Tasmania Calling

 

Hawaii to Hobart is a long stretch, we were in the air for 11 hours before changing at the airport horriblis: Melbourne. So, after further delays, it was quite late when we arrived at the Doctor Syntax Hotel and consequently there was no-one to let us in and nowhere to eat! As ever all’s well that end well and next morning I took a run down to nearby Sandy Bay – and was impressed. I liked Hobart with its individual houses that struggle up the hills surrounding the vast and convoluted bay.

It was an easy walk into the city where we learned so much more about Tasmania: from the original natives , through the convict age, the immigration phase and including some intriguing things about the flora and fauna. We also visited a pub with a handpump! Unfortunately for me it only delivered imperial stout and the rest of the beers were cold, fizzy and expensive craft ales – the norm for the last few weeks and for the rest of my world trip.

Idiosyncratically we took a bus to our next stop: Port Arthur. It dumped us about a mile away from our hotel , the Fox and Hounds.  Though isolated the place was great. Have you ever opened the door of a hotel room and expostulated a loud “Wow”? This “wow” was not for the room but the view: straight out onto the wood-lined bay with the sea lapping the shore a few metres from our full length window. Wow. Next day we walked down to the Port Arthur prison­ which was where those considered the real bad ‘uns of the day were confined, beaten and educated. It was by all accounts a horrific place, but is now tranquil and despite its horrific past, rather beautiful.

Returning to Hobart I gave in and hired a car from a backstreet dealer called Raj and we went ‘a touring. I like Tasmania. It seems that there is always a mountain range in sight plus easy travelling distance to the highly varied coast. We saw spectacular waterfalls, long stretches of zero occupation countryside, chainsaw carvings in the remnants of condemned trees, and even visited Pontypool - not the 25,000 population town of Wales  from my childhood, but a sparse community of ten farms  dotted beside a long rough road and ending in the middle of nowhere.

Our favourite place was the second city of Launceston, with its impressive civic buildings, lovely setting, beautiful parks and a memorable ravine through which one of its two rivers squeezes  into a steaming cataract. There and elsewhere we met people with English connections: direct or through ancestors. And it is there that we attended a live music concert in a pub which was great.

We found the  people of Tasmania to be very forthright and friendly, our only criticism of the place can be applied to anywhere where the USA has had an influence: the meals were just too large. We adapted by ordering one meal and two plates.

It rained heavily on our last day in Hobart and our plane to the mainland was cancelled at the last minute - an unfortunate ending to an otherwise great fortnight. Oh and don't forget the black swans, so many, so black.

Hawaii Calling

 

It’s a strange place, this little archipelago all alone out there in the middle of the Pacific, first “discovered” by Captain Cook – who later died here. American to the core it still includes the Union Jack in its state flag and boasts of the many kings and queens of the “indigenous” people. Expensive and overloaded with tourists it has an enormous airport on the main island of Oahu with planes departing and arriving every quarter of an hour or so.

We had a relatively cheap (in Hawaii nothing is really cheap) hotel shielded from the famous Waikiki Beach by rows of sky scraping alternatives which were much more expensive. Yet the beautiful blueness of the ocean was only minutes away. We had a balcony looking down on a sumptuous swimming pool belonging to the hotel next door and were surrounded by the skyscrapers. It wasn’t a bad place and the Honolulu Lounge, possibly the nearest thing to a real pub in this sea of tourist bars and restaurants, was very close by.

The beach was wonderful and the view over the ocean with its rolling surf, soft sand and treed parkland is to die for. It is spoiled only by the masses of indulgent tourists and rich invaders who rule the economy by their presence and ruin the economy of the less well-off locals who cannot afford the prices that the outsiders pay with seeming ease. Our guide on the Waikiki Trolley bemoaned her situation in which multi-generational housing is the norm and keeping chickens a must if you want eggs for breakfast.

The entire beach area is dominated by a chain of shops called ABC which arguably stands for Always Bigger Costs. When I went out to buy the makings of a cheap breakfast on the first morning I was shocked to see a loaf of bread at $10, a few slices of cake at $7.99 and, our breakfast mainstay – cereal bars only sold singly and at a price that you usually pay for a box of them!

Yet, amongst all this expensive luxury poverty is in plain sight. Behind my hotel there was a long canal which replaced a mosquito ridden swamp. It is now a very pleasant water course with a golf course on the opposite side and a park at the very end. People live in that park. They are mostly men and move their only possessions about in shopping trolleys. One man mad two linked together! They did not look at me and I did not engage with them. Drunks lie on the pavements, stepped gracefully over by bronzed young women in thongs with surf boards held above their heads.

The only thing that is cheap is the beach and the buses. A 40 minute ride from the airport to our hotel costs just a couple of dollars, though they did not run on the early Sunday morning of our departure: we had to use an Uber at more that $40!

The backcloth of extinct volcanic mountains are a delight to the eye and are often topped by impressive cloud formations, however, the incomers are creeping up the valleys towards the heights with their million dollar houses.  Fortunately, there is a coast not far from Waikiki beach which has so far resisted the real estate mongols. It is rugged, wind swept and beautiful with a blowhole that gushes pure white foaming sea water onto the black igneous rock.

Food of almost any country is available of course and can be consumed with a live band playing if you so wish. We happened to be near the most popular place in town: a Japanese restaurant with a queue extending down the street for most of the day and night. We did not queue but had a good meal in nearby Coco Coconuts, serenaded by their own band. The leader told me that he was a Radiohead fan.

Yes, a strange place. If I return, which is unlikely, I will give Honolulu a miss and explore the more natural parts of Hawaii.

America Calling

We chose Austin, Texas because an America singer called Patty from our local Oxford music pub recommended it for live music. Then the harmonic player from Lighting Willy and Poor Boys sang its praises to us – his name is Fancy and they also play at the Harcourt sometimes.

Our motel was crap, right next to a roaring freeway and no double glazing, but we did meet an interesting couple in the miniscule breakfast room there (the woman guided Margaret through the intricacies of the waffle maker). He had studied English but now worked in the renewable energy world.

However, the Super 8 motel was central and had great views of the wonderful Capitol building, seat of state governance for Texas. It was also close to a nice little park beside a stream which borders the eastern part of the city, and there I saw my first group of boat tailed grackles, a bird that is very common in Texas but fascinates me in its song, its movements and general behaviour. I reckon it’s related to our blackbird.

Found great blues music at King Bee’s on the first night and the beer wasn’t too bad either. There was eve real avaible (not) see photo. Next night we ventured into Sixth Street where there is an amazing collection of bars, most with live music. We had a good time in a piano bar where a young man vamped on the keys and sang energetically backed by just a drummer and driven to excess by tips and requests.

Wasted a lot of time trying to get data to work on my phone in Austin: essential for Uber and maps. It was a problem that dogged me for most of the trip. Thank the stars for Wi-Fi, but it’s often not there when you need it.

Moved to Corpus Christi by Greyhound bus via San Antonio (Remember the Alamo) and found it as interesting as it is intriguing on the map:  the reef-like Padre Island runs along mile after mile of the Mexican Bay coastline in front of the city. At first we had a hotel with a swimming pool on the north side of a very impressive bridge which crosses the dockland inlet. There we established a local in Blackbeards: chatter at the bar and live music in the next room. Had some good conversations in Blackbeards. 

Then moved into the Emerald Hotel in the city proper and right on the shoreline, but a bit out of town (we go for cheap places but it’s still costing a small fortune to live). Room was crummy but a view to die for. From there we spent two nights at the House of Rock but the music was not as good as Austin (or the Harcourt). Then off to Harlingen in the south which so far seems a very bad mistake.

My first night at the resurrected Lamb and Flag

 

A friend asked me along to the opening night on 6^th October 2022 and I said no – it will be too crowded. Then, irresolute as ever, I relented and went along, alone, at about 8.30pm. As expected it was heaving – but not uncomfortably so. The bar-less and unfurnished front room was pretty full and the noise level was, to my ears, near to the threshold of pain as alcohol fuelled conversations battled for acoustic supremacy. I pressed on towards the remaining bar with a nod of appreciation at the piano now gracing the east wall.

I stood for a while taking in the space where I had spent so many happy hours chatting or just drinking alone, sharing my thoughts with an ever-changing set of hand pumps and leafing through the latest Oxford Drinker, the CAMRA magazine. The space was the same, yet different. The interesting alcoves were either curtained over or missing, the ceiling was now lined with wooded planks, the bar surface was much wider, and the place was jam-packed with youngish, happy people. But there were two proud sets of hand pumps just as before and they were serving up interesting beers - as before. I settled for Rude Not To from Amwell Springs. It’s my sort of real ale at the moment: pale and a little tangy, but smooth and refreshing – I stuck to it which is unusual for me. The bar itself was a crush, but the people behind it were both pleasant and efficient and the ambience enjoyable, even though there are still renovations to be completed.

I spotted only one person that I knew, which surprised me. He was talking to one of the community group, The Inklings, that brought this place back to life. He turned out to be a newcomer to Oxford, and I shared memories of China with his wife, though the general hub-bub made conversation difficult for me. Finished the evening back in the now depleted front room talking to an interesting young man from Stroud who ran a bar at weekends and I thought, “great, this is how the Lamb and Flag should be: excellent ale, interesting company and a complete lack of that corporate feel so common to many city centre pubs”.

I doubt that the original Inklings could have tolerated the all encompassing sound level, but I am sure that Tolkien and Lewis would have appreciated the ale and congratulated the new Inklings on their rescue of this jewel of an Oxford pub. I congratulate the New Inklings on this resurrection – it would be Rude Not To.

 Take a look at my video of the pub made before the resurrection

A wedding, a book launch, and an invite to party

Having just celebrated my granddaughter’s wedding on our field in the Cotswolds, I would like to invite you to an upcoming party there which might, or might not, take place. But there is a condition.

I have just launched my latest book and it has been entered into the Amazon StoryTeller literary prize competition.  OK it’s extremely unlikely that I will win, after all the number of entries is immense and the prize equally so - a cool £20,000 - but if by some chance I do win, then you could come along to my celebratory party.

My book is a work of fiction and is a major departure for me: I am writing as a woman! I don’t mean that I have had a sex change, no, it’s simply that I am writing from a woman’s point of view and in the first person singular. I am, for this book only, Tracy. Here’s the blurb from the book.

Tracy’s adolescence is unpromising, but following her teenage years she plunges happily into the rewards and challenges of motherhood. Then, her offspring and spouse depart the nest plunging her into an emotional vacuum from which she dreams of escaping to a life in rural Spain. However, the reality of her days in that sun-soaked country rapidly descends into an extended darkening nightmare.

It is inspired by a true story and draws heavily on my own experiences in Spain over the past twenty years or so. One early reader told me that the graphic descriptions of rural Spain were so real that “I believed I was actually there and could almost smell the air”. That was encouraging.

It’s called That Place in the Sun. Clicking here will get you to more details on my website or here to go direct  to the Amazon page where it’s available in paperback or Kindle form. Have a look.

OK, but what about the party? Well, if you buy the book, in paper or digital form, it may well help me get through to the final line up of the Amazon competition and even gain that substantial prize. Just show me that you’ve purchased it and I’ll add you to the guest list. Do a review (good one preferably) and I’ll sit you at the top table!

I know, I know, the prize and the party are as likely as pigs flying – or less given the rapid advances in genetics. But you never know. What have you got to lose? Well, if I lose then there will be no party, but you will still have the book.

Please pass this invitation on – the more who come to this unlikely party the merrier it may be. 

I surrender: Mother Nature Wins

 

Visited our village in Spain for a short break recently. We did not take the motor caravan because the ferry to Sant Ander now costs over £1000 - another inflation-based decision. We flew by Ryanair and took buses plus a lift on the final leg from friends who live in La Fresneda.

This meant that I had to walk down to our huerto (large terraced garden and orchard): a distance of about 2 or 3 Km. The irrigation ditch had blocked and surged like a waterfall when I unblocked it which was a bit scary, but all well in the end and the casita that I built in the past seemed OK. However, the terraces below were completely overgrown and some of the fruit trees had died. The brambles are back with a vengeance and the main terrace is bursting with canes.

I did a bit of strimming then gave up. It is hopeless. The idea of having a garden in Spain was sort of romantic, but it’s not at all practical. The soil is rich and the weeds grow splendidly. Constant attention during the growing season is pretty much essential.

So, I will try to relax into the visitor that I actually am. I will try to stoically observe nature taking its course as it invades the three terraces that I gradually transformed into orchards and gardens. The automatic irrigation scheme that I devised over the years will block and dry up. The brambles will choke my fruit trees from below and the irrepressible fig trees will engulf them in impenetrable shade from above and the 70 olive trees down by the river will have a wild time. Hey-ho, life goes on and the experience did result in a book: Rolling Stones in Spain.

A project completed and a splendid day in Oxford

I have spent a great deal of time lately producing a video on CS Lewis’ Oxford, well in fact its a mini series of three covering his arrival at Oxford, his earlier years as a fellow and tutor and then his later years living at The Kiln. Here’s the link to part one.

I admired Lewis through his books long before I knew anything about him, and I admire him still and would have dearly loved to take a pint or two with him in the watering holes of Oxford.

Finishing a project like that is inevitably anticlimactic, but now the series is done I will return to a writing project that has been neglected for some time.

Meanwhile the entertainment scene in Oxford is good, though I think that the lockdown years have subtly and sometimes drastically changed the pub scene here (four of them are still closed, three belonging to colleges). Nevertheless I had a wonderful day following the launch of my CS Lewis series. A tour in the morning then an afternoon spent in Jericho sitting beside the canal appreciating live music from a tethered barge followed by pie and chips and a few pints in the nearby Victoria. All of that was capped by a wonderful open-mike evening of incredibly varied music at another local pub. If only you could cask a day like that, and tap it when needed.

Rob’s Bookshop moves to Amazon

 Though I’m not writing much nowadays video production continues, as does the amount of guiding. I am soon starting work as a Bodleian Guide (working for the University) which allows access to the beautiful Divinity School, Oxford Uni’s oldest building. That’ll be nice. Not been in there for a few years.

I’ve also just bowed to progress by moving all of my book descriptions onto Amazon rather than doing my own in the robsbookshop website. It had become a pain making changes and most of the info is on Amazon anyway. I’ll keep the website going but mostly point it at Amazon.

On the video front I’ve just passed the 500 subscriber mark for my Rob’s Oxford channel which is great. Only another 500 and I will have reached one of the criteria to be paid by YouTube based on the number of clicks generated! However, you also have to accumulate 10,000 hours of watch time per year as well and I don’t think that I will ever get there. Still it’s creative and the occasional plaudit and the satisfaction of creating videos keeps me going OK.

I’ve just recently launched another one. It’s called Oxford University: top university in the world. It explains how the ratings are done by the Times Higher Education team and gives a glimpse of the most prominent buildings in Oxford. Have a look here.

 

Ukraine and Shame

 

I did start to write a blog entitled  ‘Why make YouTube videos when you get nothing for them?’ but then I watched a programme of videos entitled ‘Voices of Ukraine’ on TV and my subject seemed utterly trivial against the background of the callous death, injury and destruction rained on  a country that has nothing to deserve such inhuman treatment. Ukraine is being viciously destroyed by the massive and seemingly impassive might of Russia simply because it wishes to be free and democratic.

Like so many we have given money to the Red Cross and sent essential goods via local people who have arranged transport, but it is not enough. I feel ashamed and wish that I could do more.

So we carry on, despite the awful reality of men women and children losing their homes their lives and their livelihoods. I do not pretend for a moment that I have some clever solution to this unwarranted attack by a corrupt and incredibly powerful neighbour. Of course not. But to write about my own petty concerns immediately after watching the terror invoked by the crushing forces of a megastate invading a blameless neighbouring country seems a betrayal to the innocents who are dying, being maimed, and terrified into evacuation by this unforgivable tyrant.

Since writing the rant above, Margaret and I have registered our house at Stow on the Wold with the Homes for Ukraine scheme so I feel less ashamed, and hence able to tell you that I have launched a new video. It is about a bunch of Oxford scholars of the 17^th century who changed our world and is entitled The Invisible College of Oxford University. It includes the tale of a woman who survived hanging, a dog that had its spleen removed and a student struck by lightning. Have a look.

Paris and Barcelona by train

 

For some years I have wanted to visit Paris, but not for the usual reasons. On our many trips through France to and fro to the house in La Fresneda, Spain I have looked longingly at the large blob on the map and copped out, I just could not face driving the motor caravan into that madness. So we took the train.

There were two churches on my must see list, the most important was Saint Denis. Through guiding I have developed a strong interest in architecture and the Basilica of Saint Denis is generally regarded as the birthplace of Gothic. Its western frontage was a little disappointing (Romanesque), but the nave, crossing and choir are truly inspiring and very gothic: vast pointed windows plus rib vaulting everywhere and externally the eastern end boasts what must be some of the earliest flying buttresses. What’s more most of the French Royals are buried there including the guillotined Louis XVI and his famed queen, Marie Antoinette.

My other long term ambition was to visit Sainte Chapelle, partly because I have been telling visitors for years that it is the inspiration for Exeter College’s 19th century chapel. It did not disappoint. Though not as grand as Saint Denis its Rayonnant Gothic windows are superlative in design, colour and depiction - and all so lovingly restored.

The train journey from Paris to Barcelona takes about six hours and becomes more interesting the further south one goes. We had the luck to have seats on the upper floor of the train and saw parts of France which we knew quite well, but from a very different aspect. The city was warmer and brighter of course, but we missed the Parisian buildings even though we were staying just around the corner from Sagrada Familia. Most memorable, apart from visiting our grandson Robin, was a trip to Tibidado a high hill topped by a church from which you can see the entirety of that great Spanish city and the Med.

Then, home again for some decent food and drink. And to the horrible news of Putin’s attack on the free people of Ukraine.

 

Guiding, lectures and prime ministers

 

Things are returning to normal in Oxford. I’m doing some guiding and had a wonderful tour recently with two couples and a mother and son. They were soooo interested and fun, and that is like an infusion of adrenaline to a flagging guide. After we parted on a mutual high one of them turned back and asked me if I would be offended if he offered me a tip! How sweet. I gave him a book. There hasn’t been a lot of work over January, but that one tour makes it all worthwhile. Trip Advisor ought to have a section for reviews of audiences – would that work?

Also had a little glut of lectures, including one at the Maths Institute by Tim Harford (‘More or Less’) who gave an interesting talk on randomness with some mention of my ex-neighbour Brian Eno and was then followed by music (hence reminding me that I am not Bach fan).

Then I attended two lectures in one evening with a quick dash between distant locations on my bike. The first was on colour perception where I learned that women and men are different. The genes for determining colour pigmentation in the eyes’ receptors are carried on the X chromosome and as you know women have two of these and we poor men have just one. Y is that? Hence women can and often do have the capability of greater colour discrimination in the red and green area. Seems we are about the same for blue, but clearly men and women do see the world differently.

The second lecture on that same evening was on science and religion with a surprising, for me, bias towards the latter. It ended with a seemingly serious discussion on whether animals have souls, a discussion based, presumably, on the presumption that humans do!

As often in these blogs I am announcing a new video. This one is entitled: Why does OxfordUniversity produce so many UK prime ministers? It’s something I have puzzled over for many years so I thought I would have a go at it. It includes a working prime minister pump located in the Radcliffe Camera which is quite fun.

On covid, darts and tunnels

Covid is still dragging me down a bit but I am back to jogging and working out. I have however noticed that my dart scores have dropped abysmally. After exercising in my garage I throw three hands of darts at the board hanging there in the hope that it will maintain my hand-to-eye co-ordination or something, plus I like throwing darts. I keep a record but hardly need that to show that I am scoring a pathetic number of 25 or bulls just now. Is this a long covid symptom? I hope not.

However, I have managed to complete another video. Oxford divides into Town and Gown and has done from the very early days of the University (circa 1200, when Oxford was a town). This new video is about secret tunnels beneath the University (Gown) whereas the last one which went a tiny bit viral (locally) was about a secret tunnel beneath the city streets (Town). They were both fun to research and compose, but the Gown one has allowed me to introduce a beer swilling hobbit into my creative efforts and also to attempt a little irony. Have a look sometime.

 

 

A Covid Christmas

 It’s Boxing Day 2021 and, suffering severe cold symptoms and more, I took the lateral flow test for Covid.

It had been a good week. Our Christmases of the past were great, really great. The family flocked to our house in the Cotswolds where we ate and drank a lot, but also in my battle to make Christmas special I wrote a special play, organised games, performed some simple magic tricks, organised a family quiz and so on. One year we actually held a farting competition around a special pole which had to be gripped whilst performing. I can’t remember who won – because that was not the point of any of this stuff. It was all about making Christmas special and participatory - the television was solidly off.

But that was all in the past. Nowadays the children are dotted around the world and have their own Christmases to organise, and we are alone in this many-bedroomed house in the Cotswolds. What’s more I wasn’t too well.

The build up had been great though. Singing around the piano in an Oxford pub, a day’s walking with a good friend followed by many satisfying real ales, a small party for Oxford neighbours after we all took Covid tests. Then a wander around the Oxford pubs finishing at my local. And finally, more music and even dancing in a couple of bars in Stow on the Wold. Yes, we were triple jabbed and carefree. I was so busy I had to curtail my usual pre-Christmas fast.

Cold symptoms came on a few days before Christmas and by the Eve of that great celebration (which is also my wife’s birthday) I was not firing on all cylinders, or, to be more up-to-date, some of my fuel cells were flagging. On the day itself I felt pretty rotten and, though we had a fine meal and played a few rounds of Nine Men’s Morris (a new game to me), it was mostly a sedentary day terminated by watching an excellent film called Once. Not at all like Christmases past. 

There was no respite in my symptoms on Boxing day so I took another lateral flow test, my third in less that a week, and after the usual fifteen minute wait, there was the second red line – faint but definite. So we are now isolated as are many others. Cancellations have been sent for the trip to our pregnant granddaughter in London and to a couple who were coming to stay with us, and the PCR tests have been ordered - they should arrive tomorrow. Covid has locked us down again. Happy 2022!

 

Tours, Tunnels, and the Revolution

After the lock downs I’ve done OK for guiding in the past few months, but it looks like I’ve finished now for this year. Just a few years ago I was seriously thinking of giving it up – but I do enjoy the interaction with the general public (when they enjoy my tours, that is).

Somehow, the ghost tour, which I haven’t done for some years, has turned up again. A bloke called Bill stole the market with a dramatic show (he is an actor) which included burning books, magic shop knife tricks and such. He was really good I’m told, but his act was not my style. This year my current pimp asked me to conduct a few tours and I found that I quite enjoyed them. Nowadays I do not take them too seriously and most of the visitors seem to respond to that – and I do usually succeed in making them jump and sometimes scream at one darkish location. It’s difficult to find darkness in central Oxford nowadays.

Conveniently the tours end at a pub, The Royal Blenheim, so I have to down a few pints there to assuage my dry throat. This place has become Oxford’s main real ale pub in the centre and, amazingly, does not serve food. The only downside is that it does have those multiple screens displaying videos of men chasing a ball around a field, but I try to ignore them. Meanwhile two pubs which are very relevant to my other specialist tour at present (Tolkien and Lewis) remain closed. They are the Eagle and Child and the Lamb and Flag. Both are owned by St John’s College and I’m glad to say there is now hope for the latter’s reopening in February.

Do you remember the rise of the Middle Class Revolution some years ago? It’s leader and possibly only member, was asked when the revolution would begin and solemnly told the interviewer, “When I’ve finished decorating the front room, of course.” I’ve been a little like that fictional man for some months, but the bathroom renovation is now complete – so watch this space.

Though views of my videos took a nose dive at the beginning of October (I peaked at 222 views per day then overnight that dropped to 40 for no apparent reason) I’m not entirely, gutted. I’m told that the YouTube algorithm does that to you sometimes, so I’m carrying on but with shorter videos. The latest in my Oxford Insights collection takes you beneath the streets of the city through a long ‘secret’ tunnel. It’s fun, have a look.

Might squeeze in another blog before Christmas, but if not have a good one. By the way did you notice the minor use of the Oxford comma in the title? Here’s a good example of why it’s often essential. “This blog is dedicated to my parents, Karl Marx and Adam Smith.”

 

Two amusing stories and a short

I have now settled back into guiding having recently completed a whole run of tours: general Oxford ones plus some on Tolkien and Lewis and others on ghosts. There are ups and downs during all tours of course but I do value the challenge and the interaction with the general public a lot. Children can be difficult, especially if they are, as often, on a tour dominated by adults. But they can also be amusing. Recently I had some really well-behaved youngsters on a tour, including a seven-year-old lad. I took them into the Queen’s College and at the end of my usual quite lengthy talk on religion at Oxford University plus the entry of women I asked if there were any questions. The seven-year-old’s hand shot up and everyone turned to him expectantly. And his question was, “When is this going to end?” It was very funny and I rewarded him and the other kids with a visit to Harry Potter hot spots following that. Amazing that that young magician’s spell seems to just go on and on.

 

Photo: Odicalmuse CC SA-BY 4.0

I’m currently attempting to completely renovate a bathroom including covering the shower walls with plastic panels ordered via the web. They arrived quite quickly but the trims for the corners were white whereas I had ordered black. I sent an email to the suppliers and a few days later a long cardboard box arrived containing ... yet more white trims. So I emailed as follows

To: DWF Customer Services <info@decorwallsandflooring.co.uk>

Subject: Re: Order PC-438680

Have now received the replacement trims and when I opened the package they too are white!!!! I ordered black to match the panels I must have BLACK trims. Please replace as soon as possible.

 I received a reply quite rapidly as follows:

DWF Customer Services via decorwalls.onmicrosoft.com 

To rob@robsbookshop.com

Mr Walters my head is in my hands, I can't apologise enough.

The warehouse manager is flogging the culprit as we speak.       

The correct colour trims will be dispatched today.

Many thanks,

The DWF Customer Services Team

A long cardboard box did arrive the very next day and I opened it with some trepidation fearing yet another example of the dominance of white over black. Yet when I opened it there, at last, were the black trims. So I replied:

Thanks for your very amusing response. I thought black humour was effectively stifled in this woke world, but two deliveries of white trims have brought it back. And I now have the black trims and two sets of white trims so you can take your head from your hands and the flogging of the culprit can cease forthwith.

The reply was rapid and terminated a fun interchange between two strangers who will never meet:

The culprit will be delighted that you have pardoned him. Mind you we think he was starting to enjoy it.

On my return from Spain I suffered a sudden plunge in visitors to my Rob’s Oxford YouTube channel just before views of the channel reached the 20,000 mark. There seems to be no explanation for this apart from the vicissitudes of the YouTube algorithm, so I am reacting by preparing a series of short videos, something suggested by a video expert who viewed some of my currently active releases. The series is called Oxford Insights and the first video is titled The Giraffe’s Tale. It’s quite funny. Have a look.

Last journey through France?

The distance from Stow on the Wold in the Cotswolds of England to La Fresneda, our home village in Spain, is about 1,300 miles (200km) dependent on the route followed, much shorter if you take the boat from the UK directly to northern Spain of course.  Mostly over the past twenty odd years we have taken the longer route through France. I guess we have seen more of that country than most French people, but I cannot say I know it well and just now, after our latest trip, I think I’ve travelled it enough for one lifetime as a campervan driver.

Over that period we have been wowed by the wonderful chateaux of that country, fallen in love with the splendid Périgord area and its wonderful Dordogne River, been tempted by ridiculously cheap houses in estate agent windows, moved by the beauty of so many splendid gothic churches, thrilled by the superlative engineering effrontery of many bridges, entranced by the countryside so much like our own in the north and then gtadually preparing us for Spain as we approached the Pyrenees, had major breakdowns of the van(s) and survived, been regularly reminded of the wasted school years supposedly learning French, had raging rows about navigation and finally, reluctantly, started to use Google Maps, chanced upon wonderful towns, villages and picnic spots, towed trailers full of anything from a motorbike to a cement mixer, carried bicycles to allow access to cities and a slower view of the countryside, witnessed and in one case joined forces with the French in revolt, received gut wrenchingly bad news whilst in transit yet have been warmed by the kindness of strangers on many occasions, and finally
 we have so often despaired of finding anywhere to eat after seven in the evening.

That last point is interesting in that the problem has increased over the years as the French have shunned their wonderful restaurants with haughty waiters, check table-cloths and impenetrable but delicious menus accompanied by good carafes of local wine for the bland modernity of pizza places and kebab kitchens. And yet we finished on a high. As we approached Calais for the cross channel trip we looked for somewhere to stay overnight and locked onto Montreuil sur Mer which promised a wide selection of restaurants and was an easy ride to the ferry. Well, it wasn’t by the sea at all, but it did boast a campervan parking area and yes, loads of restaurants, and what‘s more they were open and even more there were people vying to get into them.

 We took the last but one table at La Vauban, a brasserie. It was great: service, food, ambience, all of it and very French. I loved the strange pictures of dogs portrayed as humans, the somewhat haughty maitre d, the servile serving girl and the efficient wine waitress. I even did a Trip Advisor Review! The reviews are not all good though, but the owner responds trenchantly to all criticism which made me laugh out loud reading his spirited comments.

I really enjoyed that last trip during which we found a new pass through the Pyrenees to southern France where we carefully avoided the big city of Bordeaux, then spending a night on the intriguing offshore Île de Ré and another in the old town of Jumieges which lies on an S bend of the River Seine and has a famous and impressive ruined abbey. This may not be my last visit of course, but after an estimated total in excess of 50,000 miles (80,000 km) I no longer relish these journeys.

Spain, but not without mishaps

 

In fact we had a rather spectacular blow out on the M25 as we headed for Dover, even the tyre man was impressed when I took the wheel in to be reshod the next day. And then Lane’s my favourite micro pub in the port had closed which was sad: such a friendly place.

France was interesting regarding Covid. In the north they insisted on seeing our vaccination passports and checking that we were double vaxed. In the south they merely asked if we had been vaccinated and took our word for it. In Spain no questions asked though they did seem obsessively attached to their masks – even in the open air.

After a Covid imposed delay of two years we arrived at our Spanish village as night began to fall and struggled up the steep hill with our bits and pieces. The first great surprise was that the tiny grape tree that we  planted in a hole that I made in the road beside our garage had done really well, and the rose on the other side was, well, a little overwhelming.

That was the good news. The bad news was - I couldn’t get in. The door from the garage was completely seized, just could not turn the key in the lock. No worries, we have another door in the street behind our house two level up – but that too was stuck. This was getting worrying, though we could, of course, have retreated to the motor caravan. However I persisted with the second door and finally got that key to turn, yet still that door would not move – it was firmly jammed. Finally I had to use the policeman’s hard shoulder and bashed it open. What a relief when it finally gave way and we could enter our Spanish home.

Nonetheless, this left me with two problems doors to fix. The lower one I had to cut through with my stone cutter which made a hell of a mess of the door and its lock, so I had to spend many hours fitting a new locking arrangement and renovating the gaping holes left by the old one. I’ve also had to employ our friend Alberto, the blacksmith’s son, to grind down the metal frame of the other door so that we have access to our very old and neglected house. Then there’s the casseta and the huerto, the latter completely overgrown but yielding some delicious grapes and figs, a pleasure which was somewhat dulled when I noticed that some bastards had stolen my carefully installed tank which captures the rainwater which I then pump up to the casseta itself. It took me many hours and a quite a lot of Euros to install that thing and without it the lower part of the casseta is bound to flood and slowly subside into the ground.

All that said it’s nice to be back and to meet those who have survived Covid, seems that out village offered some sort of refuge from the crowded city of Barcelona during the pandemic. La Fresneda also has invested in a rash of parking places (mostly inaccessible to a motor caravan) plus a wealth of new, antique looking, LED street lamps. Luminous Electrical Displays to accompany the Loudspeaker Elucidation Distribution system which provides us all with important local news regarding deaths and markets. Bueno!

Before we go (to Spain)

A quick blog before we set off for Spain to see if the house and the caseta are still there. Should be an interesting trip, haven’t been over for some two years. One thing which will have changed, my motorbike will not be in the garage. Someone from a neighbouring town offered to buy it during the lock downs and I let it go (Yamaha XT600 for those interested in such things) so it’s the push bike or the van whilst there this time.

Before setting out I managed to finish another video for my Oxford Channel. This one is a bit different as you will see from the description below taken from the video. Have a look, any comments always welcome.

The video tells a remarkable story of three generations of an Indian family of royal descent. Their family name is Ali Khan Pataudi and their tale could be entitled two cricketers and a Bollywood film star. That would be remarkable in itself, but it’s their connection to Oxford which brings them to the Rob’s Oxford channel and that too is remarkable. In fact each of them attended the same college, Balliol College, during their student days at Oxford University. The video shows the college both inside and out with particular emphasis on its frontage and dining hall. It is the second oldest of Oxford’s 39 colleges and provided an impressive, architectural and historical background for the three students.

In the days of the British Empire the family ruled a small princely state called Pataudi located near to New Delhi, they were rich and remain so, Saif Ali Khan bought back Pataudi Palace and lives there to this day. The head of state was called the Nawab and Saif still uses this title.

The most senior of the three students, Iftikhar, played cricket for the Oxford team whilst at Balliol and achieved a record innings score against Cambridge. His son Mansur (sometimes Mansoor), also called Tiger, became the captain of the Oxford team in his day despite a serious injury to his eye in a motorcar accident. Both men had cricket careers subsequently playing for both India and England.

Tiger married a famous Bollywood star, Sharmila Tagore, a descendant of Rabindranath Tagore the world famous philosopher and poet. Their daughter Soha came to Balliol to study Modern History and apparently is the only one of the three to graduate. After beginning a career as a finance adviser with CityGroup she followed her brother Saif into Bollywood stardom.

The video mentions some of the other famous people who have studied at Balliol including four prime ministers of the UK: Boris Johnston, Edward Heath, Harold MacMillan and H H Asquith. It also explains the role of a famous master of the college, Benjamin Jowett in regard to educating Indians at Oxford and educating British men for the Indian Civil Service, the latter including George Nathaniel Curzon who became a Viceroy of British India.

Two ways to meet Edward Jenner

Well, I did that walk to my roots. It took me four days following the Gloucestershire Way from my home at Stow on the Wold to Tewksbury and then down the Severn Way to my birthplace at Berkeley. The going was hard, the rucksack heavy and the sun burningly hot.  I wild-camped for the entire journey and spent the last night in a park (was a field in my day) overlooked by the house I lived in sixty odd years before.

Returning to Berkeley brought back many memories of my boyhood and I wrote pretty detailed notes of both the journey and my visit when I returned. Here’s an extract which concerns the most famous resident of my home town, a man often mentioned nowadays, the man who first practiced vaccination.

I walked towards a place that I have very fond memories of called The Brook: it is a fresh water river that leads into The Millstream and is below the famous Berkeley Castle. On the way I turned off the High Street to take a look at the church. As I walked through the narrow lane, as I had done on so many Sundays in the past, I came upon Edward Jenner's house. This was a bit confusing for me  because I was certain it had been somewhere else when I lived in Berkeley. This house was large, white and smart and very near to the church itself. Anyway I wandered in to the grounds to have a closer look but unfortunately saw signs saying tours were only by appointment. Then I saw a man wearing a face mask at the side of the house and went towards him. He greeted me and said can I help you? I told him a little of what I was doing and of my background and connection with Berkeley. I also told him that we in Stow-on-the-Wold had experienced a wonderful talk by the man who ran this museum which was Edward Jenner's house. He then removed his mask with a flourish and it was him! The very man who delivered that talk over Zoom. He was clearly pleased that it had been such a success and told me that he had really enjoyed the presentation at Stow-on-the-Wold himself.

After that he said, “Would you like to come in and see the garden?” Would I? Of course I would. He showed me the various growing areas all of which were planted with things grown from seed catalogues which were available at the time of Jenner. We talked of various things and he took me to the place where the vaccinations were carried out in Jenner's day: a funny little hut made of stone but faced with wood and with a thatched roof. Rather nice, though I wondered whether it really looked like that in the past. He then showed me where the grapes (special ones) were grown and also the old boiler that had heated that area. I told him that I used to go to Sunday school thereabouts but I couldn't remember the big house and he explained that the house had then been the vicarage in fact. And a smaller place alongside, near where I first met him, was used for Sunday schools and so on. I couldn't remember that either but the whole religious thing may have been dropped from my childhood memory. He also told me that the original Jenner House was somewhere else in Berkeley and Jenner had moved into this house later in life. Then the house became the vicarage (as it was in my day) until the Edward Jenner Trust bought it from the church some years ago and turned it into the Jenner Museum. The Trust is funded by grants and gifts and from the income provided by people visiting the museum. At the end of my tour of the gardens we parted. He said to me have a good day and I said to him you have made my day, and I really meant it.

Trialing a trailer and Cecil Rhodes’ Oxford

 

I’m planning a trip to my roots – walking of course and wild camping as usual. The trouble with the camping thing is the packhorse thing. I have to carry all the usual stuff needed for a trip plus the tent, sleeping bag and mat. Individually everything is light. Altogether they weigh a ton, well that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but I can tell you that it’s quite a struggle to lift the complete bundle onto my back and bearing it is incredibly wearing.

So I made myself a trailer. Bought a defaced wheelie bin for twenty pounds and did some serious conversion work then took it for a prototype test. Here it is facing a narrow bridge. Hell of a job to get it over and stiles were equally difficult. That aside it worked OK but after 10 miles or so I developed a very serious pain in my hip and could hardly carry on, then the handles began to drop off. Had to stop at a pub for anaesthetic relief, but even so it was an awful journey. Hence it’s back to carrying everything on my back – like a snail.

Today I reached 10,000 views on my Rob's Oxford YouTube channel and added my 20th video. This one is titled Cecil Rhodes' Oxford and gives the background to his life and the controversial statue on his college: Oriel. Have a look. 

Guiding and video creation: the new normal?

 

The guiding scene is looking up. Though I had just one visitor on my most recent Tolkien and Lewis tour, my more general one this coming Saturday is fully booked. Still can’t enter colleges of course, but I believe the Oxford experience is still worthwhile. It is nice to be out and about in Oxford again and last week I spent three successive evenings in my once regular watering holes including: the Rose and Crown, the Gardener’s Arms and the Seacourt Bridge. All very different, all very special.

Meanwhile I am still making videos, an activity which, for the moment at least, has supplanted writing. I have a great working area for my movie making: it’s a square room built into the eaves of an extension of our place in the Cotswolds. Here I have my stand-up workplace for the laptop and my green screen and other accoutrements for video production. Three walls of this room are lined with books: they glower resentfully at me as I struggle with the video editor. Mostly they gather dust nowadays, the only ones I make much use of are my own (to check Oxford facts sometimes) and the Encyclopaedia Britannica volumes which make useful stands for the camera etc. Sad in a way, but think of the trees we are saving nowadays.

I have just finished two videos. They are part of a new series featuring the most beautiful colleges of Oxford. The first one is an introduction and the second is a spotlight video on Magdalen College, hopefully the first of many visual portrayals of these wonderful institutions. Here’s the thumbnails. Just onn the links above view.

 

Apartheid, Rhodes and Iconic Buildings

I am currently reading a book by Donald Woods with the provocative title Asking for Trouble which is catapulting  me back in time and reminding me of how much I seem to have forgotten. It’s about the vile regime that somehow got elected in South Africa in the 60’s and proceeded to crush the indigenous majority population – the blacks as they called them. In response I joined the Anti-Apartheid Movement, went on demos in London (my first exposure to mob violence), boycotted oranges and so on. I even marched into Barclays Bank to loudly declare that I insisted upon closing my account in protest at Barclays DCO involvement in South Africa, only to be told - equally loudly - that I was overdrawn and would have to pay up to close down!

Author: AstacopsisGouldi (CC-SA-4.0)

It may therefore seem odd that I rejoiced at the news that Oxford’s Oriel College had, despite massive pressure and much wavering, decided not to remove the statue of past student Cecil Rhodes from their High Street facing building – a building that Rhodes paid for (surely that should go too). Don’t get me wrong, Rhodes is not to be admired, he did many bad things mostly for material gain or influence and that should not and will not be forgotten – this is a matter of historical fact and the statue should remind us of that.

The building opened in 1911 and there was controversy even then – not against Rhodes but concerning the building itself. Apparently seven attractive houses were demolished to create it and some Oxford residents were not at all pleased with the result.

Rhodes is not alone up there. Below his statue there are seven others and it is likely that they too are not blameless – one was the British Emperor of India! But it is unlikely that any of them except Rhodes has had such an influence over the education of young people from the ex-colonies of Britain. It was through his will that much of his ill-gotten gain was put to good use in establishing the Rhodes Scholarships. I know, I know, a right cannot correct many wrongs, but nor can tearing down a statue change history.

If you are already a subscriber to my Rob’s Oxford Youtube channel then you will know that I’ve recently launched two more videos in the Top Iconic Buildings of Oxford University series. If not, here they are. Have a look by clicking on the thumbnails.

Potatoes, Snooker and the Radcliffe Camera

A few of my early potatoes have broken through the parched earth of my vegetable garden. The variety is Rocket for those interested in such things. And for those interested in snooker it is relevant just now because Ronnie O’Sullivan, also known as the Rocket, was knocked out the World Championship at an early stage this year. Ar, there be a lot goin’ on beneath the surface you know. Lovely to see these green sprouts coming up and we don’t have to be too sorry for Ronnie, it seems that he has amassed more than £2m in prize money by wielding his stick at The Crucible. OK, I know snooker’s a minority interest, but, oddly enough, it’s the only sport that interests me. Also, this final has a special Covid significance. It is the first event in front of a full audience after the current lockdown

The pubs are open again, at least some of them and al fresco only. I’ve had great difficulty making a booking here in Stow, but succeeded on one Saturday night to get a table at the Horse and Groom in the village of Oddington. We walked there of course and were a little bit late in arriving. Gosh, it was busy: the servers were running up and down the hilly garden laden with food and drinks. My first pint was ... nectar. Butty Bach from a favourite brewery (Wye Valley). In perfect condition and it was delicious. Food was OK, but a definite side-show for me. After my three pints we began a long moonlit stroll through the fields towards Broadwell, then Stow. I love walking at night on a belly full of beer. Everything: the sky, the trees, the remote Cotswold houses, looks so different – ghostly, colourless, stark.

The videos keep coming. My latest effort is a series on the top iconic buildings of Oxford University. I’ve just released the first one based on that prominent edifice – the Radcliffe Camera – it’s probably the most well known of the many University buildings and is, nowadays, part of the Bodleian Library. I’ve learned now to keep the videos short if possible, this one’s about five minutes and it has a musical backing. As ever it is top and tailed by the resounding strains of the piece that my good friend and great musician Pete Madams composed for my very first Rob’s Oxford video: Tolkien’s Oxford. Thank you Pete, you can hear more of his music with Edwin and the Keepers here. The background music is provided by the excellent Beatrix Forbes and taken from her album Oxford and Beyond. It’s called Full Moon over South Park and is a perfect musical fit for the Radcliffe Camera video: in duration and mood. Thank you Bea - you can hear more of her many and varied compositions here.

There will be more in this iconic series. Both the important Sheldonian Theatre and the scary Examination Schools are near completion.

Stop the world, I want to get off

Forgive me. I have banged on about the decline in spoken British English before – but here I go again. If you are tired of the subject then just play this video which explains that it is all due to lager. Of course it is. Meanwhile, here’s me speaking as if from the past.

"Just ‘ere I wanna say somethin’ about when I wuz a boy growin’ up in the Wes’ Coun’ry. Na’uraly I wan’id tuh soun’ like t’other kids. O’ course them were the days when a guy was summut tha’ you burned on bonfire night and curay’in was summut they did in museums. It’d always bin tha’ way. ‘Course we knew we spoke bad. Tha’ ol’ vicar now, ‘e was posh, full uv ‘aitches an’ a bit short on ar’s. Still we’m quite the fashion now in twenny-twenny-one. Anybody for electrocution lessons on ‘ow to speak proper like? I alwuz wannid tuh be a teacher."

If you do not know what I am talking about, then ‘listen up’. However, if like me you waste valuable time shouting corrections at the unreceptive TV or radio, then you probably already know what my beef is.

“It’s Brighton not Brigh’un. Was not wuz. Twenty not twenny. Us not uz. Been is the past participle of the verb to be, not bin. It’s Britain not Bri’un”

“They can’t hear you, you know,” says my long-suffering wife, long sufferingly.

“That’s not the point,” I explain pointlessly. “I’ve got to get this out of my system.”

I then start to explain, as I sadly watch her leave the room, that following my poor start in the world of diction I commenced a long career in communication – both tele and not. OK, so an apprenticeship in telephone engineering is hardly the route to becoming a BBC news presenter, but there was, and still is, a connection between my emerging need and desire to make myself understood and my career: still is.

By the by, I have no desire whatever to speak like the queen or the other, so called, aristocrats and I do take a great delight in regional accents and those who can mimic them. In truth I do not like the glottal stop characterised by the Cockneys, but I would defend to the death their particular right to drop ‘t’s partway through a word if they must. My surname by the way is Walters and it must never be pronounced Wau’ers.

Speech is all about communication and understanding and, I would also add, demands a fairly direct relation between what is written (despite the vagaries of the English language) and what is said – except for the Chinese. Language must evolve of course, just as we and the circumstances in which we live evolve. But my beef is about deterioration, not evolution. Slovenliness rather than clarity.

Why do people do it? Just to irritate people like me – no that is surely an egocentric thought. In fact I think that there are three reasons for it, maybe more, The first is clearly emulation, just as I as a boy wanted to speak like the other kids even though my father was a foreigner (he was Welsh!). Many of the fashionable substitutions are imports from the USA and are by that route irresistible for some – witness the way that ‘guy’ has replaced our many rich and varied alternatives. The other is the drive of inclusiveness: a desire to show sympathy or comradeship with the oppressed minorities perhaps. And the third possibility is song lyrics: a subtle and persuasive input to a mind opened by the song and singer.

Well, that’s got that off my chest. Better now? Not really. Wha’ abou’ me men’al ‘elth? Just keep on taking the medicine (real ale) and shouting at the TV Rob. I have to go out to feed the chickens now. I’ll have a word with them, the only word that they understand – corn.