden or the rugby field, or going on bike rides or sitting around in pubs talking crap. There is a time for solitude and I need some of that too, especially to watch televised sport, but all the worthwhile events I can remember, I can remember being there with someone else, and that was what gave it the meaning.
And it hasn't always been the same someone elses. People have come and people have gone. Some have been lost and found again, and some have just been lost. But the feelings of joy and togetherness are often the same, no matter who it was or what the situation. When I look back at pictures of my 15 year old self laughing in Germany I look the same as the 41 year old me laughing in Scotland. I looked thinner when I was 15 and I had less difficulty bending down to pick things up off the ground then, but it's me all the same. And when I think back to the joyous feeling of winning a rugby match in the last minute against Giggleswick, I feel pretty much the same as I do about arriving in Saltburn after guiding a group of people on a coast to coast bike ride.
People sometimes say I'm a miserable sod, and a misanthrope, but underneath I'm not. It's just that I often get scared of the unpredictability of people, and I don't always know what to do with the fallout from behaviour I don't understand or can't cope with, but I like people really. And the last few weeks has brought that home to me.
Thank you Mrs Hammond, I'm all connected up now.
One week we were doing A Passage to India, and I made myself very unpopular 1 minute into the lesson by saying 'You know, Mrs Hammond, I just don't get this book, what's it all about?'.
For 79 minutes she spoke, without anyone else uttering a word. She hardly paused for breath. It was one of the longest monologues in history, it made Hamlet's soliloquy look like a limerick.
I can't recall anything she said, but the one thing I can remember from A Passage to India is 'Only Connect', which I take to mean that we don't really know the meaning of life, so we just need to connect with others, and there's meaning in that.
I had to wait for social networking to be invented for this to happen fully but now I'm more connected than ever.
I've found Paul and Stephen in Spain, Fraser in Australia, Charlie and my cousins in New Zealand, my other cousins in Sheffield, my friends the indestructible Holdsworths from up the road, Ute in America who used to be a German, I've found Pamela and Vanessa from Germany 83 and Sylke and Carola from Germany 85. I've found Mandy and Andy from 1990 at the CSC, and Phil and Alan and Dean and Kat and Elsa from just last year on the yacf forum.
I don't know what the mearning of it all is, but I'm more connected than ever. To the present and to the past. And a small part of everyone is in me. And a small part of me is in everyone else. And now I think I understand what Mrs Hammond was going on about.
As a postscript to this, I tried to find a reference to 'Only Connect' in Passage to India, but I could only fnd it in Howards End, another Forster book I read while I was attending Mrs Hammond's English classes. It was a bit like an early book group in that we all had to pick a separate book to read and report back on and I chose Howards End because I thought it sounded amusing to shout out 'I'll take Howards End', whereas I think Mrs Hammond had seen it all before and just thought I was being idiotic.
So, this has forced me to question my memory of the event, and it could be that during the 79 minute speech Howards End came up as well, I'm not sure. It doesn't really matter though, because ever since then I have had the little mantra of 'Only Connect' playing in the back of my head, and it also fits in with one of my other favourite quotes from Kurt Vonnegut which is 'We are here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is'.
I lack the certainty of conviction to be a sincere follower of one of the big religions, but I do sincerely want to connect, because when I look back at my life, all the times I was happiest was when I was connected to others, doing things, having fun, running around the English Garden or the rugby field, or going on bike rides or sitting around in pubs talking crap. There is a time for solitude and I need some of that too, especially to watch televised sport, but all the worthwhile events I can remember, I can remember being there with someone else, and that was what gave it the meaning.
And it hasn't always been the same someone elses. People have come and people have gone. Some have been lost and found again, and some have just been lost. But the feelings of joy and togetherness are often the same, no matter who it was or what the situation. When I look back at pictures of my 15 year old self laughing in Germany I look the same as the 41 year old me laughing in Scotland. I looked thinner when I was 15 and I had less difficulty bending down to pick things up off the ground then, but it's me all the same. And when I think back to the joyous feeling of winning a rugby match in the last minute against Giggleswick, I feel pretty much the same as I do about arriving in Saltburn after guiding a group of people on a coast to coast bike ride.
People sometimes say I'm a miserable sod, and a misanthrope, but underneath I'm not. It's just that I often get scared of the unpredictability of people, and I don't always know what to do with the fallout from behaviour I don't understand or can't cope with, but I like people really. And the last few weeks has brought that home to me.
Thank you Mrs Hammond, I'm all connected up now.
Wednesday 28 December 2011
Where were you when Bruce was blowing up that asteroid? - A history of my life through movies
For some people, music is like a time machine that can transport them back to a time in the past. With me it's movies, particularly ones I've seen at the cinema.
I can chart my whole life through the films I've been to see.
1971 - Diamonds are Forever. The first movie I can remember seeing at the cinema, with my dad. I was nearly 4. I have no recollection of the plot except seeing James Bond drive his car on two wheels. I don't think I ever went to the cinema with my dad again, as he died shortly after.
1974 - The Sound of Music. Not its original release date. One of only two films I can remember seeing with my mum, also went with elderly neighbour Auntie Gertie, whose house was always bloody freezing. I wanted tobe in the Von Trapp family, and wear curtains for clothes and sock it to the Nazis.
1977 - Star Wars. The first time I was ever completely blown away by a film on the big screen. George Lucas didn't need to do all that tweaking years later. If there were any technical deficiencies, my imagination filled in the gaps.
1978 - Grease. I had no desire to go see this. I went with my babysitter Susan who used to spend all her time babysitting us playing the Bee Gees and the Grease soundtrack, to the extent that the neighbours used to bang on the walls. In the days before advance ticketing we got there to find the first screening of the day was full, so we had to queue for the whole length of the film outside in the sun with no drinks until the film had run its course, and we could get in. For the record, I liked Olivia Newton John better before she got all tarted up in leather.
1979 - Superman. Went to see this with my entire primary school class, including Shelagh Peters, who I'm still in touch with till this day. I had some national health specs of my own so I looked more like Clark Kent than Superman. The special effects were rubbish, especially the running and Margot Kidder was too ugly to play Lois Lane but we didn't care, because it was a trip out. And twenty years later we got Teri Hatcher instead in the TV version so all was well.
1980 - Flash Gordon. Another ticketing fiasco. My mum took me and my brother to see this in the Christmas holidays, but it had sold out and so we went to see Smurfs and the Magic Flute instead, which was abysmal. We were so disappointed she gave us the money to go back the next day and see Flash Gordon and we sat on the front row, and it was amazing, at least I thought so until I saw it last week and I thought it was camper than a VW camper van.
1982 - Empire Strikes Back. Got bloody told in Tony Beecrofts back garden that Darth Vader was Luke's father so that bollocksed up going to see this one, but the much darker tone was in keeping with becoming a teenager.
1983 - Tootsie. Saw this in Germany. No bloody idea what was going on. Dustin Hoffman in a dress. Bill Murray eating lemons. Me laughing in all the wrong places.
1983 -Escape to Victory. An exception to the cinema rule, but notable as the first film I ever saw on VHS. Courtesy of my step dad, we got a top loading video recorder with a remote on a piece of wire that weighed about 70 kilograms, and this was the first film we ever watched on it.
1984 - Lady and the Tramp. Part of my trying to impress Susannah Taylor phase, I was trying to look wacky by going to see a Disney movie aged 16. Queueing up for ice cream with a load of toddlers just made me look like an arse. Not as good as the Aristocats.
1985 - Weird Science. With Katie Oddy. A totally pointless first date is to go to the cinema only, and not speak, and then say goodbye at the end and not have a clue whether you like each other, and then not see each other again out of indifference. That was me and Katie.
1985 - Back to the Future. Took my brother on the train to Leeds to see it. Incredible. Right from the opening scene I was hooked. The scorched tyre marks amazing. Look how far we'd come since Superman.
1985 - Ghostbusters. I remember going with schoolfriends aged 17 and people singing along to the theme tune during the opening credits.
1985 - The Never Ending Story. I went with Paul Edgar to see this because we had become fans of all things German and this was a Wolfgang Petersen job.
1986 - Rocky IV. Saw this with Joe Pasquale style Italian dubbing in Italy, and then took Joanne Phillips to see it on my return to England. Not really a suitable date movie. It's basically cars, rock music and people getting punched.
1986 - Out of Africa. Trying a bit harder with Joanne, by going to see a more chick friendly movie. I'm not sure if I found it genuinely moving or if I was just trying to be at one with her. Never seen it since so I don't know.
1986 - 9 and a Half Weeks. Trying too hard with Joanne but in the wrong way. Fell asleep out of sheer boredom, and what a waste of food by the lead actors. I know why it's called 9 and a half weeks. It's because that's how long you feel like you're in there for.
1987 - Children of a Lesser God. If you're trying to fight against being dumped by the girl you love, don't go see Childrne of a Lesser God. A film about two people who can't communicate because one's deaf and the other isn't, doesn't help to bridge the gap. I knew it was over after this.
1987 - Ferris Bueller's Day off. I went to see this with Dan Jackson, during our year off together. Appropriate that I went to see a film about someone having a day off when I was having a year off. I thought he was so cool then, now he just seems irresponsible (Ferris Bueller that is)
1987 - Lethal Weapon. Went to see this with Dan and Graham Tyler, who was home from Uni for Christmas.
1987 - Robocop. In 1987 you could still go see films for a pound at the Cannon cinema in Halifax. Went with my girlfriend / first wife Beverley. Not exactly a date movie. Probably the most graphically bloody movie I'd ever seen.
1990 - Total Recall. Dan was home from Uni and went to see this with him and Beverley, and she drove in our car that we'd just bought. After Robocop I was now ready for another Paul Verhoeven bloodbathm and I was genuinely wowed by the special effects.
1991 - Terminator 2. Again, special effects that could knock your socks off, but a tip for indestructible metal objects. Stop going to massive industrial complexes where there's loads of hot metal everywhere. Stay safe in the countryside.
1994 - Timecop and Stargate. When Beverley was in the Nuffield hospital after having major bowel surgery, they used to let me take her out in the evenings. Went to see these two films at the showcase, I remember she was carrying one of those cardboard hat style sick bowls around. It felt strange being there amongst all the well dressed young people, but it was nice to be out.
1995 - Apollo 13. Went to the preview screening of this before the official release, and so there were no trailers. Incredible how gripping I could find a film where I know the ending before it starts. The launch of the Saturn V rocket sequence still almost makes me cry to this day.
1998 - Flubber. having step children resulted in having to go see this total Robin Williams bollocks. Not since Smurfs and the Magic Flute with little brother have I been so bored at the cinema.
1998 - The Rugrats Movie. I paid for the four of us to go see this and to have a Burger King with money I got for having an article published in the Church Times. What a waste. Even worse than Flubber.
1998 - Armageddon. Went to see this with Ruth the first time we ever had a few days to ourselves when the kids went to their dad's for 5 days. This was more like it. I still quote it to this day.
1998 - The Truman Show. Just before it was killed by the Multiplex went to see this at the Odeon in Middlesbrough. Full of drunk teenagers, one of which puked on the seat in front of us. Pungent smell of second hand cheap cider permeated the screening.
1999 - The Phantom Menace. Spent the evening of our wedding at the cinema. The honeymoon was delayed due to Becky having to go to A&E after falling off a swing. I've still got the ticket somewhere, as a souvenir.
1999 - The Matrix. Went to see this with Ruth, and it was the last film where I was truly wowed by the special effects. Now I mostly think they spoil the film rather than make it.
2001 - 2003 - The Lord of the Rings. Three Christmasses running went to see this with Ruth and Michael. Although the films are totally preposterous I enjoyed them. The worst bit was hearing devotees of the books chuntering about plot inaccuracies during the closing credits, that and that Annie Lennox bloody theme tune woman.
2004 - The Bourne Supremacy. As well as being an incredible action movie and the best one of the trilogy, I also got to revisit Berlin and Munich vicariously through the set pieces in the film.
2007 - Hot Fuzz. Seeing our honeymoon destination being shot to pieces made me feel better about the whole disastrous episode.
2011 - Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. As if to rebel against the overuse of special effects, they have made a film which is basically just blokes in rooms talking. It was like going to see the World Staring Championships, but it was better than Transformers.
I can chart my whole life through the films I've been to see.
1971 - Diamonds are Forever. The first movie I can remember seeing at the cinema, with my dad. I was nearly 4. I have no recollection of the plot except seeing James Bond drive his car on two wheels. I don't think I ever went to the cinema with my dad again, as he died shortly after.
1974 - The Sound of Music. Not its original release date. One of only two films I can remember seeing with my mum, also went with elderly neighbour Auntie Gertie, whose house was always bloody freezing. I wanted tobe in the Von Trapp family, and wear curtains for clothes and sock it to the Nazis.
1977 - Star Wars. The first time I was ever completely blown away by a film on the big screen. George Lucas didn't need to do all that tweaking years later. If there were any technical deficiencies, my imagination filled in the gaps.
1978 - Grease. I had no desire to go see this. I went with my babysitter Susan who used to spend all her time babysitting us playing the Bee Gees and the Grease soundtrack, to the extent that the neighbours used to bang on the walls. In the days before advance ticketing we got there to find the first screening of the day was full, so we had to queue for the whole length of the film outside in the sun with no drinks until the film had run its course, and we could get in. For the record, I liked Olivia Newton John better before she got all tarted up in leather.
1979 - Superman. Went to see this with my entire primary school class, including Shelagh Peters, who I'm still in touch with till this day. I had some national health specs of my own so I looked more like Clark Kent than Superman. The special effects were rubbish, especially the running and Margot Kidder was too ugly to play Lois Lane but we didn't care, because it was a trip out. And twenty years later we got Teri Hatcher instead in the TV version so all was well.
1980 - Flash Gordon. Another ticketing fiasco. My mum took me and my brother to see this in the Christmas holidays, but it had sold out and so we went to see Smurfs and the Magic Flute instead, which was abysmal. We were so disappointed she gave us the money to go back the next day and see Flash Gordon and we sat on the front row, and it was amazing, at least I thought so until I saw it last week and I thought it was camper than a VW camper van.
1982 - Empire Strikes Back. Got bloody told in Tony Beecrofts back garden that Darth Vader was Luke's father so that bollocksed up going to see this one, but the much darker tone was in keeping with becoming a teenager.
1983 - Tootsie. Saw this in Germany. No bloody idea what was going on. Dustin Hoffman in a dress. Bill Murray eating lemons. Me laughing in all the wrong places.
1983 -Escape to Victory. An exception to the cinema rule, but notable as the first film I ever saw on VHS. Courtesy of my step dad, we got a top loading video recorder with a remote on a piece of wire that weighed about 70 kilograms, and this was the first film we ever watched on it.
1984 - Lady and the Tramp. Part of my trying to impress Susannah Taylor phase, I was trying to look wacky by going to see a Disney movie aged 16. Queueing up for ice cream with a load of toddlers just made me look like an arse. Not as good as the Aristocats.
1985 - Weird Science. With Katie Oddy. A totally pointless first date is to go to the cinema only, and not speak, and then say goodbye at the end and not have a clue whether you like each other, and then not see each other again out of indifference. That was me and Katie.
1985 - Back to the Future. Took my brother on the train to Leeds to see it. Incredible. Right from the opening scene I was hooked. The scorched tyre marks amazing. Look how far we'd come since Superman.
1985 - Ghostbusters. I remember going with schoolfriends aged 17 and people singing along to the theme tune during the opening credits.
1985 - The Never Ending Story. I went with Paul Edgar to see this because we had become fans of all things German and this was a Wolfgang Petersen job.
1986 - Rocky IV. Saw this with Joe Pasquale style Italian dubbing in Italy, and then took Joanne Phillips to see it on my return to England. Not really a suitable date movie. It's basically cars, rock music and people getting punched.
1986 - Out of Africa. Trying a bit harder with Joanne, by going to see a more chick friendly movie. I'm not sure if I found it genuinely moving or if I was just trying to be at one with her. Never seen it since so I don't know.
1986 - 9 and a Half Weeks. Trying too hard with Joanne but in the wrong way. Fell asleep out of sheer boredom, and what a waste of food by the lead actors. I know why it's called 9 and a half weeks. It's because that's how long you feel like you're in there for.
1987 - Children of a Lesser God. If you're trying to fight against being dumped by the girl you love, don't go see Childrne of a Lesser God. A film about two people who can't communicate because one's deaf and the other isn't, doesn't help to bridge the gap. I knew it was over after this.
1987 - Ferris Bueller's Day off. I went to see this with Dan Jackson, during our year off together. Appropriate that I went to see a film about someone having a day off when I was having a year off. I thought he was so cool then, now he just seems irresponsible (Ferris Bueller that is)
1987 - Lethal Weapon. Went to see this with Dan and Graham Tyler, who was home from Uni for Christmas.
1987 - Robocop. In 1987 you could still go see films for a pound at the Cannon cinema in Halifax. Went with my girlfriend / first wife Beverley. Not exactly a date movie. Probably the most graphically bloody movie I'd ever seen.
1990 - Total Recall. Dan was home from Uni and went to see this with him and Beverley, and she drove in our car that we'd just bought. After Robocop I was now ready for another Paul Verhoeven bloodbathm and I was genuinely wowed by the special effects.
1991 - Terminator 2. Again, special effects that could knock your socks off, but a tip for indestructible metal objects. Stop going to massive industrial complexes where there's loads of hot metal everywhere. Stay safe in the countryside.
1994 - Timecop and Stargate. When Beverley was in the Nuffield hospital after having major bowel surgery, they used to let me take her out in the evenings. Went to see these two films at the showcase, I remember she was carrying one of those cardboard hat style sick bowls around. It felt strange being there amongst all the well dressed young people, but it was nice to be out.
1995 - Apollo 13. Went to the preview screening of this before the official release, and so there were no trailers. Incredible how gripping I could find a film where I know the ending before it starts. The launch of the Saturn V rocket sequence still almost makes me cry to this day.
1998 - Flubber. having step children resulted in having to go see this total Robin Williams bollocks. Not since Smurfs and the Magic Flute with little brother have I been so bored at the cinema.
1998 - The Rugrats Movie. I paid for the four of us to go see this and to have a Burger King with money I got for having an article published in the Church Times. What a waste. Even worse than Flubber.
1998 - Armageddon. Went to see this with Ruth the first time we ever had a few days to ourselves when the kids went to their dad's for 5 days. This was more like it. I still quote it to this day.
1998 - The Truman Show. Just before it was killed by the Multiplex went to see this at the Odeon in Middlesbrough. Full of drunk teenagers, one of which puked on the seat in front of us. Pungent smell of second hand cheap cider permeated the screening.
1999 - The Phantom Menace. Spent the evening of our wedding at the cinema. The honeymoon was delayed due to Becky having to go to A&E after falling off a swing. I've still got the ticket somewhere, as a souvenir.
1999 - The Matrix. Went to see this with Ruth, and it was the last film where I was truly wowed by the special effects. Now I mostly think they spoil the film rather than make it.
2001 - 2003 - The Lord of the Rings. Three Christmasses running went to see this with Ruth and Michael. Although the films are totally preposterous I enjoyed them. The worst bit was hearing devotees of the books chuntering about plot inaccuracies during the closing credits, that and that Annie Lennox bloody theme tune woman.
2004 - The Bourne Supremacy. As well as being an incredible action movie and the best one of the trilogy, I also got to revisit Berlin and Munich vicariously through the set pieces in the film.
2007 - Hot Fuzz. Seeing our honeymoon destination being shot to pieces made me feel better about the whole disastrous episode.
2011 - Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. As if to rebel against the overuse of special effects, they have made a film which is basically just blokes in rooms talking. It was like going to see the World Staring Championships, but it was better than Transformers.
Thursday 22 December 2011
Wearing matching tops, falling down stairs and picking up Bishops
Last summer I did a Coast to Coast bike ride with some other people, and it went quite well.
We didn't follow one of the routes devised by those nice people at Sustrans. Instead we made up our own, and it started at Walney Island and finished in Saltburn. The whole thing was the Chief's idea, but me having ridden a bike quite a lot I soon got involved in the planning and before I knew it I had agreed to be the map man, riding in front and looking for the way. Before we went, I did a risk assessment, and I decided that there was some, but even sitting at home in a bungalow wrapped in bubble wrap and wearing no socks carries some risk, so I decided to go for it anyway.
It didn't run entirely smoothly, but thankfully none of the mishaps ended up being terminal. I organised a bike bus to get us over to Barrow on the Thursday night, and they sent a bus which couldn't get up hills, so it took almost as long to get to Barrow as if we rode there.
As we sat around in the pub in Barrow having curry and beer the night before the ride, I looked around at the 14 of us, many of whom don't ride bikes, and I felt very, very afraid. I looked at Ruth and Suzanne and Graeme, and they looked at me, and then we looked at the others and I thought, this is going to be a disaster.
But it wasn't. I did a few practice laps of Walney / Barrow before we set off because I didn't want to start the ride by taking a wrong turn into Tesco car park. This paid off as I took us the right way, and before long we were on the coast road out of Barrow with a massive tailwind going along at 16 mph. And I looked behind me and we were all in matching tops and it was like being in a team again, like I used to be at school, and it was great, and also worringly easy. I'd spent months telling everyone how hard and slow cycle touring can be, but this wasn't either of those things..
The beauty of designing your own route is that you can go in a straight line if you want to, and the lack of zig zagging and the use of A and B roads instead of tiny little minor roads with massive hedges on both sides meant that we made it to our lunch stop at Cark in good time. The sun was out and we had beer and sausage sandwiches, and it all seemed a bit too easy. Then after lunch we went through a lovely flat bit and we could see hills but we didn't have to go up any, and the only bad bit of the whole day was getting into Kendal, as it has a one way system that doesn't work, as well as lots of roadworks. Oh, except for Adam falling in a ditch and Clay crashing into a wall, but they were only small blunders and not full-on You've Been Framers.
So Friday night we sat around outside the Youth Hostel having a few drinks and congratulating ourselves and then we went out for yet more curry. After the curry I went in to watch Brazil get knocked out of the World Cup by Holland and all was right with the world, until I got a phone call to say that Graeme had been hospitalised.
He had been trying to slide down a banister which sounds fairly innocuous until you saw the banister and the concrete staircase next to it. I've seen bobsleigh runs which look less scary. Anyway, he did a few commando rolls down the concrete stairs and managed not to kill himself but only just. He had an ankle like the end of Misery and a wrist to match.
I even found a short cut which trimmed 3 miles off the route, but unfortunately the short cut took us up a massive hill. There were more hills after that, and it was all taking longer than the day before so lunch had to be sandwiches and pop sitting on the floor in the car park in Sedbergh as there wasn't time for lazing around at the pub. After that, the route became more undulating and there was a lovely stretch through Dentdale to Dent followed by a long and steep climb through and past the Dent Head Viaduct where Frances was waiting to cheer us on at the top. This was followed by a fantastic 7 mile descent into Hawes. I started off at the front on this but was overtaken by almost everyone on the way down. Most people achieved personal best fastest times ever. I didn't, mostly because I kept the brakes on out of sheer terror.
We didn't follow one of the routes devised by those nice people at Sustrans. Instead we made up our own, and it started at Walney Island and finished in Saltburn. The whole thing was the Chief's idea, but me having ridden a bike quite a lot I soon got involved in the planning and before I knew it I had agreed to be the map man, riding in front and looking for the way. Before we went, I did a risk assessment, and I decided that there was some, but even sitting at home in a bungalow wrapped in bubble wrap and wearing no socks carries some risk, so I decided to go for it anyway.
It didn't run entirely smoothly, but thankfully none of the mishaps ended up being terminal. I organised a bike bus to get us over to Barrow on the Thursday night, and they sent a bus which couldn't get up hills, so it took almost as long to get to Barrow as if we rode there.
As we sat around in the pub in Barrow having curry and beer the night before the ride, I looked around at the 14 of us, many of whom don't ride bikes, and I felt very, very afraid. I looked at Ruth and Suzanne and Graeme, and they looked at me, and then we looked at the others and I thought, this is going to be a disaster.
But it wasn't. I did a few practice laps of Walney / Barrow before we set off because I didn't want to start the ride by taking a wrong turn into Tesco car park. This paid off as I took us the right way, and before long we were on the coast road out of Barrow with a massive tailwind going along at 16 mph. And I looked behind me and we were all in matching tops and it was like being in a team again, like I used to be at school, and it was great, and also worringly easy. I'd spent months telling everyone how hard and slow cycle touring can be, but this wasn't either of those things..
The beauty of designing your own route is that you can go in a straight line if you want to, and the lack of zig zagging and the use of A and B roads instead of tiny little minor roads with massive hedges on both sides meant that we made it to our lunch stop at Cark in good time. The sun was out and we had beer and sausage sandwiches, and it all seemed a bit too easy. Then after lunch we went through a lovely flat bit and we could see hills but we didn't have to go up any, and the only bad bit of the whole day was getting into Kendal, as it has a one way system that doesn't work, as well as lots of roadworks. Oh, except for Adam falling in a ditch and Clay crashing into a wall, but they were only small blunders and not full-on You've Been Framers.
So Friday night we sat around outside the Youth Hostel having a few drinks and congratulating ourselves and then we went out for yet more curry. After the curry I went in to watch Brazil get knocked out of the World Cup by Holland and all was right with the world, until I got a phone call to say that Graeme had been hospitalised.
He had been trying to slide down a banister which sounds fairly innocuous until you saw the banister and the concrete staircase next to it. I've seen bobsleigh runs which look less scary. Anyway, he did a few commando rolls down the concrete stairs and managed not to kill himself but only just. He had an ankle like the end of Misery and a wrist to match.
So off he went to Lancaster to the hospital and the next morning over breakfast I was just saying how lucky he was not falling on his head, and just as I was saying it, Jen fell on her head. The sound of a small thin person falling over was surprisingly loud. I suppose when we pass out and we no longer have any muscular control, all we are is just a big bag of water, so it was quite reasonable to make a big bang. Off she went to the hospital and hopped into the bed that Graeme had just hopped out of.
Some people seemed to be wavering at this point about going on, as things were turning into a slasher movie. I just wanted to get out of Kendal before any more of us got picked off by someone in a Scream mask. This was harder than it sounds because the one way system is more of a closed loop that goes round in round in circles with no exits, but eventually we did manage to get out of there.
I even found a short cut which trimmed 3 miles off the route, but unfortunately the short cut took us up a massive hill. There were more hills after that, and it was all taking longer than the day before so lunch had to be sandwiches and pop sitting on the floor in the car park in Sedbergh as there wasn't time for lazing around at the pub. After that, the route became more undulating and there was a lovely stretch through Dentdale to Dent followed by a long and steep climb through and past the Dent Head Viaduct where Frances was waiting to cheer us on at the top. This was followed by a fantastic 7 mile descent into Hawes. I started off at the front on this but was overtaken by almost everyone on the way down. Most people achieved personal best fastest times ever. I didn't, mostly because I kept the brakes on out of sheer terror.
I was flagging by Askrigg but Ruth bought me some Sprite and a pie with lots of pastry but no filling from the very friendly local shop for local people and we pressed on to Leyburn. Once in Leyburn we checked in to our dreamy B&B (Eastfield Lodge) which had a magic shower and in only 4 minutes I felt full of life again. Kendal Youth Hostel it was not.
As a group we met up at the Golden Lion in the evening (staff and food were both great, I had Pork Medallions) and we discussed subjects many and varied including Derek Nimmo as Mr Spock and the statue like goalkeeping of Peter Shilton. As a special magical bonus Argentina got knocked out of the World Cup, and we got to see Maradona looking fat and bemused on the sidelines, instead of out-jumping Shilton for once.
Day 3 got off to a bad start, as I couldn't find Ruth in our B&B and this held up the start. The wind was horrendous, but thankfully behind us, and off we went again. After Bedale I started to relax because from there I knew the way and I didn't need the map anymore.
We passed quite close to home, but didn't go there and in Stokesley we picked up a Bishop and he beat us all up some hills in casual clothing and when we got to the top of the Moors we could see the sea, and it was a beautiful sight because the sun had come out, and once I could see the sea, I knew we'd make it, and we did and I felt quite emotional at the end, because I'd found the way from Sea to Sea, and all the hospitalisations that had happened weren't because of me.
It was lovely group to ride with because nobody moaned about anything, and this was helped no end by taking a big happy Welshman along with us, who just kept marvelling at the scenery.
And apart from the hospitalisations, we were lucky. Because we never had to ride into the wind or in the rain at all. We had to ride up hills and some of them were big, and it was still an achievement to do it. But it did help our morale that conditions were favourable, because I have been on cycle tours that descend into farcical river bed bike-dragging in torrential rain and this was not it.
As some famous golfer once said though, the more I practice, the luckier I get, and we deserved our bit of luck, because it was the most overprepared and well-supported Coast to Coast ride in history. We had not only driven the route in advance, but we had spares for the spares and backup for the backup and even a spare bike, which was just as well, since John Munro turned up on a rustbucket with an orange chain and some sort of soft cheese for tyres.
We had Bob following us round in a giant van full of water and innertubes and we couldn't really go wrong, and we didn't. And I got to be in another team photo wearing matching tops. Which hadn't happened to me since I was at school.
Here it is:
We also managed to raise about £3600 for the Great North Air Ambulance as a result of the ride which was a great effort by everyone.
We did have to call a couple of land ambulances out during the ride, so our account wasn't entirely in credit with the ambulance people, but you can't have everything.
On the left are the ones that finished in Saltburn. John Munro had to go home early and a couple of the others were in the hospital.
Here it is:
We did have to call a couple of land ambulances out during the ride, so our account wasn't entirely in credit with the ambulance people, but you can't have everything.
On the left are the ones that finished in Saltburn. John Munro had to go home early and a couple of the others were in the hospital.
Wednesday 21 December 2011
May 1979 - I only popped out for a hot dog, and they let Thatcher in
The first time I had mustard was up the Eiffel Tower. I bought a hot dog, and they had this yellow stuff in bottles, and I thought that must be French ketchup and so I piled loads of it on my hot dog and then seconds later my tongue was melting off, and the hot dog ended up in the bin at the top of the Eiffel Tower.
But since then I have developed a taste for mustard and I often have it in sandwiches, and when I do it makes me think of my mum making us sandwiches when I was younger because she generally puts mustard in sandwiches, especially ham ones.
That trip to France was in May 1979. It was the first time I'd ever been abroad. I only went out of the country for 5 days, and Thatcher got elected while I was gone. I found this out from a teacher who had bought a paper on the Champs Elysees. She got in again in 1987 while I was in Germany. She was always getting elected while I was out of the country.
That trip was great, but the coach journey wasn't. We didn't go on one of those fancy buses with the toilets that they have now. We just went on the same Wallace Arnold bus that we used to go a mile up the road to Kippax swimming baths in. They're fine for just nipping round the corner, but they're not much good for an 18 hour journey to Paris.
That trip cost £63 which was an absolute bargain. I also got a £4 reduction for not having a dad, because it should have been £67 but we asked for a reduction for being a one parent family.
I took some spending money, and I can't remember how much, but I know it cost 40p for a hot chocolate at the services at 5 in the morning and the West German football team were also in the services on their way back from beating Wales in a Euro 1980 qualifier. I only recognised them from the tracksuits. I didn't know who they were. I bet the present international football teams don't stop at the services for a bacon bun and a ripoff coffee.
We got to see all the sights of Paris. As well as the Eiffel Tower, we went to the Arc de Triomphe, the Louvre and Sacre Coeur. I got terrified on the top of the Arc de Triomphe because I thought I might fall off, with the top being open, and even though the Eiffel Tower is a lot higher and you can feel it sway in the wind, it's all closed in so you can't fall off and that was okay. I also saw the Mona Lisa and I was surprised how small it was. We did also get driven round Paris at night on the Wally Arnold bus and got to see it all lit up.
One night in the hotel the teachers all went off to the bar to get hammered with the bus drivers and they left us unattended and we were running around the corridors of the hotel throwing fig biscuits at each other, and some of the girls were doing handstands against the wall and showing their knickers. I'd never seen a fig biscuit before and having tried one at a later time I can see why they were getting thrown about rather than eaten. They're horrible.
And I shared a room with Richard Sharp and Andrew Greenwood, and we had bedside tables with lights in and I didn't see Andrew for about 5 years after that and the next time I did he was riding down Garforth Main Street on a bike with a green mohican (haircut, not a person).
At the time I took it all for granted, but now I marvel at the organisational skills of teachers, for taking a group of small children to a foreign country and taking us round all the sights of Paris. I don't even like looking after small children while their parents are in the loo.
But since then I have developed a taste for mustard and I often have it in sandwiches, and when I do it makes me think of my mum making us sandwiches when I was younger because she generally puts mustard in sandwiches, especially ham ones.
That trip to France was in May 1979. It was the first time I'd ever been abroad. I only went out of the country for 5 days, and Thatcher got elected while I was gone. I found this out from a teacher who had bought a paper on the Champs Elysees. She got in again in 1987 while I was in Germany. She was always getting elected while I was out of the country.
That trip was great, but the coach journey wasn't. We didn't go on one of those fancy buses with the toilets that they have now. We just went on the same Wallace Arnold bus that we used to go a mile up the road to Kippax swimming baths in. They're fine for just nipping round the corner, but they're not much good for an 18 hour journey to Paris.
That trip cost £63 which was an absolute bargain. I also got a £4 reduction for not having a dad, because it should have been £67 but we asked for a reduction for being a one parent family.
I took some spending money, and I can't remember how much, but I know it cost 40p for a hot chocolate at the services at 5 in the morning and the West German football team were also in the services on their way back from beating Wales in a Euro 1980 qualifier. I only recognised them from the tracksuits. I didn't know who they were. I bet the present international football teams don't stop at the services for a bacon bun and a ripoff coffee.
We got to see all the sights of Paris. As well as the Eiffel Tower, we went to the Arc de Triomphe, the Louvre and Sacre Coeur. I got terrified on the top of the Arc de Triomphe because I thought I might fall off, with the top being open, and even though the Eiffel Tower is a lot higher and you can feel it sway in the wind, it's all closed in so you can't fall off and that was okay. I also saw the Mona Lisa and I was surprised how small it was. We did also get driven round Paris at night on the Wally Arnold bus and got to see it all lit up.
One night in the hotel the teachers all went off to the bar to get hammered with the bus drivers and they left us unattended and we were running around the corridors of the hotel throwing fig biscuits at each other, and some of the girls were doing handstands against the wall and showing their knickers. I'd never seen a fig biscuit before and having tried one at a later time I can see why they were getting thrown about rather than eaten. They're horrible.
And I shared a room with Richard Sharp and Andrew Greenwood, and we had bedside tables with lights in and I didn't see Andrew for about 5 years after that and the next time I did he was riding down Garforth Main Street on a bike with a green mohican (haircut, not a person).
At the time I took it all for granted, but now I marvel at the organisational skills of teachers, for taking a group of small children to a foreign country and taking us round all the sights of Paris. I don't even like looking after small children while their parents are in the loo.
I could have had more girlfriends if I hadn't been over-reliant on buses
I've been catching buses a lot lately. And it's been working out okay. Because my house is at one end of the 10 minute bus ride, and Waterstone's in Middlesbrough is at the other end.
The only bit that hasn't been working out is that some of the buses have these shiny new seats, and it's impossible to stay on them when the bus goes round corners. I mean, why make a seat out of shiny stuff? It makes no sense. There's no friction.
When buses don't work out, is when they don't join up places you want to go to. This hampered me a lot during the ages of 15 and 17 when I wanted to go out with girls.
It would have all been different if I'd gone to the local comprehensive, because girls would then have been walking distance away, but most of the ones I met were through school in Leeds, and they all lived miles away.
Looking back though, and considering the miniscule percentage of girls I liked that would actually go out with me, it seems incredible to me now that I was put off by the lack of a direct bus service, but I was.
It was only when I started riding my bike long distances in the last few years, that I realised how easy it could have been for me to get to girls' houses. Especially when I discovered with the aid of Google maps, that most of the ones I'd been put off going to see, lived within a 12 mile radius of my house. That's an hour on a bike!
It all started to come home to me how lazy I'd been last year when I rode home from my mum's in Leeds, via York (an 86 mile trip). Only 4 miles into this ride I found myself in Sherburn in Elmet, where Rachel Waterfield had lived 27 years before. 4 miles! I could have walked that, but in 1983 after meeting Rachel at a party, I managed to let things fizzle out badly during my follow-up phone call to her because of the lack of a direct bus service. Why didn't I just get on a bike, I could have been there in 20 minutes?
And Joanne McAndrew. She lived in Alwoodley which was 10 miles away from Garforth on the Leeds Ring Road, and there was a bus that went from about a mile away from my house to hers, but I couldn't be bothered to walk the mile. In her case I did once ride it, on the 5 speed racing bike that I had then and didn't like, but it was when I worked at Rawcliffes and having no fashion sense I had bought some terrible sweat gathering jogging outfit which I cycled there in. The fact that I was wearing that was probably reason enough for the relationship not to get off the ground, but again I felt the difficulty of the transport options was a factor. The ring road is quite a busy road, and there's a lot of roundabouts, and I just totally failed to persevere either with the cycling, or the walk to the bus stop, even though she was funny and attractive.
And Susannah Baynard. Admittedly I didn't help my case with her, by not dancing very well at the disco with the Germans in 1983, but she lived in Linton which I'm not even sure was on a bus route, and it all seemed so impossible at 15. But I've just Googled it. It was 12 miles, in an almost straight line from where I lived aged 15. I could have been there in an hour!
Bloody hell, people have relationships these days whilst living on opposite sides of the Atlantic. What was I thinking?
Even my most successful teenage relationship, with Joanne Phillips, could have benefitted from a winning combination of bike riding and map reading. I say successful. It worked out, in the sense that we did go out for a while, and I thought she was the one, but then she decided hanging around with me was interfering with her A Level studies, so she dumped my ass faster than you can say Cheese Single.
It was one of those dumpings that was mitigated by the old chestnut of 'Oh, we'll still be friends', but those words were accompanied by body language which roughly translated meant 'I hope you get shot into space, and don't come back'. I didn't get shot into space, but I did go to Germany for a while. She lived in Boston Spa, which again was an hour and three quarters away on two buses, but on another ride home from my mum's (this year) I rode from Garforth to Boston Spa in less than an hour. It's only 11 miles away. Once again, I thought, I could have saved ages timewise, if only I'd got a bike.
And the thing about all these girls is, I went or nearly went out with all of them in the summer, when it doesn't go dark until about 11 o'clock at night, and it would have actually been quite pleasant riding a bike in the evenings or on a weekend then.
Unfortunately I just didn't think in bicycles when I was aged 15 to 17. I was a teenager. I thought about buses, and I thought about getting lifts. And to be honest I didn't think about getting lifts much. I had a step dad who was either drunk or his car had fallen to pieces or the engine blown up, or he was in the police station getting done for drunk driving, so I mostly thought about buses.
You would think logically that travelling by bike is quite slow, but it has the advantage that you can go directly from A to B, and you don't have to stop for old people and women with buggies. And you don't have to do laps of every village on the bus route. Buses go all over the bloody place, and if you work out your average speed on some bus journeys it works out at about 5 miles an hour, which is barely above walking speed.
Hooray for bikes, and hooray for girls! Especially ones that are easy to get to.
The only bit that hasn't been working out is that some of the buses have these shiny new seats, and it's impossible to stay on them when the bus goes round corners. I mean, why make a seat out of shiny stuff? It makes no sense. There's no friction.
When buses don't work out, is when they don't join up places you want to go to. This hampered me a lot during the ages of 15 and 17 when I wanted to go out with girls.
It would have all been different if I'd gone to the local comprehensive, because girls would then have been walking distance away, but most of the ones I met were through school in Leeds, and they all lived miles away.
Looking back though, and considering the miniscule percentage of girls I liked that would actually go out with me, it seems incredible to me now that I was put off by the lack of a direct bus service, but I was.
It was only when I started riding my bike long distances in the last few years, that I realised how easy it could have been for me to get to girls' houses. Especially when I discovered with the aid of Google maps, that most of the ones I'd been put off going to see, lived within a 12 mile radius of my house. That's an hour on a bike!
It all started to come home to me how lazy I'd been last year when I rode home from my mum's in Leeds, via York (an 86 mile trip). Only 4 miles into this ride I found myself in Sherburn in Elmet, where Rachel Waterfield had lived 27 years before. 4 miles! I could have walked that, but in 1983 after meeting Rachel at a party, I managed to let things fizzle out badly during my follow-up phone call to her because of the lack of a direct bus service. Why didn't I just get on a bike, I could have been there in 20 minutes?
And Joanne McAndrew. She lived in Alwoodley which was 10 miles away from Garforth on the Leeds Ring Road, and there was a bus that went from about a mile away from my house to hers, but I couldn't be bothered to walk the mile. In her case I did once ride it, on the 5 speed racing bike that I had then and didn't like, but it was when I worked at Rawcliffes and having no fashion sense I had bought some terrible sweat gathering jogging outfit which I cycled there in. The fact that I was wearing that was probably reason enough for the relationship not to get off the ground, but again I felt the difficulty of the transport options was a factor. The ring road is quite a busy road, and there's a lot of roundabouts, and I just totally failed to persevere either with the cycling, or the walk to the bus stop, even though she was funny and attractive.
And Susannah Baynard. Admittedly I didn't help my case with her, by not dancing very well at the disco with the Germans in 1983, but she lived in Linton which I'm not even sure was on a bus route, and it all seemed so impossible at 15. But I've just Googled it. It was 12 miles, in an almost straight line from where I lived aged 15. I could have been there in an hour!
Bloody hell, people have relationships these days whilst living on opposite sides of the Atlantic. What was I thinking?
Even my most successful teenage relationship, with Joanne Phillips, could have benefitted from a winning combination of bike riding and map reading. I say successful. It worked out, in the sense that we did go out for a while, and I thought she was the one, but then she decided hanging around with me was interfering with her A Level studies, so she dumped my ass faster than you can say Cheese Single.
It was one of those dumpings that was mitigated by the old chestnut of 'Oh, we'll still be friends', but those words were accompanied by body language which roughly translated meant 'I hope you get shot into space, and don't come back'. I didn't get shot into space, but I did go to Germany for a while. She lived in Boston Spa, which again was an hour and three quarters away on two buses, but on another ride home from my mum's (this year) I rode from Garforth to Boston Spa in less than an hour. It's only 11 miles away. Once again, I thought, I could have saved ages timewise, if only I'd got a bike.
And the thing about all these girls is, I went or nearly went out with all of them in the summer, when it doesn't go dark until about 11 o'clock at night, and it would have actually been quite pleasant riding a bike in the evenings or on a weekend then.
Unfortunately I just didn't think in bicycles when I was aged 15 to 17. I was a teenager. I thought about buses, and I thought about getting lifts. And to be honest I didn't think about getting lifts much. I had a step dad who was either drunk or his car had fallen to pieces or the engine blown up, or he was in the police station getting done for drunk driving, so I mostly thought about buses.
You would think logically that travelling by bike is quite slow, but it has the advantage that you can go directly from A to B, and you don't have to stop for old people and women with buggies. And you don't have to do laps of every village on the bus route. Buses go all over the bloody place, and if you work out your average speed on some bus journeys it works out at about 5 miles an hour, which is barely above walking speed.
Hooray for bikes, and hooray for girls! Especially ones that are easy to get to.
Monday 19 December 2011
Munich 1983 - Eating lemons and looking at boobies.
Going to Hannover in 1985 wasn't my first exchange trip to Germany. I went to Munich in 1983 when I was 15. Again it was the same story, they came over here for two weeks in April, and we went there for two weeks in July.
The English half of the exchange didn't exactly run smoothly. I had exchanged letters with my exchange partner Josephine, so I knew how tall she was, how many cats she had etc. This was supposed to help with the ice breaking disaster that is speaking to foreigners when you're 15.
So in April about 30 Germans came pouring through the ticket barriers at Leeds Station, and one by one we identified our exchange partners and went home. Eventually there was just one girl left, but it wasn't Josephine. It took about 30 minutes of hand gestures and pigeon German / English to discover that Josephine had decided to stay at home with the cats and instead they'd sent a sub. In my case it was Friederike Merdan (or Fri for short), a stripey trousered girl who not only was not Josephine, she didn't know any of the other Germans because she was in the school year above the rest of them, so taking her out in groups wasn't easy, as she didn't really have any particular desire to mix with people she didn't know.
I managed to pretty much get by a whole fortnight just by introducing her to people who commented on her stripey trousers, and that was pretty much the end of the conversation, and on to the next trouser admirer. I did my best with her, and so did my mum, but it was like pulling teeth out of a crocodile's head.
When I got to Munich I had the same problem in reverse in that she wasn't friends with any of the other German exchangers, so she didn't really want to meet up with them.
Eventually after about 3 days, I decided that I knew which U-bahns to take to get about, and so I would be fine going out by myself. And I went off to meet some friends to see Tootsie (Dustin Hoffmann dubbed over in German). I didn't have a bloody clue what was going on in the film. Dustin kept dressing up as a woman and hanging around with Jessica Lange and going on the swings and stuff. That was pretty much all I could figure out. About halfway through the film, Dustin's roommate (Bill Murray) is talking to him, and he appears to be eating lemons off a plate. Steve Hills leaned over to me, and he said 'That guy's eating lemons!'. For reasons still unknown to this day, this was the funniest thing I'd ever heard, and the rest of the film I couldn't stop laughing. Unfortunately I was laughing totally out of sync with the funny bits in the film, which the Germans were laughing at. They kept looking at me, as if I was noodle doodle. I was.
After the film, I went and got on all the right trams, but then when I got off at Schwabing station, I realised I didn't have a clue which direction to set off walking in. Never one to give up easily, and without the phone number of Fri's house, I walked round and round and round for 2-3 hours, asking for directions in appalling German. In the meantime, Fri had called the Police and they were out looking for an English boy in a stripey T-shirt.
After a process of eliminating every street in Munich one at a time, I found my way back to Fri's apartment. She opened the door, gave me quite a lot of abuse, and went off to bed. It was about 1.30 in the morning. I should have been back by 11. Her mum called off the police and I went to bed.
For the next 11 days I barely spoke to Fri, but having learned my way round Munich the hard way, I became happily self-reliant. Although we didn't speak much, I did regularly see her naked body go past me in the river in the English Garden. It wasn't officially a naturist resort, but every girl who wasn't English walked around topless, including Fri. There's a fast flowing river in the Garden, and we used to go in it all the time. You got carried downstream by the current, and then you had to grab onto a bridge and drag yourself to the bank to get out. Once or twice I lost my Speedos during the exit from the water. Unfortunately on one of these occasions I was seen by Helen Winn, and even more unfortunate was that in the cold water my penis had shrunk to the size of a peanut. Not a good way to impress the girls.
Unfortunately, on one of these river rides, Stephen Holliday hit his head on the concrete bottom of the river bed, underneath a bridge and he had to go off to hospital to get his nose fixed. I just had an e-mail conversation with him this week, though, so I'm pretty sure he's over it now, although he's not quite got over being buried in potted plants whilst out of his tree on Apfelkorn in Hannover, but that's another story.
There was a German man in the English Garden, who used to go round the park completely starkers, holding two badminton racquets and a shuttlecock, and shouting quite loudly 'Wer spielt Federball?'. I always tried to decline politely without making eye contact.
As well as dossing round the English Garden, we went on a coach trip to the Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Castle at Neuschwannstein, which was incredible. If only I had better pictures of it, most of the pictures I took were of Pamela Pirie and Emma Helliwell, although I don't know why I bothered. I should have got more scenery in, because both of them would rather have seen me shot into space than go out with me.
On the last night, I spotted Pamela snogging Darren Zimmermann in a doorway and I knew my chances had finally fizzled out to nothing. Darren was about 3 years older, and he could dance and cut his own hair. He knew I liked her, and he felt a bit bad that he swiped her out from under my nose, so he invited me out for breakfast in the English Garden the morning we went back to England, and he brought a picnic, and it was the most gentlemanly way for him to have handled being the better man, and I really liked him for that.
It was a fantastic two weeks. I got to travel round one of the greatest cities in the world, completely independently at 15 years of age. The weather was beautiful, and there were topless girls everywhere. I even managed to totally avoid playing badminton with a naked man.
At the end of the two weeks Fri gave me a lift back to the airport, and we parted on good terms. I think she forgave me for sparking a man hunt, and if the truth were told, I think she'd quite enjoyed not having to look after me much.
It wasn't the perfect holiday, but it wasn't far off.
The English half of the exchange didn't exactly run smoothly. I had exchanged letters with my exchange partner Josephine, so I knew how tall she was, how many cats she had etc. This was supposed to help with the ice breaking disaster that is speaking to foreigners when you're 15.
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| Oh No, they've sent the wrong German! |
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| Having fun on the way to Neuschwannstein - notice the bicycle bell balanced on top of a half eaten apple and a tennis ball |
When I got to Munich I had the same problem in reverse in that she wasn't friends with any of the other German exchangers, so she didn't really want to meet up with them.
Eventually after about 3 days, I decided that I knew which U-bahns to take to get about, and so I would be fine going out by myself. And I went off to meet some friends to see Tootsie (Dustin Hoffmann dubbed over in German). I didn't have a bloody clue what was going on in the film. Dustin kept dressing up as a woman and hanging around with Jessica Lange and going on the swings and stuff. That was pretty much all I could figure out. About halfway through the film, Dustin's roommate (Bill Murray) is talking to him, and he appears to be eating lemons off a plate. Steve Hills leaned over to me, and he said 'That guy's eating lemons!'. For reasons still unknown to this day, this was the funniest thing I'd ever heard, and the rest of the film I couldn't stop laughing. Unfortunately I was laughing totally out of sync with the funny bits in the film, which the Germans were laughing at. They kept looking at me, as if I was noodle doodle. I was.
After the film, I went and got on all the right trams, but then when I got off at Schwabing station, I realised I didn't have a clue which direction to set off walking in. Never one to give up easily, and without the phone number of Fri's house, I walked round and round and round for 2-3 hours, asking for directions in appalling German. In the meantime, Fri had called the Police and they were out looking for an English boy in a stripey T-shirt.
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| I went all the way to Neuschwannstein but all I got was pictures of girls |
For the next 11 days I barely spoke to Fri, but having learned my way round Munich the hard way, I became happily self-reliant. Although we didn't speak much, I did regularly see her naked body go past me in the river in the English Garden. It wasn't officially a naturist resort, but every girl who wasn't English walked around topless, including Fri. There's a fast flowing river in the Garden, and we used to go in it all the time. You got carried downstream by the current, and then you had to grab onto a bridge and drag yourself to the bank to get out. Once or twice I lost my Speedos during the exit from the water. Unfortunately on one of these occasions I was seen by Helen Winn, and even more unfortunate was that in the cold water my penis had shrunk to the size of a peanut. Not a good way to impress the girls.
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| Messing about in the English Garden - with all our clothes on |
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| Here we are on the way home. That's Steve on the left, with the broken nose |
As well as dossing round the English Garden, we went on a coach trip to the Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Castle at Neuschwannstein, which was incredible. If only I had better pictures of it, most of the pictures I took were of Pamela Pirie and Emma Helliwell, although I don't know why I bothered. I should have got more scenery in, because both of them would rather have seen me shot into space than go out with me.
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| Here's one with me in. Can't believe I was ever that thin! |
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| Gratuitous Picture of Pamela's legs - thankfully we can both laugh about it now |
At the end of the two weeks Fri gave me a lift back to the airport, and we parted on good terms. I think she forgave me for sparking a man hunt, and if the truth were told, I think she'd quite enjoyed not having to look after me much.
It wasn't the perfect holiday, but it wasn't far off.
Sunday 18 December 2011
Berlin 1985
When I was 17 I went to Berlin. That was in the days when West Berlin was completely surrounded by East Germany. We went on a coach from Hannover, during our school exchange trip..
At the border with East Germany a very serious looking man got on board and had a good look round the coach to make sure we weren't hiding anything.
The main difference once we left West Germany was that instead of seeing Audis, BMWs, and Mercedes on the Autobahn all we saw were Trabants, and about every third one of them was parked up on the hard shoulder, with an East German looking under the bonnet to see what was wrong with it.
I expected East Germany to be very grey, and I was quite surprised to see that it had grass and trees that were made of green, as I'd almost been expecting them to be grey too.
I remember seeing children waving and smiling at the coach from the side of the road, and thinking that they looked happy enough. They just looked like children anywhere. And when we got off at the services to go to the bathroom, the tarmac looked like tarmac you might see in the West, and it felt the same under our feet.
I sat next to Paul Edgar on the coach journey and at one point he managed to explode a can of Coke all over my passport, which made it all a bit sticky and it's still stained to this day. But I did get a stamp on it at the border, which is about the only stamp in it. Most countries in Europe don't seem to bother, they just wave you through, but in East Germany they had a good look at us on the way in and out.
Upon entering West Berlin it was back to Audis again. No more Trabants. Everything was brightly coloured and obviously very Western. They used to call West Berlin the Schaufenster (shop window) of Europe and it was hard to escape the conclusion that they were rubbing the Easterners noses in it a bit with all the bright colours and the consumer goods and the brand names and the windows full of stuff. 'This is what you're missing', they seemed to be saying, 'we've got different kinds of ketchup and everything'.
My schoolfriends and I had a few hours to spare in Berlin that day, and so of course we decided to go to McDonalds, which caused our teacher Mr Kino to despair of us. Something about coming to one of the world's great cities and choosing to spend time hanging out in a burger bar.
Then we saw the Wall. We went up on a viewing platform and had a look over at the Brandenburg Gate, and into the No Man's Land with the Russian guard and barbed wire which surrounded it. Near the viewing platform were some graves of people who'd died trying to cross over and a tat shop selling cheap souvenirs. I didn't buy one. The Wall was massive. About twice as high as us. Every so often an American jeep would go past, with troops in the back and a big gun. On the Eastern side were the watchtowers, looking imposing.
We went to Checkpoint Charlie and thought about going over to the East, but there was a minimum currency exchange of about 30 Marks to go over, and nothing to spend it on, so we decided not to go.
Then we went to the Reichstag and had a look over to the East. It was such a contrast to what you could see in the West. I'd heard that on the Eastern side you weren't allowed to live within a couple of miles of the Wall, so the buildings immediately on the other side of the wall looked derelict. A few broken windows and loose curtains blowing in the wind. In the distance, you could see the occasional tram but no people. The trams were a dirty red colour, everything else looked grey. More like the grey I'd expected when we were on the coach.
It would have seemed impossible at the time of our visit, but the Wall only lasted 4 more years, until glasnost, perestroika and Gorbachev. I met a lady on a train in 1987 who was from the East. She had just reached the age of 65 and was allowed to travel again to the West. She was going to see her sister in the West, for the first time in 22 years. She seemed very matter of fact about it, but to me, always having lived in a country where you can move around at will, it seemed extraordinary..
Berlin in 1985 was like coming face to face with history, and it wasn't like the history you learn at school, this was history happening right in front of your eyes. Everything from 1945 onwards had led up to what I saw right there.
I've been fascinated by Berlin ever since. I've read lots of books about it, both during and after the war. About the Berlin Blockade, and about the Wall, and the stories of people who it trapped and divided. It's probably the most strange and unnerving place I've ever been to, and I'm glad I got to see it with the Wall in place. I hope to go back sometime soon to see it all joined back up again.
If you liked this blogpost, you might also enjoy this one
The main difference once we left West Germany was that instead of seeing Audis, BMWs, and Mercedes on the Autobahn all we saw were Trabants, and about every third one of them was parked up on the hard shoulder, with an East German looking under the bonnet to see what was wrong with it.
I expected East Germany to be very grey, and I was quite surprised to see that it had grass and trees that were made of green, as I'd almost been expecting them to be grey too.
I remember seeing children waving and smiling at the coach from the side of the road, and thinking that they looked happy enough. They just looked like children anywhere. And when we got off at the services to go to the bathroom, the tarmac looked like tarmac you might see in the West, and it felt the same under our feet.
I sat next to Paul Edgar on the coach journey and at one point he managed to explode a can of Coke all over my passport, which made it all a bit sticky and it's still stained to this day. But I did get a stamp on it at the border, which is about the only stamp in it. Most countries in Europe don't seem to bother, they just wave you through, but in East Germany they had a good look at us on the way in and out.
Upon entering West Berlin it was back to Audis again. No more Trabants. Everything was brightly coloured and obviously very Western. They used to call West Berlin the Schaufenster (shop window) of Europe and it was hard to escape the conclusion that they were rubbing the Easterners noses in it a bit with all the bright colours and the consumer goods and the brand names and the windows full of stuff. 'This is what you're missing', they seemed to be saying, 'we've got different kinds of ketchup and everything'.
My schoolfriends and I had a few hours to spare in Berlin that day, and so of course we decided to go to McDonalds, which caused our teacher Mr Kino to despair of us. Something about coming to one of the world's great cities and choosing to spend time hanging out in a burger bar.
Then we saw the Wall. We went up on a viewing platform and had a look over at the Brandenburg Gate, and into the No Man's Land with the Russian guard and barbed wire which surrounded it. Near the viewing platform were some graves of people who'd died trying to cross over and a tat shop selling cheap souvenirs. I didn't buy one. The Wall was massive. About twice as high as us. Every so often an American jeep would go past, with troops in the back and a big gun. On the Eastern side were the watchtowers, looking imposing.
We went to Checkpoint Charlie and thought about going over to the East, but there was a minimum currency exchange of about 30 Marks to go over, and nothing to spend it on, so we decided not to go.
Then we went to the Reichstag and had a look over to the East. It was such a contrast to what you could see in the West. I'd heard that on the Eastern side you weren't allowed to live within a couple of miles of the Wall, so the buildings immediately on the other side of the wall looked derelict. A few broken windows and loose curtains blowing in the wind. In the distance, you could see the occasional tram but no people. The trams were a dirty red colour, everything else looked grey. More like the grey I'd expected when we were on the coach.
It would have seemed impossible at the time of our visit, but the Wall only lasted 4 more years, until glasnost, perestroika and Gorbachev. I met a lady on a train in 1987 who was from the East. She had just reached the age of 65 and was allowed to travel again to the West. She was going to see her sister in the West, for the first time in 22 years. She seemed very matter of fact about it, but to me, always having lived in a country where you can move around at will, it seemed extraordinary..
Berlin in 1985 was like coming face to face with history, and it wasn't like the history you learn at school, this was history happening right in front of your eyes. Everything from 1945 onwards had led up to what I saw right there.
I've been fascinated by Berlin ever since. I've read lots of books about it, both during and after the war. About the Berlin Blockade, and about the Wall, and the stories of people who it trapped and divided. It's probably the most strange and unnerving place I've ever been to, and I'm glad I got to see it with the Wall in place. I hope to go back sometime soon to see it all joined back up again.
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Germany 1985 - Boris Becker, Handel's birthday and Escape to Victory - the Rematch
My first German exchange trip was in 1983 to Munich. I got given the wrong German and then I got lost and had the German police looking for me, and then I spent two weeks photographing a girl who ended up with someone else, and I also laughed inappropriately at someone eating lemons in the cinema, but overall I still had a really great time, and so in 1985 when I got the chance to go on another German exchange, I of course said yes.
Again the format was the same. The Germans came over to England in the Spring, and we went back there in the summer. For some reason we were sent over to Germany on the cross channel ferry in July without a teacher to keep an eye on us, and if there's ever a situation that is bound to end in disaster, it's probably seven 17 year olds on a ferry for 4 hours with unlimited access to the duty free shop.
(The full story of having to drag my drunk school friends off the ferry can be found here)
The German leg of the trip was timed to coincide with the end of the school summer term, so we got to spend some time going to lessons in the Herschelschule in Hannover as well as hanging around in Germany being teenagers. The best thing about school in Germany is a thing called Hitzefrei. If it's too hot, you don't have to go to school, and they let you go about 11 in the morning. We had Hitzefrei almost every day while we were there.
The whole trip was amazing, although I wish I'd been kinder to my exchange partner Sebastian. In my defence I was 17 then, and in many ways an idiot. I was particularly rude to him regarding his taste in music, which I was unnecessarily scathing about (Judas Priest I think). And that was coming from someone who was into Def Leppard and ELO, so I should have kept my mouth shut. But the first few days were the best of all.
The first Sunday I was there was the Men's Wimbledon Singles Final (from Wimbledon) and against the odds the unseeded German Boris Becker was in the final. This was in the days when the Germans were normally about as competitive as the Brits at Wimbledon. I sat and watched the final with the entire Barth family and almost unbelievably the 17 year old Boris won. It was extra special watching it in Germany, but it was also the first time I'd seen someone my age or younger win something big in sport. These days there's only archeryists and crown green bowlers who are older than me in sport.
The evening following the final we were off to something called the Handelfest. It was a massive celebration to mark the 300th Anniversary of the birth of Handel (you know the Messiah guy). There was lots of music of his played and an enormous firework display and it was incredible, but almost as incredible was that every conversation that I overheard wasn't about Handel, it was about Boris Becker. There were elderly Germans everywhere just unable to contain their excitement at what they'd seen. And it was great to be there.
The other day of that trip I remember the best is the day we played football against the German army in the park. It was so not Escape to Victory you wouldn't believe. I'm not sure what the German army were doing in the park. We were there on borrowed bicycles having a picnic and enjoying the evening summer sun.
Somehow we got talking to them and they challenged us to a football match, but they were so gentlemanly they agreed to play in bare feet, so as not to kick our shins to pieces with their army boots. They also shared a crate of beer with us, which they had brought along. I think even with the bare feet they probably won, but the result didn't really matter.
I have no idea why I felt like this, but I can remember reclining on the grass, after the barefoot football match, probably a bit drunk on beer (but not a horrible kind of drunk, just that kind of drunk where you love everybody) and I remember looking up at the sky and enjoying the warmth of the summer evening, and feeling happy enough to die. I know that sounds bizarre. Don't get me wrong. I didn't want to die. I just felt like it would be a good time to go. I didn't see how it was possible to feel any more content than I did in that moment, and I thought it would be a good time to slip away. Being pleasantly tipsy in a park, in a summer evening, having run around a bit playing football. I didn't see how it could get any better.
Despite the perfect-ness of the opportunity I didn't die on my back in a park in Hannover in 1985, although I might well have done a couple of hours later. Instead of popping off, I jumped back on my borrowed bicycle and my friends and I rode erratically around the streets and cycle paths of Hannover back to our host families. We did some absolutely crazy cycling manoeuvres and were lucky not to arrested for being drunk in charge of bikes, but luckily there weren't any police or cars around, so we didn't get either arrested or run over.
The rest of the trip was fantastic too. Going to school with lots of guys in denim who looked like Jim out of Taxi and lots of tall girls in three quarter length trousers (including Heike Sander, who I briefly fell in love with but only from afar, I managed to take her picture once, that was all). Catching the underground from terminus to terminus on the spotless German underground system in hour after hour of pointless 'Bahnwanderungs'. Having a dancing competition for hours in the local disco with Andy Ramsden. And that isn't even mentioning the most incredible part of the trip, which was the day trip to Berlin, to see the Wall. I'll have to write about that another time. It was possibly the most unreal experience I've ever had.
(I did eventually go back and write about Berlin and the blog post for that can be found here)
Going to Berlin proved to be a very good reason for not dying the week before in the park, as have countless experiences since, but I hope when I do pop off, it's in as nice a place as that, surrounded by friends and after having had so much fun.
Again the format was the same. The Germans came over to England in the Spring, and we went back there in the summer. For some reason we were sent over to Germany on the cross channel ferry in July without a teacher to keep an eye on us, and if there's ever a situation that is bound to end in disaster, it's probably seven 17 year olds on a ferry for 4 hours with unlimited access to the duty free shop.
(The full story of having to drag my drunk school friends off the ferry can be found here)
The German leg of the trip was timed to coincide with the end of the school summer term, so we got to spend some time going to lessons in the Herschelschule in Hannover as well as hanging around in Germany being teenagers. The best thing about school in Germany is a thing called Hitzefrei. If it's too hot, you don't have to go to school, and they let you go about 11 in the morning. We had Hitzefrei almost every day while we were there.
The whole trip was amazing, although I wish I'd been kinder to my exchange partner Sebastian. In my defence I was 17 then, and in many ways an idiot. I was particularly rude to him regarding his taste in music, which I was unnecessarily scathing about (Judas Priest I think). And that was coming from someone who was into Def Leppard and ELO, so I should have kept my mouth shut. But the first few days were the best of all.
The first Sunday I was there was the Men's Wimbledon Singles Final (from Wimbledon) and against the odds the unseeded German Boris Becker was in the final. This was in the days when the Germans were normally about as competitive as the Brits at Wimbledon. I sat and watched the final with the entire Barth family and almost unbelievably the 17 year old Boris won. It was extra special watching it in Germany, but it was also the first time I'd seen someone my age or younger win something big in sport. These days there's only archeryists and crown green bowlers who are older than me in sport.
The evening following the final we were off to something called the Handelfest. It was a massive celebration to mark the 300th Anniversary of the birth of Handel (you know the Messiah guy). There was lots of music of his played and an enormous firework display and it was incredible, but almost as incredible was that every conversation that I overheard wasn't about Handel, it was about Boris Becker. There were elderly Germans everywhere just unable to contain their excitement at what they'd seen. And it was great to be there.
The other day of that trip I remember the best is the day we played football against the German army in the park. It was so not Escape to Victory you wouldn't believe. I'm not sure what the German army were doing in the park. We were there on borrowed bicycles having a picnic and enjoying the evening summer sun.
Somehow we got talking to them and they challenged us to a football match, but they were so gentlemanly they agreed to play in bare feet, so as not to kick our shins to pieces with their army boots. They also shared a crate of beer with us, which they had brought along. I think even with the bare feet they probably won, but the result didn't really matter.
I have no idea why I felt like this, but I can remember reclining on the grass, after the barefoot football match, probably a bit drunk on beer (but not a horrible kind of drunk, just that kind of drunk where you love everybody) and I remember looking up at the sky and enjoying the warmth of the summer evening, and feeling happy enough to die. I know that sounds bizarre. Don't get me wrong. I didn't want to die. I just felt like it would be a good time to go. I didn't see how it was possible to feel any more content than I did in that moment, and I thought it would be a good time to slip away. Being pleasantly tipsy in a park, in a summer evening, having run around a bit playing football. I didn't see how it could get any better.
Despite the perfect-ness of the opportunity I didn't die on my back in a park in Hannover in 1985, although I might well have done a couple of hours later. Instead of popping off, I jumped back on my borrowed bicycle and my friends and I rode erratically around the streets and cycle paths of Hannover back to our host families. We did some absolutely crazy cycling manoeuvres and were lucky not to arrested for being drunk in charge of bikes, but luckily there weren't any police or cars around, so we didn't get either arrested or run over.
The rest of the trip was fantastic too. Going to school with lots of guys in denim who looked like Jim out of Taxi and lots of tall girls in three quarter length trousers (including Heike Sander, who I briefly fell in love with but only from afar, I managed to take her picture once, that was all). Catching the underground from terminus to terminus on the spotless German underground system in hour after hour of pointless 'Bahnwanderungs'. Having a dancing competition for hours in the local disco with Andy Ramsden. And that isn't even mentioning the most incredible part of the trip, which was the day trip to Berlin, to see the Wall. I'll have to write about that another time. It was possibly the most unreal experience I've ever had.
(I did eventually go back and write about Berlin and the blog post for that can be found here)
Going to Berlin proved to be a very good reason for not dying the week before in the park, as have countless experiences since, but I hope when I do pop off, it's in as nice a place as that, surrounded by friends and after having had so much fun.
Wednesday 14 December 2011
My wedding and other disaster movies
I've been married to Ruth now for over 12 years, which is quite an achievement considering what a disaster the first 12 days were.
We got married on a Sunday, 18th July 1999, during the 10 am Sunday Service at St Francis, and then we were due to go straight down to Somerset for 12 days in a cottage.
We had barely finished clearing up the wrapping paper from our wedding presents when we were diverted from our intended plans by Ruth having to take Becky to A&E for an X-ray on a shoulder that she landed on after flying off the garden swing.
Instead of the planned drive south, we then spent our first evening as a married couple watching Star Wars 1, the Phantom Menace at the Showcase. So that was two things gone wrong already.
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| Hot Fuzz woz ere |
We went to Somerset on the Monday instead, and by the Tuesday I was suffering from crippling stomach pains. I couldn't sleep at night, or go to the toilet properly.
By Day 4 of married life, I was confined to bed and the kids were trying to get Ruth to take them home, and leave me there on my own.
Ruth tried to persuade me to go with them, but I was all for sticking it out. It might get better, I said.
Ruth tried to persuade me to go with them, but I was all for sticking it out. It might get better, I said.
By Day 8 I'd been seen by an emergency doctor, who diagnosed me as having irritable bowel syndrome, which could have been brought on by a combination of pre-wedding stress and eating about 50 pieces of chicken at the party the night before the wedding.
Days 9 to 11 were a bit of an improvement and were spent in and around Longleat, feeding goats, looking out the car window at lions and tigers and having monkeys rip bits off and wee on our car.
Around 5 pm on Day 12, probably lulled into a false sense of security by having 3 reasonable days in a row, I drove off a kerb during the leaving of Longleat, and I managed to remove the entire exhaust from the already peed on car. Instead of being attached to the underside of the car, the exhaust was now parked next to it on the grass. I sat next to both of them, feeling sorry for myself, while Ruth took the kids off to phone for a recovery vehicle. This was in the days before mobile phones, so she probably had to knock Lord Longleat up to use his phone, I'm not sure.
Luckily Ruth's brother lived in Wells then, so we managed to crash on his floor for the 5 days it took to get the car back from the garage. We did have to call off Michael's quad biking birthday party though, because we couldn't get home for it, something he still reminds me of till this day. Instead of him riding a quad bike, he spent his 9th birthday hanging around the Fleet Air Arm museum, looking bored.
When we did eventually get home, after 17 days away, we discovered that the thermostat in our fridge had died during our absence, and we had to set about disposing of the fridge full of penicillin which we'd managed to grow while we'd been gone.
A few years ago, we were at the cinema watching Hot Fuzz and partway through the film it dawned on us that it had been filmed in Wells. No wonder so much of it seemed familiar to us.
Towards the end of the film, the market square is the scene of a set piece battle between the police and the elderly gun-toting Neighbourhood Watch, and you get to see, in graphic detail, the town centre of our former honeymoon destination being shot to pieces.
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| CSI Wells - getting over our honeymoon |
We went back to Wells in 2010 and rode around it on our bikes a bit, and stayed in a nice cottage, and got our photographs taken outside the pub used in the film, and we bought some fizzy pop and chocolate from Somerfield, and that along with watching Hot Fuzz about 20 times since, has helped to ease the pain....
Tuesday 13 December 2011
Thank you ferry much - A cautionary tale about drinking
For someone who got into quite a few drink related scrapes when I was younger, I've always been pretty self-righteous about other people's drinking.
Whether this has anything to do with having a drunk for a step dad, who used to pass out in the living room before 6 pm every evening, and who used to spend two or three hours a night shouting out in his sleep I don't know.
This atitude did lead me to almost leaving two unconscious friends on a ferry in a Belgium once, but thankfully some of the other people on the trip were better friends to them that I was, and got them off the ferry onto a bus.
It seems strange now, in these days when teachers are often too scared to take children on school trips at all, that the seven of us (Me, another Jonathan, John, Andy, Paul E, Paul H and Stephen) were sent off to Germany without a teacher at all. I think it was assumed, wrongly as it turned out, that we were all pretty sensible lads.
Five of us were pretty sensible, but the other two managed to sink a whole bottle of Southern Comfort between them on the four hour ferry crossing from Dover to Zeebrugge (John and the other Jonathan)
I'll never forget finding John face down on the deck of a ferry in the early hours of the morning. He had a mustardy yellow jacket which he was very proud of, and when I opened the door onto the deck I found him face down, not only with a yellow jacket but with a stream of yellowy vomit coming out from his mouth to one side. The only way I can describe it is that it looked to me like his head was an egg that had been smashed against the floor and there was a trail of yolk issuing out from his head.
When we got into Zeebrugge at 5 in the morning, with the 2 of them still out for the count, the other 5 of us took a vote about what to do with them. Leave them on the ferry, was my decision. I think Paul H might have agreed with me aswell, but there were more votes in favour of dragging them off the boat, than there were for leaving them on it. Hooray for democracy.
I bumped into Andy about a year ago, and we talked about our decision making process. He said he would have left John but he and Jonathan had been friends for years, and he couldn't in all good conscience leave him there.
It was lucky for the two of them, that there were better friends than me there, or they might still be there.
A couple of years after this incident I found myself in a similar state of drink related incapacity. It was my first Christmas at TSB. I was 20. We had a drinks party after hours at work before heading off to the pub. Partly due to my own naivety, but also largely thanks to the stupidity of some of my older colleagues, I became the unwitting victim of some drinking games, which involved drinking paper cups full of mixed spirits. I don't remember much about it, except I probably broke the world record for the shortest time elapsed between a pub opening its doors and one of its customer's being ejected for drunken-ness. I almost got thrown out on the way in. Being sick on my new boss wasn't the ideal way to kick start a career in banking either.
My lovely new colleagues, having had a good laugh at my expense, then left me propped up outside the pub and went back in to enjoy their evening. Thanks guys! Somehow my homing beacon still worked, and I managed to get on a bus and get home, although I scared my mum half to death when I got in. She thought I'd been run over, and I was then sick some more, narrowly avoiding being sick on the cat's head.
Not only have I never had much tolerance for drunken-ness, I haven't got much tolerance for alcohol either. Now I mostly avoid it, especially since the hospital put me on some drugs which most definitely don't mix with it, and which could kill my liver all by themselves.
It seems strange to me, that we are so alarmed by other forms of drug taking, yet we think getting smashed out of our skulls on drink is in some way just a great big laugh.
I've never found it very funny.
Whether this has anything to do with having a drunk for a step dad, who used to pass out in the living room before 6 pm every evening, and who used to spend two or three hours a night shouting out in his sleep I don't know.
This atitude did lead me to almost leaving two unconscious friends on a ferry in a Belgium once, but thankfully some of the other people on the trip were better friends to them that I was, and got them off the ferry onto a bus.
It seems strange now, in these days when teachers are often too scared to take children on school trips at all, that the seven of us (Me, another Jonathan, John, Andy, Paul E, Paul H and Stephen) were sent off to Germany without a teacher at all. I think it was assumed, wrongly as it turned out, that we were all pretty sensible lads.
Five of us were pretty sensible, but the other two managed to sink a whole bottle of Southern Comfort between them on the four hour ferry crossing from Dover to Zeebrugge (John and the other Jonathan)
I'll never forget finding John face down on the deck of a ferry in the early hours of the morning. He had a mustardy yellow jacket which he was very proud of, and when I opened the door onto the deck I found him face down, not only with a yellow jacket but with a stream of yellowy vomit coming out from his mouth to one side. The only way I can describe it is that it looked to me like his head was an egg that had been smashed against the floor and there was a trail of yolk issuing out from his head.
When we got into Zeebrugge at 5 in the morning, with the 2 of them still out for the count, the other 5 of us took a vote about what to do with them. Leave them on the ferry, was my decision. I think Paul H might have agreed with me aswell, but there were more votes in favour of dragging them off the boat, than there were for leaving them on it. Hooray for democracy.
I bumped into Andy about a year ago, and we talked about our decision making process. He said he would have left John but he and Jonathan had been friends for years, and he couldn't in all good conscience leave him there.
It was lucky for the two of them, that there were better friends than me there, or they might still be there.
A couple of years after this incident I found myself in a similar state of drink related incapacity. It was my first Christmas at TSB. I was 20. We had a drinks party after hours at work before heading off to the pub. Partly due to my own naivety, but also largely thanks to the stupidity of some of my older colleagues, I became the unwitting victim of some drinking games, which involved drinking paper cups full of mixed spirits. I don't remember much about it, except I probably broke the world record for the shortest time elapsed between a pub opening its doors and one of its customer's being ejected for drunken-ness. I almost got thrown out on the way in. Being sick on my new boss wasn't the ideal way to kick start a career in banking either.
My lovely new colleagues, having had a good laugh at my expense, then left me propped up outside the pub and went back in to enjoy their evening. Thanks guys! Somehow my homing beacon still worked, and I managed to get on a bus and get home, although I scared my mum half to death when I got in. She thought I'd been run over, and I was then sick some more, narrowly avoiding being sick on the cat's head.
Not only have I never had much tolerance for drunken-ness, I haven't got much tolerance for alcohol either. Now I mostly avoid it, especially since the hospital put me on some drugs which most definitely don't mix with it, and which could kill my liver all by themselves.
It seems strange to me, that we are so alarmed by other forms of drug taking, yet we think getting smashed out of our skulls on drink is in some way just a great big laugh.
I've never found it very funny.
Sunday 11 December 2011
Socrates is dead and Oranges aren't what they used to be
Socrates is dead. And so is the World Cup.
The 2022 World Cup is going to be played in fridges in the desert and the Dutch have started kicking people
I’m fond of saying that things aren’t what they used to be. Well, the World Cup isn’t for a start. The only thing that was like the 70s about the 2010 final was that it reminded me of Carl Douglas and his kung fu fighting. Van Bommel and De Jong should have been running around in white pyjamas. I wonder what Rep and Rensenbrink and Willy van der Kerkhof made of it all.
The first World Cup I ever saw was in 1978, from Argentina. Some of the games were on very late at night and I sneakily watched them in my bedroom on a small black and white TV, with the volume on low so my mum couldn't hear.
This was in the days when I’d only ever seen about 3 football matches live on TV. A couple of England Internationals and the 1978 FA Cup Final when Roger Osbourne wore himself out from kicking the ball into the net and had to be carried off.
But thankfully the two games I remember best from 78 were on in the early evening and I got to watch them downstairs in colour. They both involved the men in orange, although you didn‘t get the full effect of the orange, because they were playing teams in dark blue so they had to play in white with orange shorts. No matter though.
They lost 3-2 to Scotland, courtesy of 'that goal' by Archie Gemmill and in the second round they beat Italy 2-1, in a game where the ultra-defensive Italians tried and failed to sit on a 1-0 lead. In a tournament packed with long-range goals, the two by Ernie Brandts and Arie Haan which defeated the Italians are the two I remember the most.
Arie Haan would shoot from anywhere. And Johnny Rep wasn’t bad either. In fact it was him who finally killed the Scots off with the second goal in the 3-2 defeat. That was from miles out aswell.
Before the 78 final my primary school became divided into two camps, marching round the playground, either chanting ‘Argentina’ or ‘Those guys in orange. We’re not really sure if it they’re called Holland or the Netherlands‘. I was of course in the Orange camp. Ever since I've always thought there was something special about the men in Orange. Their notion of 'total football' has a beauty about it which is worlds away from the blood and thunder of English football (although I enjoy that too).
Maybe its just because I’m getting older, but every World Cup since 78 seems to have been worse than the one before and amongst other things, there seems to have been a decline in the art of kicking the ball into the net from a long way off. Almost every goal in 78 was nearly from the halfway line. In 1982 we still had Socrates and Eder whacking them in from distance. In 86 we had Vasily Rats and Belanov. Italy 90 was a bit of a blip but in USA 94 we had Hagi and Stoichkov who could could still kick the ball where they wanted it to go. These days most shots seem to end up in the crowd or at the corner flag.
You know, winning isn’t everything. Most of the teams I’ve seen in the World Cup that have captured the imagination have been knocked out by other teams that were more boring. The Dutch deserved to win in 78, Socrates and his boys from Brazil were the only Brazil team I’ve ever really got behind, and they got knocked out in 82 by boring Italy. They managed to lose a game by trying to win it when they only needed a draw. In 86 the Danes and Belgians were fantastic, but as usual with small nations playing attacking football they lost too.
In the fantastic book Brilliant Orange, David Winner took us on a wonderful journey through all things Dutch: landscape, art, politics, culture, architecture, and he illustrated brilliantly how a nation's character shapes its football.
You can't always judge a book by its cover, but with this one you can. It is both Brilliant and Orange.
I’m only glad it was written before the 2010 final. Otherwise the title would have had to be changed to ‘How the Dutch used to be Brilliant and Orange, but now they’re into Kung Fu Instead’.
The 2022 World Cup is going to be played in fridges in the desert and the Dutch have started kicking people
I’m fond of saying that things aren’t what they used to be. Well, the World Cup isn’t for a start. The only thing that was like the 70s about the 2010 final was that it reminded me of Carl Douglas and his kung fu fighting. Van Bommel and De Jong should have been running around in white pyjamas. I wonder what Rep and Rensenbrink and Willy van der Kerkhof made of it all.
The first World Cup I ever saw was in 1978, from Argentina. Some of the games were on very late at night and I sneakily watched them in my bedroom on a small black and white TV, with the volume on low so my mum couldn't hear.
This was in the days when I’d only ever seen about 3 football matches live on TV. A couple of England Internationals and the 1978 FA Cup Final when Roger Osbourne wore himself out from kicking the ball into the net and had to be carried off.
But thankfully the two games I remember best from 78 were on in the early evening and I got to watch them downstairs in colour. They both involved the men in orange, although you didn‘t get the full effect of the orange, because they were playing teams in dark blue so they had to play in white with orange shorts. No matter though.
They lost 3-2 to Scotland, courtesy of 'that goal' by Archie Gemmill and in the second round they beat Italy 2-1, in a game where the ultra-defensive Italians tried and failed to sit on a 1-0 lead. In a tournament packed with long-range goals, the two by Ernie Brandts and Arie Haan which defeated the Italians are the two I remember the most.
Arie Haan would shoot from anywhere. And Johnny Rep wasn’t bad either. In fact it was him who finally killed the Scots off with the second goal in the 3-2 defeat. That was from miles out aswell.
Before the 78 final my primary school became divided into two camps, marching round the playground, either chanting ‘Argentina’ or ‘Those guys in orange. We’re not really sure if it they’re called Holland or the Netherlands‘. I was of course in the Orange camp. Ever since I've always thought there was something special about the men in Orange. Their notion of 'total football' has a beauty about it which is worlds away from the blood and thunder of English football (although I enjoy that too).
Maybe its just because I’m getting older, but every World Cup since 78 seems to have been worse than the one before and amongst other things, there seems to have been a decline in the art of kicking the ball into the net from a long way off. Almost every goal in 78 was nearly from the halfway line. In 1982 we still had Socrates and Eder whacking them in from distance. In 86 we had Vasily Rats and Belanov. Italy 90 was a bit of a blip but in USA 94 we had Hagi and Stoichkov who could could still kick the ball where they wanted it to go. These days most shots seem to end up in the crowd or at the corner flag.
You know, winning isn’t everything. Most of the teams I’ve seen in the World Cup that have captured the imagination have been knocked out by other teams that were more boring. The Dutch deserved to win in 78, Socrates and his boys from Brazil were the only Brazil team I’ve ever really got behind, and they got knocked out in 82 by boring Italy. They managed to lose a game by trying to win it when they only needed a draw. In 86 the Danes and Belgians were fantastic, but as usual with small nations playing attacking football they lost too.
In the fantastic book Brilliant Orange, David Winner took us on a wonderful journey through all things Dutch: landscape, art, politics, culture, architecture, and he illustrated brilliantly how a nation's character shapes its football.
You can't always judge a book by its cover, but with this one you can. It is both Brilliant and Orange.
I’m only glad it was written before the 2010 final. Otherwise the title would have had to be changed to ‘How the Dutch used to be Brilliant and Orange, but now they’re into Kung Fu Instead’.
Impersonating Rambo and running round Venice with water pistols
The first time I went to Italy was in February 1986, and I didn't need to hire a mobile home for that one. There was a coach laid on for us. It was the school rugby tour of 1986. We even got matching rugby shirts and jumpers made, something I didn't have the benefit of again until 2010 and our Walney to Saltburn coast to coast ride.
We were based in Padua and we were supposed to play 3 games in a week. The middle one was cancelled because of bad weather so we just played the first and the third ones. When we turned up to play the first one, I thought that should have been cancelled aswell, half of the pitch was frozen solid. I moaned about this for a while, but Jim Collard just said to me 'If you don't want to play, we'll find someone who will'. So I shut up.
In the event it wasn't too bad because the pitch thawed out quite a bit during the game, and having thirty warm bodies piled up on bits of it helped with the thaw.
We lost the first game, and to be honest we were crap. We didn't lose by much, but we didn't play well. After the game, we got told by Mike Lamb and Jim that we were crap. And I should have just listened. But opening my mouth when I shouldn't has been a perennial problem for me. Richard Kilgarrif told me afterwards it was like watching the end of Rambo 1 (First Blood). It's okay, I didn't blow up an entire small town, but what I did do was give an emotional and incoherent speech about how we'd done our best blah blah blah. For the rest of the trip Richard used to do Sylvester Stallone impressions at me, 'I did it for my country' and all that in a slurred voice.
It didn't help to shake off the Stallone comparison that we went en masse to see Rocky IV in the cinema while we were over there. It had been dubbed into Italian and for some reason they'd chosen a Joe Pasquale soundalike for the part of Rocky. You didn't really need a translation to follow the story though. Basically Rocky lost at the beginning and then he went and did some training and lost a bit of weight, and then he won at the end. Simples!
It was a pretty cool trip, because on our days off when we weren't playing rugby, we got to go on trips. We went to Venice on a double decker train and we all bought water pistols and drank hot wine (vino callo) to keep warm in St Mark's Square, and bought takeaway pizza. Venice is the best city I've been to for fighting with water pistols, because there's water everywhere so you can always get a refill. Also, it's the quietest city I've ever been to, because there aren't any cars. I'm glad we were there in the winter though, because it can pong a bit in the summer apparently. We also went to Verona, and all I can remember about that is eating more pizza, and finding a scarf on the floor which I decided to keep.
Padua is the only place I've been to where it was cheaper to order a pint of wine, than a pint of beer. They had some fizzy red stuff at one of the bars. I had about 4 pints of that one night. It gave me a hell of a hangover. There was an ice cream parlour opposite our hotel and they had 30 flavours of ice cream. I'd only ever seen Neopolitan so this was amazing. I had about 40 tubs of the stuff while I was there.
As well as blowing my spending money on ice cream I spent a fortune playing an arcade game called King of Boxer. You had to beat about 10 boxers in a row and if you did, you had to face Violence Joe in the final, and get your head smashed in. But I hardly ever got through to fight Violence Joe. All the other fighters were easy, but there was one called Brown Pants and I just couldn't get past him. I must have spent about £30 trying.
We played the third and final game just before coming home, and this time we won 7-4. It was a low scoring affair, and Fraser Maclennan-Pike kicked the winning penalty. I expect the rest of the team were very relieved to have won, because it meant I didn't need to do any more incoherent babbling in the style of Rambo.
It's not every week you get to play rugby on an ice rink, impersonate Rambo, eat 30 flavours of ice cream, get beaten up by a guy called Brown Pants, run round Venice with water pistols and watch Rocky IV with subtitles. We won't see the like of those days again.
Saturday 10 December 2011
Unlikely things to have happened on a rugby pitch
I used to play rugby at school. They didn't give me the ball much, because I didn't have any ball handling skills. I mostly just used to knock people over and dive around on the floor getting the ball back, and when I did I'd give it to someone else to do something with it.
I probably played about 100 games of rugby when I was at school. I can't remember them all now, but there are things I do remember. Some of the games were 30 years ago, so it's not surprising the memories are a bit vague. But there are 3 main factors at work in the games I do remember.
I remember the games we won against teams we usually lost to, I remember the games which we won in the last minute and I remember the amazing goal kicking of Graham Tyler.
For example, we used to regularly lose to Ampleforth College and Welbeck College. In the six years we played them we only beat them once each. When I was in the lower sixth I used to play for the school's 2nd XV. We weren't good enough to be in the first team, and because we weren't as important as them we didn't have to take it as seriously.
All the different age school teams used to play the same school on the same day, about half of them at home and half away, so you never got to watch the teams play that you weren't in.
I can't remember why they were there, but for some reason when we played Ampleforth that year, the first team weren't playing and they came to watch us. So we had basically about 20 people cheering us on. It's amazing how much noise 20 people can make, it's the closest I've ever been to playing in front of a crowd. It must be incredible to play in front of a whole stadium, although if you're England these days, that doesn't seem to help.
Anyway, spurred on by the crowd, we actually beat Ampleforth. I think the score was 15-9 but I could have misremembered that. What I do remember is that we were winning 9-8 at half time. I promised I'd buy Rhys Hughes a pint if he scored a try and he did right at the end of the first half, and that was when I really started to believe we might win. The result was in the balance almost to the end of the match, and then we gave the ball to Mick the Miller. That wasn't his real name. He was really called Jon Hargreaves. He was absolutely tiny, so I don't think he was any good at tackling, but he was called Mick the Miller after a greyhound. I can still remember near the end of the match watching him from a long way away as he ran away from the Ampleforth defence and over the try line. No-one could get near him. Ampleforth teams were always massive and because it was a boarding school they used to cheat by being able to practise a lot more often than we could in a day school. And we used to lose to them every year, until that one. Years of frustration, and of not being good enough disappeared in that instant.
For some reason, it's not fashionable these days to let children lose. I don't know why. Losing fosters determination and a will to win, and once in a while, when you win against the odds, it more than makes up for all the defeats.
Another game I remember was playing away at Giggleswick. Not only was the pitch on the side of a massive hill, but there was a force 10 gale blowing down it. It was pretty irrelevant who was the better team, because whoever was playing downhill was going to score all the points. It was pretty clear that whoever had the advantage of the slope in the first half was going to need to build up a massive lead and then defend it in the second half against the wind.
At the break we were only winning 10-0 which we knew wasn't going to be enough. And sure enough Giggleswick clawed back our advantage and with about a minute to go we were losing 12-10. And then after spending the whole half under our own posts, we managed to defy the wind and the hill and the other team and get up to the other end of the pitch and Bill Barker managed to stand up for long enough to fall over their try line in the corner with the ball, and we were back in the lead.
And then Graham Tyler kicked the conversion from the touchline, using the wind to banana it over the posts and we'd won 16-12. And there's no better feeling in sport.
Well, I say it was Graham. Memory can play tricks on you, that kick could have been taken by Andrew Axon, Graham was probably playing for the first team then. I assumed it was Graham because it was the kind of thing he would have done. I'll have to ask him. But there's a good reason, why I would remember it was him, even if it wasn't.
I didn't always get selected for the school rugby team, mostly because I wasn't good enough. Quite often I was a non-playing reserve. In those days it wasn't the girly game it is today. You could only put subs on if someone was injured, you couldn't take people off because they were tired. That was kind of the point of being fit, that you could keep going at the end.
There was one game I didn't play in, against John Smeaton which we won 21-16. There were 3 tries each and the difference between the teams was that Graham kicked all our kicks whereas they missed theirs. One particular conversion was from right on the touchline, and it was from the wrong side for a right footed kicker (if you don't know what I'm talking about, don't worry, it's a rugby thing). The thing I remember is not just that it went over, but the body language of the whole team, who cheered and jumped up in the air as it went over. I wouldn't have seen it if I'd been on the pitch, but I could see them all from where I was stood.
Why do I remember that kick? Well, to put it into perspective, this is schoolboy rugby I'm talking about. These were not professionals. We used to practice once a week during double games on a Tuesday afternoon and we had a quick runaround one lunchtime a week as well, which was necessarily short because we also had to fit in getting a school dinner in that hour. And Graham was always practising. He used to practice kicking, after we'd all packed in (maybe he took packed lunches, I'm not sure). Sometimes I used to watch him practisiing his kicks out of the window, and the thing was, they nearly always went through the middle of the posts.
But even knowing that about him, it was still amazing that the kick against John Smeaton went over. The pitch was so clarted up with 80s mud, and the ball was so wet that it would have been like kicking a pumpkin.
And that's why I remember it, and that's why I remember Mick the Miller's try, and Bill Barker's against Giggleswick. Because it wasn't likely to have happened. All the games we won, when we were supposed to, against teams we were better than, and all the kicks that went over from in front of the posts, I've forgotten.
Germany 1987 - The least stuff I ever had
After I left school I intended to go to University, but I ended up taking a year off instead.
When I did eventually go to Uni, I ended up leaving after a term. Mostly I regret this, but the amount I regret it is directly proportional to how unhappy I am at the time. And the unhappiest I am is when I've got a job I hate. So I'm okay for at least the next 3 weeks.
During my year off, apart from being the co-creator of the board game Year-off, I did do some other stuff aswell, including going to work in a chemical plant in Duisburg, West Germany (as it was then).
It was hard manual labour, but I got to eat sausages at break time, and I was looked after on the whole by my work colleagues, who were a mixture of Germans, Turks, Poles and other Eastern Europeans.
I lived with a German family, including Horst the father who was quite an angry man, and he was also pretty racist. He was from Berlin and he grew up during and after the Second World War. I got on really well with him at first, but then I invited my mum and brother over to visit and I was showing off a bit at the dinner table and talking to them in English about chocolate spread and I offended him with something I said, and things were never the same after that. We sort of patched it up before I left but things were never really right again between us.
I went over there on the Transline 24 hour bus from Leeds. It didn't go to Duisburg, but it did stop at the ice rink at Krefeld, which was a few miles away. Give him a ring, he said, when I got to Krefeld, and he'd pick me up, or rather his daughter Ellie would.
The bus got to Krefeld at 5 am, and it wasn't until it was disappearing round the corner that I realised I didn't have any change for the payphone. I only had notes and the smallest I had was a 10 Deutschmark note which was worth about £5 then.
It's not the best introduction to living in a foreign country to be hanging around outside an ice rink at 5 in the morning, accosting strangers in broken German trying to find somebody with change for a fiver.
Eventually around 6 someone took pity on me and gave me some change for the phone, and I thanked her and then managed to arrange my lift.
Horst and his family lived in an apartment near the chemical plant in Duisburg (he had 5 children, but only the youngest Nicole was still at home) and I rented a room off them on the floor above. I could see the Rhine out of the window. I had my own sink and toilet but a lot of the time they invited me downstairs for meals and let me use their bathroom.
For 3 months I lived there and all I had was what I had been able to take in a suitcase. Some clothes, a copy of Wandering by Hermann Hesse, a Walkman and a few cassettes. Back home, my brother had taken the bedroom that I'd vacated and what possessions I'd left behind would probably have fitted into a shoebox.
Horst lent me a bike, which I used sometimes, but mostly I just walked everywhere. I got nearly all my meals at the works canteen or at Macdonalds, I did a heavy manual job, lifting sacks of powder onto palettes and most days I went into the centre of Duisburg, which was about a 3 mile walk each way.
On my days off, I got the train to other cities, like Hannover, Dusseldorf and Essen and I just walked around there for hours on end. I didn't buy maps, I just walked around and found things out by looking. In the 3 months I was away I lost a stone and a half in weight, and when I got back I was the thinnest I've ever been.
On my travels I met a beautiful girl from Dortmund called Britta Biernoth who worked in the travel agents in Duisburg, and by a process of hanging around in her shop asking pointless travel questions that I didn't really want to know the answers to, I got to know her well enough to ask her out for coffee. It was Britta who stopped me taking sugar in tea and I always remember her surname because it means 'the necessity of beer'. I used to meet her on my days off and sometimes we'd go out for lunch, and one day I went to Dortmund with her to look at Leeds Square (I'd been to Dortmund Square in Leeds and I wanted to match up the two). It wasn't a romance though. She was a few years older than me and she had no shortage of male admirers, most of whom were at least 6 foot 5 and drove Porsches or bought her diamond earrings, but we got on pretty well. Come to think of it, the guy with the Porsche might have bought himself the diamond earring, I can't remember now.
When I left Germany after the 3 months, I stayed at her parents' house in Dortmund the night before, and caught the bus home from there. Her mum gave me a lift to the bus station and on the way pointed out all the buildings that had been newly built after the war because the Allied bombing had destroyed the ones that were there before.
Apart from being a bit lonely while I was there, I was pretty happy on the whole, and being there with only what I could put in a suitcase for 3 months made me realise how little stuff we actually need.
There's some stuff I like having, like plates and bikes and cups and forks and shoes and things to sit on, but I only like having stuff that gets used regularly. I can't stand keeping things that never see the light of day. Which is why I'm always trying to throw stuff I don't use away. It's tricky living with other people though, because sometimes I want to throw their stuff away as well.
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