A very nice man

Feeling good this morning. Driving in, torrential downpour and looming out of the spray, a down on their luck scooterist, vapours run dry at the bottom of the tank. Hefted the scoot in the back of the van whilst it's poor bedraggled owner clambered in. Down to the garage, tank filled, and took them on to Diss to save getting their raingear back on.

Bless. Seems I'm a very nice man.

Can't resist it seems. Forever Uncle Phil.

edit: Ah. I now realise why my back is in absolute agony. Idiot.

Simple things

Last Friday, weather fine, I took the kids to Fair Green in Diss. Our metropolis.
And upon the Green we joined friends in consuming some deep fried sliced potatoes slathered in genuine Heinz redness from the former Jack & Eileen's fish n' chip emporium. Followed by a pint of Timothy Taylor's Landlord from The Cock, whilst the kids played into the fading light.

Checked the weather. Fine. And repeat...

A year goes by.

Been rambling to myself here now for a year. Sharing my own personal therapy.
Has it done any good?

One conclusion for sure. Of one thing I'm certain.

Kate was lovely.

And when I miss her - it's with a smile on my face. If I never love again, that would be a shame. But I realise I've had what some never get. It'd be selfish of me to expect any more.

Bad Biker Boy

Well - trying to encourage some creativeness and rebel behaviour within my offspring finally paid off this weekend. Taught Robert how to use a hacksaw. Fingers crossed, he managed to keep his and not break my last blade... Tube bending around an old Ford Pop wheel assisted by Mark - my fellow royal bodger - cut, scraped, ground and welded to extend the forks on Alice's old from the dump brakeless bike. All hail the apprentice bodger wobbling dangerously down the road...

Growing up. All in good time.

Sleepy, spread out village in Norfolk carved in two by the A1066 and passed in seconds; I grew up in Garboldisham. As much as I ever have.

All memories popping back every now and again.

From damming the Little Ouse under Hopton Bridge, poking dead sheep in the stream on the common with penknife sharpened sticks, feet black trudge home from the fens down Prickwillow, to bigger, better bonfires come November.

Spent most of it exhileratingly scared.

Climbing trees in private woods, can they see us scrumping of inedible apples, picking daffodils to sell from around the Black Prince's Temple. Knock and run. Rolling enormous snowballs taller than ouselves into a blizzard blind road and running like hell from the police Mini van. Hurried, deafened scouring in the darkness for the ting, ting, tinging of the lid after lighting a Tate n' Lyle carbide tin. Loads of "get off my property" shouts at bicycle gangs. Riding a Raleigh Runabout into the snow drifts - dead halt somersault over the handlebars, dig it out and try again - that cut off the village twice. Stopped by the police for open reverse cone megaphones. Wasn't me. Switching allegiance from the Swan to the Fox.

And. As for sitting on the village hall wall, I confess. I was responsible for the obscenities written in the grass one dark night using a garden sprayer and weedkiller left over from home made explosives.

Just trying to encourage the same behaviour in my kids now I'm in Shelfanger...

Corrine, Corrina!

In the words of the song.
Which we didn't do. Neither Dean Martin, or Bob Dylan.

What we did do - entirely by luck, word of mouth, and a couple of calls - is descend on the winebar where Liam hosts a regular busker's night. Without telling him. Or the lovely Corrina who's off to start a new love full life in Belgium.

We drank, played, danced, heckled (actions to "smoke on the water" nearly made Liam falter - we'll get him next time...) chilled, and hugged like there was no tomorrow. Remembered Kate and I meeting you in Safeways, tears of joy for familiar faces after months away at college. Threesome hugs that seemed to never end, all those years ago.

So long dear. Thanks for the excuse for a party.

Face down in reality

Made it through the summer. Pillar and posting the kids, feel sorry for them, no real time spent enjoying the summer with me. Here there everywhere.

Back to school and the calm and order that brings.

Chilled evening last night. Summer waning, nights drawing in. Apples and the last crops to gather to store away for winter.

Dark nights. Time to sweep the chimneys and sort out the wood pile. Eyes wide open but can't see a thing. Face down in reality.

No peas at Greenpeace. Courgettes though...

Awoke in time, well way before time - but it took till then to get my sorry carcase out of bed, to listen to the Archers Omnibus. I wish Clary Grundy would keep her nose out of her son's business - can't see anything wrong with his new girlfriend myself. Always a ring! ring!, in the middle of it. Alice is off to the Greenpeace Fair. To do battle with the Pee Palace again no doubt. Hope she wins this time...

Into the garage, Archers on in there too. Stripping flathead A to put parts onto Flathead B in the impossible hope of getting the car ready for the Hotrod Drags.

Ain't gonna happen. Between 1937 (exhibit A - a pure bred lump of cast iron from Henry's empire) and 1990 (exhibit B - a strangeness revised Flathead turned out in relative secrecy by the Simca factory to suit the whims of NATO) there's a number of small but significant differences. All of which can be resolved but, oh look! Sun's shining, double bass is still in the car and, what the hey - off to the Greenpeace Fair myself.

Nothing says nutter like wandering around with a double bass under your arm, looking for someone to play with. Still. Although alone in the pursuit of stupid instrument carrying, fair to say I wasn't the only fool there...

Saw Becky amongst the huge, hours long, travelling Samba dance - husband David along behind. Bumped, literally into quite a few people, distant friends. Little kids daring to come and pluck at the strings of Delores when I stopped in my rambles. Lovely to see.

Played some tunes with a meandering melodeon player and then. Hang on? Two familiar faces? Suzanne and Katy, missing from the dreaded but actually fine school reunion, just sitting there. As open mouthed as I was standing. Never enough time to catch up - 25 years gone by just like that. Too much to think about, just wonderful to see them, both still as gorgeous as I never was. Am now though that's for sure.

Passing stall - free courgettes? Pockets filled...


Eventually found the kids and ex-neighbours, sampled some real love cooked food in the gloom of a khaki tent. Stood listening to Monkey Spanner, Ska support for Bad Manners a few weeks back, not dancing, but joining in on the bass. Carried on after they'd finished for a private party of cider addled, kissy faced, fancy dressers, until I suddenly realised in the fading evening that I was not only out in an ancient car with poor lighting, but I was still wearing my sunglasses. Clear set? On the dining table...

Exciting drive home, warm summer rain, flickering lights, unlit roads. Made it! Fun, fun, fun. So. No reason there for the depths of despair that kept me in bed so long today. Just one of those things, every action having a reaction. Normal service whenever possible...

Fly away

Shopping for school shoes, visiting friends. Watching Mark craft with mud. Single minded friend. Played a ceilidh tonight, tidy barn, friends dancing. Dance, bass, raffle. Noise rattling off all the walls, rattle, chatter, laughter, boom and whistle, pounding back. Kids having fun, and home to bed.

3am and now I'm sitting all alone. Except for this damn bluebottle.