In December last year the exchange of family presents with my daughter Jade was planned for the Sunday eight days before Christmas itself.  I called to check that everyone was healthy, as I needed to be free of the then current lurgies before my first cataract operation. Towards the end of the Winter Term schools particularly are hotbeds of germs and viruses and sadly all the boys seemed to have various complaints, so the two of us agreed to meet at 0845 at the M25 service station at Cobham for breakfast. Sounds really glamourous, doesn’t it, but it was half-way between our homes and an easy drive on motorways.

Jade’s journey in red, mine in yellow

Motorway service stations in the UK have very varied reputations but they have gradually. The Tebay Service Station on the M6 Motorway between Kendal and Penrith in Cumbria is owned by a farming family and has even featured in its own television series. The restaurant uses lots of local produce and has developed a great reputation; obviously more than a tankful of unleaded, a pint of milk and a packet of crisps! (Note 1) Normally I use a motorway service station for a pee break, resist any confectionary goodies – well, apart from a Twix – grab a double espresso from Costa Coffee and leave. I often wonder who stays in the attached hotel.

Tebay Services in Cumbria

The Cobham Service Station sounds like a destination; mentioning what I had done to others immediately garnered comments like “Oh! That’s a great place: people gather there from all over.” And it probably has the largest number of options for stuffing your face; Café Nero, KFC, MacDonalds, M&S, WH Smiths and Leon. Jade chose the latter and ordered our breakfast from an electronic drop-down menu; very C21st!

Google maps had suggested it would take me 58 minutes although I left with plenty of spare time. Fed up with almost every radio station playing Christmas carols, as they had since the start of December, I tuned into Radio 4 and half-listened to their religious programme. I could see I was going to be early so kept my speed below the limit, staying in the slow lane except when the odd huge lorry was going slower. It occurred to me we normally just see the cars, vans and lorries without registering who is in them. I am sure you’ve been enchanted when coming into an airport at night, to see the streams of lights, white and red, ribboning out across the countryside, without thinking about their occupants?

We assume, we have to assume, that everyone behind the wheel of a vehicle can drive well, but watching some reels of the dashcam footage on Instagram of motorway collisions makes me wonder! I guess we all get distracted at some stage, either because our mind is too full of ‘stuff’ that there’s no computing space left for observing the road conditions and reacting accordingly or because we are just not a good driver. Some years ago Celina and I were just coming up to the junction of the M23 and the London orbital motorway M25; left taking us west towards Heathrow and beyond, right east towards the M2 to Dover. It’s got four clearly-marked lanes but Wayne and Sheila, driving their Toyota Corolla to see Sheila’s parents in Tunbridge Wells, obviously were confused; what’s that expression: “thumb up bum, mind in neutral”. At the last minute Wayne realised they were in wrong lane, way over to the left, swerved across to the right to make the turn and the car went up on two wheels. Those of us watching from the safety of our own vehicles could only wonder how the Toyota didn’t roll over but it bounced back onto four wheels, did a little shimmy, and went on its way! One could imagine the ‘words in car’ afterwards.

I saw Mariette with two young children strapped into seats behind her, continually turn around to see what they were doing; but she was travelling at 70 mph with a stopping distance of 100m and driving about twenty metres from the van in front. Eek!

In a rather clapped-out Volvo estate, probably with some huge mileage, a couple and three children are making their way to Granny’s for lunch. The elderly Labrador sits in the boot, its nose up against the back window causing the latter to mist up. In the old days the humans would probably be playing games like ‘I spy’/ colour of car/number plate/tree/road sign etc but today it looks as though the children are all engaged in individual electronic games on their iPads.

Jakub had left Gdańsk on the Baltic coast almost twenty hours ago, driving his lorry and trailer filled with kitchen units and hoping to get to Sheffield by the end of the day. Needing some fuel for himself and for his lorry, he indicated left and pulled off the motorway and into the Cobham Service Station. I followed.

Later, mission accomplished, Jade and I get back on the motorway. Seeing a Porsche with a distinctive number plate ……

…… reminded me of an observation from a few years ago, scribbled about in PC 48 Did You Notice That …. (August 2015). It seems appropriate to paraphrase it here:

“Driving up the M23 …. we were passed by a Range Rover with a distinctive number plate ‘1 BNT’. Normal number plates here currently have two letters denoting place of registration, two numbers denoting year of manufacture, and three arbitrary letters; ours are GU18GKO. … Some people, like this person, pay huge sums of money to purchase a particular combination that might mean something to them. What it stood for I am not sure, but ‘Number One Bint’ comes to mind. For those not familiar with the slang English vernacular ‘bint’ is a derogatory term for woman but could in this case be the exact proud opposite! Anyway ….. we journeyed onwards. Returning later …… to our complete amazement ….. we pass the same Range Rover traveling south. Here of course, in the same time and space, but recognising it purely because of its distinctive plate! What a coincidence! What a chance!”

Weird huh?

Richard 26^th January 2024

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 We have got used to buying fuel in litres and not gallons but a ‘pint of milk’ is a ‘pint of milk’ and not a ‘half-litre of milk’!

My regular readers will know I had my first cataract operation just before Christmas with, hopefully, the second in early February. Now I have 20/20 vision with my left eye and can read a car number plate at 1000m, well it feels like that, but the sight from my right eye is a bit of an uncorrected blur! For the last fifty years or more I have worn daily contact lenses and removed them before climbing into bed. The habit remains and every evening I instinctively want to remove my non-existent lenses!  

Funny things, habits! A long time ago I used to drink alcohol and smoke cigarettes. Too easy for one’s behaviour to become habitual, without challenging it. I gave up cigarettes at university and put the saved 50p, it was decades ago (!), into a piggy bank and paid for a holiday in Spain with the contents. But one evening many months later I fancied a late drink, popped down to the Hall of Residence’s bar and bought a pint and, oh! why not, let’s have a little Hamlet cigar. A week later I did the same, twice! Then I found myself buying a packet of 5 Hamlets and …….

There was no Government Health warning in those days!

Every so often well-meaning chums give me some non-alcoholic wine which are often sweet, but the ‘00’ beers have improved dramatically, driven by the demands of both Millennials and Generation Z. I have tried and not enjoyed wines which contain no alcohol but been pleasantly surprised by those that have a smidgen, say 0.5%. A red 0.5% was rather good, jangling those taste buds and bringing back faint memories of a good Barolo or Grenache.

In PC 368 I wrote that Duncan had brought a couple of bottles of Nozeco, a French 0.5% sparkling wine, to end the year and toast his new triptych. My newsagent Rahmi had also bought me a couple of bottles before Christmas so, with my turkey crown, pigs in blankets and cranberry sauce, I had a couple of glasses and jolly nice they were too! On New Year’s Eve I thought I would have the other half, kept fresh by a champagne stopper. And it was still good ….. and then in the second week of January I thought I would open the second bottle I had in the ‘fridge. …. and that’s when the brain kicked in! This is the way it is for those of us with slightly addictive characters. It sucks you in, the desire, the habit ……

Addiction is defined as not having control over doing, taking or using something to the point where it could be harmful to you. We probably use the term quite loosely to describe actions which, in themselves are not harmful, but their pursuit could eventually be. I have been accused of becoming addicted to the hot yoga series, I guess because at one point any social engagements had to fit around my daily practice! In the days before 00 beers were actually lovely, I got into drinking Red Bull, and enjoyed its lift. Like all addictions the more I had, the more I needed; it had to stop!

Any one for chocolate? Do you have any in your apartment or house? I certainly do and love having a little Cadbury’s Whole Nut with a coffee after lunch. It’s so, so good and in moderation, like most things, it’s OK.

I went to Google for a definition of ‘an alcoholic’ and found that it’s not a term used any more in ‘medical care’ but we all know that it means someone with a strong, often uncontrollable, desire to drink. The new term is ‘alcohol use disorder’, for women 8 or more drinks in a week, for men 15 or more a week. Fortunately apart from historic addictions to cigarettes and alcohol (Note 1) I have never got involved with any form of drugs, although recognise that their availability and acceptance today would be a big challenge.

Today’s the nineteenth of January, so if you started some New Year’s resolution, either giving up something or, on a more positive note, taking something up and are still focused on that, well done! Apparently it’s normal for most people to ditch the idea around the 12^th January. The Times’ columnist Janice Turner wrote this paragraph, cleverly entitled ‘Uncorked Whine’:

“I don’t usually do Dry January, but now I’ve started, I’ll try to finish. It feels right to be ascetic at this time of year. Yet — and I know it’s frivolous to say this — it’s given me renewed respect for friends with serious alcohol issues who’ve totally quit. Because even as a very moderate drinker I’m finding it hard. It’s the weekends that suck. I can easily forgo the odd midweek glass (or two). But no “wey-hey it’s Friday!” cocktail, no crisp white with Saturday’s  baked sea bass, no big red with Sunday’s apple and wild boar sausages in lentils? Just water for me, thanks. That won’t in any way diminish the meal …
Except it does: dinner without wine has no grandeur, no ceremony, no thrill of a popped cork, no pleasing glug, no first sip and satisfied “ahhhh!”
Three more weekends to go.”

I enjoy my no-alcohol decision, certainly don’t want to bang the drum for abstinence, but recognise that for instance some 17% of the issues that our wonderful paramedics are called out to deal with are alcohol-related and that’s not good!

Richard 19^th January 2024

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS Luke’s WhatsApp group heard on Tuesday that Josh is alive. He’s suffering from concussion and has some very small pieces of shrapnel in his left leg. More news anon.

PPS See also PCs 15 ‘Alcohol and Other Drugs’ (June 2014) and 257 ‘Alcohol and The British Issue’ (November 2021)

Note 1 If you challenge yourself with the question: “Am I an alcoholic?” the inner voice replies “Oh! No! I’m just a social drinker, once or twice during the week and more at weekends, obviously. Good to unwind! That’s OK Isn’t it?”

(Continued from PC 368)

I can see everyone’s eyes are drawn unconsciously to the little candle on the counter, the artificial representation of someone dear; all of us lost in our thoughts about Josh. The clamour of concerned voices fills the café, everyone wanting to know what’s happened. Questions came thick and fast but Duncan, looking to Luke for his silent agreement, raises his hand:

“Look! From what Luke knows Josh is OK but was wounded when a drone, flown from Hezbollah-controlled southern Lebanon, released a small bomb. He’s been taken to hospital and Luke’s been promised an update this evening. Luke’s going to create a WhapsApp group so, if you want to, give him your details …….”

“Time for him to come home” mutters Susie under her breath as we all line up to give our details to Luke.

Without further information, speculation seems inappropriate and we will know soon enough how Josh is. Life moves on! Mo, Sami and I return to our table and discussion. In summary Mo had been saying that some people are put off reading because they don’t understand ‘long words’.

“Ah! The stratification in the way they’re presented” I said “the stories at the bottom in comic form, up through light weight chick-lit, trashy even (?), to the broad church of fictional novels and then to the higher callings of the intellectuals; same story! For me a good example of the latter would be Lawrence Durrell’s Alexandria Quartet, ranked by the Modern Library as among the greatest works of English literature in the C20th. Encouraged by Tim Tinnes in San Fransico, I tried it early last year. After a while I was skimming the pages, thought the writing tortured and overwrought: moved forward twenty pages and the story hadn’t, in my opinion, moved forward. I need the story to move!”

“So, what did you read last year Richard?”

“Well, of the 40 odd books, four were non-fiction: ‘What About Men?’ by Caitlin Moran (see PC 352 About Men September 2023), ‘SBS; Silent Warriors’ by Saul David, about the Special Boat Service, Tom Holland’s book on Klaus Barbie, ‘The Butcher of Lyon’ (See PC 324 Monsters March 2023) and Wendy Joseph QC’s description of ‘Unlawful Killing’ trials at The Old Bailey in London.

“Wow! Lots of fiction! Read mainly by the swimming pool in Estoril?”

“Privileged to have the time! Otherwise in bed before sleep, so I need a book to be a good story, with interesting characters and well-paced. I don’t think more than one could be described as trashy and I didn’t read more than 5% of that!”

The first few books extracted from my iphone ‘Notes’

Sami starts to tell us about his obsession with crime writers such as Lee Child, Agatha Christie, Ian Rankin, Stieg Larsen, Colin Dexter, Peter James, David Balducci, Michael Connelly, Martina Cole ……

“….. but now I wonder whether some pompous twat might call all their books ‘trashy’! Ha! Ha! We read what pleases us.”

“Indeed we do, indeed we should!”

Mo goes to get some more coffees and I can see she’s tempted by Teresa’s savouries, looking curiously into the display cabinet. Taking the opportunity, I quickly ask Sami whether he’s seen the ITV channel’s “Mr Bates v the Post Office”, with the actor Toby Jones, whom Celina and I met in the hot yoga studio in Balham in 2010, as Mr Bates.

“Ah! Yes! Making a drama about the UK’s biggest miscarriage of justice! Think it’s fairly accurate but what I hope it does is educate a wider audience as to what went on and how we suffered. I know that you wrote about it way before you and I met ……”

“Yes! In June 2021 I posted PC 235 Generosity in Government. Amazing to think it’s 18 months ago!”

Sami continues: “but I think most people just think it’s another government department FUBAR. I hope the Public Enquiry, apart from suggesting who should be prosecuted, addresses the issue of how the Post Office can act as their own police, judge and jury.”

“And, as I understand it, all the money the Post Office erroneously claimed their sub postmasters and mistresses had stolen ended up in Post Office profits. A wonderful corrupt scheme; the more you claim the individuals owe you due to our false accounting, the more you get back, the higher the organisation’s profits and the higher your bonus as a share of the profits.”

Mo returns with some coffees and, probably thinking we’d discussed trashy novels and the Post Office scandal to death, asks whether I had seen that the Australian journalist John Pilger had died aged 84?

“Actually I did! I confess to loving his books and still have ‘Hidden Agendas’ and ‘Distant Voices’. He was the hatpin to the status quo as portrayed by governments and political parties, exploding biased views and pomposity. But he was a marmite character; you either loved him or hated him. What I hadn’t realised was he almost became a word in the dictionary.”

“What do you mean?” ask Mo and Sami almost simultaneously!

“He obviously upset the English writer Auberon Waugh, who invented a new verb to describe Pilger’s actions. “To Pilger, Pilgerise or be Pilgered: to present information in a sensationalist manner to reach a foregone conclusion; using emotive language to make a false political point: treating a subject emotionally with generous disregard for inconvenient detail; or making a pompous judgement on wrong premises.” Pilger initiated legal action and it was removed from The Oxford English Dictionary of New Words. More’s the pity; think it would have been a useful addition!”

“Anyway” says Duncan, interrupting everyone, “Time to close the café. Let’s hope news from Israel is positive, thank you Richard for your triptych, and no doubt we’ll all see each other over the next few days.”

Out into the deep darkness of a January evening, the odd snow flurry catching the light from the streetlamps.

More anon ….

Richard 13^th January 2024

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS Following the enormous expose created by the programme, Paula Vennells, CEO Post Office 2012 – 2019, is handing back her CBE and it sounds as though Parliament will introduce a law that will quash most of the criminal convictions; interesting parliamentary action overriding the ‘independent’ judiciary!

Note 1 FUBAR – F**ked Up Beyond All Recognition

My last scribbles about St James were posted on 29^th December but I managed to fulfil my promise to Duncan to deliver my triptych by the end of the year, on the 31^st; phew! He’d organised a few bottles of Nozeco, a French non-alcoholic bubbly which is quite good, and that got around the issue of The Hope Café not having a licence to serve alcohol. As it was the end of the afternoon he’d asked a few of the Hope regulars to come along; Teresa was providing some Brazilian nibbles.

Apart from Mo, Robert and Anna, Sami was there but without Lisa, who was working on a piece for The Argus about Tony Bloom, the owner of the city’s Premier football club, who was awarded an MBE in the New Year’s Honours List and couldn’t make it.  Libby had come in specially and brought her niece Susie, who’d just returned from Melbourne and was looking suitably jetlagged. Kate was manning the counter. I had been in the day before, marked the wall where the triptych would hang and banged six nails in, two for each canvas.

“So Richard, can we see it?” asks Duncan and I reach into my bag and put the three frames on the wall above the bench seating.

“Normally everyone takes photographs or paints the rows of beach huts along The Promenade from the sea side. I thought it would be good for its position on the wall here to take the eye through the rear of the huts out to the sea.”

Without wishing to blow my own trumpet (Note 1) I am pleased with my efforts and it was suitably admired! It was extremely good to see Susie back in the Hope and I went over to catch up. She gave me a big hug and smile.

“Hey! Good to see you; great painting – well done! Funny being back in late December. Everyone looks pale and tired and I’ve been living in the southern hemisphere summer. Why do people live here?” she joked! “Bit worrying about Josh, isn’t it; Libby had told me that on his arrival and, after some very basic training, he joined a unit on Israel’s northern border with Lebanon.”

“Yes. And I read the other day that since Christmas both sides have increased their random shelling and drone flights over the border. Some of the latter have dropped bombs.”

Israeli and Hezbollah skirmishes October and November 2023

“Love the candle on the counter for him; like, very thoughtful. My OE (Note 2) was wonderful but it’s good to be home. Those three months working for Margie in Hobart were challenging and eye-opening, so I’m going to explore opportunities in wholesale catering here. Temporarily, I will be back behind the counter; with Josh away in Israel we’re a little light. Good to meet Kate and hope she stays, although she tells me she thinks she’ll resume her bus driving come the spring.

I really had no idea what New Zealand and Australia are like, you know. OK you can watch documentaries and see television dramas set in either country but it’s not the same as actually being there. It was like, really, like another world, so divorced from Europe although you could see the influence of those European settlers everywhere.”

“Good to have you back and, if you’ll excuse me, I need to catch up with Sami. Maybe I can look at some of your photographs some time?”

“There are only about 1500! Sure. Next week?”

I see Sami chatting to Mo. Perfect, I think, as I want to find out what constitutes a trashy novel, as someone had challenged me the other day, saying I only read ‘trashy novels’, the unspoken jibe being they didn’t as they were intellectually more superior; that’s my perception and could of course indicate a little chip on my shoulder?

“Sami, as far as I remember, when I first saw you in here you were reading the latest John Grisham novel, Judge’s List wasn’t it?

“God! That’s almost two years ago, Richard, but yes, I read his new one each year. I love a good story and I don’t think there’s anything ‘trashy’ about Grisham’s art of creating a believable story.”

“My late father-in-law apparently never read a ‘novel’, trashy or otherwise, preferring books about his professional medical speciality or his passion for the Christian religion. And Mo, you were reading the Act of Oblivion by Robert Harris, which presumably appealed as I later learned you had taught history in a secondary school?”

“Absolutely! Historical fiction is my reading preference but I love watching good dramas on television, providing they’re not violent or horrific. We have been writing stories, imaginary or otherwise, since we understood how to chisel signs or hieroglyphics on stone or slate tablets. My school taught all the Greek classics ……

“Mine didn’t, neither a Homer nor an Ovid …. more’s the pity you might think?”

“…… and their heroes became imbedded into my memory. Clearly, they were important and from them individuals like Marlowe and Shakespeare adapted the basics for their Elizabethan age and sensitivity. Do you know there are only seven story archetypes?”

“Sorry! I don’t understand!” exclaims Sami.

Mo continues: “Christopher Booker argues in his book there are only 7 basic stories: ‘Overcoming the monster’, ‘Rags to Riches’, ‘The Quest’, ‘Voyage and Return’, ‘Comedy’, ‘Tragedy’ and ‘Rebirth’. For example, in the real world ‘overcoming the monster’ could be overcoming an addiction, beating an illness, getting out of debt etcetera.

The joy of understanding stories, through reading them, hearing them narrated or watching some screen director’s interpretation of them is a constant in my life. Their use in teaching morals, for instance in the wonderful book ‘Zen Flesh Zen Bones’ or indeed in the Christian gospels or in the Koran, is widespread. Sadly, for some the joy of reading has never been grasped, either through an inability to read or through a lack of education, but it’s never too late.”

We were in full flow when, out of the corner of my eye, I see Luke, Josh’s partner, come in and speak to Duncan, whose face pales. He announces to us all: “It’s about Josh …..

(To be continued)

Richard 5^th January 2024

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 Way back in the dim and distance past I passed my Grade 5 Music exam playing a trumpet, so blowing my own trumpet came naturally.

Note 2 OE is a New Zealand term for ‘overseas experience’.