Time for a Party

Once in a while a touch of joy or sadness steps into every homestead: a wedding or a funeral.

Both events can bring a family together, if only for an hour or two. Whenever it happens the familiar cry rings out: ‘Why can’t we sometimes get together just for the sake of it?’ The thing is, family get-togethers are delightful, and ought to need no excuse. It used to happen every Christmas when I was a kid. I remember the whole clan gathering at Grandma and Granddad’s house: seven sons and a daughter with wives, girlfriends, children, sundry cousins and honorary aunts and uncles all squeezed into one house. Thirty in three rooms, yet there was a comfy seat for everyone, food and treats aplenty, and good company at every turn.

It didn’t last of course. Llittle by little uncles and aunts found other calls on their attention, and numbers depleted. Grandma and Granddad found themselves invited to several much smaller gatherings over the festive period which for them, I am sure, had its compensations. But the big gatherings became reserved for weddings and funerals. Sadly, in our family, the latter have outnumbered the former in recent times, so get-togethers have inevitably been tinged with sadness.

We did have a couple of grand reunions around the millennium. Twice we hired a village hall and made a big party of it. We mustered numbers of over eighty on both occasions.

There are fewer of us now but, by consensus, it is time for another.

So here we go. Next May. In Ashton-under-Lyne.

Anyone descended from or related to the late Frederick Thomas Langridge and Alice Jane (née Over) is included. DM me for details.

A Letter from England - November 2019

Dear Friends,

Just now people in England are much concerned with two related matters: a forthcoming general election and Brexit—the United Kingdom’s secession from the European Union.

The outcome of the referendum held on 23 June 2016 (to decide on our continued membership) was very close: 52% in favour of leaving to 48% against, with an unusually large turnout of 72%. One might have expected general acceptance of the result, and our politicians to have set about implementing the expressed will of the people. Alas, the reality has been otherwise.

The closeness of the result was one problem. If those who voted leave had travelled in coaches to vote, only one or two on each would have needed to change their mind for the outcome to have been quite the opposite. To complicate matters, the pattern of voting was not uniform across the Kingdom. Voters in Scotland and Northern Ireland preferred the remain option, the result provoking a renewal of the Scottish National campaign for secession from the United Kingdom, and fuelling unease in the nationalist community in Northern Ireland. Since the UK and Ireland joined the EU the border between them has been so open as to be merely notional for most purposes: a great benefit to both communities following decades of ‘the Troubles.’ A new ‘hard’ border is no welcome prospect. 

A further, and perhaps more challenging, problem was in interpreting the result of the referendum: What did ‘Brexit’ actually mean?  The terms ‘hard’ and ‘soft’ Brexit were bandied about to describe the various options, such as maintaining, or not, a customs union or a single market with the EU or making a clean break and building a new relationship from scratch with the EU. Those at the extreme ‘leave’ end of the spectrum of opinion declared that anything other than a ‘hard Brexit’ was no Brexit at all, and therefore the country had clearly chosen the hard variety, whilst it was clear that Members of Parliament who, whilst accepting the result of the referendum would have for the most part preferred to remain, did not accept this interpretation, declaring it to be potantially ruinous. 

The   first deal brought back to them by new Prime Minister Theresa May after negotiations with the EU was neither a fully hard deal nor a fully soft one. It was rejected repeatedly by MPs from both ends of the spectrum, and opinions were hardening all the time. At length Mrs May left office and a new Prime Minister, Boris Johnson, replaced her, promising to get the job done. He negotiated a modified deal which, although just approved by Parliament, brought new concerns which delayed its implementation—at which Mr Johnson called a General Election in the hope of increasing his majority and forcing the deal through.

After three-and-a-half years of delay here is much exasperation with the political establishment. To a large extent the usual political party loyalties appear to have been replaced by allegiances to the ‘leave’ or ‘remain’ camps. There are growing concerns about the nature of the Irish Border and indeed the future status of Northern Ireland, the prospect of Scottish secession, the possibilities for new trade deals and the outlook for British industry after Brexit. 

In all this it is surprising that no-one has bothered to ask those one or two coach passengers whether they have changed their mind yet. Perhaps we should.

A Letter form England: October 2019

This time of year sees an annual process that tears families apart: the departure of students to University. I remember tearful and desolate journeys home, having left my own children at their respective temples of Academia. Not only for their first terms, though those were undoubtedly the worst, but through following years as well.

For many young people it is their first substantial period away from home, and without the support of old friends. It is a time of trepidation and excitement, a time for making new friendships and a time of challenge. For parents, too, it is a time of great change and uncertainty. The thought that their children have now fled the family nest, perhaps permanently, is never a comfortable one, and there is always worry about how they will manage in their new surroundings.

Studies apart, the new students have much to prove, if not to learn. Parents hope they have done a good enough job of teaching how to budget and manage money, to cook and feed wisely, to behave and and interact socially in appropriate manner. Students are anxious to prove they can live independently, manage their own affairs, and assert themselves in new peer groups. Mercifully, most succeed surprisingly well, though there is comfort in knowing that support is there for those who find it all less easy.

First-time students are the most likely to find accommodation in Halls of Residence where, it is hoped, someone will keep a caring eye on things. Later, there is generally a move towards less institutional—and cheaper—housing, which can bring its own tribulations. I recall my own experiences of months in a house where one special room was kept eternally spick and span for the sole and exclusive purpose of allowing students to entertain visiting parents. The remainder of the establishment did not bear inspection. The kitchen was was such a disgusting mess that I suspect even the bacteria shied away. Not to worry; we all survived, and I know the place was in no way unique. Of the accommodation enjoyed by my own children, I know what we were shown, and it was better not to enquire too closely.

The purpose of it all though is clear enough, At the end of the day there is great satisfaction when expectations are realised, and parents suddenly realise that their children have grown up whilst they weren’t looking.

Missed Holiday

At this moment I should have been looking back on a splendid holiday in Italy. Instead I am following a regime of regular physiotherapy. I'm sure you will work it out for yourself: our vacation was cancelled at the last minute.
I got out of bed one morning with excruciating pain in the lower back and leg, and unable to stand for more than a couple of minutes. I spent a couple of weeks more or less flat on my back, popping prescription pain killers and being dutifully waited upon be my excellent family, but as our departure date grew near it was clear I wasn't going to be fit to travel, let alone pass a pleasant week walking around in the sunshine of Sorrento. Alas, memories of last year's visit will have to suffice.
That was when I completed two items on my tick list: the Roman sites of Pompeii and Herculaneum.
Mrs did not accompany me to Pompeii. Her mobility is now very poor, and she gets around with a mobility scooter. A little research had told us that the site would not suit her, though in truth I saw that a lot of work is under way to enable wheelchair access to some of the ruins. She might well have managed it, had she not elected to consume indecent quantities of ice cream on the Corso d'Italia instead.
As it was I was able to spend a very pleasant day wandering about (after an excellent guided tour) and enjoying the experience. In a whole day I did not see everything, so I was especially disappointed not to return this year. I have to say that Mrs could not have managed the half-hour train journey from Sorrento to the station outside Pompeii's main entrance. The carriages were packed and there was nowhere to store the scooter, even if she had been able to make it onto the train.
Herculaneum was a different matter. We hired a car and driver and we both went. It is a much easier site for access, and Mrs was able to trundle around the ruins relatively easily—even venturing onto an actual Roman road surface for a little while.
On reflection, that roadway was not much worse than the current ones in the side streets of Sorrento. Mrs was able to get around OK, but it was a bit of a bone shaker.
A planned trip along the Amalfi coast did not take place; we had hoped to rectify that this year. One of the spectacular sights to greet us as we travelled the coast route from Naples Airport to our hotel was a small fleet of Canadair water-bombers landing and taking off in the bay. The reason? A forest fire which caused the closure of the Amalfi coast road for most of our stay.
Getting to Sorrento with a mobility scooter was much easier than you might imagine. We flew with Jet2 whose assistance arrangements were faultless. We were able to drop our luggage the evening before the flight (we overnighted in the Crowne Plaza at Manchester Airport—and left our car there for the week) and presented ourselves at the assistance desk. We were condusted through security and to the aircraft where we were lifted aboard with an ambulift (an elevator mounted on the back of a truck) and the scooter was taken away to the hold. The reverse procedure got us to our taxi at Naples, and the whole programme was repeated on the reverse journey. An excellent experience. It's just a pity we didn't repeat it in 2019.
Well...  perhaps 2020?

Confession

I have to confess it's been a long time since I updated my blog. The thing is, I got a different computer and had enormous difficulty logging-in. After a hundred failed attempts and weeks of my life passing by, I gave it up in frustration.
On a whim, I tried signing on today, and Bingo! Here I am.
Much has happened in the meantime, though to be honest the moment has gone for most of it. On the positive side I now have a greater fund of experience to fall back on in times of little interest. I'll try not to bore you.

A Letter from England: October 2015

Around this time of year we generally take a trip to the English Lake District to watch the leaves turn. Autumn paints the forestscape with magnificent blazes of red, yellow and gold, and even if the spectacle does not quite match the glories of New England in the Fall, it more than rewards the effort of making the journey.

A favourite spot of ours is Tarn Hows, where we have enjoyed picnic lunches amid the double vista of the canopy and its image reflected in still water, and where, at ten-years-old, our son was once inspired to describe 'leaves the colour of a dragon's flame.'

I have to say that we found this year's display somewhat disappointing. Everything is behindhand this year and the verdancy of summer lingers on with the leaves merely beginning to hint at the visions  to come. Perhaps it is churlish to complain that the climate which has treated us so gently this year has afforded the woodlands a longer growing season, though the suspicion persists that all is not well in Mother Nature's world.

In a not entirely unconnected matter another loved location in this idyllic quarter of England finds itself at the centre of some controversy. A leaftlet newly circulated by 'Friends of the Earth' bears an image of the picturesque village and lake of Grasmere alongside the injunction: 'Don't let fracking destroy all of this.'  It goes on to assert a range of dire environmental consequences arising from hydraulic fracturing and the chemicals involved in its application: contamination of ground water, atmospheric pollution and increased risk of cancer.

It was pointed out to the disseminators that the minerals beneath the County of Cumbria are for the most part volcanic in nature and therefore contain little in the way of recoverable fuel. The chances of fracking ever taking place in or near to Grasmere approximate to zero.

The defence that '...the picture is illustrative of the sorts of areas which the government is opening up for fracking' might have been a little more convincing were it not for the barrage of sanction about scientific and technical inaccuracies and errors put forth in the pamphlet, followed by several official complaints to the Advertising Standards Authority and the Fundraising Standards Board - official bodies whose functions are self-explanatory.

To discredit the leaflet is not to prove the lack of a valid case against fracking. Rather, it underlines the importance of using valid information in our arguments. Further, it reminds us of the ongoing controversy over the pros and cons of fracking: whether the associated environmental damage and continued burning of fossil fuels can be justified, or whether the risks of shortfalls in our energy supplies before greener resources can be brought to market are acceptable. Which body of opinion will prevail remains to be seen, but decisions will need to be taken soon.

Perhaps Friends of the Earth would have served their case better with a photograph of Tarn Hows, and a caption: 'Autumn is late this year; It's later than you think.'

Post script. 

In the couple of weeks since I posted this letter, the British Forestry Commission has declared that this autumn's colours are the most striking for years. Look from my window now, I am bound to agree. The reason for the spectacular show, it is suggested, is the good weather and growing conditions for trees in the summertime.

Worse than Nothing?

This is a real grumble.

You can read below about our cruise in March 2012 to the Canary Islands. The trip was marred by an ongoing outbreak of Norovirus on the ship. Many passengers were affected, and part of the remedy was to ask them to remain in their cabins for 48 hours. As an incentive, there was mention of a discount on on a further cruise for those who comply. As a precaution passengers who might not have been affected, but showed symptoms were also asked to comply. My Mrs was one such - it cost her two days of a 12-day holiday, and myself, too to some extent, although I was able to make more of the time since I was able to leave the cabin and go ashore as well as sitting and keeping her company.

The voucher for a future cruise discount had not arrived by mid-August, so I wrote to ask why not. To be fair, the reply was very prompt, and came with a voucher for £61 off a future cruise, valid until the end of 2013.

Now £61 compared with a ticket price of £1259 amounts to a discount of 5% for one person. Better than nothing I suppose, in monetary terms, at least. Worse than nothing in terms of customer relations. I doubt whether we will use it. I just negotiated a discount of more than 5% for two on our next cruise, but with a different cruise line. I don't think we will be using our Fred.Olsen voucher.