Ken the Ripper

Jack the Ripper got away with murder. Now we have Ken the Ripper. He gets away with daylight (and twilight) robbery. That is, if you are a motorist. Don't get me wrong, I have a lot of time for Ken Livingstone. He has done a great job in London - providing you don't drive.

I was hopelessly lost in W1 the other day. I don't usually drive to town, but on this occasion decided to. Anyway, back to being lost - well I wasn't really lost, just wasn't exactly certain where I was. Well, I knew where I was - in Portland Street, en route to Bloomsbury Square. I just wasn't too sure how to get there. I took a left turn at the end of the road, and noticed that all the traffic (apart from me) was buses and taxis.

Oh blimey! I had veered into Oxford Street - a restricted thoroughfare. None of us in the car had noticed a sign prohibiting us, but obviously there was one. We weren't stopped, flashed at or hooted off the street, but I guess somewhere there was a camera, taking my registration number. As I write this, the wheels of the DVLC and TfL are doubtless in harmony, printing out my summons.

If only Ken was Mayor of London in 1888. Whitechapel would have been a safer place - providing you weren't in your own trap.

Great Adventures

I have just finished reading The Pickwick Papers. What a bunch of characters. The poet Snodgrass, the lover Tupman, the sportsman Winkle and, above all, Mr Pickwick - that quintessentially English Quixote. Their travels took us to Dingly Dell Cricket Club, the Fleet Debtors' Prison with many incidents springing to life along the way. Some of it was, however, pretty heavy going and, when I had finished it, thought that I needed a little light relief before starting on my next book, Wilkie Collins' The Woman in White.

As The Enid Blyton Society Journal had just dropped onto the mat (and what a cracking read that was), I thought it was time to pick up a Famous Five. I picked up Five on a Treasure Island for the umpteenth time, and such is the quality of Blyton's writing, read it with the same spellbound enthusiasm that I had fifty years ago when reading it for the first time. Clever folk who criticise her books for the type of language she used - get a life, that's how we spoke in the 50s - need to envelope the era and the settings that she used. There is still a whole world of Blyton at our fingertips. I urge you, if you are not familiar or have forgotten how wonderful her books are, to check out a couple of websites. Keith Robinson's tremendous dedicated site to her work, www.enidblyton.net is a great starting point. With a message board, reviews, illustrations and much more, you can really get the feel of all things Blyton.

The doyen of the Blyton world has to be the official Blyton Society site, www.enidblytonsociety.co.uk This is the definitive website for fans and researchers of Blyton's work. There is a book listing which contains hundreds of illustrations as well as information on the author and the society. An incredibly active forum is the icing on the cake. Wonderful!

Now, I must dash - I've got to get back to Kirrin Island...

London Calling

"Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner, that I love London Town" goes the old song. Well, I'm not a Londoner - far from it. All of my ancestors, up to my father (born on the IOW), were born south of Helston, in Cornwall; so I, in spite of my Wiltshire monicker, consider myself to be Cornish. Anyway, back to London (Turn again, Whittington?). Well, in a minute or two. I really feel at home in Cornwall. Down by the old boats at The Lizard, climbing the rocks at Port Quin, supping St Austell in the Golden Lion at Port Isaac (Doc Martin's Port Wenn), walking alongside extinct tin mines near Pendeen, more drinking at The St Kew Inn, ah, I digress again. Really, we must return to London.

As I have said, or rather, I don't think I have said it yet; I do love London Town. I love the way everything gets bigger the nearer you approach (well, nearly everything). Take the West of England line. Single track from Exeter to Salisbury, then double to just west of Basingstoke. Four tracks then to the approaches to Waterloo, where it is a symphony of lines. Last Wednesday it was Hallowe'en. The Cavaliers had a launch night for their new single, Halloween, so we hot-footed it up to Town. Hotel booked (we couldn't get the Islington Hilton - not available on lastminute.com) so had to settle for a 2* hotel near Russell Square. It was okay, in an old people's home sort of way. However, more of this later. We got the bus from Waterloo to Oxford Circus and hit the shops. After checking in at the hotel, we bussed to Old Street, where the Cavaliers were playing. A smashing venue even if Guinness was nearly £4 a pint. A short stroll down Curtain Street, led us to the Barley Mow. This is a great little boozer, some great Fuller's beer and a fair range of Belgian and other beers from around the globe. After a few bevvies we returned to 333 - the venue in Old Street. The Cavaliers were truly amazing. About 500 people were there, many with Cavaliers badges and stickers, loving every minute of it. They were featured on BBC London 94.9 (London's BBC radio station) and were well reviewed. Just waiting for national recognition now!

Weary, tipsy and tired, we headed back to our hotel. Sleep came quickly, wakefulness even sooner. Reaching out for a glass of water, I knocked it over. I pulled the light cord over the bed (Jane was already awake and fuming), and it came away in my hand. Of course, we now had a blinding light on with no cord to turn it off. Out I stumbled and dismantled the light. After taking the cover off, I discovered the other end of the core - about a quarter of an inch - surrounded by live wires. I gingerly caught it between finger and thumb, missing the wires by a fraction, and pulled it, extinguishing the light. Hurrah! As I was up, I thought it might be prudent to visit the toilet. I didn't put the light on in the loo, as I couldn't see where it was, still blinded from looking at the bedside light. The next problem was finding my way out. Not that it was a large bathroom; far from it. You could sit on the loo, rest your head in the sink and wash your feet in the shower and use the electric shaver point (well you could if it worked) all at the same time. I ran my hands down the wall, searching for the door handle. Could I find it? I was certain it had fallen off. Exasperated, Jane let me out, muttering something along the lines of it wasn't only the hotel that was similar to an old folks' home and that I was well suited here.

Up far too late for brekkie, it was back to Oxford Street in the morning, and coffee and croissants in St Christopher's Square before returning to Waterloo and Salisbury. A smashing couple of days.

"I get a funny feeling inside of me
When walking up and down,
Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner,
That I love London Town."

Or maybe not.

Sky's the Limit

Here I am, waiting again for a Sky engineer to call. A phone call is promised, before 9am, to confirm time of visit. A watched phone never rings, it is said. 10.30 and I ring Sky. Only 3 menus, so could be worse. A charming girl answers the phone and wants my personal details. I think of asking her for hers. I would like to know her address, date of birth, colour of eyes, vital statistics, phone number (including STD code)........ Yes, I am on the call-out list. Hurrah! Be in between 12 and 5. I'll be here.

The problem? Sky+. It suffers from 'skips' in sound on playback of recorded programmes. According to the excellent Digital Spy website, a common problem with Amstrad boxes. I had a visit last week, and had a new dish and other components fitted. "That'll fix it!" said the engineer. It didn't.

Sir Alan, You're fired!

Footnote: Now the proud owner of a Pace box - all working like clockwork. I am a happy bunny again!

Ode to Autumn

As Keats once wrote, "Oh to be in England, now that Autumn's Here." The sun is shining as I write, Ming is sleeping peacefully, giving me added time to be in control, the air is bitterly cold, and Hallowe'en approaches. Speaking of Hallowe'en, The Cavaliers have a new single out, called appropriately, Halloween.


The Cavaliers have a launch night on the 31st October. Press and record companies should be present. Fingers crossed for success at last! Full details can be found on their website:

http://www.myspace.com/thecavaliersuk

Gambling Hearts also have a new song on their website, Never Alone. A really great sound. you can listen to this in full at:

http://www.myspace.com/gamblinghearts

For those not in the know, my younger son, Maff, is the inspiration and writer of all the Cavalier's music, and elder son, Si, is likewise with Gambling Hearts. Such talent, and two great guys to boot. They certainly take after me!

Enough plugging!

Returning to Autumn, the trees are a golden brown and the sky is cornflower blue. This is a lovely time of the year. The excitement of Christmas starts to build up, escalating into a blaze of happiness, merriment and true wonder of the magic of the Nativity. Even non-believers must feel warmth at the sight of the crib.

Happy Days!

Thoughts from abroad...

I have a constant buzzing in my ears; an ache in my eardrum; a shimmering in my vision.... It has originated over five thousand miles away, in a country called Bangladesh. I know when the presence is near. My speakers PING, small windows appear on the screen - she is watching me! Big Brother? More like Little Sister! Hello Ming!