Remembrance Sunday

We left the Piccadilly Line to visit Pobol Y Cwm. It was Alex’s grandmother’s birthday at the weekend. Mam, as she is called in the family was born one year after Armistice Day – on 11th November 1919 making her 92 years young. The weekend was a chance for Mam to draw on her childhood memories of South Wales. She was one of eight girls and two boys. The girls were Gwyneth, Lillian, Marion, Olwen, Tegweth, Gwynira Mavis & Linda and the boys were Sidney and Stanley.

Mam grew up before the Welfare State came into being and large families such as hers had to rely on their wits and the community. She remembers the harshness of the General Strike in 1926 and vows that she would rather die than vote Tory because they put a stop to the Coal Board’s habit of dropping off coal to mining families. That winter children were left cold with no fire in the hearth. Her father, and one of her brothers went up to the Patches – places where the coal was near the surface - and they hacked at these and got coal out from the earth and delivered it to the impoverished families.

There was another poignant story of her much loved father. He was David John Williams, born on 17th October 1884. One of their neighbours was a young woman whose husband was killed in the Great War which finished one year before Mam was born. Her father wrote a poem about the heroes of the war who made the ultimate sacrifice. He brought the poem round to all the houses in the village and sold it. The money raised, he gave to this young woman and her baby son, who also paid a part in the sacrifice of war. I read the poem and thought it a highly fitting account of loss on this Remembrance Weekend.

We got Married!

Alex and me did it. We got married. It was the happiest day of my life. From start to finish, and I wish we could live through it all again. We made our vows in front of our nearest and dearest and went off to lunch and were both praised and roasted by the fine and witty speeches from our Best Women and Master of Ceremonies. Everyone there made us feel really special. If only every day could be like that…

Later in the evening, after a sing song on the bus, we cut the cake and danced jigs and reels til it was time to call it a day. We were delighted that Pobol Y Cwm were there as well as dear friends from the old country. There were even some from the Village, all holed up near the Piccadilly Line.

Weddings are all different and I guess people get the wedding that they plan for and want and certainly ours could not have been any better. We have loads of memories from the day to treasure.

Do not underestimate the determination of a quiet man

Thus spoke a former leader of the Conservatives, Ian Duncan Smith (IDS) who was widely derided in this role. Yet, he is now the Secretary of State for Work and Pensions and depending on your view he is working to redress the burden on the state and the tax payer and objectively, by some critics, is considered to be doing a good job. Across the water in the Emerald Isle there is another quiet man who like IDS spent years as leader of the opposition. Enda Kenny bided his time and unlike IDS clung on to the leadership role despite being derided near and far and wide. A skit on You Tube of his seeming audition on the X factor with clips of Simon Cowell interpersed with a performance of Enda at the podium is a case in point.

But Enda sat quietly on the opposition benches and to be honest, that was about all he had to do to ensure that his party wiped the floor with a Government in free fall in the last election in Ireland. Since then, this quiet man hosted the Queen of England and the President of America to the small country in the space of a week. He sought and got concessions on the EU handout to Ireland. But this week he surpassed himself with his pronunciation on the institution of the Vatican. Nice one, Enda.

The Social Network

Watching TV last night on our huge screen attached to cinema surround sound I said to Alex – I’ve seen this Come Dine With Me. At least three times, I added. This led me to moan about the fact that with that Sky record thingy all we seem to watch is Come Dine With Me. What’s going on? Are we crucifying ourselves by watching people cook and eat meals which sometimes look mouth watering but which we both know we should be avoiding. After all, our nuptials are looming in the Fall. Why don’t we ever watch a movie I asked and our eyes drifted to the shelf full of unwatched DVDs and Blue Ray discs. You see neither of us is supremely confident about hitting the right buttons on the three remote devices needed for our home entertainment system. How about The Social Network I suggested. If you can get the thing to work, fine, Alex replied.

So we unwrapped the disc and I inserted in the drawer and lo and behold – cinema surround sound or what! We wondered what our 70 year old neighbour made of the thumping deep bass sound. We had the sound, but no picture. After much fiddling on the three aforementioned devices we eventually had success. And we sat back to watch the movie.

It was indeed very good if it did take some time to adjust to the fast pace of the dialogue and the plot. But it turned out to be a very well told story of an autistic genius who, ironies of ironies, created FACEBOOK as forum for social interaction.; he who was so poor at this. It also contained the story of friendship and ultimate betrayal which is a sad one. In real life, objectively, the creator has achieved enormous success but we do not know how connected he really is. It brings to mind a recent edition of the Women’s Hour where the topic of adult children who emigrate was being discussed. One wistful mother declared that Skype was all very well but you can’t hug it.

Reading of the Banns

Well, ok, it wasn’t quite that but Alex and me did go to register our intent at the town hall this morning. Tom, the registrar could not have been nicer. He told us all about his gay sister and then there was his uncle – the only gay in a small village in Lincolnshire. I couldn’t help thinking how unfortunate the poor man was. What could be worse than being gay and having no-one to play with no matter how protective and understanding the village.

After a few words of explanation of the procedure, Tom asked Alex to leave the room while I was interviewed alone. OMG. I racked my brains to try and think what her favourite colour is this week. I quickly decided to opt for green if asked, but dithered whether it was red. I was asked details about myself such as my name and date of birth. I resisted the urge to indicate that as he had my passport in his possession he could check for himself. I answered his questions without hesitation. My mother’s name, my father’s name. Alex’s full name. Her date of birth and so on. But the question of her favourite colour was not an issue. He then printed a page and I had to check it very carefully for accuracy and sign it.

Then it was my turn to leave the room and Alex went in for her interrogation. How nerve racking. One wrong answer and our whole plans are in disarray. I waited anxiously in the ante room considering the plasterwork. Eventually Tom came in for me and I was back at his desk beside Alex and it was smiles all round. As soon as we handed over the £67 in used bank notes the job was done. He then referred to Alex as my fiancé, so we are now officially engaged.

We went on for a celebratory lunch in the sun to mark our new status and while waiting for the salads to arrive I asked Alex what her favourite colour was. I was right. It is green.

Moral purpose of work

A crystal ball was passed around in the pub at last night’s leaving do for a colleague. We all asked it a question, shook the ball and awaited our fate. The answers were abysmally negative ranging from “Probably”,to “You are Kidding” to “Absolutely not”. In these uncertain times I inferred that the question posed by many at the table was “Will I have a job this time next year?”. As ever it’s all in the way that the question is phrased and a matter of how the answer is interpreted. Posing the question “Will I be fired?” leads to a different conclusion. Nonetheless there were some fleetingly glum faces last night as the group looked with a hint of envy at our departing friend who was jumping ship to pastures new. It’s a great feeling when you leave a job to move on to another feeling wanted and valued.

Alex is in a dilemma about her job. While her school is growing and going from strength to strength she is having doubts about the future direction of the school. Can business rules be applied in something as fundamental as education? Is the business case superseding the education function? Can a business model still provide a good education? Alex is using the benefit of two nights in the West Country at a college friend’s wedding to have space to think about this weighty matter. Change is challenging and the Tory philosophy is forcing these shifts in thinking. Although they have only been in government a little over a year they have taken the New Labour philosophy of “citizen look after yourself”, because the state does not have any responsibility for you. The principle of cradle to grave benevolence has been eroded as a response to inefficiency and personal irresponsibility.

It could be said that I have been unfortunate to have been born at the wrong time. A mere five years earlier and my pension would be secure and the conditions clear. As it stands, my expectations have been seriously eroded. Now I will have to work longer for less anticipated income. That is, if I can find a job. On the other hand, if I had been born five years earlier the likelihood of my chance meeting with Alex which led to our generally happy home life would have been non existent. A phrase at work that’s doing the rounds is, “We are where we are” and it’s a good one. It’s a waste of time to ponder the “might have beens,” or “we should never have started from here” and the “What ifs”. We can learn a lot from our dog Blue. She wakes up every day in good spirits with her bunty little tail wagging a furiously. As Blue and I drive to work she gets really excited as we near the office and can’t wait to jump out of the car, run to the office door and bound up the stairs.

Indecision is a tortured place and like our departing colleague last night, once the decision is made the world becomes a clearer place. I hope Alex comes home from the West Country with a clearer head.

Back in the saddle!

You haven't done a blog in ages Alex whinged earlier this evening. Well, dear reader, the reason is twofold. One, there's been nothing in particular to blog about and two, life has just been too busy. TOO BUSY. Well there was (in no particular order):

• Auction
• Painting the fireplace in the garden room
• Painting the feature wall in the garden room
• Painting the fireplace in the morning room
• Ordering blinds
• Installing blinds
• Visiting Pobol y Cwm
• Month's memorial mass in Ireland
• Getting drunk in Camden with old friend from the Village
• Painting the front door
• Painting the front door surround
• BF's visit
• Joining the gym
• Dinner in Marge's
• Dinner in Jack's
• King's Speech (Good)
• Black Swan (Not)
• Waning interest in the gym
• Story telling workshop
• Tuning the ukulele
• Tuning the new blue guitar
• Becoming the Singing Detective

Ouch. I can feel that as a candlestick is thrown at me from Alex. Well it's true. Alex has done most of the house things above as the project is moving towards it's final phase. It's hard now to remember the hell we went through to get to this state of comfort and good taste.
BF seemed impressed and gave the house her fullest consideration. She took her time in each room, drinking it all in. She decided that the so-called garden room was her favourite.

There's more to blog about. How mortality, which forever was on the long finger, is now creeping closer. There's been word from two good friends in the old country, both bracing themselves for bereavement - one close friend and one sister near the end.
There's been a change of government in Ireland (Yippee) and in these early days it seems a quick win might be possible in negotiating a lower interest rate on the EU bailout.
There is a party to organise. Alex and me agreed the date but we need to let our intended guests know.
Then there is the case of high profile gay fathers. First Elton did it, then Rufus. And what a gene pool Rufus's off spring has. His parents were Loudain Wainwright and Kate McGarrigle. The mother of his child is only Leonard Cohen's daughter. No pressure then, Viva Katherine.

Good to be back in blogland and apologies, Alex that you have been withdrawal symptoms.

Salad Days

We went to see Salad Days in the Riverside Studios on Sunday. What a delightful warm confection of a show that was silly at times, slapstick, witty, funny and could make you laugh and cry, all in the one scene. The production was faultless - the choreography, the props, the singing and the acting. The cast were superb and really got close to the audience and the entire performance never flagged. It's running until 6th Feb. If you want to brighten up the New Year - then this is the show to go to.

Happy anniversary

It was our anniversary on Saturday and Alex asked me where I was going to take her. After some searching I came up with a plan and suggested that in a neat little corner in our end of London, we go to see the King’s Speech and follow this with a nice meal. We could round of the evening at an Irish session and a pint of Guinness. Is it your anniversary or ours Alex asked with raised eyebrows (she’s not that fond of sitting in darkened theatres watching a film in the company of strangers, you see). But she rallied and said it sounded good.
But on checking the address of the pub where the session was Alex discovered that the session finished its run the previous Saturday. Undeterred, we decided to go to a different corner of London to catch the movie and before long we were strolling down Upper Street, window shopping and eyeing the plethora of restaurants for later.

We bumped into my old friend, George and heard about his efforts to pin down who is actually responsible for restoring the clock tower at Highbury. It was so good to see him and be informed by him on a wide range of subjects. The time slipped by unnoticed as daylight gave way to darkness in his company. We missed the 4.20 showing of the film down at the Angel and it was a race against time in the queue for seat for the 5.20. By the time we got to the desk it was already on 8 minutes and the seats were gone anyway. The 6.20 was sold out as was the 7.20. Enough.

We elected to go the market pub in Camden Passage to plan the rest of our anniversary. We discussed cuisine and we both leant towards European as we watched the stall holders pack up. French or Italian Alex asked. I don’t mind. Then we discussed the status of Turkey. Is it European or Asian we debated stroking our chins. I know if George was with us the matter would have been cleared up in a flash. But by that stage he was tucked up at home penning an article for his local community news vis a vis the state of play regarding the clock tower. So we agreed to head to the The Mercury and as backup we would try Gallipoli At this stage backups were becoming essential. So we wrapped up and headed off into the chilly night in search of food. On our way to the Mercury we came upon a little Italian up a side street, took a chance and we got a table. Easy peasy.

It was a lovely anniversary. It was in fact the first one we celebrated in our six years together. It’s worthwhile taking the time out to mark these occasions.

Adieu to the Village

Occasional pauses from the treadmill of professional life such as Christmas holidays can result in life changes. Alex and I spent last Christmas cogitating about moving from her cottage and we ended up starting our house hunt last January. This resulted in the House Project which consumed us so much through 2010. This Christmas holiday gave us the opportunity to draw our breath and we agreed that any major decisions would be put on ice until our next Winter break.



The only decision firmly taken was by our dear Floridian friends – Cheri and Bobby who flew over to spend the holiday with their family in the Village. That decision was that we simply must visit them at Easter to help them celebrate 20 years of togetherness. This seems entirely noble to us and plans were drawn up.



Skype discussions in advance of their trip to the Village this Christmas made Cheri and Bobby realise that we were not going to have a Christmas tree in the Village house. But they came prepared and brought our very own interpretation of Christmas a la Florida in the form of our breasted, sunglassed all singing, all dancing Floridian palm tree.

We raked over the memories of our Christmas visit with them two years ago and worked on some new ones this trip. Such as kick starting the Irish economy. Night after night during the break we have been inclined to get into our PJs as early as possible and curl up in front of the fire. But we all agreed that such activity would not help the country get back on the road to recovery. So with that in mind we ventured out to the pub one night and hooked up with a few other like minded women friends. For a few brief moments early in the evening there was a slender gay majority in the Village pub. So we wondered if that makes it a gay friendly pub now, officially if unwittingly.



Keen to consolidate the bon vivieur we all agreed to go to the curry house in Town the next night. I laughed over dinner at Bernie’s account of the gay friendly coffee shop in her town. It would have been enough if it had been friendly, never mind being gay, she explained.

Otherwise the break has been taken up with walking Blue, meeting friends and intermittent skype reports from BF in Florida. The surprise hit this season has been the Angry Birds app on the i-phone. Alex in those in between moments has succeeded already making her way up through 20 levels or more. I enjoyed two things on the TV. One was Upstairs Downstairs and the other was Bas an Oilean about the evacuation of Inis Airc in 1960. A friend dropped by for lunch one of the days and informed us that the chat up line of the Christmas was – How was the water with you over the Christmas?

The only fly in the ointment over the Christmas break is that Alex’s dear grandmother continues to be fragile. It resulted in her doctor recommending her going to her local cottage hospital. We shall return to the Piccadilly Line via Alex’s Welsh village and check on how she’s doing. I spent the odd hour with the lively Helen in the Village. We have pored over photos of her family while she enlightened me about the Village of her youth. The i-phone has cone into its own in the hours I have spent with her as we sang along to the Percy French songs on the i-phone. We entreated Paddy Reilly to come home and felt homesick for the Mountains of Mourne. As we wrapped up the sing-song Helen asked if I had the Irish Emigrant on my i-phone. I did not … but I have it now. Downloaded in a flash for 99p. A small price to pay to make an older lady happy.



So the last day in the Village came upon us all of a sudden. We are resigned to going back to the Piccadilly Line. But as always, the worst thing about this is thinking about it. Once there, life tends to assume its welcome routine of familiarity. We cannot go on existing on Caitlin’s mince pies, or Cheri’s mum’s scones, the Thornton chocolates, the sausage sandwiches for breakfast. New Year – new opportunities. Bring it on…