Sally-Part 47. TO THE LIGHTHOUSE! A SCOTTISH TALE

With the two of us still full from breakfast and  without an emergency sandwich in sight we set out at 10:45am for the sixty mile trip to eat in the Mull of Galloway Lighthouse restaurant and enjoy the fantastic view out to sea and over to Ireland.

Tired out we stopped for a rest after two miles at The Marbury Smokehouse to spend £6:85, the last of our meagre life savings on our second hot smoked-salmon baguette of the season.

 We then carried on for a further non-stop twenty minutes of exhausting driving before pulling off the road because I was starving and desperate for a nap.

After I ate my half of the baguette, Shirley, who was STILL full from breakfast, ate the other half plus the salad and packet of crisps ( Not such bad value then ? ) that I wouldn't touch as I don't understand how anyone can like eating soggy leaves soured with vinegar and accompanied by large rings of raw onion as a delicacy I presume, to perfume the breath!

I think that salad is unmanly! 

Arriving at our destination weak from lack of sleep we reclined our seats for another nap before setting out for a walk right around the round lighthouse.

Thankfully I wasn't staggering under the weight of Shirley's usual necessities as even she felt capable of managing ten minutes without needing to change her shoes, jacket or slap on extra sunblock, though of course I secretly stuffed the unopened Anti-thigh-rub-gel into my coat pocket just in case!

" I'm not going to be able to eat a dinner after that roll but d'you know what I really fancy?" Shirley asked.

Not being clairvoyant I had no idea and dared to say so. Or rather I said, " My half of the salmon baguette? "

"Don't be stupid! If I'd wanted your half I would have eaten it!  Look what do we always see people eating on a day out that I would never normally ask for?"

"Err! Chips? "

" No! You really are thick aren't you? What is the one thing that I would NEVER eat? Think man! People hold them and eat them and I've just seen a man with one wrapped in greaseproof paper!  What's up with you? Don't stand there looking gormless! "

" Shirley I really don't know why a man would be wrapped in greaseproof paper! Can you give me more of a clue? "

" Not the man thicko! The thing that I wouldn't normally want but really do now!"

" A Hot Dog? And is this your way of telling me you're pregnant?"

" No! Oh God give me strength! And don't be disgusting! I'm sixty years old! A cornet you idiot! A cornet! I've just seen a man eating a cornet and I want one!"

" If you'd said that five minutes ago we wouldn't have had a row would we? And I've never seen a cornet wrapped in greaseproof paper!"

"We haven't had a row! You're too sensitive! And if it wasn't greaseproof paper it was something that made it look delicious and it had three lumps and I want one!"

" So calling me gormless and a thicko and an idiot is not having a row? "

" Of course not. We had a DISCUSSION and now you're going to sulk for three days! Well thanks for ruining my day out!"

" Oh God! Right! What flavours would you like and I'll go and get one and I'm not sulking right?"

" I know you and you ARE sulking and I don't want your bloody ice cream and don't think I'm going to forget this in a hurry!"

"O.K!  I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you !" ( There I go, the innocent party, apologising AGAIN! ) "Look let's go and get something to eat first and then have a cornet O.K ?"

" O.K. But I'm not hungry now though I wouldn't mind a Cappuccino and  then we'll have a cornet but we'll just buy one and share it!"

The Lighthouse's restaurant has huge floor to ceiling windows with panoramic views from it's cliff-top position and whilst I waited five or so minutes for Shirley to test and choose her preferred table from a choice of twenty and believe me, just like the rare occassions when we have been to the cinema, it can be like watching a dog circling around in it's basket before settling down, I absent-mindedly found myself thinking things.

The first was what a good decision it had been to build the lighthouse up here so it's restaurant would have such a good view!

 And the second was 'Blimey! Shirley never goes in cafes! She must need a wee 'cos she IS pregnant but then she'll never use a public toilet for fear of getting locked in, which she never has been so why is she scared about it and anyway we carry an emergency Tupperware sandwich box in the car for such 'emergencies' which she then empties out the window when we're on the move and the contents of which I get covered in when the slipstream throws it back in in a fine spray!

And my third thought was, 'I'm really hungry!'

And all those thoughts whilst I was waiting for 'table approval'!

We sat, only changing seat positions twice and Shirley said," I hope that you're not hungry are you 'cos I'm not and anyway you won't like any of their mains so we'll just have two coffees and go O.K?"

So as I obviously wasn't hungry I spent only £4 on two tasteless cups of hot water with foamed milk and seemingly very little coffee.

Thankfully they were such big drinks that my ravenous appetite was held at bay and I went back to spend several more pounds on a three-flavoured cornet delightfully wrapped in greaseproof paper, just as Shirley said it would be, which we took back to the car to share and watched in silence as it slipped down Shirley's gullet until only the last inch of the delicious soggy end was left and only then dared to give a gentle 'reminder' cough.

" Oh ! You know I love the last bit and you don't really like ice cream do you?"

"Apparently not! But I AM hungry"

"Well why didn't you say so before? We're not going back in now! And anyway you're being ridiculous! You can't possibly be hungry after half a baguette only three hours ago and you've had a humbug and a leaf of my orange and if you're really starving there's a Crunchie in the back! Can't you hang on 'til we get home and get scampi and chips from the take-away and then I can have the small ones?"

And I did hang on and got scampi and chips which I ate as I read my book, failing to remember to sort out a few small ones for Shirley who then approached, 'humphed' and proceeded to inspect by flicking each one, squeezing her selection until she was satisfied that they were just right, leaving the now damaged rejects piled at one end of the polystyrene container for me!

" It's O.K ! My hands are clean !" She snapped when she saw me staring in horror and dismay.

To properly appreciate the look that I'm trying to describe you have to watch ' Bitzer's' face in ' Shaun The Sheep ' ! 

 I've just finished them off two hours later by filling a sandwich with a dozen 'left-over' chips covered in mayonnaise which I was too full to eat at the time and now I'm in pain!


PS. AN EDITORIAL NOTE FROM MRS.MAINWARING:

 There is no point in editing this story as about only 20% of it is true and it would take too long !

  I do have to correct a couple of points though.

 The real truth is that I tried to force the old pain to have a main course in the cafe but he refused and I then tried to talk him into going to Portpatrick to get a Dublin Bay Prawn open sandwich that we last ate in 1985 and which he still raves about but he was too tired to make the 10 mile extra drive there !

 Then I suggested a Chinese in Newton Stewart but he said that they're all crap except his beloved "Broadway" in Blyth of course and that's why he ended up with his scampi !

 Also we did NOT actually have an ice cream as we were too full from the huge Cappuccinos!

 Mrs Mainwaring.

PPS. That's blown it! Now who's ever going to believe a thing I write ?DN

Sally-Part 46. THE TURNER PRIZE ? WHAT A LOAD OF RUBBISH !

If you are new to my blog a little introduction might shed some light.

I've spent forty years making leather bags and purses which I sell each Sunday at Newcastle-upon-Tyne's Quayside Market.

The whole area has been rebuilt and I stand on the northern bank near to the 'Blinking Eye' Millenium Bridge which itself brings tourists to the city and beside the bridge on the southern bank, stand two exceptional buildings. One is the magnificent 'Sage' containing three concert halls and which is another tourist draw.

 And then there is The Baltic Art Gallery which displays an ever-changing selection of what it's adherents call ' Modern Art ' but which most of us call ' An Insult To The Senses'!

If the rain makes trading impossible I have occasionally walked over and had a look around the four floors of enormous galleries and invariably left with a sense of utter bewilderment that any of what I've seen is worthy of being called 'Art' and should certainly never have made their creators famous or wealthy and I am not alone in these thoughts as I've spoken to many visitors who feel just the same.

So when the Baltic recently staged the world famous 'Turner Prize' competition which is generally held in contempt by almost everyone but the artistic community who daren't criticise it, and before it stopped raining I nipped over for a look.

It was 10am and the place was deserted as I made my way up to the top floor to see what was on view there first and which wasn't a part of the 'Turner'.

Essentially it was an old VW camper van on flat tyres with it's side door open and with an armchair made out of dirty soft toys inside the back of it!

 I'm getting angry just remembering it!

The main feature of the rest of the display were four large TV screens showing a video of a man of about sixty standing on a beach dressed in a baby's outfit appearing to be squishing poo in a carrier bag that he was holding above his head!

Now I'm getting even angrier!

This visit lasted about thirty seconds before, enraged, I stomped down to the 'Turner' where I was challenged before entering and told that I couldn't just walk in as there would be a queue downstairs.

" A queue? " I laughed into the poor girl's face, "I'm the only person in the building apart from you and the other assistants!"

I was allowed in and ignored by the poor assistants who have to sit on stools in all the galleries, bored to death and wishing that they could get a decent job.

And there, waiting for me was a wooden plank nailed to a wall with a wooden bench beneath it and a few leaves strewn on the floor.

That took seven seconds to dismiss before entering the next gallery which contained an enormous undulating sheet of crudely painted Plaster-of-Paris with a hundred carrier bags tied together to look like a cloud hung above it!

Steaming I couldn't be bothered to look at anything else and as I didn't want anyone who might know me to catch me in the exhibition I walked out as quickly as I could passing through a photographic display of empty chairs which had something to do with an old immigrant having had to spend a long time in queues!

As I walked out the young assistant who had wanted me to queue observed, "That was quick!" and I said, "What a load of rubbish and you know it don't you?"

She and her newly arrived colleague looked at the floor and said nothing.

" Aha!" I chided them, "You DO know it's rubbish don't you?"

"Well we've had a lot of visitors you know!"

"That's got nothing to do with it and you're not answering my question are you? And that is that it's rubbish and you and probably everyone else involved knows it's rubbish too and that just about anything shown in The Baltic is rubbish too!  Now am I right or not?"

I really was seething with indignation and turned and left without waiting for their unforthcoming reply!

Oh! If only people had the nerve to tell the truth!

Returning to my stall I had started to share my thoughts with anybody that I could trap when three young foreigners holding notepads, recording equipment and cameras approached and their leader said, "Hello! Vee ar vorkink for zer Baltic makin zer eenhowse magazin und vee vood like to interview you about vy you iz zo angry about zis Torna Price".

 They sounded German to me. What do you think?

 Below is the article containing the gist of the interview which was indeed unbelievably printed in The Baltic's own magazine!

AN EXTRACT FROM THE INTERVIEW WITH ME THAT THE IDIOTS AT THE BALTIC ACTUALLY PRINTED

At the same time as the interview was taking place a smartly dressed man asked to speak to me and introduced himself as The Curator of The Baltic and asked whether I would allow him to walk me around The Baltic whilst explaining modern art to me and I laughed at him and said "No! Life's too short to waste any more of mine in your gallery!"

He tried again and I tried, probably unsuccessfully to explain my theory that just like the story of 'The Emperor's Suit Of Clothes', he and his kind tried to bully people who instinctively know that they are being treated like fools into recognising nonsense as great.

" Do you know" I said "that there are thousands of wonderful 'Old Masters' lying unseen in gallery vaults all over the country that the people of Newcastle would love to see if only you would fill your vast wall spaces  with them?"

THIS WONDERFUL PORTRAIT OF MARCHESA BRIGIDA SPINOLA-DORIA WAS PAINTED IN 1606 BY RUBENS.

" Then" I said, " your place would be literally full of people silenced in awe and not as at present silenced in disgust!"

He left with a smirk and hasn't so far acted on my advice!

Sally-Part 45. A COMPLETE EMBARRASSMENT! DEDICATED TO LYNDA TO MAKE HER LAUGH BECAUSE SHE'S BEEN POORLY!

WHO WOULDN'T BE INSPIRED BY THIS VIEW ?

I was just about to start writing at my table set in the most wonderful position in the world, facing south high above the sea in South West Scotland full of wrath about The Turner Prize which I had visited recently when Shirley asked me to have a look at a lump on her head !

She is such a private person that even after forty years together she would almost never ask me to look at anything unless she was really worried. So I was expecting something pretty large and probably suppurating !

She has only been to her doctor four times in the last fifteen years and mocks me if I go when all I've done is slashed a gaping wound in my hand which needed stitching rather than just letting nature take it's course by allowing the wound to putrify before being eaten clean by the maggots hatching out of the flies eggs that had been laid in the pus!

I was actually sitting at the kitchen table one day trimming a balsa wood model plane with a Stanley knife held up to my eyeline when I really did cut my hand open very badly, severing a nerve, whilst being talked to and thus distracted by my wife and the sight of blood pumping several feet across the surface made her gag and run away, leaving me to grab a towel to bind the wound before driving myself one-handed to hospital ten miles away, in shock and close to passing out, to be told that I had to be operated on immediately and would have to stay the night.

I awoke the next morning with my wounded hand strapped high above my head held up by a drip stand in a ward full of smoking men. As I came to the man in the next bed stared over with relief written all over his face.

"Morning" I said groggily, feeling like someone had left a dead rat in my mouth.

"Listen pal!" he retorted in broad Geordie, "I've nivver hord innywon snawer soa lude as yee! Deryee snawer fer England or wot? Weeyerv hordly slepped ar wink al neet! Diz yor missus hav tee lissen tee that the poower lass?"

Everyone else averted their eyes and were probably very happy when I was discharged soon afterwards.

I drove home still exteremely weak from loss of blood and cleaned up the coagulated blood from the day before that Shirley couldn't face before returning to work one-handed and in great pain!

So I approached the 'lump' with trepidation which without medical training I would say was no more than a miniscule pimple that required no further action and sat down to compose my thoughts knowing that I would be the only other human who would ever see it!

But my thoughts about the Turner prize were broken into by thoughts of my incredibly intelligent wife and her general refusal to go to a doctor and her slight impatience with me if I should suggest that a visit might be advisable after she'd suffered months of double pneumonia because of her belief that nature will sort everything out eventually even if that means she has to cough her guts up to the point where she should have long been in an isolation ward in an isolation hospital on an isolated Atoll !

I get really frustrated when she gets so ill that she can hardly cook my dinner and I even have to make my own coffee!

You are probably getting the impression that Shirley is a bit stubborn and able to make up her own mind without any help, advice or downright interference from me or any other man !

I feel almost sorry for the man who tries to offer her advice or question her opinions !

And God help the man who actually tries to express an opinion of his own!

And if that silly man happens to try to beat her at Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit then he is in for a real hiding as there is nothing that she doesn't know about anything you may care to mention!

 Anything!

But all this doesn't mean that she is unable to make public mistakes or misjudgements. We've all said things to others that we don't know why we said them and Shirley's made two beauties. I mean real head-in-hands stuff.

The first as a young student teacher in the wilds of Cumbria, away on teaching practice and attending the local film-appreciation club's showing of the silent Russian classic, 'Battleship Potemkin' complete with English subtitles. In the discussion that followed the film the leader asked if anyone had any idea why the actors employed such grand gestures.

If you've ever been in the situation where a group has been asked a question you'll know that there's always someone, usually me, who'll eventually ask something cringeworthy when everyone else just wants to get out of there.

Shirley's answer which possibly slipped out without a lot of thought was," Was it because they knew the Russian peasants wouldn't be able to read the English subtitles?"

I don't know what the leader's reply was but I can imagine and the thought makes me shudder as if I'd been there and asked the question myself !

Before I move on to her second I suppose I'd better even things out with my best one which happened when aged about fifteen our Biology master was giving THE sex lesson to our class of both sexes.

Having dealt with the wholly embarrassing matter of intercourse and the fact that a penis ( howl! ) was placed into a vagina ( whoops and cheers! ) by two married people (loud howls and jeers of derision!) and that after a certain amount of 'movement' (uncontrollable mirth!) sperm (Yeehaa!) was released (foot-stamping!) by the man reaching orgasm (Howls! Hoots! YeeHaas! and Applause!) in a process known as ejaculation. (everyone falling on the floor and banging their fist and heads into the nearest person!), we came to question time!

Being a doctor's son, I knew the words penis and vagina and had long before introduced my fellows into their meaning and use and as everyone looked at me I felt as if it was only right that I ask a pertinent question which I thought was perfectly reasonable but saw from the way the master's already red and sweating face turned purple, that he possibly didn't want or need to answer; "Sir, how far into the vagina does the penis have to be placed and how much movement needs to take place before ejaculation occurs?"

Thankfully for him the bell went and the class was dismissed without an answer and we filed out to the next lesson with a lot of simulated intercourse taking place all the way down the corridors !.

And we were going to have to find out the answer to my question ourselves!

The answer chaps, if the truth be known and I'm really sorry ladies who already know to their dissapointment is 'not far' and 'not much'!

Shirley's second 'faux-pas' was at an interview for a teaching post where the Headmaster explained to her the importance of the 'Three R's' which in England stands for 'READING,(W)RITING AND (A)RITHMETIC'

"And" Shirley responded "what about maths?"

She didn't get the job!

 I'll get back to The Turner Prize in the next installment!

Sally-Part 44. TURKEY 2! "THE COUNTRY NOT THE BIRD"

Cont. from TURKEY 1! Part 40....................

........ I went straight to have a chat with our Rep who I found cowering behind her company signboard and demanded to be moved to Side immediately!

She said that she would telephone headquarters in London but warned that any such move would cost more than the original holiday and take at least four days to accomplish.

So we reluctantly agreed to stay and ventured out to sunbathe on the beach.

First though we had to cross the main Istanbul to Basra Highway which ran along the coast and was full of massive trucks loosely laden with every conceivable variety of cargo, reaching up to a height about four times more than would be allowed in Britain and then piled high on top of that with humans !

Beside the highway and convenient for beach-users were ice cream vendors, their ice cream and cornets covered in a thick mat of diesel soot!

The beach itself was smothered in beach umbrellas and sunbeds belonging to the terraces of cafes that laid claim to all but a cafe wide slice of sand.

Refusing to pay, we eventually put our towels down in front of the one empty cafe and lay there feeling fairly uncomfortable as groups of three or four local men, all holding hands, stopped in front of us devouring both of our bodies with their eyes whilst speaking incomprehensibly about what they would like to do with us!

I KNEW AND THEY KNEW WHAT THEY WERE DOING!

I decided to leave Shirley safely on her own for half an hour and wander along to the paragliding kiosk and ask the price, stopping on the way back to buy her a kerb-side cornet as a treat!

RETURNING WITH A CORNET JUST IN TIME TO SAVE SHIRLEY FROM A HUNK!

I couldn't walk barefoot on the sand as it really was burning hot and took just long enough, walking through the surf for my back to get wrecked by the sun.

A helpful boatman, seeing my plight and hoping to get a fare came over and suggested that Shirley should smear my back with yogurt, which she did once I'd crossed the road to the nearest mini-market to buy some. This resulted in my lying on my front, in the shade, with the terrible heat from the hot sand now grilling my stomach even through my towel and my back stinking of hot fly-covered and curdling yogurt !

Then the owners of the empty bar turned up and ordered us off "Their" beach and as they were heavily armed soldiers we left !

We sat in our room wondering how we could fly straight home.But first it was evening and time to find a restaurant. The temperature was still too high to walk any great distance so we settled for the busiest looking one which also happened to front the endlessly noisy and fume-filled highway.

Sunburn had dulled my appetite and so I ordered a small pizza which turned out to be smaller than a teaplate!

Shirley ordered chicken kebabs chips and a salad.

As, on her first bite, blood squirted out of the still raw chicken I asked the harassed waiter to return the meal to the chef and kindly request him to cook it properly. And so did another couple at the same time.

 Twenty minutes later Shirley took her slighty impatient second bite just before I said, "Shirley! That is not your dinner! The chips and salad are arranged differently!"

 The waiter realised that as well and rushing over pulled the kebab skewer with the bitten chicken out of her hand, re-arranged it on the plate and charged over to the other table , re-enacting the same scene before returning with the correct plate now with a half-eaten chicken chunk hanging off the end.

We'd totally given up on the country by now and so Shirley ate on in silence.

By way of an apology the manager sent over a lovely looking desert, consisting of a sundae dish full of a blue liquor with tiny cocktail umbrellas and lit sparklers dancing in it. Decoratively arranged around the saucer on which the dish was standing were several worn out slices of air-browned apple skewered on hopefully unused toothpicks.

He watched as we nibbled the foul apple and came running as I was about to drain the liquor, shouting,"NoNoNo Senor, iz Parafeen! Only for looky!"

We went to bed intending to plan an escape campaign and let sleep dull the day's memories but it was too hot and there was no air-conditioning and Shirley had to have the main door open to get some kind of cooling draught going.

She could only find some comfort by lying uncovered, on her back and naked the wrong way round; that is with her feet on the pillow beside my head and her head as close as possible to the door, only to be woken in the early hours by the proprietor standing there demanding to know what was going on and why the door was open in contravention of the fire regulations!

 He hissed something about " Stewpeed Ingleesh" and stomped out slamming the door behind him.

He stared angrily at us for the following six days as we ate our breakfasts!

We survived somehow, hating everything about the place and the people and their insistent ways of touching you and forcing you to take glasses of tea in their shops!

There were child beggars everywhere and I finally softened on the last evening and gave a fat boy of about eight the equivalent of ten pence as he sat looking forlorn on a piece of wasteland.

 No sooner had I left than his "Pimp" emerged from the surrounding bushes, holding out his hand for the boy to give him the coin!

We flew home but Turkey hadn't finished with us as we both went down with such bad food poisoning that I eventually crawled to my doctor's for help.

He gave me a sample pot and a form to hand back to reception.

On the form was written the unforgettable line; " Food poisoning. Suspect Turkey. The country not the bird ! "

Some weeks later and several stone lighter we decided never to go abroad again.

Sally-Part 43. TOKYO 3. DAD! YOU ARE DISGUSTING! WAIT 'TIL I TELL MUM!

THIS PHOTO, FRAUDULENTLY USED IN THE LAST BLOG AS IF TAKEN IN THE GEISHA HOUSE WAS ACTUALLY TAKEN IN THE HOTEL MENTIONED LATER IN THIS BLOG BUT I CAN'T GET IT TO PRINT IN THE RIGHT PLACE!

I'm afraid to admit that as we travelled around Tokyo I had trouble avoiding staring at the young women who rode very low saddled bikes wearing very short plaid skirts and knee-length white socks, leaving surprisingly little to the imagination!

Each time I stared Julian would shout "Dad! You are disgusting! Wait 'til I tell mum!" and I would quickly turn my head in another direction only to glimpse another even more lovely pair of legs cycling by!
He eventually resorted to snatching my glasses off my face so that I could only see blurred images. Still even blurred they weren't too bad !

I was still a relatively young red-blooded male and although I make no apologies for my behaviour I can see how my sons may well have been embarrassed at my inexhaustible ability to letch!

The thought of my own father harbouring salacious thoughts disgusts me at sixty three and the thought of him and my mother..........I'm not going there!

As I remarked in TOKYO 1, I was rightly not privy to Julian's innermost desires but I got pretty close to working them out when the three of us took a ride on the immaculately clean underground system which seemed to be full of over-worked sleeping students and businessmen.

Jonathan and I sat on one side of the carriage and Julian sat opposite us. As I rose to let a woman take my seat Jonathan grabbed me back down and warned me that such a gesture in Japan was considered an insult! How odd!

Shortly after this a truly beautiful young woman in a short black silk skirt split to the hip and sheer white silk blouse unbuttoned to her belly button got on and stood strap-hanging right in front of and facing Julian!

From the steam escaping from his ears and eyeballs and the long barely controlled groans coming out his throat and the totally uncontrollable spasms wracking his entire frame and his utter refusal to look at Jonathan or me when we called him and wolf-whistled and generally made it impossible for him to deny hearing our attempts to distract him and his crossing his legs repeatedly whilst pushing down on several stone in weight of magazines on his lap, I took it that he had noticed her and Jonathan and I had to force him off the train at the end of our journey despite his pathetic screams begging us to leave him to die right there!

We were off for another meal in a place where everybody sat round their own fiercely hot table-top fire and grilled slices of raw beef and other meats brought to them on a variety of plates. I think it might have been a Korean restaurant but whatever, Julian and I had both had enough of foreign food and begged to eat western just once!

So back in that world famous Tokyo square, where thousands of people can be seen crossing the widest road imaginable on the biggest black and white pedestrian crossing ever painted we found first a Starbucks for a hot chocolate which was nothing to write home about and then a KFC which I have always found utterly revolting but which the boys loved. I almost craved a hundred year old pickled egg after that ghastly experience.

That night we were off to a hotel in the mountains which was built as an exact copy of a Swiss chalet and Julian insisted that they served a western breakfast which they promised they would.

This photo ( NOW AT THE BEGINNING OF THIS BLOG! ) really captures the mildly-supressed-hysteria that greeted our full-on Japanese breakfast with Julian half-laughing and half-crying saying, "I'm not eating any more of this shit Jonathan! You said that they promised bacon and eggs! "

We ended that trip on the coast, in the town where the Americans forced the Japanese to accept and sign a trade agreement with the outside world in about 1866 which act actually led to the Japanese attacking Pearl Harbour nearly eighty years later in a gesture of retribution for the humiliation that they had originally suffered. And that's a fact!
 

THE BOYS COULDN'T BEAR ANYMORE MADAME BUTTERFLY STORIES !

I had a rare experience there. Turning a corner I came face to face with the Consular building where "Madame Butterfly" took her own life after falling from grace as a result of Lieutenant Pinkerton's infidelity!

The tragic tale is one of my favourite operas!

 The hair on the back of my head rose and my throat and eyes swelled!

No! I don't know why ! I must be human after all!.

As briefly as possible; Butterfly, a beautiful and innocent young girl, left pregnant by the handsome Pinkerton, waits years for his return,shunned by her family and society. He does eventually return but with his American wife. Butterfly, bereft, realises that her only recourse is death and blindfolds her small child before committing Hari-Kiri.

I'm bothering to tell you this because of what I saw an idiot do in Scottish Opera's production one Friday night in Newcastle!

 In the story, Pinkerton realises that he truly loves Butterfly and comes running up the hill to tell her. But he's too late as she has stabbed herself just before she hears his voice calling and dies in his arms!

Generally the whole theatre audience is sobbing by this point!

In the version I saw, the small, squat and quite ugly Russian tenor that had been brought over to play Pinkerton obviously missed his cue and came running onto the stage before Butterfly had stabbed herself leaving the truly exquisitely fragile and perfectly cast American singer to stare at him in horror and stab herself then!

The audience let out a collective groan and the applause for him was extremely muted!

And real butterflies the size of my outstretched hand were glued to the windows, attracted by the bright lights of our final restaurant on the way home from that trip.

Thankfully it was a western chain and served burgers and fries! Hoobloominray!

I only mention this one because of my eldest's prodigious appetite!

His consumption was about three times Julian's and mine put together and as I had paid through the nose for whatever the three of us had eaten for ten days, this final meal emptied my wallet completely and I even had to borrow the fare back to the airport the next day!

Flying home, we were served a delicious slice of chocolate cake which Julian spat all the way down the cabin when he bit into it  and discovered it was yet more disgusting cold rice covered in black seaweed!

Back in London and once more jetlagged we couldn't believe how dirty the city and underground trains were and Julian vowed that he would one day go back and live in Japan forever!

We stayed that night with a brother who the next day took two rather dispirited men up The London Eye in fog and rain before taking us to eat " The best fish and chips in London! "

He then marched us to an empty dump under a set of dirty railway arches where we were forced to squeeze past an unkempt and greasy waiter who was leaning against the unpainted entrance smoking, wearing a fetid apron and who then approached our table with resentment written all over his face before asking what we wanted!

Well I would have thought that " The best fish and chip restaurant in London " would have indicated a fairly restricted menu but chose not to try and make a light-hearted comment referring to that.

To my surprise my brother asked for steak as a  traumatising childhood experience had left him unable to eat fish!

The meal, served on a foul and I would say rarely cleaned, if ever even wiped, plastic tablecloth was so typical of just about every meal I have ever eaten out! Yuk!

If this blog is ever read by a 'celebrity' chef who can really cook delicious food that is spread out on a plate rather than presented as a cylinder, would you send me a message and I'll come and eat at yours. For free of course because then I'll write nice things about you!

Julian and I returned home and I know that despite what I've 'jokingly' written about the food, it took both of us some weeks to get Japan and it's people out of our minds!

Somehow, though I've thought of importing low-saddled bikes to Blyth market place, I don't think that the sights would be quite the same in this over-Gregged-and-McDonalded world compared to the heavenly glimpses in the east.

 Sorry Blyth!

Sally-Part 42. TOKYO 2. THE GEISHA WHO THOUGHT I WAS HANDSOME!

Jonathan's girth meant that he needed frequent refilling with gagantuan amounts of food.

THE TOILET CISTERN DOUBLED AS HIS BATH! IT WAS A HUGE TOILET!

 I think that the popular images of Henry VIII sitting gorging on a whole side of beef, chased down with a large flagon of beer and then followed by a suckling-pig, a swan, a leg of lamb, a dish of chops and a pan of fried eggs would hardly be an exaggeration of my son's intake !

JONATHAN ON THE LEFT WORKING UP A BIT OF A SWEAT BEFORE DINNER

But this was Japan and he announced that we were to be honoured one evening by a powerful trade-union leader taking us to a Geisha restaurant.

 Upon arrival we were greeted by an exquisitely beautiful Geisha bowing us into a private dining area, where I attempted, unsuccessfully, to sit cross-legged on the floor with my knees under the table. Oh! The pain!

Thankfully I was brought a cushion which eased things.

Well, that is, I was now raised slightly and leaning over to the left with my right leg half-straight under the table, my left elbow, now below my torso, taking all my weight and going rapidly numb and my right hand forced to achieve a wholly novel approach to opening pots and levering out various long-dead dainties whilst still serving my Geisha a rapidly increasing number of whiskies ( see below ) and downing my own and spectacularly failing to camouflage the texture or taste of the unidentifiable!  

We were served an astonishing variety of covered dishes with a centre-piece of a raw, skinned trout posed as if it was leaping a waterfall on it's way upstream to it's spawning grounds or perhaps leaping to catch a fly!

THE WHISKY WAS STARTING TO TAKE EFFECT EVEN BEFORE" THE BOGIE" ARRIVED

Whatever, one was expected to carve slivers of flesh off it and dip them in a sauce before eating them. This was slightly alien to Julian and me though, of course, Jonathan virtually had the whole thing down his gullet before we got to it.

Whilst we ate, the Geisha, and I must repeat here how entrancingly beautiful she was and how much more beautiful she became as the alcohol took hold, kept topping up our glasses of whisky and beer.

 Now, what we had to learn was that once she had done that we had to fill another glass for her to drink, all of us getting progressively drunker quite quickly which actually helped with the consumption of most of the strange looking and evil-smelling dishes that I believe no modern Japanese would eat if it weren't for the historical links to past generations.

Things came to a head when even Jonathan nearly vomited at the sight that greeted him when heaving upon a skewer thrust through the top of a potted lump of flesh, he withdrew the biggest, greyest wobbling bogie known to man!

Admittedly, he did try eating it by lifting it above his head before lowering it slowly into his gaping mouth but as his teeth closed around and bounced off it he retched and thrust it back into it's pot, groaning, " I'm so sorry Ammeechicon! Even I can't eat that! "

Our Geisha smiled, her eyes turned modestly downwards with a gentleness that would have melted the heart of any man!

That bogie did it for Julian and me and we pushed our selections away, apologising for our English Philistine inability to eat such fine food and asked the Geisha to tender our apologies and compliments to the chef and Emperor!

Our host was thankfully too drunk to be offended.

Next came a rather bizarre session of dressing up in yokels' costumes and singing Japanese nursery rhymes. It was a bit like visiting a farm of Cornish simpletons for their version of a good night in!

I had slightly guiltily thought that an evening at a Geisha house would include being serenaded to by young ladies well versed in the arts before being led away by three or four of them for a night of the sort of indulgence that you wouldn't be bragging to your wife about and which your mates would refuse to believe!

What we got after the singing and more whisky than I'd ever drunk was a half hour restful session of coffee and chat with 'My' Geisha and her ancient and shrunken unmade-up mother and sisters who seemed most keen to practice their broken English by telling us about how Japanese Women's bras had only 'A' cups, whereas English women's bras had 'D' cups!

Even drunk, I suddenly didn't care to find out and as that terrible feeling of pre-vomit-cold-sweat had swept over my scalp, I was glad that the evening came rapidly to an end.

As we swayed home I suddenly had a clear vision of 'My' Geisha's beauty. But something wasn't quite right. I realised through the haze that her teeth were tiny brown stumps and went to sleep with that thought invading my dreams!

In the morning, after several cups of strong black coffee, I mentioned her teeth to Jonathan who said, " I think you'd better come with me!" and he led me back to the restaurant where a stooped elderly lady was sitting smoking a cheroot and greeted him warmly as he approached.

" Ah! Jonasan San! Your father velly handsome man! "

"Dad!" This is Ahmmeechicon, last night's 'Geisha'! "

Oh my Gawd!

Sally- Part 41. TOKYO 1 ! NOT FOR THE FAINT HEARTED !

SHIRLEY ! ARE YOU SURE THEY'RE BOTH MINE ? JULIAN, LEFT AND JONATHAN AND ME,WORN OUT BUT CARRYING ALL THEIR STUFF......AS USUAL !

After studying law for four years, including a year's exchange to study Italian law but before completing his LPC, Jonathan decided that at the age of twenty two he couldn't bear to study any more and at his friend's suggestion took himself off to Japan to teach English for another four years where he ended up in Tokyo actually running and managing a school.

His first three years were spent in Nagano where the Olympic skiing events took place and he discovered that if he waited at the entrance to the slope at around 10am, wealthy Japanese businessmen who liked an early morning ski would hand over their unused portions of their ski passes for free. So what could be better than a couple of black runs on his snow-board before a bit of teaching? No wonder he stayed there for so long!

I think that he did come home briefly at some point but Shirley thought that I might like to go out on my own and see him and the country and using the CeeFax again found a "Last Minute.Com" deal of a return flight from Heathrow to Tokyo for only £ 230 = ! I repeat £ 230 = ! with Swissair. No wonder they went bankrupt shortly afterwards!

 So I booked it and took Julian as well as he hadn't gone back to university yet.

JULIAN, INSCRUTABLE IN JAPAN, HAVING DRUNK THE WHOLE FLASK OF SAKI! THE BLURRING WAS CAUSED BY MY HAVING DRUNK A SIMILAR SIZED FLASK AT THE OTHER END OF THE TABLE!

Julian was essentially a shy young man and as his father, I was rightly not privy to his innermost thoughts but I think I got a clue when the Russian beauty sitting to his left on the plane took out several pairs of bejewelled, miniscule dancing briefs and spent many hours unashamedly sewing sequins onto their, I would say from my careful study of them from a professional point of view of course, uncomfortably narrow crotches!

I was aware of her tiny little mocking sideways glances at him but I don't think he was aware of them as his eye muscles quickly went into spasm as he attempted to convince me that he had no interest in a beautiful Russian girl's miniscule dancing briefs' uncomfortably narrow crotches by locking his head in a rigidly front-facing position whilst jamming his eyeballs full left.

He didn't answer any of my questions which wasn't unusual as his adolescence had started at three years of age and continued to the present, or any of the air stewardess's either when she asked him if he wanted something to eat or drink because I think he had probably developed lock-jaw-by-proxy as his whole body started to seize up owing to his entire blood supply being diverted to the place that can have no name!

AN ASIDE:

On the subject of the effects of a woman's bits on a man and the commercial use that they are put to, I was virtually hung, drawn and quartered by my wife and her sister Debbie when Debbie and my eighteen year old niece Hannah were visiting from their home in Spain four years ago.

I was tried without a defence counsel and convicted of the heinous crime of downloading pornography onto Shirley's laptop!

My most vehement attempts at denial were tossed aside. Even my Clintonesque, " I DID NOT DOWNLOAD PORNOGRAPHY ONTO THAT LAPTOP!" was to no avail!

 I could have said " our laptop" but as Shirley spent approximately every waking hour watching Josh Groban I never ever got a go except once during the Golf Masters Championship  at 11:53pm,seventeen hours since she had first logged on, I asked if I could briefly check a golfer's score or something and had no sooner typed in the man's name before Shirley started huffing and criticising my finger speed insisting that I hurried up because she had important things to look up and I never did find out whatever I wanted to know as I handed the thing straight back and fled to my room under a torrent of " God! How can anyone be so slow and not know how to spell? And golf ! What sort of moron watches that ? You're obsessed! Kuh ! "

Well, anyway, the following is the truth !

 I was even more useless with internet technology than a baby and asked Hannah to show me how to download music videos for which and for some unnecessary reason I had bought a drum of the wrong discs in a local store called Wilkinsons.

HANNAH IN MORE INNOCENT DAYS CHECKING MY HAIR FOR NITS!

Hannah put in a disc and clicked the "MEDIA PLAYER" symbol and had just started to say, " Now once you have........" when we were overpowered by a man's roar of climactic ardour and a woman's speedy and breathless attempts to complete the rendering of a personal service!

Seventeen seconds of unadulterated, just finishing-off porn leapt out at us in glorious technicolour and stereo surround sound!

Well I didn't know what to do and covered Hannah's eyes, then her ears and shut the lid as quickly as I could whilst turning bright red, sweating profusely and saying " I'm so sorry Hannah! I'm so sorry! But I don't know how that got there! It must have been on the disc already! "

Sweet Hannah simply calmed the situation by assuring me that she had seen much worse in Spain!

 And this reminded me that as a twelve year old she had taught me to swear in Spanish on the understanding that I would never tell her parents how I'd learnt it, thereby revealing that she knew it!  Her foulest expression translated into " SHE wears pink pyjamas! "

That's how sweet she was and of course still is! Eh Hannah? Oh dear! I've revealed your secret now haven't I?

The chattering ladies were disgusted and short of beating me up, called me some pretty awful shameful names!

I pleaded my innocence and blamed an adulterated disc and to prove my point put in another and pressed play again and the same porn  played again!

I was disgusted by the thought that some probably just-sacked worker somewhere back down the production line had done this !

I wrote "PORN - 17 seconds!" on the first disc and to prove even greater innocence tried another and then another and then another.

THERE WERE ACTUALLY SEVEN MORE BEFORE THE TRUTH BEGAN TO DAWN !

Each time the result was the same, though some had sound and others didn't, so I wrote the appropriate remark on each disc, swearing to return them in the morning to demand an explanation!

Well I forgot to shut the drawer on the final disc before pressing "play" and the porn played anyway!

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON ?" I thought !

 By the eigth disc, each time I pressed play the two sisters were joining in with the man's groans and by the end we were all howling and crying with laughter; not that my claim of innocence was believed!

Well, I managed to search the 'history' and 'recently viewed' and all I could find was about eight hundred thousand Josh Groban visits and one that said ' Donkey Punch ' so shut down and went to bed still being talked  to like a criminal!

By chance my grandson Dylan's policeman Dad Richard walked in in the morning. Shirley had asked him to have a look at the TV because it was acting oddly and as he knew about computers as well, I asked him to have a look at ours and perhaps show me where the porn was kept! AHAHAHA!

"Well !" He said looking wise, weren't you away last week?"

"Yes we were!" I replied, unable to think where this was going!

"And did either of your sons call in while you were away?"

"Yes they did!"

"Well that explains things!" he chortled ."I noticed that when I turned the TV on " BABE STATION" was playing as it had been the last station viewed before turning off and frankly every man should know that the most vital bit of evidence-destruction-technique is to tune back to BBC1 before turning off so that BBC1 comes on first when your wife turns on for "Richard and Judy" in the morning! ( my patronising choice, not Richard's! ). And" he continued, chortling louder, " If I check the lap top "Media Player" I suspect that I'll find a similar piece of evidence there! AH! There you go. The last site visited was "................." !

Obviously I can't print that here!

This meant that whenever you turned on the 'media player' you would always see what was last watched!

So the question was, which son was responsible?

I do not know as neither will own up though they both laugh heartily and deny everything even years later when challenged!

Does anybody out there want to make me an offer for six discs with either "PORN- 17 SECONDS WITH SOUND! or "PORN- 17 SECONDS WITHOUT SOUND!" written on the labels?

I shudder to think what the management of Wilkinsons would have thought upon receipt of my angry letter and six blank discs!

Oh! And out of interest I looked up 'Donkey Punch' on Wiki and could not believe it's definition or that MY wife would be interested in the practice! I dare not say more and certainly do not recommend that sensitive folk look it up!

When challenged, Shirley, indignant at my disgust, insisted that 'Donkey Punch' was the title of a film! ( Probably starring Josh Groban! ) YEAH! YEAH! YEAH!

I thank the Lord above that it wasn't me making the first enquiry! PLEASE DON'T LOOK IT UP!!!!!!!

END OF ASIDE!

ACTUALLY IT'S NOT!

For about ten years ago, Shirley and I were returning to the car park at Kiloran Bay on Colonsay after Shirley had just escaped being sucked under by quicksand whilst crossing the river that runs across the beach and I had been completely unaware of the crisis as I was crossing higher up and there was a high wind blowing, carrying her cries of help away from my ears!

Apparently, what to an unvertically challenged person would have been a slight downward pull to their ankles in just less than firm sand, turned into a titanic struggle for life for my definitely vertically challenged spouse!

Of course I heard her cries!

Anyway and this really is true, as if anything else wasn't, another couple, very posh and about sixty saw us coming and the wife waited to ask us what we thought of the letter waiting on their rented cottage coffee table upon their arrival and whether we had got one.

It purported to be from Colonsay Council and reported that an increase in 'Dogging' at various sites around the Island was of great concern and requested visitors not to take part as if word got out then the wrong sort of people might be attracted to the place!

I honestly did not know what 'Dogging' was!  Do you ? Then shame on you !

Shirley DID! and said that she would explain it to me later!

There are things that I don't know about my wife and perhaps it's best that it remains that way!

Whilst she and the lady talked, my mobile phone rang ( Again, Shirley's not mine really ! ) and I walked away to be able to hear the caller, who happened to be Gemma, in floods of tears, reporting a split end or something equally devastating and wondering if we could cut our holiday short and return home to console her and asking if her mum was there and if I had handed over would have resulted in Shirley spending an hour and a half talking her through her crisis whilst I sat freezing in the car in a Vodafone-signal-receptive area, which are  scarce on Islands!

At least Gemma's company were paying for the call !

The other husband had followed me and was rather keen to get me on my own to tell me something which turned out to be that they had come with another couple and the men always tried to play a prank on the wives and that this one had proven to be the best ever as he had planted the letter, ready-written before arrival, without the women suspecting a thing !

" But what is 'Dogging'? I asked him. And he told me ! How could I have got through life without ever hearing of it ?

This is something else NOT to look up if you're of a sensitive disposition and if you do then I apologise for introducing you to the prurient side of life!

THAT REALLY IS THE END OF THE ASIDES!

Japan was wonderful. I loved the cleanliness and politeness of everybody and although, when we were lost nobody understood my shouted English, no matter how slowly I shouted it, we eventually managed to get a few trains the thirty miles from the airport to the city suburb where Jonathan lived and worked.

Jonathan was waiting on the platform for us but neither Julian nor I recognised the apparition that stood there!

He was huge! Bearded; dressed in ragged T-shirt and under-knee shorts and soaked in sweat. We, in our air-conditioned carriage didn't realise how hot and humid it was until we stepped out into a blast furnace of tropical weather.

Making no allowance for our jet lag and general exhaustion caused by being too lanky and too interested in a beautiful Russian sewing sequins onto the uncomfortably narrow-looking crotches of her miniscule bejewelled dancing briefs to sleep on a cramped plane and pausing briefly to haul my suitcase onto his shoulder he said, " Hiya!" as if he hadn't seen us since the day before," I've booked lunch for 1pm and so we've only got half an hour to get there after dropping your stuff off; so hurry up, we've got a mile walk first and I'm starving!

If ever he should attain a dukedom then under his heraldic symbol of a mythical creature stuffing itself on a gargantuan meal should be the Latin words for " I'm Starving" ! Probably something like " WOTTONEARTHIUS ISTHERIUS FORTHIUS LUNCHUS? STARVINGIUS ISTUS IUS! " AHA! I just made that up!

He didn't warn us that Japanese taxis have self-opening doors, so Julian and I both got a whack where we could have done without one before being rushed through an enormous shopping complex to Jonathan's 'absolutely favourite' restaurant.

Actually, everything in Jonathan's life is his 'absolutely favourite' thing or place!

So, tired and not particularly ready to eat, we were served noodles to be eaten using chopsticks and suffered the humiliation of being laughed at by customers and staff alike as we slurped our food down our shirt fronts and into our laps!

Jonathan, a fully accomplished native eater naturally wolfed his down before moving onto and eating ninety percent of the prawns-in-tempura batter brought for our main course, extolling their deliciousness between each fistful and saying, " Gorgeous these aren't they Dad? Aren't they Julian? "

I was too busy trying to balance a single noodle on one chopstick before it fell back into the bowl to answer!

I paid something like £20= a portion to starve and Jonathan promised that the 'proper' dinner that we were booked in to eat, at his other 'absolutely favourite' restaurant at six would be even more delicious and costly which gave him just about time to give a lesson and Julian and me time  to have a shower and a cup of tea!

In my exhausted state I didn't think that the quite generous amount of cash I had  brought with me was going to last ten days! And it didn't!

OF COURSE THE ASIDES AREN'T OVER YET!

Because one final tale has crept back into my mind of a weekend away in a Nagano Ski Lodge where, having beaten everyone at 'Pool' Jonathan warned me, rather too often than was necessary I thought that the next day was likely to be a long one and that at my age of forty eight it might be a good idea for me to get an early night, though he and Julian were going to have a few more games and beers.

So I went off to write up my diary about the frightening cost of everything and my lack of understanding of why people wanted to soak themselves in the most disgusting smelling hot-spring baths, called 'Onsens' ! Even as you approached from miles away, the acrid stench of rotting eggs choked your lungs and on arrival you had to strip and carry a 'modesty' towel to cover your embarrassment!

HOT, STINKING AND UNASHAMED IN AN ONSEN !

 It may have been a towel to to a local but to a proud Englishman it was little more than a postage stamp and therefore useless for the intended job. So we threw them away and quickly got used to the cries of envy from the men and the gasps from the women craning their necks around the bamboo screens!

"That's funny!" I thought as I was writing my log, " The boys aren't making much noise drinking and playing!"

So I crept back to the lounge where, unseen, I spied on them watching porn!

I went back to my room silently howling to myself because the stuff that they were watching had had all of the important bits electronically blurred out and the rest, frankly wasn't worth watching! Well the hour's-worth I watched from my hiding place wasn't!

! ALL ASIDES ARE NOW REALLY OVER!

Sally-Part 40. TURKEY 1! THE WORST TOILET STORY IN THE WORLD!

TURKEYS IN TURKEY! IS THAT HOW THEY GOT THEIR NAME? ALL THE WOMEN TURNED THEIR BACKS TO ME!

I have eaten some really disgusting food in restaurants all over the world! And I will eventually tell you about them, so bear with me as this blog becomes an introduction to many a rancid tale!

In 1996 Gemma came back from Turkey and said," Mum! You and dad would love Turkey and there are such good deals around at the moment that you must go!

In those far off years, before the internet and laptops, Shirley was The Queen of CeeFax and in less than a day had found us an Hotel-Alloted-On-Arrival-Last-Minute-Deal for as little as £99= per person, Bed and Breakfast. And that meant a phone call to book it and Gemma paying for it with her credit card because we wouldn't have known what one of those was!

Gemma had been to a hot Side (Seeday). We had just come back from a freezing week on Colonsay in the Hebrides and needed warming up!

AN ASIDE:

JUST DON'T TELL ME THAT THEY'RE BOTH MY SONS THOUGH I TREAT THEM BOTH AS THOUGH THEY ARE!

 We had rented the "Mini" chalet behind the Hotel and taken Jonathan ( my heretofore unmentioned eldest son ) and Julian my youngest and looking at the photo you might also doubt their paternity the way I do! Still, I treat them as if they are both my natural sons!

Boys of all ages pig-up everywhere and the chalet was no exception, so they were left with instructions to tidy up whilst Shirley and I went for a walk to hand feed the family of otters who enchant visitors to the harbour....I've made that bit up!

 When we returned the boys hadn't even moved but said that the hotel owner had brought round a visiting tourist-office inspector for a look at his now crap chalet! An appropriate choice of word there as apparently Jonathan had just been to the toilet and hadn't even opened the window!  Shirley, mortified, insisted that I went in all haste to offer our profuse apologies for the state of the place but I and I don't know where I summoned the courage from, refused, saying probably quite timorously that in my humble opinion, hotel owners should ask permission first before showing people around and tough if the place was a bit untidy! My wife quite unsurprisingly and speaking rather vehemently did not agree with my opinion and so we did not talk or communicate for the remainder of the holiday, actually ignoring each other as we passed in opposite directions on our bikes with our mouths down-turned and chins upturned, heads twisted away from each other, rather like petulant children!

 Of course, in the end I apologised as I always do whenever I'm not in the wrong but that's men, always wrong and women,  ALWAYS RIGHT ! 

Possibly the BEST EVER holiday toilet story also involved Jonathan and a group of friends in a Swiss skiing chalet.

 Everyone was disgusted with Jonathan for leaving a mighty log jammed into the u-bend which refused to complete it's journey despite a ferocious onslaught with various kitchen implements.

 The lads insisted that Jonathan stayed behind when they went off to the slopes to apologise to the very attractive chalet-maid, a first year and naive fashion design student on her first-ever job and explain the problem.

When she arrived and without speaking her language he beckoned her through to the bathroom and in abjectly humble mode pointed at the offending matter intending to demonstrate his concern for it's permanence with grimaces and other distorted facial expressions, though what he expected her to do about it escapes me when his full-on eighteen stone attack had already failed! To add meaning to his gobble-dee-gook he pressed the flush intending to give an empathetic raising of his shoulders and outward turn of his hands in a "See? I'm really sorry!" gesture as the water rushed past the "article" leaving it firmly wedged.They both watched, one in incomprehension, the other totally embarressed as the monster disappeared!

I think that the chalet-maid left her employment later the same morning and Jonathan still suffers from terrible flashbacks, or would it be Flushbacks? To the extent that you can often see him suddenly clutch his head in both hands and let out a pitiful groan! If he does this in your company, be nice to him and just ask gently, "Switzerland?" and if he nods stay quiet and put a comforting hand on his shoulder!

 Oh and examine his kitchen implements before agreeing to eat at his place!

Sorry! No photo!

END OF ASIDE.

We were young enough to cope with a 4 hour flight leaving at 9pm, or so we thought.

The ancient Turkish Airlines Russian-built-rust-bucket-of-a-jet should have rung some alarm bells as we entered the tired-looking cabin and sat on seats with springs breaking through the cushions.Cushions? I think I need to think of another word before I go to press.

And then, about half an hour before landing the crew suddenly rushed to the old lady who until a short while before had been sitting chatting, alive and well in the row directly in front of us but was now hanging gruesomely sideways over the gangway, stone-dead !

All their attempts at shaking her, shouting at her and slapping her face back to life failed and as the Captain had ordered them over the intercom to take to their seats for landing, the old dear was left where she was, without so much as a blanket covering her face ( apparently because a doctor hadn't pronounced her dead for goodness sake! )

I'm not going to spoil your tea by describing what happened to her head or her false teeth as we kangarooed down the runway when the pilot misjudged the plane's landing speed and leapt back into the air three times before slamming on the brakes!

 ANOTHER ASIDE:

   I can't tell you how many times my father, the local Doctor, couldn't be bothered to go and visit a patient when a relative or neighbour came rushing to our house begging for the Doctor to come quickly because someone or other had been found dead and sent me instead!

 Alright, I will tell you. None!

 But once, when he was away on holiday and I was about seventeen and sunbathing in the garden in my swimming trunks that sort of scenario did occur and the panicking caller wouldn't take " I'm sorry but the doctor is not here! " at face value and despite staring in horror at my attire, demanded my instant attendance, very immature goatee beard and all. So I went and saw my first cadaver; a little old lady with blue lips who had collapsed forwards onto her maroon velvet-covered dining table ( I have always had an eye for detail! ) and lifting her head by grasping her hair whilst trying to disguise the fact that I was shaking with terror, dramatically pronounced her " Dead! Dead as a doornail ! My condolences to you all ! " in the manner I thought a real doctor would do it and summoned an ambulance. The 999 operator said that they couldn't send an ambulance unless a doctor asked for it so, using only a small amount of subterfuge and ingenuity and attempting to disguise my only just breaking voice, I said," I am Doctor Nash's son, now would you please send an ambulance immediately!"

 "Ah! Sorry Doctor Nashison, forgive me, you sounded a little young and I was confused by your high and then low voice! An ambulance is on it's way and please have a death certificate ready."

Now I didn't happen to have a death certificate on me so, seeing a pile of dog-eared used envelopes on a sideboard, I cunningly peeled off the stamp and wrote as genuinely as I thought a death certificate would look, " DEATH CERTIFICATE! " And below that, " This charming old lady is as dead as a doornail. Signed Doctor Nashison ." ( I'd opened and read enough  consultant's letters to my father to know that they always used *charming* in correspondences but come to think of it now, although I didn't at the time, probably about living patients ) and peeling off another stamp put it in as clean a looking envelope as I could find! Which wasn't very and addressed it "To Whom It May Concern".

When the experienced and cynical ambulance men saw me, still dressed in my bare feet and trunks and asked with scepticism if I was Doctor Nashison only to be told "Indeed!" they whispered something to each other and refused to believe that I was a doctor but agreed to take the body in a sitting up position in a wheelchair, wrapped up to her chin and therefore with her blue face still visible!

I insisted that I WAS who I said I was and forced them to take the "Death Certificate"

I often wonder if it is still in a filing cabinet in West Ham's Coroner's Office or framed on a wall?
 

AHA! THE ORIGINAL DEATH CERTIFICATE!  SEE!  I WASN'T MAKING IT UP!

 ANOTHER ASIDE OVER.

SO! Unavoidably banging our cabin bags and knees against the poor lady's head we disembarked and joining two hundred passengers from other flights stood, knackered at 2am, in a queue to pay a solitary official £10= each for the priviledge of being allowed to visit his third-world country.

At the concourse those who had paid for a known destination were directed one way to a fleet of pristine coaches. Those of us on Alloted-Upon-Arrival deals were directed to an obscure, unused darkened hangar where we couldn't see what we were boarding.

By 4am we were sat on the back seat of a dilapidated coach and instead of heading west towards the well-known resorts, headed east towards Iraq !

The relief driver sat beside me and immediately fell asleep on my shoulder, his head jolting up and then crashing down painfully on my collarbone as we drove down their potholed highways!

 Every attempt to move him resulted in his actually cuddling closer and whispering in Turkish what must have been something lovely to his wife, kissing my ear and reaching for my crutch! I was too tired to care and left him to it!

After three hours we started dropping people off at various unfinished dumps, each group pitifully calling out " Oh My God ! "

We were dropped off in time for breakfast, which should have been welcome, at a city side-street-bomb-site that you wouldn't have put your dog in and shown to a room with a tiny window overlooking a yard full of rotting rubbish and chickens and all in a temperature of about 50 degrees Centigrade!

DELIGHTFUL VIEW OUT OUR TINY WINDOW! I GOT US MOVED!

Shirley was not happy and I did my party trick of returning to reception to request a change of rooms!

This trick doesn't always result in success but once culminated in three changes within an hour in a Majorcan Hotel in 2008!

Breakfast was sliced tomatoes and cucumber with a runny fried egg, ham and a fly-covered roll all tasting like they'd been put out the night before!

A POOR PHOTO BUT I FEEL THAT IT CAPTURES THE MOOD PERFECTLY!

Sally-Part 39. SCOUNDRELS ALL!

MY FAVOURITE PICTURE OF "SALLY"!

Freed from her tyrannical husband at the age of fifty nine, Sally went out and bought an upright piano for twenty quid and started to give lessons to various neighbours' children which was quite odd as she couldn't actually play a note herself!

My father's early death gave my mother's curtailed eccentricities full reign.

Both house and garden descended quite quickly through general untidiness, unkemptness and eventually into a  parlous state, although Sally didn't notice and wouldn't trust a home-help to restore some kind of order in case she messed things up!

She got burgled and fleeced and robbed outright by youths seeing her pushing her stolen trolley and offering to help, only to take her purse. Worst of all was the apparently pregnant  woman who, seeing Sally working in her front garden asked for a drink of water, only to follw her into the house and steal her money.

I'm being specific here because during one crisis meeting of all the brothers at the house, there was a ring on the front door and I opened it to who I could only presume was the same woman pleading for the same glass of water ,who when I challenged her, ran for it, jumping into a car driven by her partner and sped off but not before Sally's nightmare of a lodger, of whom more shortly, noted the registration number.

The policeman who came almost immediately explained that this was a known gang targeting old people across the south-east and that as the number plate was false, they would get away with another despicable attempt!

Another time, my mother heard breaking glass and went to the hall to find a large "foreigner" ( colour or ethnicity not allowed due to political correctness ) standing with bleeding knuckles who then ran passed her out the back door and away! Very odd.

The lodger, a towering motorbike dispatch rider, prone to fits of manic-depression and violence was recommended to her by a neighbour who as a doctor should have known better. He eventually managed to smash up the kitchen after a row with his girlfriend. Fortunately Sally wasn't at home and the lodger got his marching orders.

My mother's counter to the dangers of an old woman living on her own in a large house was to put up a card beside her doorbell listing fictitious flat numbers and tenants.

How stupid! But the funny thing is that it seemed to work.
and
Time passed and Sally, approaching her eighties became progressively weak and breathless and on one visit I left the house to phone get agreement from my eldest brother that something had to be done and that I would start the ball rolling by talking to her doctor.

She desperately needed help and care and her doctor told me, quite wrongly that it was none of my business and there was no way on earth that she could be removed to the safety of a hospital without a full team of medical experts assessing her and that had she listened to the doctor's advice she would have reduced her under-active thyroid tablets from four a day to one quarter.

So who was prescribing a dose of sixteen times the correct amount? You can't buy the tablets. Another quandry to go unexamined I suspect!

The doctor also told me that my mother was a very strong-willed and awkward person to deal with but because of my concern a nurse would be sent round to visit.

 And why not the doctor?

The horrified nurse immediately called for the rest of the team but as Sally was on the point of collapse anyway, she was taken straight to hospital and her FIRST death-bed!

Sally-Part 38. DAVID! WOULD YOU LIKE TO COME BELOW AND HOLD MY COLESLAW POT?

THE TITANIC COMPARED TO A MODERN CRUISE SHIP ! I FELT LIKE I WAS ON THE TITANIC !

Fifteen years ago Shirley discovered Cornwall's "The Minack Chronicles" by Derek Tangye and we  bought and read them all.

To the extent that now the only books on our bookshelf are Tangye's considerable output in both soft and hardback versions, with extra copies in order of condition, all sitting there for no good reason as nobody else seems to want to borrow and read them and by the way, never lend even your best friend a book as you'll never see it again!

Even "Eating People Is Wrong", a book I borrowed from a friend and never read finally got chucked out to make more space for Tangye's !

 They were about how he and his wife, Jeannie gave up their London highlife in 1950 and rented a tiny cottage on the cliffs above Lamorna in Cornwall and tried to beat the elements growing flowers for faraway markets.

SHIRLEY AT 'LEAPING' STREAM ON THE WINDING LANE TO THE TANGYE'S HOME

 Their pet cats and donkeys were central to the enchanting tales and one day, against her nature Shirley suddenly said, " I have to go to meet him and would you take him one of your hand-made belts ? "

 As odd as that sounds, I felt the same way. There was added poignancy to it as Jeannie had died several years before and Derek now lived on his own, though not without hundreds of women admirers from around the world beating a path to his door.

DEREK AND JEANNIE'S COTTAGE AT MINACK

Sadly, he had died six weeks before we arrived and we made the lovely walk along the cliffs up to their land a few times.

THE CLIFF WALK FROM LAMORNA

 Even the Captain of the Q.E.2 was a fan and sounded the ships horn in salute whenever he passed their cottage! And so we decided to kill two birds with one stone and take "The Scillonian" ferry, infamous for it's instability in anything but a calm sea, to the Scilly Isles for the day to see them and the Tangye land from offshore.

A hot, dry, sunny week turned into a mithering beast of a storm-tossed morning as we headed to  Penzance harbour. Beyond the groyne I, a terrible sailor, spied enormous rolling waves breaking violently over one another and quietly prayed for a cancellation !

Shirley, a brilliant sailor, couldn't wait for the ship to get under way !

It never ceases to amaze me that no matter how early a ferry journey there are crowds at the bar guzzling alcohol.

The people on the Scillonian, virtually at dawn, were no exception but I, already feeling queasy from walking up the gangplank, found a bench at the fulcrum of the centre of the upper deck, or so I thought and sat miserably clutching my rucksack waiting for all hope to drain completely from my face and give way to despair !

Those of you who have been following my blog will know that "MY" rucksack means "A" rucksack full of things that Shirley might but won't need for a day out.

An incomplete list would include such things as anti-chafing thigh gel which I have now lugged unopened around the world but without which Shirley won't leave home or go to the theatre, a beach rug, a beach tent, a sombrero, a parasol, four choices of sun cream, including total sunblock, walking boots, three pairs of spare shoes, depending on terrain and how much her feet have swollen, wet flannels in a plastic bag, a light jacket and a full-length cotton skirt, a swimming costume and a swimming towel; fruit, various for the eating of and thus warding off the evils of being without one's own bathroom for up to twelve hours; sandwiches, also various, made of course from wholemeal bread, a ready made salad and eating implements; a litre bottle of water, wholegrain cereal bars, crisps, almonds, prunes; binoculars, camera and spare films, maps and guides to the Islands and a list of various rental properties to have a look at as we stormed our way through rain and hail around as many of the five main islands as six hours on shore would let us and before my back broke under the weight of her essential requirements! Oh! And I nearly forgot, a large pot of Aldi's "VALUE" Coleslaw ! That's the one made from long-dead cabbages !

As we left the relative calm of the jetty and crossed the invisible line where violent sea-sickness awaited me I looked around at many other anxious-faced victims.

Most people held it together as we passed the Tangye headland, invisible through a dense shroud of sea fog but as the open sea of the Atlantic beckoned, more and more passengers started hurling themselves wild-eyed at the rails to throw up. I still had just enough dignity left to force myself to control my nausea !

At this moment Shirley uttered the words that I feared hearing, "David! would you like to come below and  hold my coleslaw pot?"

I thought "NO!" but said, " Of course, I'd love to!"

Whatever your foul minds had thought of when you read that, what she meant was exactly that! And so, leaving my place of refuge, I followed her down to the unfortunately named bowels of the ship, to the awful-smelling lounge where battered passengers were heaving up their beers into those dreadful paper vomit bags.

Shirley, seemingly unaware of the palava, set her snack out on the table and to prevent things falling on the floor each time the ship lurched, got me to hold things as she ate.

Even people sitting beside us were obviously on the point of collapse but she carried on regardless!

What finished off every single groaning passenger, crew member and howling dog  who had not been sick up to that moment was the taking off of the top to the coleslaw! The stink ensured the immediate evacuation of the "Salon" with many emptying their stomach contents onto the floor where they sat or down the backs of family and stranger alike as they fought to get up on deck! The sounds and smells were too awful to describe here!

Even the second world war battle-hardened Captain came down to see what the fuss was about only to grab his own stomach and nose and rush out to sound the horn in a series of Titanic blasts!

Shirley, oblivious to it all, finished her repast, looked up and said how odd she thought it was that there was no one else in the room and wondered whether I would like to eat something then or once we had docked. I think that the lack of colour in my face gave a hint to my feelings about that!

ST.MARTIN'S HAS NO CARS AND IS ONLY TWO MILES LONG. YOU GET THERE IN A TINY OPEN FERRY FROM ST.MARY'S, CROSSING AND SCRAPING THE SAND OF THE SHALLOW TURQUOISE SEA, OCCASIONALLY GROUNDING AND HAVING TO WAIT FOR THE TIDE TO COME BACK IN!