Wednesday, November 25, 2009

A Weekend in the Country - My First Thanksgiving

Chicago, like most major cities, is growing outwards. The lake stops it going east but nothing is stopping it from covering the other three compass points. Its continued sprawling has left little access to proper English style countryside. There are some nice parks or commons but little in the way of real open areas. Another thing is that unlike most of the UK (Norfolk excepted) Chicago metro area is very, very flat.

So a weekend in the Northwest of Illinois, in a cabin amid a birch forest seemed a nice idea. OK, granted it meant spending the weekend with people I didn't know too well but it was only Friday midday through to Sunday afternoon so it was copeable with. As it turned out there were to be five of us: me, my new friends Ellie & Jeff, their friends Biker Bill & Sandy. Oh yeah a Rottweiler. The Rottweiler was a 6 yr old male named after a vicious Greek leader, Alex. This was my first meeting with the dog and we didn't get off to a great start.

Jeff & Ellie turned up around 10am on an unseasonably mild Friday, the day after Thanksgiving. In the sky there were patches of blue in-between large puffy, luminescent clouds. It was a beautiful day to be going somewhere. We pushed my bags, beer & guitar into the back of their SUV and I slipped into the back seat alongside Alex. He was sat up on the seat and therefore, he was taller than me. He looked me in the eye and growled. It was a long, deep menacing growl. Then he moved his head a little closer to mine and growled again, lower & longer this time. His eyes burned red and his breath smelt of dead Englishmen. I sat still but maintained eye contact and so me and dog tried to stare each other out.

Finally, Ellie decided it was safest if I sat in the front after all. So she came to the back door of the SUV and opened it. Alex wasn't going to let me get out that easily. He carefully placed one of his front paws on my right thigh, leaned forward so his weight was fully on it and growled again. I was beginning to feel concerned but Ellie shouted and pushed and pulled him until finally, reluctantly he let me go.


I have to say after that he was a perfect gentleman the entire weekend. Well almost, we were 20 miles shy of home on Sunday when he dropped the smelliest fart of the whole event and possibly ever.

Anyway tiff between man & dog over we finally got underway. We met up with Biker Bill & his lady Sandy a gas station. They nodded at us from their SUV, we waved and we were at last genuinely underway.

We headed west on the I90 towards Rockford, A route I have only traveled once before and it was still just a boring road. (Actually I was going to go into detail on the last time - but that is a whole different story with very few laughs).

After an hour or so we stopped at another gas station for a coffee and toilet break. Inside I spoke with Biker Bill, who was a healthy 40ish weather beaten biker & carpenter with long blond hair. He had met Jeff & Ellie in a bar called Bungalow Joe’s and they had hung out from time to time ever since.

Back outside we all took the opportunity to meet Sandy, who is Biker Bill's (in biker terms, only) Laydee. Sandy was about 5.5 and thin and looked a bit like you expect a biker's mole to look like. 20 years ago she must have been a classic Californian blond.
I was introduced to her, not unreasonably, as Being from England and I said something like.
"Pleased to meet you. Looks like we are in for fun weekend."
She responded.
"Oh you’re from England. Do you speak English?"

Now normally on meeting any new Americans I will politely endure the usual comments. They tend to come in two categories: hopelessly out of date and uniformed (these ones base their knowledge of the UK on Monty Python or worse still Benny Hill) or the over informed Anglophiles who try to impress you with their knowledge of Britain and ask you opinion on things you've never even heard of. Sandy was plainly somewhere below the first type.

As I say I'm normally polite but being asked if I spoke English was too much. I laughed and so did Jeff, Ellie and even Biker Bill. Unfortunately, Sandy just looked offended. Oh well.
We drove on for another 90 minutes; the sky became heavy and gray before eventually releasing a fine drizzle but then something magical happened. The landscape had been small farms and fields for some distance suddenly did something great. We were about 20 miles from the small town of Elizabeth when the ground beneath us started to rise & fall. Only a little at first but the further on we went it became an undeniable fact. These were hills! Real hills! I looked out of the car windows and there where more to our left and to our right while in front was the biggest yet. This was the first time in 11 months I had been amongst hills and it was great.

Then as we crested that hill there spread before us, was Elizabeth. We drove straight through the middle (well you would wouldn't you).

We stopped again. Because Jeff & Ellie had only rented the cabin for 2 people, Biker Bill' Sandy & me had to wait while they got the keys and hoped no one would see us going in.

* * *

I had no idea what to expect of the log cabin. But what we got was cool.
A large house set on/into a hillside over looking a heavily wooded valley the tall silver trunks of already denuded Birch trees standing like an army ready to march. Inside the house was on 2 levels. Upstairs were 2 bedrooms, the kitchen, a small and functional bathroom and a large living area with big fireplace.
The lower level was a very similar layout except there was no kitchen and the second bedroom was a utility room. Off of the lower living space was a balcony with hot tub, looking out at the forest. At the upper level was a similar balcony but with a swing seat and a grill instead of the tub.

The sky was still gray and the drizzle was a constant, gentle spray. The temperature was mild (especially for Illinois). The leaves carpeting the floor around the dwelling still had their beautiful colours and it felt for an instant like an October day on Leith hill. I stood for a while and let the drizzle fall on me - eyes closed, face to the heavens and arms out wide. 8000 miles there and back in split seconds......

Later on we went to the nearby town of Galena to get lunch. We found a small restaurant and settled down. At this point Sandy announced she only ate once a day. Luckily for us this was the time. We all ordered and Sandy decided as she was on holiday that she was going to push the boat out and have a whole salad!

Galena was apparently a well off mining village at one time however, the mines closed and the village became almost a ghost town before re-inventing it self as an oldie worldie tourist resort. By American standards it is old and because it was a depressed town for most of the 20th century a lot of its buildings are original. It is renowned for its antique shops and its narrow busy pavements with bustling shops, winding roads and a high street on a hill made it a very comfortable little town. After lunch we wandered round the shops for a while and then headed back to the 'cabin'.

Once back Biker Bill built a fire and we cracked open few beers. Ellie suggested a cozy game of Scrabble. Now the weekend had already started to feel like an episode of Big Brother and a little bit of friendly competition was an explosive idea.

And then we had another 2 Sandy moments.

All five people were sat around the table and it was clear it was to be a the scrabble was turning into a death match. So I made a suggestion.
"In case of arguments over words why don't we just go with consensus?"

Most people nodded but Sandy' brows were furrowed.
"Can't we just agree instead?"

No one even sniggered. We were very proud of ourselves. Once the game was underway she hit me with another. One of the other players was studying their tiles Sandy turned to me and said:
"I'd like to know more words, like you do."
I said:
"That's a good ambition."
"I have a dictionary at home." She said "and it's a special one."
"Oh that's nice." I said unsure quite what to expect next.
"It's got a lot words in it." She said
"Mmmmm, they're the best kind of dictionaries." I said, totally confused where we going with this.
"No!" She said clearly annoyed at my lack of understanding. "Lots of words that mean the same thing!" I was lost. Then suddenly, like a lighthouse beaming through the mist for a lost sailor, I realized what she meant.
"Oh a Thesaurus." I said and waited for the conversation to continue.
There was a pause and her brows again took on that furrowed hurting look. She finally said.
"Yes, I expect that's in there too."
(BTW her second word in the scrabble game was 'nite' and I didn't have the heart to say it wasn't a proper word and nothing will ever get me to recount her description of what the word 'anus' meant).

Well the beer flowed and the game eventually ground to an everybody-having-3-tiles-left stalemate without too much more trouble. Most if not all the bipeds were quite drunk and a call was made for the guitar. So I played some songs and we had a bit of a sing-along. Sandy seemed a little miffed that I couldn't do any Motorhead or Metallica but we all chilled out a bit.

Later on we all got in the Hot Tub. It seemed weird sat in bubbling bath on a balcony at 2 in the morning with a bunch of other people. The temperature had dropped outside to near freezing as well. Very strange. Here obviously is a country with more electricity than is needed (California excepted of course).


* * * Saturday * * *
It was surprisingly early (around 9) when all parties re-convened in the upstairs living room. I looked around the assembled party and realized this was going to be tricky. Last night had been 5 people en-route to oblivion, this morning we were 5 cranky, tired & slightly hung over people.

We had wanted to go horse riding (horseback riding in local parlance) but the only open stable would not allow trotting, cantering or galloping and I for one don't feel I've been on a horse unless I lave been terrified, nearly fallen off and had my testicles jammed back to where they spent the first 13 years of my life, so we decided to go hiking instead.

Timidly and probably over diplomatically, we all started suggesting what we could do on this hike. About this time Ellie decided to take Alex for a jog. Apparently this upset Sandy, as she had wanted to go as well. And we were off to a good start to the day. (Hey! Aren’t you impressed that I avoided saying Ellie just didn't take Sandy along because she couldn't cope with two dogs (damn I just did it!)). After another hour of fart-arsing around Biker Bill got all manly and finally made a decision for everyone.

Now Jeff & Sandy were the crankiest of all of us but Biker Bill was feeling none too chilled either. It probably didn't help that I just mooned around being non-committal offering no useful opinion on anything.

We took both trucks because Alex was coming with us and there isn't space for 5 plus a Shetland Pony sized dog in any one truck. Biker Bill said he knew the way and so led.

He shot off at a great speed and Jeff decided that not being able to keep up might be a good thing but unfortunately for all concerned Biker Bill slowed each time we fell back and even came looking for us when we where trying to get lost. After a relatively short, but at times, exciting, journey we arrived about 500 feet up on top of a ski slope, which had no snow. At the bottom of the steep incline was the Mississippi. Biker Bill led us down the slope and we spent an ever increasingly tense 90 minutes exploring a dirt road, the railroad track & the banks of the river (not really hiking) but by the time all 6 of us had climbed breathlessly back to the top of the ski run the atmosphere was crystallising and not in a pretty way. At least it wasn't raining.

We all returned to the cabin and Ellie, Jeff and I decided we had to eat as it was mid afternoon and we were normal human beings. Biker Bill and Sandy decided they wanted to go and look at a Harley shop. So around 2.30 we split up.

The three us had a pleasant enough time eating a small lunch (we had a big meal at a cool restaurant planned for later) and wandering around shops looking at weird stuff. Ellie even bought herself a didgeridoo and then bought Jeff a dulcimer for Christmas. We had a coffee and looked at some crystals and then set off back.
* * *

We got back to the 'cabin' around 6 pm. Biker Bill announced that as we had gone out to eat he had assumed we wouldn't be going out to eat later so he and Sandy had eaten already. Remember she only eats once a day! The rest of us were not sure if we should be pissed off or pleased so we each retired to our rooms. I put on my MP3 player and got out my guitar to see if I could play along with any of the songs. Now my door was open and they must have been able to hear me and there was another living room downstairs but the upstairs living room erupted into a loud and visceral argument between Biker Bill and Sandy.



It was f***ing brilliant! I did get the distinct impression that we were meant to hear and that Sandy was 'staging' this. I will spare you the details but some were intimate (sexual performance, personal hygiene, financial status) whilst others aimed just to be inflammatory (your friends are stupid etc.). The argument followed the course of Sandy raising a point Biker Bill answering, then the two of them would bat it back and forth for while until it was well and truly dead and then Sandy would produce another topic. My fingers were quite sore from all the playing last night and on Thanksgiving Day but I could stop playing otherwise it would be obvious I was listening. Each time the argument seemed to end Sandy would stoke the flames again. Even Alex must have been impressed by how doggedly determined to raise hell she was. But eventually even the most bilious and intelligent of people run out of steam and as she only possessed one of theses qualities after about 40 minutes it seemed safe enough to come out of my room.

They were sat at either end of the enormous curved sofa in statuesque and frozen silence. The fire was cracking and glowing, burning a few good size logs but any heat it was generating was more than compensated icy cold surrounding the biker and his (obviously not a) laydee. I tried to make some small talk and Jeff and Ellie appeared as well. Biker Bill decided to get something from his car and Jeff went with him leaving Sandy with Ellie and me. As soon as the door swung closed behind the two guys Sandy started on us. She told us how tough her life was and how bad Biker Bill was. How unfair his treatment of her was. Ellie and I just tried to stay non-committal and looked embarrassed.

Fortunately Biker Bill and Jeff returned before we were submitted to too much and the time before heading out to our evening meal passed quickly. The three of us normal diners left around 9pm, ate well and returned at 11pm. As we pulled into the drive there was something clearly wrong.
Biker Bill's truck was gone. We entered the house apprehensively but it was empty apart from Alex. They had decided not to remain for the final 12 hours. We had noticed that while we were waiting to go out Sandy had downed a six-pack of beer and judging by the empties around had continued when we left. Later we learned that pretty much as we drove out of the drive they had started another huge argument and Biker Bill had decided he couldn't cope anymore and packed their stuff and they left. I am not sure how he got through the journey home but he did say he'd made her sit in the back

We cleared up a little and I played a few songs but for some reason I went down the Verve/Travis/Radiohead route. I did do 'Why does it always rain on me?' in honour of Matthew and James because after all a log cabin is almost camping and as ever when camping, it was raining again. I guess we were all a little down (well utterly suicidal after doing the Drugs don't work and High and Dry) when we went to our beds. Maybe I need to learn some Madness and Bare Naked Ladies numbers?

Sunday
Sunday was quick and we tidied up and packed and made our way back to Schaumburg with only Alex casting that cloud when we were nearly home and coming close to choking us.

Weekend in the country? Weekend in a reality show!


Any similarity between characters in this story and anybody real is entirely intentional. Most character profiles are either absent or brief due to a need to keep some friends. Names changed not because there were any innocents but I don’t need to be sued.
Remember. If undetected, ignorance can pose a serious health problem to you and those around you.
Lastly.
At 20 you can be pretty & stupid and survive but at 40 you'll just be pretty stupid.

This story is 95% true and there is even a video to accompany it. It all took place in 2001 and I'm glad to say I am still good friends with at least one of the characters in the story (Jeff). I am reminded of it at this time because my wife and I are about to head north for thanksgiving with another couple, their sister and a dog …..


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Bazza

Saturday, October 31, 2009

Rue Du Désir


Although by ten O’clock the late August sun was already high and warm in a spotless blue sky, the nights had been getting cooler; it wouldn’t be long until the harvest. I stopped the old tractor and killed the engine; silence washed into the vacuum left by the rusty motor’s noise. From the driver’s saddle I could look down across the shallow valley at our three large fields of corn. I found myself wondering again how the crop could wash and ripple across the fields even on perfectly still days like this. It can be mesmerizing and the ocean is only broken by the straight narrow strip of the road to St. Martenne. The highway may be a normal two lane road but at this point in the summer the corn crowds to its edges giving the impression of a narrow avenue.


Looking to far end of the road I saw the blue convertible appear. Since the middle of July it had passed by every morning at this time. It is why I too, was here again. The car sped between our fields, parting the golden sea. The fawning corn stands back while it passes only to sweep back to the road once the car has gone. The corn bustles excitedly and rustle-whispers ‘See her? Did you see her?’ And I did see her. She was magnificent. Her fair hair shielded from the wind under a patterned silk headscarf, her eyes hidden behind large lensed sunglasses which, in turn, accentuated majestic high cheekbones. Her lips always had a slight smile playing along them. And her arms were bare and lightly tanned like her face. She looked for the all the world like one of the dames à la mode from my mother’s 1960s Paris Match magazines; the ones that are stacked in low columns around her dark and musty room. But those ladies are faded, distant and dead or dying now, the woman in the convertible was not. She was a like a movie star but just as untouchable even though she was only a fifty meters away.

As she passed I noticed my arm had risen to wave but as always before she either did not see or probably thought it was just part of the swaying crops around her. Then she was gone. My arm fell back to my side while the excited corn returned to a gentle ripple. I exhaled, I seemed to have been holding my breath.

Leaning forward I pressed the large black button that restarted the old tractor. It rattled and shook into life, the noise and the oily smell of the exhaust brought my mind back to the day’s chores. Yes, soon we will harvest and she could not help but see me up here then however, I knew, in my heart, she too would be gone; back to the city and summer would be over.

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Bazza

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Rocket Man

I vividly remember writing this blog. It was on a flight to Denver in February 2008. Yeah, the trip that resulted in the Tibia Trivia fun. In all the excitement I forgot about the blog for ages. Then my editor (or wife, as she is sometimes known) said I was too libelous with some parts. So eventually I cleaned it up a bit and present it to you here.



A few nights ago I was at a karaoke evening and Elton John's Rocket Man was a chosen sing-along. Something has always troubled me about the song and so I paid extra attention as the words scrolled across the screen! Aha! I know what troubled me. It’s a load of crap!

There are two things that most get to me about this song. Working week and raising your kids on Mars.

First the bit about being a rocket man five days a week. You can hardly go home for the weekend Mr. Dwight! You cannot turn the ship around every Wednesday lunchtime because you don’t wanna miss Stars in their Eyes. No, like a sailor (hence why it’s called a ship oh ex-director of Watford FC) you are there for the voyage. That’s bad but the stuff that really bothers me is the stuff about Mars.

According to Reggie, “Mars ain’t the kind of place to raise your kids.” Yer think?
“It’s cold as hell.” Excuse my transplanted follicles friend but isn’t hell hot? The nuns at Sunday school said it was. Maybe Dante had a little freezer section for people who die after moving to Boca Raton (probably quite full if my visits to the town are anything to go by) but I believe the general view is ‘hell is hot’.

But here’s the real weird bit. In the next line our height challenged pianist says.
“And there’s no-one there to raise them if you did.” What the heck! Shouldn’t we raise our own kids and where is his spouse? What kind of judge would give custody of kids to a tantrum prone homosexual man living on another planet?

Kinda made me start wondering about his other songs - could he really see Daniel waving goodbye?


<Enter stunningly witty and clever tagline here>


Bazza

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Giving The World Away







Spud and Moochy arrive Saturday for a visit. It reminded me of an unfinished blog piece from about six months ago. That was in the middle of the longest time we had ever gone without seeing each other. I found the piece and here it is:

The four Rolls Royce engines on the Virgin Airbus A340 decrease in pitch and the plane noticeably slows. Beneath the wings the blue waters of Lake Michigan give way to the flat grid of the north suburbs; a buzz of excitement passes through the cabin as the aircraft banks right to start it’s loop into the airport.

Two thousand feet below, on the back-step of a rented suburban family house, sits a solitary man enjoying the contrast between the warm early May sun on his face with the cool glass of the French doors on his back. He is strumming ‘Kingston Town’ on an old worn guitar. It is not unusual to find him there while the daily Virgin Airbus from London turns over St Charles and follows the broad line of Lake Street into O’Hare.

By the time the airliner gets to him it’s so low it feels as if he can see straight into its oval windows. He fancies again, as so often before, that he can see the big green eyes, round with anticipation, of a small boy's face. That face pressed against the aircraft’s Plexiglas. The guitar quiets in his hands as his soul seems to leave him and fly alongside the aircraft.

All too soon the plane passes and lands moments later. Off stream hopeful business men, excited tourists and home-comers; the latter anxiously scanning the crowded terminal for a familiar face. A squeal, a hug, maybe some tears and flowers. Then they pour form the building in a cloud of excited chatter and heavy cases and fall into the waiting cars; they are back among their own.

Two miles north, on the suburban back-step in the early May sunshine, the solitary man goes back to strumming Kingston Town. Quietly he sings “If I had the whole world I would give it away just to see the boys at play …”


In case you re unfamiliar with the song:

UB40 Cover

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Bazza

Friday, July 17, 2009

Faces Royally Flushed

Moochy is clearly growing up to be a smart kid - I'd never tell him but he's smarter than i was at that age (his brother is no slouch either). I still have my moments too, those these days they're more often 'senior' moments.


So with me and the Moochy's combined brain power you can be forgiven for thinking we never get caught looking really really stupid. Unless you had been in a certain computer games retailer last year.


Me and Mooch were looking for a new game. We wanted a multiplayer game and preferably one that didn't just require fast fingers. We were looking at board and card games when we got to discussing poker.


"You know it's funny," I said to the 14 year old, "you never see multi player poker games for the Playstation."

Moochy looked puzzled too. "You're right, I wonder why?" he mused.

We decided to ask

The guy behind the counter seemed a little bemused at the question; his head tilted to one side, brow creased as he looked from me to Moochy and back again. Finally he said


"Well, you'd be able to see the other person's cards ..."


We left the shop very soon after.


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Bazza

Friday, July 10, 2009

It's All Lining Up!

On December 6th 2008 the BBC reported that Sunny von Bulow had passed away after 28 years in a coma. A lot of people, like me, were probably surprised to hear she was not already dead. Sunny von Bulow was of course the wife of Claus von Bulow who was first convicted and later cleared on appeal, of putting her in her coma. The appeal case is quite famously recounted in Alan Dershowitz’s 1986 book Reversal of Fortune or the subsequent film of the same name that had Glenn Close as Sunny and perennial baddy, Jeremy Irons, as Claus. I have always been intrigued by this case and the issues around it.

In stark contrast to the cold atmosphere of the film Reversal of Fortune, the film High Society is a warm, jolly, song filled romp and also features in my top five films. Who can resist Sinatra and Louis Armstrong pretty much playing themselves? Add to that Crosby who, despite being in his 50s by then, playing a playboy protagonist in the marriage of beautiful Grace Kelly. Finally to cap it all you get a fine, if somewhat overshadowed, performance from Celeste Holm. Well did you evah?

So why do I mention these two things? Because they are linked of course. Whilst on a very pleasant, and unseasonably mild, visit to Newport RI in March I discovered that the Sunny von Bulow owned and met her untimely fate in the very house where High Society was filmed. Clarendon Court is a typical (if there is such a thing) Newport mansion. Although High Society was filmed there some fifteen years before the von Bulows took possession it is still a bit a weird.

So there you have it; proof that everything in the universe is connected.

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Bazza

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

More Medic Snapshots

Just got back from visiting my mum in hospital in England, I snapped the pictures below:

For those of you who believe what well off and insured US politician say about the NHS should look at the sign in the first picture. See! the it does cater for everything. Gotta say I was sorely tempted to get a handsome man lined up for my mum.














Wonder why the machine is scared ...










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Bazza

Saturday, May 30, 2009

News Roundup Last Week of May 09

I have decided that you, my loyal reader, deserves a break. So to help make your day easier I have distilled the key news headlines from the past week. The news has actually been pretty consistent across US and UK news sources. I have scoured the web, all my tweets, Facebook, my Press Association feed and talked to a couple of drunk blokes in the pub to bring you the most important stories.

Here are the key headlines in order of importance:

  • Shock!!! Rather unattractive Scottish woman can sing.
  • Bigger Shock!!! Rather unattractive Scottish woman who can sing, can also swear when under pressure.
  • Oh BTW. Unstable despot develops & tests nuclear weapons and threatens last remaining bit of world stability. Also some of our soldiers died in some foreign country and thousands of people lost their jobs.
  • Oh My God You’ll Never Believe This!!! Rather unattractive Scottish woman who can sing and swear doesn’t win pointless TV show. The world will never be the same!

I wonder if Obama, Gordon Brown and the rest of the G20 will step in and order the TV show producers to make Scottish woman (who can sing etc.) winner …?


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Bazza


P.S. don’t get me wrong she does have a great voice and I wish all our talents were judged on their own standing not on whether we are pretty or handsome as well. I just can’t believe all the media feeding frenzy.

Monday, May 25, 2009

Repeat Defenders

Same thing happened again today (right down to getting trounced at tennis by my wife) but this time I had a camera. The birds were quite far away but yo can clearly see the three smaller birds hassling the larger bird.


















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Bazza

Sunday, May 24, 2009

Harrier Harried

I was playing tennis in the high spot of the day. The ground was being bleached by the sun. I was about to hit one of my slap-patters that passes for serve, when a huge shadow shimmered across the court. The shadow was accompanied by the unmistakable shrill echoing call of an eagle. I looked up and saw the huge wings as the bird found a thermal and started circling upwards. It’s not too unusual to see very large birds in our part of Connecticut. Huge Turkey Buzzards are very common. They are easy to distinguish from other birds by the V shape of their wings as the soar. But this was no Turkey Buzzard and that call was just so distinctive. As a boy from South London I did not think I would ever see a real eagle.


Watching it circle upwards I slowly realized something strange was going on. A smaller bird, just a black silhouette against the blue sky but about the size of a Robin, was flying around the Eagle. As I watched the small bird flew underneath the eagle and bam! The bird flew straight into the eagle’s belly. The small bird fell away briefly but then darted to above and behind the bird of prey. Then the smaller bird then flew into the tail feathers of the eagle. The dark shape was joined by another similar bird and both birds continued to harass the magnificent glider. By now they had traveled some distance from us but the small birds did not seem to let up.


I’m sure the smaller birds were protecting their young by forcing the eagle away from wherever the nests were but I gotta admit it was pretty ballsy of them. Sad for me as the eagle seemed to get the message and stayed away. Mind you, that did mean it didn’t have to watch the slaughter that ensued on the court as my wife beat me in virtually every game.



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Bazza

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Renault, Toyota and Ferrari are Right to Boycot

On the BBC Sport website today is th following headline:

"Renault are the latest high-profile team threatening to quit Formula 1 in 2010 unless proposals to adopt a £40m budget cap are shelved. "

Damn right I say! £40m for a hat! I can get one in the mall and have them wrote 'Bitch' on it for less than $10. That's what I'd call a budget cap not £40 bloody million.

Idiots.

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Bazza

Leaves Update


And this is two weeks later.




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Bazza

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Leaves Are Like Buses; None For Ages Then They All Come At Once

On Saturday, just after Chelsea beat West Ham with a nice goal and a little bit of luck, me and my wife stood outside our house looking at the dark, bare branches of the bushes and trees. It was a warm day and we were about to clean out our garage for the first time in two years.
As we stood looking at rocks we could hear a lot of excited bird song with many different voices calling, cooing and chirping. In the air the insects were starting to appear in numbers and there were even some big black bees loudly buzzing about. However, there were still no buds or leaves on the trees or bushes. How long, we wondered, until the summer green canopy shaded our house again.
That was four days ago and this morning I looked out of the bedroom window to see the bushes and trees had started blooming seemingly overnight. It ain’t Washington DC with the Cherry blossoms, but it’s pretty impressive for four days.


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Bazza

Monday, April 20, 2009

Blog Writer Mysteriously Disappears

It’s true I did disappear. Thanks to all those who sent insults or encouragement while I was away.

First dispel a few rumours:
1. I have not been abducted by aliens. They were only searching for intelligent life-forms, which ruled me out.
2. I did not die of a heart attack during the Chelsea Liverpool game, though I think I was close.
3. I have not suspended the blog in favour of Twitter or FaceBook.

No, I just got really busy and while I normally get plenty of writing opportunities on my travels this recent lot was not as accommodating.

I will be in full flow soon – you have been warned.

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Bazza

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Themed Park


We haven’t had a ‘silly Connecticut’ story in a while, and I can honestly say I have no idea why I didn’t write this up at the time.

Our local sports team is the Bridgeport Bluefish
, a non-affiliated, minor league baseball team. Their only real claim to fame is that their coach is a very renown former lefty pitcher whose deserved reputation was eclipsed by his eponymous surgery - one Tommy John.

Anyway last summer, pre-teenage Spud and his oh-so-teenage brother were staying with us and so we decided an evening at the ballpark would be nice. Next to the ballpark is the Arena, a multi-purpose venue, and this particular evening the WWE was doing its sweaty man dance thing at the Arena while the Bluefish played the Lancaster Barnstormers.

The car-park was more crowded than usual and as we pulled up to the orange vested lady at the gate she said:
“Baseball or Arena?”
“Baseball.” We said.
“Three dollars” said the young lady. I don’t know if it was me, the boys or Christine who actually said it first but we all thought it. So one of us said:
“How much if we were going to the Arena?”
“Oh,” she said, “that’s five dollars”

So I know what your thinking, if you ever go to an event at the Arena in Bridgeport make sure you tell the parking people you’re actually watching baseball. Not so fast! Behind the Arena and the baseball stadium is a ferry terminal which also uses the same car-park and guess what? It’s free!


<Enter stunningly witty and clever tagline here>


Bazza

Picture from Google Maps

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Winter Sweeps Out

I awoke early, the sky was just turning grey and the thermometer was reading below freezing. By the time the tea had brewed there was a crimson line along horizon. I took my mug and headed down to the back door. I pulled on my old boots and took the red checkered jacket off the hook.

The winter had been long and cold. Round here they mix sand with the road salt. A lot of sand. The floor of the garage crunched underfoot as I lifted the reluctant-to-open overhead door. It was lighter outside now and a few of the houses across the valley seemed to be stirring, a solitary chimney sent a blue smoke trail into the air.

I grabbed the yard brush, its worn handle felt snug against the callouses on my hand. By the time I finished sweeping out the garage the sky was blue and the brass thermometer had inched past the freezing mark. I drained the tea mug, leant the broom against the door frame and listened. So quiet through the winter, the woods that lined the valley, were waking up. The calls of a distant wood pigeon were mixed with the enquiring whistle of the Robin and the piercing call of a thrush. And there, across the woods, was the unmistakable creaking rattle-taps of a woodpecker.

There will probably be a few more nights below freezing, maybe even another inch or two of snow. But the birds know it’s time. The deer that past through one evening last week, they know it’s time. The tulips and the daffodils know it too - it’s been a long cold one this year but winter is clearly leaving even if a but unwillingly.


<Enter stunningly witty and clever tagline here>


Bazza

Friday, March 13, 2009

Some Toilet Humour

As I mentioned in the note about the bumper sticker, I have been having a significant amount of sinus pain. So much so that me, an ordinary male, was finally motivated to visit a doctor.

While sat in the waiting room looking around I noticed a door with one of those little brown signs on. You know the typical kind of door sign. They're about eight inches long and a couple of inches high and usually brown with white lettering. Generally the signs say things like ‘Authorized Personal Only’ or ‘No Admittance’. I had been kinda staring the door and its sign, unfocused, for a while before realizing what the actually read. it simply said.
PATIENT TOILET
Blimey, I'm glad I know where that one is cos I’d hate to end up sitting on the impatient toilet…












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Bazza

Monday, February 23, 2009

Bumper Sticker Sets Man Free


This afternoon I was driving home behind a car with a whole bunch of bumper stickers on it. One particular sticker caught my eye. It read ‘Pain is weakness leaving the body’.

“Bloody brilliant!” I thought. Given the extreme nasal discomfort I’ve been in for the last few months that must mean I have the strongest sinuses, teeth and cranium in the county!

In fact if we extend that thought out a little further. With all the hangovers, motorcycle accidents and rugby injuries I’ve had - I am probably one stubbed toe away from becoming The Hulk (I even look good in Green)!

Wonder why I can’t get the lid off of the sinus tablets then?

<Enter stunningly witty and clever tagline here>


Bazza

Monday, February 16, 2009

Life In The Stopped Lane


Some people exert that the word California means something along the lines of “place of milk & Honey.” I have just returned from a trip to Southern California and I ain’t so sure. The lifestyle does seem to be different to here in the Northeast or back in the Midwest. However, I’m not sure that life in Southern California is all that. The working life definitely seems not to be idyllic. I chatted with a bunch of locals during my stay and I found myself getting more and more surprised that anything is achieved in Southern California. This is mostly down to the compromises forced upon them by the traffic.

The workday seems to go something like this:

Get up early to avoid the traffic. Get stuck in traffic. Arrive at work and spend first hour moaning to co-workers about the traffic. Work for one hour. Go out to Starbucks. Work 30 minutes. Go to lunch early to avoid the queues. Come back to work, spend thirty minutes discussing lunch then thirty minutes discussing traffic at lunch. Do an hours work. Spend fifteen minutes watching the traffic on the Internet. Leave early to avoid traffic. Get stuck in traffic. Arrive home. Spend ninety minutes recapping to spouse your day and the traffic. Go to bed early as you want to get up early to avoid the traffic.


Maybe companies should just run large buses equipped with satellite communication that drive from one employees house to the next - never actually arriving at an office just sat around on the Freeway all day ...

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Bazza

Saturday, February 7, 2009

Bogey's Green Legacy


I watched as the beautiful Green birds rose as one body from the end of the garden. Given that the fox conversation was still hanging over the breakfast table, I wasn’t about to start another fauna discussion. I excused myself and headed back upstairs. Once in the back bedroom I grabbed my camera phone and looked out into the garden for the second time that morning. Sure enough, in one of the trees that flank the garden were four green parrots. I snapped a bad picture (above) just to prove to myself that I wasn’t insane.

Later, when everyone had gone out, I tried a little ‘twitching’ on the web. If parrots have established themselves in Surrey then surely it must be all over the news? Not exactly. I did, however, discover that the birds I had seen were Ring Neck Parakeets and one of the more colorful theories for how they come to be in the UK. Namely the assertion that the birds escaped from the film set of The African Queen while it was being filmed at Shepperton Studios in West London. The most informative piece was this four and half year old article on the BBC. The most startling thing in this piece is the estimate that the population is growing at 30% per year – that’s a lot of parrots.

Later that day I caught the bus to Kingston (there’s some wildlife right there). Once there I met up with my kids and took the opportunity to ask my youngest about the parrots.

“Spud, do you ever see Parrots?” I asked, over a coffee in Starbucks. Spud looked up from his cell phone, creased his brow and shot me a sideways glance. He seemed annoyed that I had interrupted him.

“Parrots?” he asked and he turned back to his text messaging.

“Yes parrots. Do you ever see parrots?” I had the beginnings of a horrible feeling of déjà vu., “Parrots, here in Surrey. Do you ever see ‘em?” My only response was the silent movement of his fingers on his cell phone keypad.

“Spud,” I said, a little louder this time causing a few of the other coffee shop patrons to look in our direction, “parrots? Anywhere?”
Spud snapped his cell phone shut and put it on the table between us.

“What is it with you and bloody parrots?” asked the twelve year old.

“Don’t swear,” I said, “I‘m just asking, in case you didn’t hear me the first three times, if you ever see parrots round here?”
His look changed from tired indulgence (I think he learned that from his mother) to one of, well, contempt (also probably from his mother).

“Of course I see parrots. They’re everywhere. And anyway they’re not parrots they’re parakeets”

“Parakeets? What’s the difference?”

“Parakeet is African for small.” He said, but I think he was making that up. “They live in the tree outside our house and in the ones near the football pitch; they make a lot of noise when the ball hits one of their trees. Sometimes I watch them in my geography lesson”

“When you're doing things about Africa?”

“No, in the tree outside the window of the geography hall.”

“Well Spud, maybe you should concentrate on your lesson …” I started to say. I was going to explain to him that when I was a boy there were no parrots, sorry parakeets, in England. But I realised that his attention was back with his cell phone.

So I guess there are now parakeets in living in Surrey. I wonder if parakeets can talk. Bet they say more than a twelve year old boy says.

Later, when I was back in the States, I was telling my mate Jim about the parrots and that they may have escaped from The African Queen. He pointed out it was lucky they weren’t using elephants in that film. I agree. If Pachyderms got into trees by the football pitch god knows how you'd get them out.


<Enter stunningly witty and clever tagline here>


Bazza

Thursday, January 29, 2009

The Fox And The Ten Little Piggies

Seems foxes are really settling into the suburban lifestyle; even bringing into the well tempered gardens of Surrey the kind of behaviour that normally is reserved for behind the white patterned net curtains.

Let me explain, just before Christmas I was in England, staying at my sister’s house in Surrey, I was very intrigued when one morning I opened the curtains and noticed a black object sat in the middle of her, otherwise blemish free, lawn. The object looked about eight inches long and a couple of inches across; it was a glossy wet from the morning dew.

Over breakfast I mentioned the object to my bother-in-law.
“It’s a fox.” he said.
I peered out of the French windows at the black thing; prominent and obvious on the lawn.
“No it’s not,” I said, “it looks like a kid’s training shoe.”
“I know it’s a shoe,” said my brother-in-law, rolling his eyes at my sister as she entered the room and sat down, “The shoe was put there by the fox.”
“What, a real fox?” I asked “Like Basil Brush or Foxy Loxy from Chicken Little?”
My brother-in-law looked momentarily confused. He leaned a little closer into me.
“You do know Basil Brush isn’t real don’t you?” He paused. He seemed to be waiting to see if this was a significant revelation. You know, like the Santa thing. Eventually he continued
“But yes a real fox.”
He went on to explain that on a pretty regular basis a fox, who lives somewhere at the end of the garden, leaves shoes on the lawn, sometimes even digging holes to try and bury the stolen footwear.
“… we are not only the house ‘round here with the problem either.” He finished.

I sipped my tea, my head full of images of foxes moving through the suburban London night like Ninjas stealing shoes from beneath the noses of their owners.

“What happens to the shoes?” I asked.
“We throw them away” He said.
“Why doesn’t the neighborhood get together every few months and have a kinda reverse jumble sale. A chance to repatriate the shoes?” I asked.
“The foxes seem to like the shoes a lot, they lick and chew them like maniacs; I don’t think the owners want them back after that.”

Suddenly the ninja fox view disappeared and was replaced with an image of gangs of foxes roaming the deserted Surrey streets looking for a shoe fix.

“Come on pal I need something! Just a tongue, a lace! Can’t you see I’m in cold Nike!”

Do you think there are fox rehab clinics? Maybe they would be put on insoles which are like shoes but not as strong. Maybe there is a reality show in there? “The real cubs of KT17”

But then a different thought occurred to me, what if it’s not an addiction? What if it is a fetish? Perhaps other foxes looked on those with the shoe fetish as being weird, outcasts. Maybe there were Fox dens where a dog could meet a Vixen in a safe environment surrounded by the beautiful heels of Surrey. An underground foxclub scene …..

I was startled from my musing on Vulpes.vulpes retifism by a loud chattering and I watched bemused as a thirty strong flock of Green Parrots rose from the trees at the end of the garden. Parrots! In Surrey? But that is next week’s blog.

<Enter stunningly witty and clever tagline here>


Bazza

For a more sensible explanation of urban and suburban foxes see:
And prrof that foxes even steal the shoes of the nobility

Thursday, January 15, 2009

The Ice Storm


It didn’t feel that cold. I mean it was clearly below freezing; my breath was misting and the walkway was glazed in uneven ice, but what I’m trying to say is it looked even colder than it felt. It was unusually quiet; I guess not many people had ventured out yet. The birch tree across the way had turned to glass and was drooping towards the pavement under its new weight; it’s every limb a tube of ice. Nearby a glass skirt of icicle fronds hung from the bumper of my car.

My shoes slithered as I moved towards the car, the icy surface feeling like a tray of marbles beneath me. Mercifully, the car unlocked at the press of the key fob. Setting my feet as best I could I pulled on the driver's door, it opened with a loud crack.

Inside the car it was darker than usual. The heavy icing gave the appearance of frosted glass making it feel like a surreal shower cubicle. I started the engine and waited for the car to start warming up.

Sitting in the frosted cocoon just waiting was pretty dull. I looked at the window next to me, then at the button to make it open, then back at the window and back at the button. Was there any point even trying I wondered? Well, I could always just let go of the button if it didn’t move. What the hell, go on! I pressed the window button and was surprised to see the window beside me descended smoothly leaving a whole pane of ice still intact and in its place.

I looked at the ice pane and admired nature. Then I swung my jacketed forearm towards the ice. As my arm hit the sheet it broke with a sound very like breaking glass. Several large pieces fell onto the frozen tarmac below, tinkling and sparkling as they became a thousand smaller pieces. This was awesome!

For the next two minutes I leapt from window to window inside the car smashing the sheets of ice. The passenger side I punched out with my gloved hands. The back right window was my elbow and forearm and in true Hollywood style I kicked out the last window. Despite a small shock when some of the shards fell into my trousers on that last window, I still found myself grinning like the fool I am.

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Bazza

Thursday, January 8, 2009

How to Keep a New Years Resolution

I know this time of year is resolution time and many of you have made yours. Me? I generally don’t at this point of the year. However, if you have made a resolution here are some ideas to help you stick to it and achieve your goal. Most of these ideas exist elsewhere either in A- time, Covey’s seven habits or project management techniques but I have found these tips to be helpful.

1. Make sure you really mean it
2. Make the resolution a measurable goal
3. Have a deadline
4. Set a plan to reach the goal by the deadline
5. Tell people and ask them to help

1, Ask yourself how serious you are. Are you prepared to change your behaviour either eating differently, going somewhere regularly or is it just something you feel you ought to do. If you are not serious about changing your habits then you probably don’t mean it. Don’t set yourself up for failure; just tell people you didn’t make a resolution this year.

2. If you did mean it then let’s go. Make your resolution a measurable and achievable goal. For instance if you resolved to eat better you might say the first step is only eat red meat in one meal a week and an oil fish meal once a week. Or if your resolution is to lose weight instead of saying to yourself “I must lose weight”, say “I must lose X pounds”. Remember the goal must be achievable. Ask yourself how confident you are that you can hit the target – if in doubt lower it a little. If you cannot measure your success and don’t see an end goal it is difficult to know how well you are doing.

3. Covey (I think) says that a goal without a deadline is a dream. He is right. So if you want to lose X pounds make it X pounds by the end of August. Or if you want to learn a language set yourself a deadline of a significant event in that language (Cinco de Mayo for instance) to learn 30 words or ten phrases.

4. You have a goal. You have a deadline. Now you need to draw up the plan. A plan should have steps that take you steadily towards the goal. Want to learn Spanish? Then decide how. Maybe January’s plan is buy some software and get past the introduction (Learning languages by rote can be very dry. So you could find a friend who speaks that language and plan a lunch each week were you practice with them). Losing weight? Then plan a set amount to lose by end of January and another amount to lose in February. Also plan your diet method and exercise regime as necessary. Stick to your plan UNLESS it doesn’t work for you. Then revise it ‘til you it does. Plans are great and must be followed but you need to be able to improve them as you go.

Finally number 5. This is a matter of taste. As long as you have done steps 1 – 4 then why not tell people. Nothing like having someone remind when the dessert trolley comes by that cheesecake is a no-no. If however you haven’t gotten to point 4 and are still kicking around item 1 then you might want to keep the resolution to yourself.

I hope this helps you achieve your dreams in 2009 – you will if really want to!


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Bazza