PC 131 Sipping Ginger Tea

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Sipping ginger tea and eating a large succulent red grape –  my body radiates warmth, at least that is what it feels like, in that afterglow of a massage. I’m on the third floor of the Banyan Tree Spa complex in Estoril, Portugal – a collection of pools, spas, saunas, a gym, treatment rooms and an indoor/outdoor café. The Spa Pool has water jets and a large circular section where the water rotates at about 2 mph. Swim against the current or simply let it lift you and take you – around and around!! Just the place for a wet Friday afternoon.

Massage has a funny reputation, a sort of nudge-nudge, wink-wink, amongst the male species and that reputation is not helped by some dubious massage parlours being used as a front for prostitution. You will have seen the different types of proper massages being advertised – Swedish, Aromatherapy, Hot Stone, Chair, Deep Tissue, Trigger Point, Shiatsu and Thai – and unless you regularly have them in conjunction with keeping fit or for some medical relief, it’s likely you only have one or two a year, on holiday maybe? I once heard a masseur saying that one a year is a complete waste of time – but hey that ‘afterglow’ is something, so why not have more?

Celina gave me a gift of a 90 minutes Thai massage: “Apparently it’s really fantastic!” I love massages, so readily said: ‘Yes please’. I prefer being massaged by someone of the opposite sex as that introduces an imaginary world that excites and disappoints in equal measure. I once had a massage by a chap who was blind; with his enhanced sense of touch and space it was unique, but it missed that frisson that develops, in my mind if nowhere else, between a male and female.

One website says: “Thai massage is a unique blend of assisted yoga, passive stretching, and pressing massage movements. Thai massage is more energizing than other forms of massage: it’s a little bit like yoga without doing the work, as the therapist moves and stretches you in a sequence of postures, usually on a mat on the floor. Like shiatsu, Thai massage aligns the energies of the body. The massage therapist uses rhythmic compression along the body’s energy lines to reduce stress and improve flexibility and one’s range of motion. It is done fully clothed. This type of massage can reduce muscle spasticity and back pain and has been shown to be useful in treating balance problems and migraine symptoms.”

So at 1720 I check in with Deborah at the Reception Desk, go and change into those obligatory white towelling bath robes, and report back. A Thai woman appears; it’s not until later I ask her name – Nicole – and there’s probably a Thai name by which she’s known at home, but here she’s trying to westernise herself. I think about asking but realise that pronouncing a Thai name might stretch my linguistic ability.

“OK. Go in there and take your clothes off. Here’s a sarong to wrap around yourself” – so much for the ‘fully clothed’! Obviously what follows is about my own experience, from my masculine perspectives. On my return she gestures towards a chair; I sit and have my feet washed – just so indulgent! Orchids and that piped music so typical of these places – ‘The Music of the Andean Pipes’ – Thai style! Then I am instructed to lie face down on the massage table, naked; she shields me from herself with a large green sheet, although there isn’t much to see! And once I’m prone I can’t see much either, as my head is face down in that little indentation in the table, tastefully covered with white gauze. After some initial kneading on my legs, I sense she climbs onto the table and starts on my hips and lower back, I can feel her thighs against my legs and that contact is ……… She presses her torso against my back and it feels good!

Being completely naked there isn’t that pulling-down-the-hem-of-your-knickers normally associated with the masseuse working on your hips. Nicole simply moves the sheet and, besides, she’s seen it all before! I’m grateful she doesn’t chastise me for my sunburnt buttocks, the result of an hour in the sun earlier. At some point, in this warm haze of sensory overload, my arms are down the side of the table; she brushes her thigh against my hand and I smile to myself.

I ask how long she’s been in Portugal and she says she’s here for eighteen months. Her English is very limited (but better than my Thai!) so conversation doesn’t flow; she just gets on with her job, applying her skill and oil to my body. I wonder what she’s thinking as she adjusts the sheet to ensure my limited modesty as her hands massage my inner thigh; probably wondering which noodle bar she will go to when she finishes, with the other masseuses with whom she shares an apartment. My thoughts are not on supper! I learn later that a Thai company provides the masseuses for a two-year stint. 

There was certainly no sexual attraction between Nicole and me but the mere fact that some stranger’s hands are touching my skin, sometimes quite intimately, does cause feelings, strokes the imagination one might say. The fantasy suggests her asking: ‘You like something extra sir?’ but in reality that is exactly what it is, a male fantasy.  Add the fact that my masseur was a woman, so masseuse, and it’s most men’s pleasure. I say most men as some presumably are repulsed by such intimate contact, but if you are a tactile person like me, it’s heaven. I am instructed to turn over onto my back, the raised sheet much like a magician’s cloak, and the fantasies I had when ‘tummy down’ restart, as I suspect do Nicole’s about noodles.

Towards the end she lifts a leg to one side and pushes against the hip, opening that joint to its furthest extension. Wow! The Thai massage ‘Spinal Twist in Lying Position’. A few minutes massaging the hands and fingers, then my skull and I’m done. Off for a shower in a side room then, dressed, back for ginger tea and large succulent red grapes.

For Nicole this is just a professional job, what she does, and she relies on feedback from her clients. I mark her card accordingly – excellent. It cost Celina an arm and a leg, an appropriate expression here perhaps, and I hope Nicole gets at least 50%, but somehow doubt it.

On the way back from the Spa, Celina and I compare notes. She suggests a massage is a bit like a sexy dance between two strangers. Whilst there need be no sexual attraction, the act of following one’s natural rhythms and inclination can engender a feeling of sexiness. She’s hit the nail on the head; a great analogy. A true basic instinct, this sexual urge, encouraged by the sense of touch, of smell, of heat, of oil ….. and lots of imagination!

The Thai goodbye, hands together, fingers steepled, slight hardly-discernible bow and she’s gone – and leaves my empty outstretched hand, the normal British ‘goodbye’ gesture, untouched!!

Richard 23rd August 2018                                      richardyates24@gmail.com

PC 116 A Health Spa Break

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A part of me always wanted to know what happens inside a health spa – in the summer months you get glimpses of guests in white towelling robes drifting about inside or out, in some imagined state of euphoria ….. or that’s how it seems. Give it a go, huh!

So we looked at the website of a well-known UK brand, booked an overnight stay, essentially 26 hours …… and went earlier this month. As we neared our destination, the glare from the low, late afternoon sun meant that trying to find the right road at the crossroads in the nearest village, through the dirt-smeared windscreen, was a bit of pot luck. We eventually got there, to find Car Park A full, as was B and C but eventually we found a space in D; a good thing, otherwise we would have had to park under the rhododendron bushes! “Must be popular” we thought as we made our way to reception.

There were so many staff of obvious Eastern European background we wondered whether the whole venture was really some guise for money laundering. You do think like this, particularly after reading Misha Glenny’s McMafia about international criminals in the C21st!

Having checked in, been given our ‘towelling robes and flipflops’, the former a loan, the latter a gift, and dumped our bags in our room, we got the Guided Tour. Subsequently we realized it hadn’t included the restaurant, maybe as it was fully booked, and the ice room, where you can stand and shiver – probably good for closing the skin’s pores.

We go to the activities station; it’s 4 o’clock.

“Can we book for the ‘Wake Up Workout’ tomorrow morning at 0830?’

“Oh! No! Sir that’s already full as are most of the sessions.”

“Well! How about the Da Vinci BodyBoard class?”

“You can have the last two places; I’ll put your names down.”

“So is there anything else on offer today?”

“There’s a talk this evening by Ms Cynthia Welbeloved on Emptiheadedness and the Spirit of Greed.”

I almost said ‘Perfect’ but thought better of it; we could probably turn up if so moved.

Around the large pool with its glass roof were special little places for people to relax and sleep/read/chat. There was a hydro pool that was so special you had to pay extra to use it! There were saunas for men, saunas for women, saunas for both sexes ….. if you have ever been to a mixed sauna, in Germany for instance, and found nudity the norm maybe you will reflect on the reserved nature of the Anglo Saxon?

There were hot Jacuzzi-type tubs inside and out. In fact everything you needed to relax and unwind; fortunately there was no background mood music from overhead speakers, just the low murmur of people talking quietly, reverentially, respecting the whole reason why people come. We tried the pool where the water was cool and the sauna which was crowded …… and then we thought about dinner.

Despite the fact that the dining area looked like a British Rail Cafeteria, with bright lights and hard furnishings, what was on offer was good. I often judge a restaurant by how many of the options I could eat. Here I could have easily have eaten the whole menu …… although at a health spa this might have been against the whole raison d’être, irrespective of how healthy each option was!

And what of the treatments on offer?  …..  ‘Elemis pro-collagen age defy’ facials …… ‘lava shell’ massages ……. ‘Dry Body’ flotation (?)  …… etc etc. Doing hot yoga daily ensures our skin is in great shape so the only thing that tempts us is a massage. But it’s £50 for 25 minutes! Twenty five minutes? You would hardly get relaxed before it would be over …… our local people charge £40 for an hour so we thought: ‘no! no! no!’. Other treatments seemed equally pricey. Just wonder whether, if they reduced the prices, they would make more money. I came away questioning how much they are used. Maybe if we were stressed out, lived chaotically busy lives, had serious health issues, then maybe ……

At breakfast we find a good range of healthy options laid out on the buffet table and, if you wanted to pay extra, you could have Eggs Benedict, Full English etc. I tried the kedgeree with some extra mackerel; the mackerel was warm but the kedgeree cold; disgusting! The delightful waiter from Hungary asked whether we wanted coffee or tea ….. coffee please! I was suspicious as soon as I saw that the coffee came in an old-fashioned Kona glass container that had probably been sitting on the ‘keep warm’ plate for ages. You could see through the brown liquid and it tasted of nothing. Fortunately we were able to get a decent Cappuccino and double Espresso from a different machine.

After breakfast it’s apparent that Day Guests and members arrive. I overheard a BA Stewardess loudly talking into her phone to Jermima; “’course, dahlin, anytime. Oh! And I’ve booked you the ‘Decléor Ultimate Wrinkle Eraser Facial’ as I think you need it. Must dash, I am seeing Matt for a personal session at 1000.” Some presumably come every week and why not if you live close enough and you have the money? Ah! Yes! If you have the money!

We vacate our room by 1030 but can stay until 1600. After a brief discussion about where to put our stuff, we eventually decided it was best in the car boot, decanting some ‘essentials’ into a changing room locker. We do one 55 minute exercise class on a ‘Da Vinci Board’. You can recall Da Vinci’s figure with spread arms and feet? Well, here you stand on a long board, with bungees running its length, and two at each end. Lifting one set exercises one bit and another another; lots of repetitions and encouragement from Vicki from Vladivostok – ‘very gooood, very gooood; that’s it’ repeated regularly throughout the whole class. Actually quite challenging and enjoyable! 

Afterwards we shower and return to the sauna. By the time we think about lunch we could both be rung out. Having had a leisurely meal we decide that we should leave, after all, how many times do I want to swim in 24 hours, how many saunas do I want to endure?

Maybe this is just the place to come and write a postcard about those health spas  ………. but actually an expensive option; think my local café would be better, as would the coffee!

Richard 27th January 2018

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PC 74 Thoughts on Meditation and Ommmm

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My eyes are closed in meditation. “Empty your mind, let the thoughts that come just pass through, creating no judgment or comment.” More easier said than done huh? “As you breathe in, imagine the word ‘let’; as you breathe out, ‘go’”. Or we’re told to focus on ‘So ….. Hum’. (A Vedic mantra meaning “I am that” which can be inverted ‘hum …. so’ to mean “that I am.” in Sanskrit). Ten minutes and I open my eyes, look up …….. and take in the scene.

Twenty four people, four men and …… well you do the maths …. have come to southern Portugal for a week’s yoga retreat. Each for their own reason, each with their own but common goal, to do two sessions of yoga a day for six days. For those of you who have never got ‘into’ yoga, it’s never too late, you’re never too old.

The orange trees

Quinta Mimosa lies west of Faro in the Algarve, in the hills above the little town of Almancil. The 10 acre estate contains three separate houses and pools, connected by orchards containing orange, olive and almond trees; you could simply stroll into the rough grass and pluck an orange off a tree. You could swim in your own pool or take a taxi to the nearby beach. The spacious nature of the place ensures that it feels delightfully empty and we gather at yoga sessions rather like yachts on an offshore race, converging from various directions to round a mark on the course.

The studio is in the old stable block and its heritage is apparent. Large French doors on the south side, a reed-covered ceiling and tiled floor; hooks on the wall that used to take riding tackle now hang with props for Iyengar yoga practice. The occasional ant runs across the old tiled floor …. and you hope it doesn’t come in your direction as you lie is Savasna, ready for the next posture.

We are all so diverse in what we do, if you tried to describe us for a novel you wouldn’t get the group’s coincidental nature. The research biologist at UCL, an investment banker with Lloyds, two pairs of sisters, one from Walthamstow the other from London, a civil servant from the cabinet office, the blonde running a brand- awareness Internet business, a film editor for TV footage, the doctor running a health care trust, a nanny from Thailand, an Australian Chinese, a photographer, an accountant, an operations manager of a health care company, a French woman married to a Brit, a psychotherapist ….  some with children, some single with ages ranging from 29 to 58 (apart from the author!); all drawn to Portugal in June for a week’s stretching and breathing, to improve one’s practice and so one’s health and posture.

‘Ooommmmmmmm’ – the sound resonates through my chest, as we finish our hour and a half session and just let the breath out.

Food is as one might expect vegetarian. Actually it’s simpler that way, rather than catering for the likes and dislikes, the allergies and fads, just platters of vegetables fruits, salads and cheeses. The local supermarket is visited by those who need wine or beer to complement the gorgeous food provided by Wendy and her helpers. The routine is yoga, brunch, ‘free time’, yoga, and then a well-deserved supper. We sit at a long table by a swimming pool, the warm sun setting over the hills to the north west. Conversation flows amongst us, one minute strangers, the next bonded by the power of a yoga practice.

Despite three different routers, the internet provision is poor. You might think this should not matter on a yoga retreat ….. but the majority of us are wired in to emails, digital newspapers, Whatsapp, and Facebook and, between the yoga sessions, you find little groups clustered around a hot spot like wives of miners on the news of a pit collapse or some such.

Ommmm

The common threads are yoga and Paul, our teacher. Students are from three London studios where Paul teaches and over the week we exchange our own experiences of this hot yoga and why we got into it! Interesting! Some are back for their second or third year such is the uniqueness of this week.

Paul recognises that there needs to be a little levity during our practice and introduces us to ‘earthquake’ when we suddenly have to drum our feet on the floor as quickly as possible. He also takes us on a ‘walking meditation’ reminiscent of Buddhist monks; we walk slowly, silently through the orchard and around a huge ancient gnarled olive tree, round and around. I sense that northern Europeans find ‘meditation’ a little too alternative, but after a daily 10 minutes before each yoga session one begins to understand not only its benefits but also the difficulty of clearing one’s mind of the chatter – monkey mind as some people think of it.

And so the week draws to a close and thoughts turn to the normality of our lives, so distinct from these glorious self-indulgent days. Back to work, back to families, back to children, back ……. home.

After each yoga session Paul had spoken the word ‘namaste’ … and we would respond ‘namaste’. Namaste is a gesture acknowledging the soul in one of us by the soul in the other. With his desire to keep the sessions lighthearted, at the end of one he simply said: “Namaste …… motherf**kers”.  I think we’ll all be back next year!

Richard 15th July 2016                                                       richardyates24@gmail.com

PC 516 In The News

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I was going to write about the Christian Ten Commandments in today’s postcard, trying to understand their relevance to modern day society, but I got sidetracked! The word ‘God’ is possibly the most invoked word in our world; ‘the supreme being, ultimate creator and ruler of the universe’ in theistic belief systems. Certainly, Abrahamic faiths like, Judaism, Christianity and Islam see him (her?) as a single, supreme, eternal and all-powerful deity, whereas those who follow polytheism believe in multiple gods and goddesses who control specific aspects of nature or human life.

Early last month American Dennis Hastert, at one time the 51st Speaker of the House of Representatives (Note 1), died. His obituary was an interesting read; a high school teacher and wrestling trainer for 16 years, he followed that with a 20-year career as a Washington lawmaker. However, despite being a ‘born-again Christian’, a sordid tale of the sexual abuse of several of his high school wrestling team emerged in 2016 and he was sentenced to 15 months in prison. A wonderful example of a public persona masking his personal predilection for teenage boys; not very ‘Christian’.

It really doesn’t matter where you look, there’s always a bad apple somewhere, as if it’s impossible to live a completely blameless life. Hot on the heels of Dennis Hastert was the obituary of American Jim Bakker. Bakker’s Christian television network, PTL, attracted over 13 million viewers and raked in some $129m in annual revenue. The wheels fell of his wagon when, in 1987, a local newspaper revealed that Bakker had used $265k of PTL funds to buy the silence of a church secretary who had accused him of drugging and raping her. Denying the allegations he declared: “…. but we’re not hopeless because we have God on our side.” Of course! That’s all right, then? The expose brought renewed attention to his business interests, particularly his Heritage USA, the third most popular theme park in the country.

You couldn’t make it up! It seemed that the park’s 500 room hotel sold ‘lifetime partnerships’, guaranteeing buyers an annual three-night stay. They sold 60,000, twelve times more than the hotel was capable of servicing. (Note 2) I hope he wasn’t still claiming ‘we have God on our side’ when he was found guilty of 24 fraud and conspiracy charges and sentenced to 45 years in prison; he eventually served five.

It has always seemed to me that television evangelists are the modern equivalent of snake-oil salesmen beloved of Americans towards the end of the C19th. I don’t think we have many broadcasting on UK television but many years ago I was sufficiently curious in their craft to attend one of Billy Graham’s broadcasts at a cinema in London. All wonderful stuff, until you came to the diktat, that you couldn’t do ‘x’ or ‘y’ unless you followed Jesus; and if you didn’t you were consigned to hell and damnation.

There’s a large Evangelical Christian following in Brazil. Membership of Pentecostal or neo-Pentecostal churches is now estimated to be about 30% of the population, some 47 million, up from 10% in 1990, following a sharp decline in Catholic adherence, now numbering around 56% of the population. Evangelicals have become a major political force, advocating socially conservative values and supporting the right-wing politics of Jair Bolsonaro and his son Flavio. Bolsonaro senior is currently serving a 27-year sentence under house arrest, whilst his son’s defeat in the second round of the Presidential elections at the end of last month was remarkable.

Having won the first round at the beginning of October (Note 3), there was no historical precedent for Bolsonaro to lose the second. Up stepped Andre Janones, a young Congressman from the state of Minas Gerais and supporter of Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, known as Lula, looking to be elected for a fourth term. Realising that some 30 million Brazilians had abstained from voting in the first round (Note 4), Janones set up a WhatsApp group called Lula’s Army, its intention to make those who had not voted before vote for Lula. Membership grew from 50,000 to 5 million a week before the vote; every day Janones sent messages, urging his followers to do certain tasks, focused and co-ordinated. Brazil is a prime territory for online political campaigns, ranking only behind India and Indonesia for time spent on social media. It worked; three million more people voted in the second round than the first.

The surprise result gave Lula 51.79% of the vote to Bolsonaro’s 48.21%. Bolsonaro cried ‘foul’ and vowed to fight the result, but within days had run away to Miami, presumably not trusting that the investigation into alleged money-laundering activities would be fair – or maybe he was just acknowledging his guilt? On reflection, maybe this was not a victory for one party’s policies over the other, but a recognition of the power of galvanising voters through a social media campaign.

Richard 6th November 2026

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 For those interested in American politics, he replaced Newt Gingrich and was succeeded by Nancy Pelosi.

Note 2 You may remember the forecast visitor numbers for Brighton’s i360 that I mentioned in PC 486 (April 2026)? Somewhere in the initial proposal ‘visitor numbers were estimated to be 700,000 per year. A child could do the maths: open 365 days a year, for an 8-hour day the attraction would need 239 visitors per hour for every hour of the working day, seven days a week, even if it was raining or foggy. The capsule has a maximum capacity of 200; with about one trip per hour it wasn’t realistically possible. No one dared to challenge the promoters; no one applied common sense.” The reality was that in the first year it had some 500,000 visitors but then averaged out around 270,000 per year.

Note 3 Bolsonaro 47% Lula 45%.

Note 4 Lots of people didn’t want to vote for either man, wishing there was someone occupying the middle ground.

PC 486 Hope Revisited

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I got a WhatsApp from Mo to say her mother had had a rather nasty lung infection which developed into pneumonia and that she had died peacefully in her sleep. I offered the normal platitudes about how good to go without some awful illness, either physical like cancer or mental like dementia, how without her, her own life wouldn’t have existed but understood how much Mo would miss her. We agreed to meet in The Hope Café last Wednesday afternoon.

Josh is acting as the barista and we exchange inconsequential chat while he prepares my double espresso. I see Mo sitting at her favourite table and go and join her. We chat about the loss of one’s last parent, how now there’s no one in the family older than her and how she thought her mother had lived a good life, not merely existed. One of the facts of our existence is the older we get we recognise the thinning out of our friends and family. My brother had recently said goodbye to a very close ex-RN colleague, who had been in his term at Her Majesty’s Royal Naval College Dartmouth. I wrote: “As we age, our friends will gradually slip away – just hope we’re here to say: ‘thanks for your friendship’.”

Mo’s about to say something when her mobile rings. She looks down at the number, recognises it, says: “I need to take this, sorry; it’s the undertaker.” I quickly say, “I’ll let you have some privacy” and, without letting her protest, pick up my cup and move to another table, just as Sami enters.

“Hi! Richard. Let me get an Americano and I’ll come and join you.”

Armed with his coffee, and a small plate of his favourite biscuits, he comes and sits down.

“Enjoyed your postcard about The Shipping Forecast (PC 483) Richard; for someone who’s never sailed, really interesting!”

“Richard Coles annoyed me a little, the ‘pedantic’ me I mean! When he was messing about in yachts off Cowes in his ‘Wight’ episode, he kept referring to the left and right of the boat, when I felt he could have made a little effort and used the well-known port and starboard.”

“He didn’t use ‘pointy bit’ for the ‘bow’ did he?”

“No! But he didn’t use ‘bow’ either, preferring ‘the front end’! Agh! Having not listened to the actual broadcast of the Shipping Forecast for a long time, I had a nostalgic listen the other day. You remember that Finisterre, an area of some 90,000 sq miles northwest of Cape Finisterre in Spain, was renamed Fitzroy? Well, in the forecast I heard, they split it into North and South Fitzroy. Maybe because it’s so large.”

“Did you get more comments than usual? I sense it was quite educational for some; certainly for me.”

“No, not really! Explorer 82 said: ‘A nice one’ but my brother, who lives on the coast in Weymouth, so sea area ‘Portland’, and who’s been suffering from a lingering chest infection sent this: “….. I have Connelly’s book and others including Meg Clothier’s The Shipping Forecast. Meanwhile – “General synopsis: deep low 360 (Note 1) Portland 6 filling slowly. Area forecasts …… Dover, Wight, Portland: gales of laughter in abeyance, fair I suppose, RSV brain fog lifting.”

Mo seems to have finished her call, comes over to tell us she needs to go and see him, the undertaker that is, and waves goodbye.

“Now, where were we? Oh! Yes, I was going to scream at the lack of common sense these days.

“Tell me more …..”

“The ‘i360 report’ by the Brighton & Hove City council explored what went wrong with the i360, the observation tower project that left the city writing off over £52million …… with no one held responsible. Last week’s report laid bare a basic problem; no ‘common sense’ checks. To sell the project, visitor numbers were estimated to be 700,000 per year. A child could do the maths: open 365 days a year, for an 8-hour day the attraction would need 239 per hour for every hour of the working day, seven days a week, even if it was raining or foggy. The capsule has a maximum capacity of 200 with about one trip per hour so it wasn’t realistically possible. No one dared to challenge the promoters; no one applied common sense.”

“That’s crazy, isn’t it. Can’t believe that figure of 700,000 wasn’t challenged. How many went up and down?”

“In the first year some 500,000 but it then averaged out around 270,000 per year. No one’s been held responsible and the city ratepayers are paying £2million a year in debt repayment.”

“I don’t think there’s a mechanism for holding leaders of public organisations financially accountable for the occasional cock-up. It would be a little like asking turkeys to vote for Christmas! On a different topic, you know how it is, when you see people away from where you normally see them and you think: “I sort of recognise them?” but can’t place them.”

“Oh! Yes! Context is everything.”

“On Wandsworth Common many years ago, I was walking my Labrador Tom and someone said: “Hi! Richard”. I seriously thought ‘who’s he?’, just couldn’t place him, then I realised it was Brian from Dove’s the local butcher, who always prepared my weekly pork chop wearing his blue-and-white striped apron!!! I was reminded of this the other day when we were rushing for the bus to get to yoga and passed a small group chatting and enjoying some coffee in the Spring sunshine. They shouted: ‘morning Celina’ and waved. Just couldn’t place them and it wasn’t until we got onto the bus that Celina said: “Didn’t you recognise Dr Simon, Martha the receptionist and the other doctors from The Hove Practice?”

“Ha! Ha! Hey, need to get going Richard. See you soon?”

“Off to Brazil next week so when we get back. Bye!”

Richard 10th April 2026

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 The number here refers to the barometric pressure. A ‘low’ pressure system is normally below 1000mb. The lowest ever recorded was 870mb measured in the eye of Super Typhoon Tip in the Pacific Ocean on 12th October 1979 ………….. I mentioned in my piece that in low pressure systems the wind spins counterclockwise. I could have added it’s the reverse in the southern hemisphere, due to the Coriolis effect.

PC 515 Hope and Birthdays

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You may recall from last week’s postcard that both Sami and I had birthday’s last Saturday. Do you think anyone has researched whether one’s friends are chosen, in part unconsciously, because of their birth sign? Both Celina, a Taurian, and me, a Scorpio, have a disproportionate number of people’s birthdays we recognise in our own star signs.

“Did you celebrate, Sami? Large cake and some fizz? I know you said you couldn’t join us at all on the Saturday, which was a great shame, so what did you do?”

“Lisa’s not a fan of cake unless it’s gluten free so, no, no cake but we did have a meal out. But mine wasn’t a decade to celebrate, unlike yours!”

“Many months ago, Celina and I discussed just what to do, in addition to splashing out on a fortnight in Costa Rica, leaving in the middle of next month. Should we hire a room in The Grand Hotel or in a Community Centre …… and just say to my contacts list: ‘Come’ ….. or just not do anything, and all the options in between? We ended up with two events. The first was a small party for some 18 of our 10 o’clock hot yoga class participants two evenings before my birthday. Always fascinating to talk to individuals away from the studio and learn more about their lives and loves.

The plates cleared away – lunch at Semola

On my actual birthday we had a family lunch in Semola, the local Italian on Church Road.”

“Now there’s a coincidence, very odd, as that’s where we went on Saturday evening! Think Luca and Roberto run a great place and the food is amazing.”

“At the top of our road is a new deli, ‘At The Table’, run by a local chef and social engineer called Sophie Taverner. We discussed what we needed from her and came up with a plan. She catered for the evening party, organised ….

… the fizz and the hire of the glasses, booked Gracey to help and made two coffee cakes for the evening party and for after the lunch at Semola.”

“After Semola?”

“We went back home for some fizz and cake and were joined by eight of our neighbours; that was good fun too. In my manuscript ‘thank you’ letters for the wonderful, inventive birthday gifts I received, I wrote that:

“The dust has a long way to go before I might consider it settled, after the delight of the past few days. I might of course measure it by the gradual decent of the helium-filled ‘8’ and ‘0’ gold balloons or by the pressure from Celina to put away my many birthday cards. I feel so grateful to be where I am, who I am, at this stage in my life and thank you for your friendship.”

I am so lucky to be in very good health despite having a triple heart bypass in 2013 and a prolapsed disc operated on in 2017; must be the six sessions of hot yoga a week!”

“Actually, that’s quite a good photograph Richard! Scrub up well, you do. You wrote manuscript ‘Thank You’ letters? Wow! How old fashioned!”

“No! No! How modern! Look, I took a photograph of the letter and sent it via WhatsApp! Some people have been surprised I have reached four score years. Most weeks I go down to the Fish Shack on Hove’s promenade …..

….. and buy some crayfish tails and anchovies in oil. If I go on a Sunday the kiosk is staffed by Edward, a very tall young man who can’t stand upright, given the low internal roof of the shack! He’s just turned 18 and has almost recovered from his own birthday celebrations. Mine, incidentally, were remarkable for the very small amount of alcohol that was consumed, although the evening party was solely fellow yogis so one shouldn’t be surprised! Edward asked how old I was.

“What are you, Richard? 55? 60?

“How old is your father, Edward?

“43”

“How old is your grandfather, Edward?

“78 ….. (although he had to pause to do the maths!)

“Ah! Older than your grandfather then!”

One present was a book from an ex-boss and now very good friend Varina who lives near Brisbane in Australia. She and husband Ron had been in South Island NZ and heard of/seen this book.

It arrived by post a few weeks ago and was put aside for my actual birthday. Coincidentally Celina was going to Portugal for a few days and cousin Toni had ordered a couple of books from Amazon UK. Varina’s book went to Portugal too! Toni denied all knowledge of it, the penny dropped and back it came to the UK and now is in my pile of books to read.”

“I read your postcards, Richard, but I sense other people do too! Remember you wrote about the RNLI in PC 513 Saving Lives at Sea (16th October 2026) and how its recent rescue of people aboard a dodgy dinghy had propelled it into the political moras of current migration debate? I was pleased that The Times had obviously read your postcard as, on October 19th, one of its Leader articles was on this exact theme!”

“Thanks Sami! But also, hard on the heels of PC 511, in which I wrote that ‘various government departments and organisations are dragging their feet over the implementation of the Supreme Court’s ruling that sex is based on biological sex; surely, they have a responsibility to implement the 2025 law whether they agree with it or not?’, NHS England updated their guidance on 15th October. They said: ‘trans patients should be cared for on single-sex hospital wards that align with their biological sex rather than their gender identity’. The law being implemented – after a year!”

The gradual deflation after a wonderful celebration

Richard 30th October 2026

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS You should not be surprised that Francisquinha thought her birthday was the same day as mine; never wanting to be out of the limelight!

PC 331 The Year of The rabbit

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(See also PC 172 (March 2020) and PC 217 ‘My Week’ (February 2021) with its recognition of Hugo Rifkin’s genius)

Christians have recently celebrated the moveable festival of Easter. My thoughts about Easter were brought together in PC 64 (March 2016) and the defining memory of my taking part in the Devizes to Westminster Canoe Race, 125 miles from Wiltshire to the capital city, along canals, some dry and others filled with water, and the River Thames. This year someone wished us ‘Happy Easter’ with a delightful little collection of rabbit yoga poses:

Francisquinha has her own favourite posture, half locust …..

The Chinese New Year, which started on 22nd January and ends on 9th February 2024 (!), welcomed in the year of the Rabbit, traditionally one of the luckiest. If you were born in a Year of The Rabbit you are likely to be quiet, elegant, kind and responsible (Note 1).

The zodiac signs are popular in neighbouring Korea and the rabbit is the guardian of the moon in their folklore. It’s believed rabbits make rice cakes using a pestle and mortar; this has not been verified. Winnie and Richard wished us Happy Easter with San Kim’s photograph of this Cumulus rabbit over the island of Joong-do; San is a member of the Cloud Appreciation Society (Note 2)

The new series of David Attenborough’s nature programmes features the British Isles; ‘Wild Isles’ as it’s called. Featuring my homeland has simply more meaning in its revelations of the treasures beneath my feet than some of his programmes, all undoubtedly wonderful, despite the breathless commentary. Did you know for instance that the red ant obtains protein from an Aphid or that the Ash Black slug mates by wrapping its penis around another slug? The 30cm long slug is a hermaphrodite, so wraps itself (herself? himself? non-binary?) and its penis around another slug (and penis) until the twisting penises are 30 cms long, sperm is exchanged and both penises drop off. Not sure I can add anything to this, apart from a photograph:

One episode in Wild Isles features grasslands and the animals that live in them such as voles, hares and rabbits. Watching any animal is vaguely interesting but it seems that programme makers are always looking for the individual Mating Displays, like the slugs above, as these are often colourful if ritualistic. A male rabbit featured for some minutes of this programme and I am not sure I should share the details with Francisquinha. The first part involves the buck rubbing ‘a cocktail of pheromones’ from a gland under its chin across the fur of the female.

Just for clarity, a pheromone is a secreted or excreted chemical factor which triggers a social response in members of the same species. In us humans, they are actively involved in sexual attraction, for instance stimulating arousal, desire, lust or even fertility. 

The second part of the mating ritual is weird; the buck urinates over the female.  I thought this was only practised by those humans who do deviant sexual stuff behind closed doors, but to see the rabbits, plural as it seems other bucks join in, spraying their urine liberally over a female makes me wonder. Francisquinha tells me her favourite drink is Buck’s Fizz but maybe now I am confused.

The rabbit is fair game for owls and other birds of prey when they are out and about but protected once down their burrows … unless the local fox sees them as they simply follow the rabbit down. What’s that expression, ‘dog eat dog’? In nature the food chain is clear!

If you have read PCs 172 and 217 (odd they both have the same numbers, just a different order!) you will know that Francisquinha is a stuffed rabbit who serves a multitude of purposes in our home. She is, of course, someone to blame for a misdemeanour! For example, Celina’s father was very particular about who could load the dishwasher; he was not a domesticated man by any stretch of the imagination but he firmly believed in ‘a place for everything and everything in its place’. I passed his test, but no other family members did. Now here in Hove it’s Francisquinha’s fault if the dishwasher loading is haphazard. And she’s to blame if the hall loo light has been inadvertently left on!

Dragons’ Den, a BBC production which has just finished its 20th series, enables entrepreneurs to pitch for investment from the five resident multimillionaire ‘Dragons’. In the last episode the Dragons, having already been asked to invest in a child-friendly sunscreen applicator, a hard-water shower filter and a collectable whisky business, were faced with Jo Proud from Loughborough. She had found that having a stuffed toy to cuddle, talk to, had helped with her anxiety. She then developed a range of stuffed bears that, it is hoped, encourage everyone to understand their thoughts, feelings and emotions and, most importantly, to cope and articulate their feelings. They are named Hope, Calm, Happy, Nervous, Love, Sad, Silly and Angry, and are there to cuddle or simply to listen to their owner, without judgement. All five Dragons offered all of the investment she had asked for and their mentor and business acumen. Francisquinha serves the same purpose; you can ask her anything and she’ll answer.

In fact in this Year of the Rabbit, she wants to write the last comment:

“Sunday mornings are a very worrying time as it’s ‘clean sheets’ day. Everything gets bundled off the bed quickly and into the washing machine. Once I wasn’t quick enough and it was only when the detergent ball was about to be thrown in one of my ears was noticed and I was hauled out. Quite a close shave I can tell you! Although after many months, years even, of lying around, flopping on top of the duvet or travelling to strange cities like Singapore, I do need a bath occasionally!”

Richard 21st April 2023

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 Born in a Year of The Dog (there are twelve signs), apparently I am “honest, amiable, kind, cautious, prudent, loyal, reliable, considerate, understanding, patient, hard-working and sincere!” Food for thought!

Note 2 www.cloudappreciationsociety.org

PC 217 My Week Francisquinha*

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There’s a regular feature in the Saturday edition of The Times called “My Week …….” with an asterisk saying the article is ‘written according to Hugo Rifkind’ and is a parody of the particular individual’s week. Those politicians who have been lucky enough to have been lampooned by Rifkind recently include Joe Biden (23 Jan 21) Boris Johnson (30 Jan 21) and Vladimir Putin (06 Feb 21).

For example, Putin’s Monday (in this case the word is written in Cyrillic script!) starts ‘Am speaking with favourite oligarchs via entirely original Russian version of Zoom. Is called Zom. Ferry glitch.’ For those of you unfamiliar with the word ‘lampoon’ – it’s a verb meaning to publically criticise someone or something by using ridicule, irony or sarcasm. In a world where currently the news is all too serious, it’s a welcome levity.

During these days of vaguely enforced lockdown my imagination goes into overdrive (Note 1) and this week it’s all about giving life to an inanimate object; a little like Shirley Valentine talking to the wall in the film of the same name. In my case I think it’s easier to think of a bunny rabbit talking back than a wall ….. but maybe I am biased?

My regular readers may recognise the name Francisquinha, the subject of PC 172. I scribbled about our relationships with stuffed animals over the decades and today is no different. In fact she was reading over my shoulder the “My Week …..” piece last Saturday and suggested she could be the subject. Within a second she had twitted Hugo Rifkind and agreed a price; she didn’t tell me what it was as she knows I know she has a number of debts to clear.

Monday      “Je m’appelle Francisquinha Chantelet. À l’origine mes ancêtres venaient de la region de Pau dans le sud oust de la France. Ah! Excusez moi! Je dois parler en anglais …….mais we ended up here God knows when, certainly over two hundred years ago. It was probably during the French Revolution; think some stowed away on a ship to England. ‘God Save The Queen’ I say rather than ‘Vive La Republique!’Particularly with that Macron in charge – reminds me of macaroni cheese. I know it’s not done to let you know my age, but I am a proud 6 – about 60 in your years. It’s the start of the week so I get my claws done – currently I am into glossy pink shellac, goes well with my complexion.

I was looking over an article The Boss was reading about Myxomatosis and I could feel my little body begin to shake. It says in 1953 the viral disease Myxomatosis broke out here for the first time. It killed tens of millions of my families – we are all interrelated so that’s how I think of them – family. It’s written in a cruel way “Would the authorities allow the disease to exterminate such a destructive animal?” Moi! Destructive? Non! I am sweet and endearing and used the world over as a symbol of cuddleness, tenderness, cuteness and any other ‘ness’s you want to add. Bring them on.

Fortunately the boss sensed my discomfort and held me close to his chest. By the way I do recognise that you humans are going through a similar pandemic as we did in the 1950s; you have my sympathy.

It’s Tuesday so I get the weekly edition of The Warren, a glossy magazine full of salacious gossip and untrue stories about those of my race who think they are celebrities. Huh! Nothing famous about them, save for the odd nip and tuck to lift an ear or make a bobtail more appealing. Of course no one can match my beauty, so I read these tales with a smug expression and if they knew I have a removable tummy I can microwave, which gives me a very warm tummy, I would be even more popular. Big headed? Moi? Non!

Wednesday French toast for breakfast. I am with my owners for the 1000 yoga class. I still can’t do many of the asansas but I sit watching the screen and try to look interested.

I am getting quite a fan club as my cute smile and bright eyes warm the participants’ hearts. My Sasangasana (Note 2) posture is of course my favourite so I will demonstrate it pour vous.

Thursday I get stuck into the daily soap opera on Rabbit TV. You probably don’t know, why should you, that I have a mini iPad. It’s pink! I can hop about between the three channels – one is a serious one showing educational programmes, about reproduction for instance; we all love sex but no one I know watches it, hence that saying “breeding like rabbits” (Note 3). The one I watch has wall-to-wall soaps  ……. endless mindless drivel, which I love.

Friday is an exciting day as I am allowed bucks fizz for breakfast; this accompanies croissant with confiture – jam to you English but I love the word confiture as it’s a nod to my heritage. Very occasionally the champagne is not Tattinger. Zut Alors! Don’t they realise there are standards? I normally go out for the evening with Mumu, a real, live, large Black & White cat who lives next door. Mumu is female so we do a little mindless vagina rubbing, knowing nothing serious will come of it – oh! and we sink a few cocktails; I do love her. (Note 4)

Saturday

Lockdown has meant my travels have been really curtailed so far this year. You may remember I went to Singapore (PC 168) at the end of 2019 and stayed in the Marina Bay Sands Hotel. Flashed my eyes, spun my ears around, and got an upgrade!!

Sunday

Last night I had food which makes me fart; there seemed to be lots of kale and cauliflower. It’s a myth that rabbits only eat carrots, you know. Anyway my farts are rather silent and sound like a gentle ‘Poof!  Poof!’ Sadly, they are deadly! Not popular as I sleep between my owners.

A Bientôt. Adieu!”

Then it’s the start of a new week, with all the excitement that that currently holds? For Francisquinha – see PPS below.

Richard 12th February 2021

PS Thanks to Hugo Rifkind for the inspiration for this PC.

PPS Francisquinha will be away next week in rehab.

PPPS I was sixteen when I met a girl living near boarding school, whose father breed rabbits. They were enormous and expensive– and for about nine months two of us had some hutches behind the Biology Laboratories – looking after about five.

Note 1 A expensive car’s manual gearbox might have an ‘extra’ gear, an overdrive, which you could select for motorway driving, for instance.

Note 2 Sasangasana posture is known as Rabbit Pose.

Note 3 To reproduce …… ‘they drank like fishes and bred like rabbits’. A further extension is ‘breeding like Catholic rabbits’. As the Catholic Church forbids any form of birth control, the ‘joke’ implied is that Catholic rabbits will breed more than non-Catholic ones.

Note 4. I think Francisquinha had read that birds simply rub their sexual areas together to mate!!

PC 172 Francisquinha*

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She stares at me with her soulful eyes.

“What do you mean you’re stopping my pocket money? You’re saying I’ve overspent on your credit card at The Ivy and the tab at Mixologist is due? Well, what do you want me to do? Do the washing up?”

She turned her back on me and sulked.

My relationship with Francisquinha is complex. When she is asleep and calm, I really love her. When she is bouncing up and down at some perceived slight I wonder why I bother. And why do I bother?

The relationships we have with our fellow human beings develop over time, time when their depths rise and fall as regularly as the tide. Some give us great satisfaction and joy, others drive us to distraction. The relationship we have with our pets, our cats, dogs, canaries, tropical fish, snakes, and rabbits, particularly if you’re English, can often be better and deeper. But what about a relationship with a stuffed animal – not the one a friendly taxidermist could do for your recently-departed Chihuahua – but a real stuffed animal, made of material, kapok and in the old days buttons for eye (now replaced by cloth as too many babies took the buttons as sweets)? I guess we will all immediately think whether we had or even still have ‘something’ in which we invested emotions, characteristics and a quasi-life.

Francisquinha

“Oh! So now you’re going to write about me? At last! Do you want me to suggest what you should say?”

“Actually I am going to write about more famous stuffed animals than you.”

“Someone’s more famous than me? How come?”

I ignore her question. A couple of ‘bears’ come to mind. For me the first is Winnie-the Pooh; not that I had a physical example but loved AA Milne’s Christopher Robin’s bear that came down the stairs ….. ‘bump, bump, bump!’

Milne’s genius was assisted enormously by the illustrations of EH Shepard and of course by Pooh’s friends, Piglet, Tigger, Kanga, Roo and Owl.  Pooh’s home-spun philosophy rings as true today as it did when the stories were written 94 years ago.

More recently Benjamin Hoff made much of this little bear in his ‘Tao of Pooh’, using the characters to explain modern life:

“By the way, Pooh, how do you spell Tuesday?”

“Spell what?” asked Pooh.

“Tuesday. You know, Monday, Tuesday ….”

“My dear Pooh,” interjects the all-knowing Owl, “everybody knows it’s spelt with a Two.”

“Is it?” asks Pooh.

“Of course,” said Owl. “after all, it’s the second day of the week.”

“Oh! Is that the way it works?” asked Pooh.

“All right, Owl, I said. “Then what comes after Twosday?”

“Thirdsday,” said Owl.

“Owl, you’re confusing things. This is the day after Tuesday, and it’s not Thirdsday – I mean Thursday.”

“Then what is it?” asked Owl.

“Today!” squeaked Piglet.

Older generations will remember Beatrix Potter’s animal creations such as Peter Rabbit – “But round the end of a cucumber frame, whom should he meet but Mr McGregor, planting out young cabbages.” – and Jemima Puddle-Duck. And you remember Paddington, who came to England from Peru in 1958, was the creation of Michael Bond and eventually became the star of two films? In fact, inevitably, these delightful characters from the written word have been mercilessly exploited by consumerism and merchandising. My parents’ bedroom mantelpiece had a large collection of Beatrix Potter china figurines – which gathered dust and required constant cleaning!

“What are you scribbling? Is it about me?”

“Not everything is about you …..”

…… and off she went mumbling about something under her whiskers ……

At the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst there was ‘The Edward Bear Club’. Edward Bear was a proper teddy bear who had become the mascot for the Parachute Course. One Easter leave I spent two weeks voluntarily throwing myself out of an aeroplane to earn my ‘Military Parachutist’ badge (Very different from the punishing P Company Course run by the Parachute Regiment for those wanting to enter their ranks and earn the parachute wings (Note 1)).

Edward Bear Club tie motif

Some weeks after qualifying 70 of us parachuted onto Hankley Common near Aldershot for a ‘Teddy Bear’s Picnic’. Edward Bear had badges from the French Saint Cyr Academy and from West Point, as well as British ones; and of course he had his own parachute and was always the first out of the aeroplane!

In 1981 British Sunday evening television had us glued to a series called Brideshead Revisited staring Jeremy Irons and Antony Andrews. Based on the 1945 Evelyn Waugh novel of the same name, it featured a Lord Sebastian Flyte who always carried his stuffed teddy bear called Aloysius. Waugh had been at Oxford with John Betjeman who had a teddy bear he called Archibald Ormsby-Gore, and this might have been the inspiration for Aloysius.

Actually I am jealous of one thing that Francisquinha has and that’s a removable tummy. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if after a heavy meal you could simply open up the Velcro fastening and take out your tummy? Francisquinha’s is made of microwaveable beans; 45 seconds at full power and you have a warm-tummied cuddly rabbit!  When she’s come with us on some trip, to the Marina Bay Sands hotel in Singapore for instance, she leaves the tummy behind so she can just chill with the Room Service menu and other amenities

“So what else are you writing about?”

“I bet you didn’t hear of the stuffed rabbit known, not surprisingly, as Bunny (original huh!), that was sucked out of a gun-port on a ‘Flying Legend’ World War Two bomber over Canada last year?”

“No! I didn’t see that on Rabbit TV News. Tell me more …..”

The stuffed pet owner’s father had previously borrowed his daughter’s pet when with the RAF on a tour in Afghanistan so was mortified when he lost it. The power of social media ensured that when Bunny was found on the roof of a care home two weeks later, she/he/it (?) was reunited with Victoria.

“Wow! That’s so cool. Must be a very special rabbit: like me! Did I tell you someone in The Ivy asked me whether I wanted to star in a soap opera they were going to start filming, to be called The Warren? No? Oh! Well! You shouldn’t be surprised given my good looks etc. And by the way, did you ever see me doing one of those 26/2 hot yoga postures you love doing? “

Francisquinha’s ‘Half Lotus’

……and so off she hopped, full of herself, looking for her passport and hoping that she could stow away in our cabin luggage for our trip to Rio de Janeiro; She has complained so often that the cargo compartment is so cold her Caipirinha freezes! And over her shoulder she couldn’t resist another jibe: “And if Boris thinks he can hibernate all winter, he can think again!”

Boris hibernating

Richard 20th February 2020

Note * Francisquinha is the diminutive form of Francisca, a common Christian name in some parts of the world. Brazilians love adding ‘…..quinha’ to names!)

Note 1. Delighted to read yesterday that Captain Rosie Wild RHA had become the first woman to complete this gruelling selection course and had received her coveted maroon beret. 

PC 514 Hope Chat

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Sami has the latest John Grisham book, ‘The French Illusion’, propped up in front of him on his table in The Hope Café when I popped in last Wednesday. I remember when I first saw him: it was October 2021, five years ago, so I looked up PC 258 on my iPad to read what I had written:

“The regulars are here, plus those for whom the “Why don’t we get out of the rain and grab a cup of coffee?” is irresistible. In the far corner, sitting by himself and enjoying the contents of a pot of tea, a grey-haired chap is head down into a book, his lips gently and unconsciously forming the words. I recognise the cover, the latest by the American author John Grisham entitled ‘Sooley’. Grisham has written 36 novels, mainly involving lawyers and court cases; they are always well-crafted and gripping stories – you can tell I’m a fan as is, I assume, the man this morning.”

“Hi Sami! You remember we met over Grisham’s ‘Sooley’ novel five years ago, here in The Hope Café? I have really valued our conversations over the years and admired how you coped with the way you were treated by The Post Office. Then, of course, you found love with Lisa which has definitely put the smile back on your face. How’s Grisham’s new one? I know it’s one of the gifts Celina’s bought me for my birthday on Saturday so don’t tell me too much!”

“Ah! Richard! Mine too on the 24th, but 1958 not …..! Yes, The Post Office scandal! I have almost stopped thinking about this huge miscarriage of justice, but read there are still individuals fighting for compensation. Disgraceful! Grisham’s book? Yes, just started ….. what I like about Grisham and others of his ilk, they draw you in from the first sentence, the first page and, in Grisham’s case keep your attention in so many ways. You obviously saw that another great storyteller, Jeffrey Archer, has died. He was an interesting character, wasn’t he?”

“Yup! His life, however unbelievable, read like some of his novels, however unbelievable! Andrew Billen, writing in The Times, said: ‘…… and (he) saved himself by becoming an author of bestselling, if not critically acclaimed, books.’ Maybe at some stage we should discuss why popular novels are not always the choice of the critics?”

“I’ll give that some thought. You watch much television, Richard?”

“Actually, we do, although last week, both my brother and a new neighbour had admitted independently they had got bored with television and switched to podcasts and the like for their edification. I am briefly dipping into the new series of Celebrity Traitors, although Celina’s not a fan. You won’t be surprised when I have to question the definition of the word ‘celebrity’ as some are unknown to me.”

“Each to their own. Some people buy those weekly colour magazines that depict the lives of such people, those who think they are some form of celebrity. All those glossy photographs and salacious gossip. Not that I glance at them; heaven forbid!”

“There was a claim by American Myha’la Herrold that, after she was evicted from the castle, there was racial bias in the programme!”

“Remind me who she is?”

“She played Harper Stern in the British TV drama Industry ….. and is known ‘mononymously’, not a word I have come across before, as Myha’la. She said she may have fallen victim to the “unconscious ­racial and cultural bias that exists in the game”; being of mixed race, she implied that the colour of her skin helped to explain why she was (falsely) ­accused! The Times has a view: “This phrase ‘unconscious bias’ has acquired far more acceptance than it deserves. The existence or otherwise of a belief residing in the unconscious cannot be either proved or falsified. Unconscious bias, therefore, has no explanatory or analytical power. It serves only as a slogan, an excuse, an accusation.” In this series of the programme, 28% of the participants are from an ethnic minority background; so, compared with the national average of 18%, it suggests the programme makers are very much in favour of having non-white participants.

“Why can’t people just put their hands up and admit they hadn’t played the game well? Why do they need to blame someone or something else? She chose what to say when, no one else!”

“In July in PC 502, I mentioned that I had managed to help a Nick Whittle in Stourbridge in his research into an uncle’s life. Nick had got in touch thinking his uncle had been one of the 23 of Burma’s Intake 39; I had posted a photograph (See PCs 408, 410 & 412 Memories of Sandhurst Parts 1-3) of us innocent cadets that first week. We found out that Stephen Hall-Jones had in fact been at The Royal Military Academy Sandhurst the year before me; a member of the Sandhurst Foundation helped Nick fill in the details. Always curious about other people …… this initial connection has developed into the odd exchange of emails and now he reads my PCs.

He works at the Funeral Directors H Porter & Sons in the town. Did you watch that wonderful HBO’s drama series Six Feet Under (2001-2005) Sami? You might think that a series based around a funeral directors would be well, a little dead beat ….. but it was anything but; brilliant. Apart from the obvious personal knowledge gained from family bereavements, it’s not an industry I am very familiar with.”

“Me neither. You have a point?”

“There is a lovely coincidence. Celina’s ex had an elder brother Andrew who died unexpectedly a week ago; they lived in Stourbridge. The funeral is going to be in Stourbridge Crematorium next month – Celina’s horrified it takes so long to wait for a funeral here – and it’s Nick’s funeral directors who will look after all the arrangements. Andrew’s widow Julie could have chosen any of the other 11 businesses classified as funeral directors in Stourbridge. You could mangle the famous quote from the 1942 film Casablanca ‘of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.’ ….. into something like ‘of all the funeral parlours in all the country they chose this one.’”

“Very drole Richard. Andrew would have smiled that his connection worked!”

“Let’s continue our chat after our birthdays ……”

Richard 23rd October 2026

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk