Nellie of Vancouver suggested rather strongly that I should put the text of an email reply that I sent her on my blog. I looked at it and thought, "no, wouldn't read right without the rest of our conversation as background" so, instead, here is an amended version. The original was all about "Famous People From Mitcham", that's where I grew up. This version will include most of those people, because I met, or probably met, most of them at some stage. This is about famous people I have met. Well, in some cases, as you'll see, I didn't actually MEET them, but had some other contact over and above just, say, seeing them on stage somewhere.
1. 1964. Chas Chandler - Famous because: Bass player of the Animals, later manager of Slade and others. Place: Mitcham Carnival. Nature of Encouter: Getting sworn at. How: A friend and I had gone to the carnival because.....well, because that's what you do when you're 12 and there's a carnival. The Animals had gone there because, although they were now famous with "House Of The Rising Sun" blaring from every tranny for miles, they were, I guess, still playing gigs that were booked before anyone had heard of them. We had heard of them, liked them, but they weren't the reason we were there. I'm not even sure we knew they were going to be. Anyway, sneaking across the front of the little stage they were playing on, I happened to catch my foot in the the cable that connected (I can now reason) Chas's bass to the monitor. It came out. The bass went quiet. Chas got loud. This is a family blog so I can't tell you what he said. It was in Geordie, anyway, a language I didn't learn until much later, so I don't even really KNOW exactly what he yelled. Such was his eloquence, however, that the sense was perfectly clear, even to my 12 year old ears. Whatever he wished on me has not happened yet so there's not even a clue there either.
2. 1965 (ish). Ken Barrington. Famous because: Cricketer, Surrey and England. Place: Mitcham Cricket Green. Nature of encounter: Actually I think this happened more than once. Ken was a local lad, by now in the later stages of his career and he used to come back to Mitcham annually (I think) for testimonial and other fund raising cricket matches at his old club. Like most cricket watchers, he could not sit still for a whole game and neither could I or the friends I was with. So we'd all walk aroud the rope that acts as a boundary to the playing field. Someone always spotted Ken and wanted his autograph. I never got one; not that much of a cricket, or autograph, fan, but several friends did.
3. Eary 1960s. John Rostill. Famous because: Another bass player, this time with the Shadows. He was their third, from about 1963 on and was another local lad. For those that don't know (that would be the non-brits), the Shadows were, among other things, Cliff Richard's backing group. Cliff was the biggest pop sensation Britain ever saw until the Beatles came along (and he's STILL big!) so that made the Shadows quite a big thing, even BEFORE allowing that they were, in their own right, the biggest, and best, instrumental group to come out of the UK, like, EVER. Nature of Encounter: He probably sold me lightbulbs or something. How: Actually, I don't KNOW that I met him (I warned you this would happen, remember?). I only know that it was widely believed in Mitchamian circles for many years that John Rostill, before finding fame and fortune, had worked in Mitcham Woolworth's. This would have been in the late 1950s and/or very early 60s; roughly between the ages of 6 and 10 for me. I was in Woolworth's at least once a week through those years, either with my mother, buying lightbulbs or the U.P.O.'s* for which Woollies were famous, or on my own or with friends buying toys, caps for our guns, cheap birthday presents for relatives or just getting out of the rain. I reckon John MUST have sold me something, loads of times probably, but since his name badge didn't say "Future Famous Dude", I totally failed to notice.
*U.P.O's are Unnecessary Plastic Objects. The phrase belongs to singer Nancy Griffiths, I turned it into an acronym some years back and find it very useful. Be my guest.
4. 1967. Tony Blackburn. Famous because: A disc jockey, formerly on the Radio Caroline pirate station but, by the Summer of '67, absorbed into the warm innards of the Beeb Beeb Ceeb, Radio 1 where he achieved much wider fame. The butt of many jokes down the years for his lameness and uncoolitude, he was, for a time and very incongruously, something of a heart-throb with the young girls of the age. Where: Tooting & Mitcham Football Club, Sandy Lane, Mitcham. Nature of encounter: There was a charity 6-a-side tournament held every year at T&M, where I was a regular supporter. Some friends and I had gone and, because Tony was going to be there as a ribbon-cutting, fund-raising-celeb, a girl of our acquaintance who later acquired some claim to the title "My First Girlfriend" (there are other contenders, it depends on your criteria) had come along too; not for the football, you understand, for Tony. Well, Tony was on one side of the field, under cover in the stand (the "VIP box") and we were opposite, on the terraces. At a certain point (have I mentioned it was raining tigers and wolves?) it became clear that Tony was signing autographs. The girl in question produced a very pink autograph book and started to explain what a shame it was that there were no chivalrous gentlemen around who would go and stand in the rain holding a pink autograph book waiting for Tony Blackburn's autograph so that her life could be made complete. Well, she was right, no chivalrous gentlemen around. There WAS, however, one besotted muggins. And that's how I "met" Tony Blackburn.
I have a problem with the power cable on my lap-top and the battery's almost kaputt so that's gonna haveta be all for tonight. I'll try to finish this soon. By the way, I applied for a job today. Next time.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Friday, January 4, 2008
At last, a waeguk answers a question!
It's taken more time than there is any excuse for but, here finally, is my attempt at an answer to the first question this blogger received. Simon, late of England, now in New York, has a professional background similar to mine; a career in foreign exchange which includes vault work in multiple countries, a variety retail operations at a variety of levels. The main difference between us is that Simon is substantially younger than I so, while I look back on 37 years finished, he is still doing it and looking as much forward as back. His question, reflects that. He asks:-
"I was wondering how you would cope with being who you are now, but back in Berkeley St (our mutual company's HQ in London until the 90s, D) in the 70's, and having to do your job of that time, but with the knowledge and experience you have now? Do you think you would fall back into the old routines or would your 21st century experience change your views and methods? Would you try and move things forward for them or let them work it out for themselves? Would you take advantage of your advanced knowledge and aim for promotions and praise or sit back and have an easy life?
In an attempt to prevent this from being either a) as dry as old bones to any unfortunate reader not versed in all the same things we are or b) turning in to an old dinosaur's rant about the good old/bad new days, I will try to couch the answer in the most general terms possible.
A number of things changed in the 37 years I was in that business and most of them seem to have changed elsewhere too
1. Systems. In 1970, the word never came up. There was one computer and only the white-coated specialists were allowed in its hermetically sealed room. It took up most of a floor of the building and only did two things. For about half the time, it processed the serial numbers of traveller's cheques, changing their status from "ordered" to "printed", "shipped", "in central stock", "in transit to agent", "in agent's stock", "issued", "lost or stolen", "paid" and, the demon of the bunch "PWA" (Paid Without Advice). The other half of the time, it processed payroll. It was not connected to anything anywhere, got it's data from punch cards and huge rolls of tape and churned out huge reports on "music paper". In contrast, the desk I just retired from housed four computers, each many times more powerful than the 1970 mainframe and connected, quite literally, to the entire world. Each could run several applications at once, even the simplest of which - a dinosaur VAX system some 20 years old - would have been beyond the grasp of any system, except possibly one run by NASA, in 1970.
2. Promotion/Recruitment policy. In 1970, and for some years after, in order to be promoted to a higher position, even at very lofty levels, you were expected to understand EVERYTHING your underlings did. You didn't need any fancy qualifications. There were a handful of chartered accountants in the Finance department, a few engineers in "EDP" (that's Electronic Data Processing, or IT as we know it today) and possibly some other professionals I didn't know about but, in general, you came in with "O" levels, occasionally an "A" level, started as a trainee cashier and went as far as you could or wanted, learning as you went. Progressively, down the years, the MBA's, PHD's and various stripes of accountants took hold and made most of the senior positions their own. Never mind that they couldn't tell a Franc from a Dong, thought a "hedge" was something you clipped at the weekend and "forward" was a position in football. They knew BUSINESS! "Business is business", they had been taught. "Don't get bogged down in the detail", they had learned. And boy did they know how to mess things up.
3. The 80/20 rule. I first heard this described sometime in the late 1970's by a new kind of professional called a "business analyst". I became one for a time and, as callings go, it's fun. What the 80/20 rule says, in a nutshell, is that, in any project, 80% of the job is completed with 20% of the resources (time, money, equipment, whatever). It's the other 20%, that messy list of exceptions, oddities, manual bits of awkwardness, that swallow up the big bucks/hours/kit. As an observation, this was wonderful and right on the money; I've seen it proven 100 times over. BUT, the fussbudgets got hold of it and tried to argue that we should therefore only do 80% of the project, thereby saving 80% of the money. At this stage, nobody had really caught on (and many still haven't) to the downside of #2 above; to wit, in a labour market dominated by qualified professionals, they can all work anywhere. Under the old regime, my experience and knowledge might be of some use to a handful of companies similar to my own but no oil company, drug store chain or truck manufacturer was going to want me. I was most valuable where I was so I had a vested interest in making sure that any new systems would work, even in the messy 20% bits, even if I myself moved on in the organization. These new guys, though, the pros, were like elected politicians. As long as they could look good long enough to get the next job, which would be elsewhere, they really cared not a jot if the whole house of cards collapsed after they'd gone. "Stay Within The Budget" was all that mattered. The result has been a succession of iterations of the 80/20 rule, each one doing 80% of what the last one did so that, eventually, the LATEST system only does 80% of 80% of 80% of 80%........ of the whole job (that's "not very much" in old money). I shouldn't complain, that's what kept me valuable through the last years - I was the guy who knew how it all REALLY worked.
So, what's the answer to Simon's question?
I would NOT use my knowledge to climb the ladder and take an easy life - I don't like rarified atmospheres and don't think it would work anyway.
I WOULD have a lot to say about systems. How not to paint yourself into corners, get stuck with non standard formats, etc.
I would know the trends of the future, of course, and many of them I would be powerless against. I would therefore just have to be prepared, recognise the demons at the gate when they appeared and do my best for myself and my colleagues.
I would buy more of the rare and odd notes and coins that came my way and live off them now. Better than any pension. I would also keep my savings in Swiss Francs.
I would be better able to "not sweat the small stuff". Many of the crises I and others faced down the years felt, at the time, as if they were the end of everything. Clearly, they weren't. The Sun still rose, the paycheck still came, the lunatics still took over the asylum and, guess what, I'm still here.
Otherwise (and I've had lots of time to think about this), I wouldn't do it very differently. I would know better who to trust and who not, and that would lead to some changes but, by and large, I'd do it all again. I would get different breaks, I guess. Probably would not end up in Canada this time because that was a fluke that isn't likely to happen twice. But I would travel, take all the relief jobs, the overseas assignments, experience life as it came along.
People don't tend to think of "Foreign Exchange Cashier", if they think of it at all, as a career that lets you see the world. It took me all over the UK and Ireland and to France, Spain, Luxembourg, Germany, Switzerland, the Netherlands, Belgium, Portugal, Italy, Greece, Egypt, Hong Kong, Singapore, Macao, Australia, lots of bits of the USA, Canada, Mexico, and I've probably missed a few. If I tried to change the past by reliving it, I think I'd fail. I would use what widom I could, but, mostly, I like how it went the first time.
Simon, I don't suppose that's the kind of answer you expected, or possibly even wanted, but I had more time to think about it than I should have and, really, that's it. When I was happy in my working life, it was because I was being ME. When I tried to live in someone else's world (like my brief trip into "upper management", I wasn't me and I wasn't happy. So, I'd be me, and that hasn't changed much (sepfer the grey and the wrinkles).
"I was wondering how you would cope with being who you are now, but back in Berkeley St (our mutual company's HQ in London until the 90s, D) in the 70's, and having to do your job of that time, but with the knowledge and experience you have now? Do you think you would fall back into the old routines or would your 21st century experience change your views and methods? Would you try and move things forward for them or let them work it out for themselves? Would you take advantage of your advanced knowledge and aim for promotions and praise or sit back and have an easy life?
In an attempt to prevent this from being either a) as dry as old bones to any unfortunate reader not versed in all the same things we are or b) turning in to an old dinosaur's rant about the good old/bad new days, I will try to couch the answer in the most general terms possible.
A number of things changed in the 37 years I was in that business and most of them seem to have changed elsewhere too
1. Systems. In 1970, the word never came up. There was one computer and only the white-coated specialists were allowed in its hermetically sealed room. It took up most of a floor of the building and only did two things. For about half the time, it processed the serial numbers of traveller's cheques, changing their status from "ordered" to "printed", "shipped", "in central stock", "in transit to agent", "in agent's stock", "issued", "lost or stolen", "paid" and, the demon of the bunch "PWA" (Paid Without Advice). The other half of the time, it processed payroll. It was not connected to anything anywhere, got it's data from punch cards and huge rolls of tape and churned out huge reports on "music paper". In contrast, the desk I just retired from housed four computers, each many times more powerful than the 1970 mainframe and connected, quite literally, to the entire world. Each could run several applications at once, even the simplest of which - a dinosaur VAX system some 20 years old - would have been beyond the grasp of any system, except possibly one run by NASA, in 1970.
2. Promotion/Recruitment policy. In 1970, and for some years after, in order to be promoted to a higher position, even at very lofty levels, you were expected to understand EVERYTHING your underlings did. You didn't need any fancy qualifications. There were a handful of chartered accountants in the Finance department, a few engineers in "EDP" (that's Electronic Data Processing, or IT as we know it today) and possibly some other professionals I didn't know about but, in general, you came in with "O" levels, occasionally an "A" level, started as a trainee cashier and went as far as you could or wanted, learning as you went. Progressively, down the years, the MBA's, PHD's and various stripes of accountants took hold and made most of the senior positions their own. Never mind that they couldn't tell a Franc from a Dong, thought a "hedge" was something you clipped at the weekend and "forward" was a position in football. They knew BUSINESS! "Business is business", they had been taught. "Don't get bogged down in the detail", they had learned. And boy did they know how to mess things up.
3. The 80/20 rule. I first heard this described sometime in the late 1970's by a new kind of professional called a "business analyst". I became one for a time and, as callings go, it's fun. What the 80/20 rule says, in a nutshell, is that, in any project, 80% of the job is completed with 20% of the resources (time, money, equipment, whatever). It's the other 20%, that messy list of exceptions, oddities, manual bits of awkwardness, that swallow up the big bucks/hours/kit. As an observation, this was wonderful and right on the money; I've seen it proven 100 times over. BUT, the fussbudgets got hold of it and tried to argue that we should therefore only do 80% of the project, thereby saving 80% of the money. At this stage, nobody had really caught on (and many still haven't) to the downside of #2 above; to wit, in a labour market dominated by qualified professionals, they can all work anywhere. Under the old regime, my experience and knowledge might be of some use to a handful of companies similar to my own but no oil company, drug store chain or truck manufacturer was going to want me. I was most valuable where I was so I had a vested interest in making sure that any new systems would work, even in the messy 20% bits, even if I myself moved on in the organization. These new guys, though, the pros, were like elected politicians. As long as they could look good long enough to get the next job, which would be elsewhere, they really cared not a jot if the whole house of cards collapsed after they'd gone. "Stay Within The Budget" was all that mattered. The result has been a succession of iterations of the 80/20 rule, each one doing 80% of what the last one did so that, eventually, the LATEST system only does 80% of 80% of 80% of 80%........ of the whole job (that's "not very much" in old money). I shouldn't complain, that's what kept me valuable through the last years - I was the guy who knew how it all REALLY worked.
So, what's the answer to Simon's question?
I would NOT use my knowledge to climb the ladder and take an easy life - I don't like rarified atmospheres and don't think it would work anyway.
I WOULD have a lot to say about systems. How not to paint yourself into corners, get stuck with non standard formats, etc.
I would know the trends of the future, of course, and many of them I would be powerless against. I would therefore just have to be prepared, recognise the demons at the gate when they appeared and do my best for myself and my colleagues.
I would buy more of the rare and odd notes and coins that came my way and live off them now. Better than any pension. I would also keep my savings in Swiss Francs.
I would be better able to "not sweat the small stuff". Many of the crises I and others faced down the years felt, at the time, as if they were the end of everything. Clearly, they weren't. The Sun still rose, the paycheck still came, the lunatics still took over the asylum and, guess what, I'm still here.
Otherwise (and I've had lots of time to think about this), I wouldn't do it very differently. I would know better who to trust and who not, and that would lead to some changes but, by and large, I'd do it all again. I would get different breaks, I guess. Probably would not end up in Canada this time because that was a fluke that isn't likely to happen twice. But I would travel, take all the relief jobs, the overseas assignments, experience life as it came along.
People don't tend to think of "Foreign Exchange Cashier", if they think of it at all, as a career that lets you see the world. It took me all over the UK and Ireland and to France, Spain, Luxembourg, Germany, Switzerland, the Netherlands, Belgium, Portugal, Italy, Greece, Egypt, Hong Kong, Singapore, Macao, Australia, lots of bits of the USA, Canada, Mexico, and I've probably missed a few. If I tried to change the past by reliving it, I think I'd fail. I would use what widom I could, but, mostly, I like how it went the first time.
Simon, I don't suppose that's the kind of answer you expected, or possibly even wanted, but I had more time to think about it than I should have and, really, that's it. When I was happy in my working life, it was because I was being ME. When I tried to live in someone else's world (like my brief trip into "upper management", I wasn't me and I wasn't happy. So, I'd be me, and that hasn't changed much (sepfer the grey and the wrinkles).
Thursday, January 3, 2008
So that was Christmas, and what did you do?
Well, that was quite a ride - literally for much of the time. Here's an abridged version of what I've been doing instead of updating here.
I mentioned last time, a family party in Moncton NB that went on till the wee small hours. Well, after a few hours of couch-kip, we picked up "Grandma", my mother-in law and brought her back here for the holidays. The plan was that my sister-in-law would follow down on Xmas day with her two sons and dog, stay for OUR big party on the 27th, then head back, probably taking Grandma (let's call her "G" for short) back with her, on the 28th.
"G" has had a rough year by anybody's standards. She lost her husband of 50 odd years last February and, although they were, by then, already in separate nursing homes, it was quite traumatic for her and all the extended family. But this lady has, let me tell you, spunk by the bucketload. No one who knows her has seen her brighter, happier, more active, than these last months. Then, back in the summer, following a long tradition that goes back to the dawn of the aged, she fell out of bed and broke herself quite badly. Wrists (1), hips (1), egos (1) confidence (0). She was in the hospital for a spell and everybody thought that, at the very least, the good times were over.
Not a bit of it! The "G" that toured our new house and lot, made jokes and told stories was, if anything, even brighter than the one I had last seen, before the fall.
So, of course, someone else had to get in some trouble. Sis-in-law (let's call her "D") had brand new winter tyres on her Honda when she set off from Riverview NB loaded up with family and Xmas stuff around lunch time on Christmas Day. On the highway, just before Truro NS (that's about half way, 90 minutes to go), BANG, a blow out.
Now for those of non-North American persuasion, I will have to explain the "donut". No, it's nothing to do with the Simpsons. It's what passes for a spare wheel in these parts. As long as I've been here, I have failed to understand why in Europe, where cars are traditionally small, roads of mixed quality and space at a premium, all cars have always come with 5 identical wheels, 4 on the road and one in the boot (trunk) just in case while here, where cars are traditionally huge, trunks spacious and roads (especially in Canada) generally pretty smooth, you get 4 wheels and an apology. The apology for a spare wheel is known "affectionately" as the "donut". It's much smaller than the others, has the advantage of taking up much less room but the DISadvantage of being all but useless as a means of keeping your vehicle off the ground, let alone mobile. You are supposed to put on the donut and limp no further than necessary to the nearest service area and buy a new REAL tyre. On Christmas Day. In rural Nova Scotia. Right.
What you ACTUALLY do is (unless you want to brave 150 km of highway followed by our bobsleigh run of a street with now't but a Boston Cream betwixt you and the tarmac) limp to the nearest service station (they're called "Irving's" here, like saying "Hoover" for "vacuum"), park inconspicuously at the back and call your destination on your trusty (and suddenly worth its weight in gold) cellphone.
So it was that I spent Christmas afternoon driving to Truro and back. That was OK though, roads were quiet, I had a new CD to play on the way and chats to have on the way back; I enjoyed it.
So we had a late Christmas dinner for (I think) 10, played "Wii" bowling, boxing and golf for a few hours, allocated sleeping spaces and turned out the lights. Boxing Day continued in like vein but with some serious garage-arranging thrown in. Have I mentioned, we have a HUGE garage. It's a garage in the same sense that London is a village; that is to say, no sense at all.
To us, it's party room, sound studio, extra bed room if needed AND a place to keep the lawnmower but definitely NOT the garage. I've said before that this is a small town but, even so, when you go around, as my wife had been, inviting everybody you meet (or even pass) to "come over on the 27th., the door's open", you just better be ready.
More family arrived, brother-in-law "E", his girlfriend, his son and his son's friend (invited at the party in Moncton the week before) some in a TOYota Yaris that made it up the road better than some snow ploughs I've seen. The weather, an ever present factor in all this, kept most of the others away. A few neighbours ventured out to join us but anyone who had to drive thought better of it.
The party was, if I say so myself as shouldn't, magnificent. Live (real) garage band playing almost constantly with revolving line-up of family, friends and friends of family. So good was the party, in fact, that Friday was officially cancelled. Cancelled, that is for everyone except "E" and the Yaris party who, making the mistake of watching the weather channel, saw that another storm was coming in and decided to race it home. They won, but this was still the WRONG CHOICE. They should have stayed and helped us revive the party because, the storm, the tyre (remember the three and a half wheeler? It's still out back at the Truro Irving even as I write this) and some other logistics had conspired to keep everybody else here until the weather and the holiday hours conjoined to make a window of escape.
We (that is, my wife & I) had a show to do on Sunday. We were booked to play at a Xmas party for a drugstore chain on Dec16th but, weather again, it was postponed to the 30th. So now, with all the extra people around, we expanded the band. Eldest daughter was drafted as an extra voice and friend of son of departed "E" as and allrounder - guitar, bass, vocals. My old "Snail" taiwanese Gibson copy of a " 6 & 4" double neck, known around here as "THOR" even came out of retirement. So more rehearsals were in order. In two days, Friday & Saturday, we knocked a set list into shape and prepared for the big day.
More weather! All the while we were doing this, we were also waiting for the call saying "sorry, postponed again" but no - Sunday evening, two cars, loads of gear, four folks, of we trot to Oak Island (famous buried treasure place, by the way) to entertain the PharmaTroops.
We go there, convinced we'd never get back, did the show (and have been hearing good things ever since, that's nice), DID get back OK, but WIRED. Two hours or so of garage based decompression time and we were ready to cancel Monday.
New Year's Eve, as you can imagine was anticlimactic. The weather prognosis was getting even worse so a 2am squad set off for Moncton leaving only 5 (I think) left.
A low-key game of (would you believe) Scrabble (TM) and that was that. More driving to get everybody back home over the next two days and here it is Thursday, Jan 3rd 2008 already.
In the interest of speed, I'm not even going to proof read this yet - just get it out there.
Tomorrow, I hope to get on with other matters; questions and the like
Oh, the weather? Cold, clear, no storms for at least a week and a THAW at the weekend. Hoodathunkit?
I mentioned last time, a family party in Moncton NB that went on till the wee small hours. Well, after a few hours of couch-kip, we picked up "Grandma", my mother-in law and brought her back here for the holidays. The plan was that my sister-in-law would follow down on Xmas day with her two sons and dog, stay for OUR big party on the 27th, then head back, probably taking Grandma (let's call her "G" for short) back with her, on the 28th.
"G" has had a rough year by anybody's standards. She lost her husband of 50 odd years last February and, although they were, by then, already in separate nursing homes, it was quite traumatic for her and all the extended family. But this lady has, let me tell you, spunk by the bucketload. No one who knows her has seen her brighter, happier, more active, than these last months. Then, back in the summer, following a long tradition that goes back to the dawn of the aged, she fell out of bed and broke herself quite badly. Wrists (1), hips (1), egos (1) confidence (0). She was in the hospital for a spell and everybody thought that, at the very least, the good times were over.
Not a bit of it! The "G" that toured our new house and lot, made jokes and told stories was, if anything, even brighter than the one I had last seen, before the fall.
So, of course, someone else had to get in some trouble. Sis-in-law (let's call her "D") had brand new winter tyres on her Honda when she set off from Riverview NB loaded up with family and Xmas stuff around lunch time on Christmas Day. On the highway, just before Truro NS (that's about half way, 90 minutes to go), BANG, a blow out.
Now for those of non-North American persuasion, I will have to explain the "donut". No, it's nothing to do with the Simpsons. It's what passes for a spare wheel in these parts. As long as I've been here, I have failed to understand why in Europe, where cars are traditionally small, roads of mixed quality and space at a premium, all cars have always come with 5 identical wheels, 4 on the road and one in the boot (trunk) just in case while here, where cars are traditionally huge, trunks spacious and roads (especially in Canada) generally pretty smooth, you get 4 wheels and an apology. The apology for a spare wheel is known "affectionately" as the "donut". It's much smaller than the others, has the advantage of taking up much less room but the DISadvantage of being all but useless as a means of keeping your vehicle off the ground, let alone mobile. You are supposed to put on the donut and limp no further than necessary to the nearest service area and buy a new REAL tyre. On Christmas Day. In rural Nova Scotia. Right.
What you ACTUALLY do is (unless you want to brave 150 km of highway followed by our bobsleigh run of a street with now't but a Boston Cream betwixt you and the tarmac) limp to the nearest service station (they're called "Irving's" here, like saying "Hoover" for "vacuum"), park inconspicuously at the back and call your destination on your trusty (and suddenly worth its weight in gold) cellphone.
So it was that I spent Christmas afternoon driving to Truro and back. That was OK though, roads were quiet, I had a new CD to play on the way and chats to have on the way back; I enjoyed it.
So we had a late Christmas dinner for (I think) 10, played "Wii" bowling, boxing and golf for a few hours, allocated sleeping spaces and turned out the lights. Boxing Day continued in like vein but with some serious garage-arranging thrown in. Have I mentioned, we have a HUGE garage. It's a garage in the same sense that London is a village; that is to say, no sense at all.
To us, it's party room, sound studio, extra bed room if needed AND a place to keep the lawnmower but definitely NOT the garage. I've said before that this is a small town but, even so, when you go around, as my wife had been, inviting everybody you meet (or even pass) to "come over on the 27th., the door's open", you just better be ready.
More family arrived, brother-in-law "E", his girlfriend, his son and his son's friend (invited at the party in Moncton the week before) some in a TOYota Yaris that made it up the road better than some snow ploughs I've seen. The weather, an ever present factor in all this, kept most of the others away. A few neighbours ventured out to join us but anyone who had to drive thought better of it.
The party was, if I say so myself as shouldn't, magnificent. Live (real) garage band playing almost constantly with revolving line-up of family, friends and friends of family. So good was the party, in fact, that Friday was officially cancelled. Cancelled, that is for everyone except "E" and the Yaris party who, making the mistake of watching the weather channel, saw that another storm was coming in and decided to race it home. They won, but this was still the WRONG CHOICE. They should have stayed and helped us revive the party because, the storm, the tyre (remember the three and a half wheeler? It's still out back at the Truro Irving even as I write this) and some other logistics had conspired to keep everybody else here until the weather and the holiday hours conjoined to make a window of escape.
We (that is, my wife & I) had a show to do on Sunday. We were booked to play at a Xmas party for a drugstore chain on Dec16th but, weather again, it was postponed to the 30th. So now, with all the extra people around, we expanded the band. Eldest daughter was drafted as an extra voice and friend of son of departed "E" as and allrounder - guitar, bass, vocals. My old "Snail" taiwanese Gibson copy of a " 6 & 4" double neck, known around here as "THOR" even came out of retirement. So more rehearsals were in order. In two days, Friday & Saturday, we knocked a set list into shape and prepared for the big day.
More weather! All the while we were doing this, we were also waiting for the call saying "sorry, postponed again" but no - Sunday evening, two cars, loads of gear, four folks, of we trot to Oak Island (famous buried treasure place, by the way) to entertain the PharmaTroops.
We go there, convinced we'd never get back, did the show (and have been hearing good things ever since, that's nice), DID get back OK, but WIRED. Two hours or so of garage based decompression time and we were ready to cancel Monday.
New Year's Eve, as you can imagine was anticlimactic. The weather prognosis was getting even worse so a 2am squad set off for Moncton leaving only 5 (I think) left.
A low-key game of (would you believe) Scrabble (TM) and that was that. More driving to get everybody back home over the next two days and here it is Thursday, Jan 3rd 2008 already.
In the interest of speed, I'm not even going to proof read this yet - just get it out there.
Tomorrow, I hope to get on with other matters; questions and the like
Oh, the weather? Cold, clear, no storms for at least a week and a THAW at the weekend. Hoodathunkit?
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