The End of a Love Affair

On Saturday Falmouth had the Parade of Sail for the Tall Ships that have been moored up in the harbour since Wednesday.

We took a grockle boat out to see them though unfortunately couldn’t go ashore and peek at them as they were preparing to set sail later. We had an entertaining Guided Talk by the owner of the boat who told us that the hideous green house over at Flushing opposite is Piers Brosnan – can’t say much for his taste in houses. We did look out for him but expect he was viewing the Tall Ships from the deck of a gin palace somewhere. Himself has decided to write to Piers to tell him what he thinks of the colour of his house….

After that we wandered through town which had a fabulous atmosphere – very holidayish and happy – and had an Italian ice cream from the parlour bit of the new(ish) Pizza Express down by the maritime museum. We were down there so that Himself could have a look at more boats, including two racing boats. Later on we wandered back to Gas Works car park which had been cleared so that a huge marquee of Cornish produce was on offer plus loads of different eateries. We were able to watch the Tall Ships leave the harbour and head out into the bay for the Parade of Sail and it was a very moving spectacle.

At the end of it all, Himself said, “you know Pop, going out on the water this morning made me realise how much I miss it.”

My heart fell. I had a certain sense of déjà vu.

“There’s nothing for it. We’re going to have to get a boat of some kind. I think I should be able to pick up a hull for next to nothing and customise it.” He gave a guilty grin and said, “You see, Pop, I do miss them so much.”

“I know,” I said. “Boats are in your blood.” Meaning – he’s fallen in love with boats again. I thought how pleased I’d been when he was keen on jazz again. (A significantly cheaper hobby than boats.) His love affair with jazz has abated now as he’s too much of a perfectionist and isn’t able to play as well as he thinks he should. So he’s discouraged and has fallen in love with boats again.

I looked at him and smiled to myself. Some things never change. I can see from now on he'll be scouring the boatyards for an old wreck which he will get for nothing and do up. I wonder what sort of boat we’ll end up with next year?

Fame Part Three

As we are such a famous family now, the above is a picture of Himself playing in a jazz band a couple of weeks ago. (He's the one on the right, playing with his mate Bob.) He was to have been playing this Wednesday but unfortunately the venue was already booked, so that will have to wait until after Christmas.

In the meantime, you know that cornet he bought a few weeks ago? The one that was JUST RIGHT, POP. The one that he spent ages reshaping, stripping of lacquer and doing god knows what else to?
It’s gone back on ebay

He did laugh, rather nervously, and said, ‘”the tone’s wrong, Pop.”
Story of my life.

He sold it at a loss of £45 .

“Just as well you’re not trying to make money,” I said (though of course this was the idea).

Out walking the dog on Saturday, he said, “Come on, Pop. I have to get back to check my internet business.” He giggled. “It’s called bankruptcy.com.”

Just to compound matters financial, he bought another cornet last night on ebay at the knockdown price of £42. I despair.

For those of you asking if I could put my moments of fame on Youtube – I don’t (yet) have a DVD of the programme, but for a good laugh, you can see it on the Westcountry TV website - http://www.itvlocal.com/westcountry and click on Documentaries.

Unfortunately I sound like Ann Widdecombe. But we don’t look alike.

Jazz, sex and honeymoons

The girls have just called round with a key so I can keep an eye on things while they’re off on their honeymoon.

‘Would you like me to water your plants?’ I said with a sense of what was coming.

‘Oh, please!’ ET said, ‘oh, and do you think you could keep an eye on the overflow from the downstairs bathroom?’

‘And there’s milk in the fridge if you’d like that.’

‘If there are any tomatoes that the slugs don’t eat, please have those.’

‘And some of my dad’s tomatoes in a bag on the kitchen floor.’

‘And a loaf of bread – do you want that?’

‘How about some flowers – we can’t enjoy them, so please have them.’

So I went over and came back, laden, like a camel. Not bad for a bit of plant watering.

Walking Mollie round the castle this morning, I was aware of heavy breathing beside me. I looked at Himself who was walking along with his eyes shut.

Had he got something in his eye? Was he about to have a heart attack? (After his meal last night of salad laden with mayonnaise, new potatoes covered in butter, followed by cheese, I wouldn’t be surprised. He, of course, looked injured when I suggested that such a meal might not be perfectly nutritionally balanced.)

‘Are you all right?’ I said

‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘It’s jazz.’

Now I know that most of the time we both have music roaring round our heads, but I couldn’t quite make this out. ‘Why do you sing jazz (silently) with your eyes shut?’

‘Because I can hear it better,’ he said. ‘Jazz is all about sex.’

Any the wiser? I’m certainly not.

And I leave you with another quote courtesy of Shelagh.

To see ourselves as others see us is a most salutary gift. Hardly less
important is the capacity to see others as they see themselves.
Aldous Huxley, novelist (1894-1963)

Musical Dearloves

Himself discovered the missing photo of the jazz band about five minutes before we left to go to Penzance. He stood rather sheepishly in the door holding it, waiting for me to look up from the article I was reading.

‘It was on top of the wardrobe,’ he said. (This is the only storage in our one bedroom flat so I was a little surprised he hadn’t looked there already.) He smiled his I’m-just-a-lovable-little-boy-smile and those blue eyes glinted. ‘You’re exonerated.’ At which point I threw the newspaper at him.

We finally made it to the Musical Evening after a few false starts. First we forgot the strawberries, then, half way to Penryn, he said, ‘have you got the phone?’ Note The Phone. Not Your phone, or My phone.
It turned out that we had to ring them five minutes before arriving as Penzance was very busy and they’d kept us a parking space. In fact I did have My Phone but I didn’t have our cousins number on it, so that meant another U turn to get our address book.

Finally we got there on a sunny June evening with St Michael’s Mount looking like the castle in Sleeping Beauty, all gracious and sun kissed, instead of being wrapped in the usual clouds of rain. Our cousins have a house in the middle of the town, in one of the oldest squares with houses overlooking Mounts Bay. It’s pure magic, right out of an Elizabeth Goudge book (just to mix metaphors).

Having fed and watered us (or wined us in my case: Himself volunteered to drive), we settled down to listen to some of David’s recordings from the last sixty odd years. I can shamelessly namedrop now, on his behalf, for he has written music and lyrics with the likes of John Dankworth, Dudley Moore, Ralph McTell and many others. In fact, he gave Ralph McTell the contacts to get going in the music business.

So we had several hours of listening to some very old recordings of a very young John Dankworth and Cleo Laine performing and singing some of David’s songs, with Dudley on the piano and Ralph accompanying some other songs. What an incredible talent. I can string a few words together, but how you do that to music is utterly beyond me. Even more difficult – how do you write the lyrics and then write the music?

I take my hat off to David. To have produced such a consistently high standard of music, for so long, is one hell of an achievement. And to cap it all, he has the most wonderful surname. Dearlove. I’d love a name like that.