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.