Passport at the ready

One of the better things about working for Woodcote Building Services, was that every year we would go on a so called ‘bonding exercise.’  A long weekend on the south coast of Spain was the normal favourite.  Each year according to what was available, eight or ten of us departed from one UK airport or another for a destination such as Malaga.

In the year that I was due to retire, the chosen airport happened to be the one nearest to my Loughborough home, East Midlands, about six miles.  This turned out to be extremely fortunate for me.

As I remember, the flight was scheduled to go at 10.00 am and it was therefore necessary for us to be at the airport at about 8 to 8.30 am for normal bookings in etc.  I drove to the airport with my wife who would return home with the car, thus saving parking fees and taxi fares.

Arriving on time we quickly said our goodbyes, Jean slid into the driving seat and shot off home.

We were getting our first calls for the flight about 9.15am and all paperwork was assembled and held ready for inspection, including passports.  I looked at mine. It took about 15 seconds for me to comprehend just what I was holding.

‘Oh! No! No! This is not my passport. This one belongs to Jean!’

In a frantic phone call home, I managed to tell Jean what had happened.  Explanations also had to be made by our company M.D. to airport officials. A little leeway was granted.

To her credit, Jean managed to get back to the airport with about two minutes to spare.  I was told on arrival home that our Peugeot 307 was capable of 100 mph.  And guess who was driving? Not me!

David Taylor

Swans do not like him!

Swans do not like my son Steven
Wherever he goes, near or far
If there’s a pond or a lake there
Then that will be where the swans are.
I don’t know if he gives off an odour -
No, no I’m not saying he smells! -
Or if it’s his voice and his cadence
That seems to set off alarm bells.
But if there’s a swan in the distance
Which spots him, it begins to hiss
And sets off half running , half flying
And aims for his face, doesn’t miss.
So he’s bleeding and yelling and cursing
And the swan has his nose in its grip.
Its wings are still flapping to keep it airborne,
Its neck flailing just like a whip.
Then we spot that its mates are all coming
To take up the cause so we flee …
After pulling the swan from poor Steven
And going in search of a cup of tea.
We agree that our next little venture
Will be to the hills or the coast,
Where the gulls and magpies will not peck out your eyes
And will just nick your sarnies at WORST!

Jean Taylor

Postcards - which style of sender are you?

A postcard from a member of the family or a close friend is always nice to receive.

The cards come in two forms. One, the card that you expected and the second type that come as a complete surprise. Frequently these are from people that you have not seen in years.

Knowing the date that your family or friend went off on holiday tells you a lot about their card sending habits, or possibly the speed of postal services involved.

For instance, lets say that a week from a UK South Coast resort can seem quite a long time, whereas a week from Central Africa is almost immediately.

The content again falls into two types. Four or five words to prove that they actually arrived, and printed in capital letters, fifteen degrees to the top edge of the card.

The alternative is a small epistle on everything that has occurred in the previous five days and comprising of the weather, the accommodation, the journey down, facilities for children, and the proximity of the nearest pub, etc. etc.

For these offerings you will certainly need a magnifying glass.

I have noticed that both these types of card have a habit of remaining pinned firmly to the corkboard in the kitchen. Here they gather dust for up to two years beyond the date of posting.

I remember a slogan from the nineteen sixties, ‘A postcard is better than a letter.’  With me that is very true.

 

David Taylor

Postcard from Watermead

Dear Cordelia,

A few short lines to tell you about our walk this morning at Watermead. We looked for you and your father but couldn't spot you anywhere. Saw a woolly mammoth, though I’ve no idea what significance he has – was he in Mr Shakespeare’s play, too? Would be a difficult role to find an actor for, I imagine. Could descend into pantomime farce if not careful.

The son parked at Birstall and we walked round the lake twice, avoiding cyclists, dog walkers, families with the odd excited toddler storming towards gangs of swans and geese at the Belgrave end, marshalling ready to mug passing pedestrians of bread. 

‘They’re all like that till they learn different,’ the son said, nodding at a sweet giggling boy, arms wide to welcome the throng; and we chuckled, remembering the duck who’d pecked his wellies at the same age, cross we had no food for it, and his howls of fear at the attack. 
‘You’d be able to give it a good kick, now,’ I said, looking up at him then across to the trees it would soar over. ‘Or eat it,’ remembering how nice Chinese crispy duck tastes – another of those things coeliac’s disease has robbed me of.

Watermead’s not a Rutland Water, the son said, and twice round the lake more than enough to discover its delights, however blue the sky. We came home via Tesco’s, picking up treats and a spot of lunch. Not duck but chicken, though tasty all-the-same.

I’ll end now, Cordelia. I hope you and your sisters are well – your father not so, obviously. I hope your pontoon has floated some place exotic and isn’t stuck in a warehouse somewhere, shielding from inquisitive hands and the Covid curse. I’ll nip back and look for you again in the summertime, when hopefully all this madness will be done.

Every best wish,

AM

The Jigsaws ...

My wife has taken to doing jigsaws as a pastime. Not satisfied with the normal cardboard types as supplied by W H Smith, she has invested in the up-market Wentworth collection. These are very good but not cheap!

Encouraged by a late dear friend, Jean’s collection has exhibited the ability to just go on growing and growing.  She has managed to fill one large bookcase plus a cupboard and freestanding shelf. We now possess what I can only describe as a library of wood-filled boxes.

Seated most evenings in front of the TV she has equipped herself with an old butler’s tray made of pinewood and fitted with a pair of small brass handles. It had belonged to my grandmother.

With the subtly of a clap of thunder, 250 pieces of jigsaw fly out of a cotton bag, congregating in a heap in the centre of the tray. Turning, spreading and sorting now commences.  Silence can then be expected for about half an hour before the more stressful elements start to cause comments, ranging from the degree of difficulty encountered, to the old favourite “it’s got a piece missing!,” Jean continues until the current masterpiece is finished.

I think that on average, she can manage about one and a half jigsaws per night, and sometimes if she has done the puzzle before, it could be two by 10.00pm.

David Taylor
12/02/2021

Where is my steel tape?

Once upon a time a steel tape measure was something that every self-respecting DIY/handy man had in his household toolbox.

Mostly these items were capable of measurements closely relating to things contained within the average domestic house and garden shed, and limited to six foot.

Over the years as DIY got more ambitious, this distance was increased to ten foot, probably because more items were being constructed in an increasingly redundant garage.

Out on building sites it was commonplace to have a sixty-foot tape or even a hundred foot.

The arrival of Metrification was not welcomed by many handymen, as their tapes were now infected with a second line of numbers, these bearing no direct relationship to the loved and respected Imperial sizes.

It is a well-known fact that some very expensive mistakes have been made both in the UK and also on the other side of the Atlantic, where feet and inches still reign.

Now, years after Metrification, I still revert to feet and inches when working at home. Imperial is still every inch a king and every foot a RULER!

David Taylor
11/02/2021

Where is my steel tape?

Once upon a time a steel tape measure was something that every self-respecting DIY-handyman had in his household toolbox.

Mostly these items were capable of measurements closely relating to things contained within the average domestic house and garden shed, and limited to 6 ft.

Over the years as DIY got more ambitious, this distance was increased to 10 ft, probably because more items were being constructed in an increasingly redundant garage.

Out on building sites it was common place to have a 60 ft tape or even 100 ft.

The arrival of metrification was not welcomed by many handymen, as their tapes were now infected with a second line of numbers, these bearing no direct relationship to the loved and respected Imperial sizes.

It is a well known fact that some very expensive mistakes have been made both in the UK and also on the other side of the Atlantic, where feet and inches still reign.

Now years after metrification, I still revert to feet and inches when working at home.

Imperial is still every inch a king and every foot a RULER!

David Taylor

Five people that changed my life

Now retired and with some time on my hands, I can indulge in a bit of life reflection.

This question has been suggested by the leader of our writing group and I have to admit that it has been far from easy. That is, if taken at full face value.

So many people over the years have given the daily course of my life a bit of a nudge, but how many have actually made a fundamental redirection?

Even having applied the above criteria, I am still left with some two dozen characters in the mix.

So I shut my eyes take a pin and have a stab.

The headmaster: (Mr Lord) at Cobden Primary School Loughborough. Aged nine I was getting a long way behind the class with the basic Three R’s.  I was taken to his office by my father to ask what could be done about the situation.  My father told the headmaster that he thought that I was downright lazy.  My head master said ‘David is not so much lazy, but lazy minded.  His first reaction to any situation is to try to avoid that which he deems to be uninteresting. He has intelligence but it requires a lot of motivation.’ (I was 21 before this was revealed to me.)

The second person is my late father who wisely redirected my stated career ambition away from being a chef on the East Coast Main Line Railway. He suggested that I took up the offer of an apprenticeship with Brush Electrical Engineering in Loughborough. Having watched Master Chef a few times I know that he was right.  Lucky passengers!

The third person has to be David Theobald, Chief Engineer of what was then Brush Power Engineering. I was promoted from being an Electrical Fitter to the post of Junior Draughtsman.

The fourth is the Rev. David Pawson, whose talks and debates can still be found online. His kindly wisdom and huge biblical knowledge has changed my concept of Christianity, deepened my faith and given me a framework for human existence. Not just living but how to live.

The last but by a long way not the least is my second wife Jean.  We were introduced through the offices of computer dating.  This was after separate independent interviews in Nottingham, comprising of two detailed written inquisitions. I was informed that I would need quite a strong person if I was to be successful in my search for a partner.

We met and quickly discovered that we had mutual interests including eating out. Also that we both had two children. Our previous relationships had not so much broken, more like worn out. We were helped in as much that we are both Christians but from different backgrounds.

When we were married in 2002 I was asked, ‘was it love at first sight?’ I said ‘More like love at first insight,’ and that has just grown over the years. Jean ‘manages’ me far more easily than my fist wife. She is my whole love, friend and companion.

David Taylor