A fruit tree for my friend

Bonnie and me on Velanio beach.

At last I have got round to doing what I said I'd do back in September when  Bonnie died, which is to plant a fruit tree by the spot where we buried her.

After talking it over with our landlord we decided to buy what in Greece is known as a λωτόσ, which people would more likely know as a persimmon.

I dug the hole a few feet over from where Bonnie rests and I'm glad to say the digging was much easier than back in September. After all the rain we've had in recent weeks, the ground is a lot softer.

So now we wait and watch and hope that in years to come the tree bears fruit, although what I really wish is that it would grow me another Bonnie. I miss that dog.

I wanted to end this post with some music and at first thought of the 1st Movement from Elgar's Cello Concerto, but beautiful as that is, it is perhaps a bit too sombre. Then I moved on to Lil Wayne's I Miss My Dawgs, but he's definitely not singing about a much-loved pet. So I've chosen instead the late Rufus Thomas singing Walking The Dog, which, while it might not actually be about exercising your dog, is certainly the more upbeat number I was looking for.

At least I've not lost my marbles

"Billes" by Xavier66 - Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Billes.jpg#mediaviewer/File:Billes.jpg 

Among the more unusual things we brought with us to Greece is a small drawstring bag containing about 70 glass marbles, the type children played with many years ago. The picture above shows the sort I mean.

The bulk of them date from my late father's childhood and a few have  been added from my own childhood.

I think the reason we brought them with us was with the idea of making something with them. However, that never came to fruition and now, if only for sentimental reasons, they will remain in their bag.

And that, for the foreseeable future is the nearest Greece is likely to get to having anything with the word marbles in it coming from Britain.

Yes, this is a rather roundabout way of taking on the thorny issue of the Elgin Marbles or the Parthenon Marbles, if you prefer.

While in Britain people may have to stifle a groan, if they show any reaction at all, if the subject of the Elgin Marbles comes up, in Greece feelings run much higher. So it was little surprise to me to read of Greek outrage at the recent news that the British Museum, which holds the Elgin Marbles, has lent some of them to the Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg for that museum's 250th anniversary celebrations.

The view in Greece seemed to be that if some of the marbles could be transported to Russia then surely there was no good reason they could not all come back to Greece and stay here.

The whys and wherefores of the whole issue are complex and generally people seem to take a stance and then work out the argument which supports that view.

"Elgin marbles frieze". Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Elgin_marbles_frieze.jpg#mediaviewer/File:Elgin_marbles_frieze.jpg

There is much talk of Hellenic culture, the legality, or otherwise, of what Lord Elgin did, whether the marbles would have survived if they had been left on the Acropolis, and the global appreciation of one of the glories of Western civilization. As I said, people tend to pick the argument that suits them.

The British Musuem seems fairly adamant that what it has, it holds. Meanwhile, the new Acropolis Museum in Athens has a display which clearly shows the parts of the Parthenon Frieze which could be filled in if the British Museum - and other museums - bowed to Greek demands.

A straightforward explanation of the Parthenon, and the marbles debate, is contained in Professor Mary Beard's excellent book Parthenon. It's clear and entertaining, but perhaps significantly, the good professor doesn't come down on either side of the argument. Too smart, I am sure, although she does present clear reasons for and against in the debate.

As a professional historian, Mary Beard may well feel the need to be slightly circumspect on such issues, but that's not a burden I labour under. So, in a nutshell, yes, I think the marbles from the British Museum and other museums around the world should come home to Greece. They belong in Athens and while they may never again grace the building from which they came, they should be close to it to be appreciated as one entity.

Will it ever happen? Obviously not on my say so alone, but surely the time has come for the marbles to be returned. What was legally acceptable in the 19th century would not be countenanced now.

I suspect that one reason the British Museum and other museums resist the idea of returning items such as the marbles is the fear it could open the floodgates for demands from many countries for the restoration of artefacts removed from them for display in museums. Maybe it would, who knows, but if it did surely that would serve to underline that when it comes to cultural heritage our debts are widespread.

* Many, but maybe not all, of you will know that to lose one's marbles means to lose one's wits. Curiously enough in my Chambers Dictionary the definition for this follows on from an explanation of the Elgin Marbles. Whatever some of you may think, I definitely have not lost MY marbles.

It's been a quiet week

It hardly seems possible that it's only a week since I had to take the heartbreaking decision to let the vet end my dog's suffering. That's why it's been a quiet week - and obviously a sad week, too.

When I describe Bonnie as "my dog", it's not entirely accurate. She was very much a family dog and would be friendly with anyone who would offer her a kind word, a stroke of her lovely soft ears or, even better, slip her an illicit morsel of food.

Bonnie was a black Labrador and like pretty well all of her kind always seemed to have food at the forefront of her mind. It was this which first led me to realise something was wrong with her when she began to refuse meals.

Anyway, I don't want to dwell on the last days of a much loved pet other than to say that things were made easier by the presence of one of my daughters who had come to Skopelos for a short holiday. Having the first day of your holiday taken up by the death of a pet is not a good start to any break, but I was glad I had a hand to hold and a shoulder to cry on.

So now Bonnie is at rest in the olive grove. My landlord, who was very fond of Bonnie, helped me dig a grave and we buried her with one of her favourite toys, a rather grubby Father Christmas doll, which she would often present to visitors to the house. In a few weeks I will buy a fruit tree which we will plant over her. It seems fitting that a dog with such wide and varied tastes in food should have a fruit tree nearby.

I am trying desperately hard not to be sentimental in this post, but it's difficult. I miss her enthusiastic greeting every time I returned home, I miss the way she would place her head on my knee and give me a soulful stare (yes, I know it usually meant she wanted food) and above all I just miss her presence. But life goes on and I am grateful for the time we had with Bonnie, a good and faithful friend.

Just at the moment I can't lay my hands on a picture of Bonnie. I'll try to find one soon. In the meantime, here's Led Zeppelin singing a song which while not about a black Labrador apparently was named after one. I have to admit that whenever I played Led Zep Bonnie seemed to wander off, I don't think she was a fan. Even so, this is dedicated to her.

The seven ages of holidaymakers

WE are getting near the end of the holiday season here on Skopelos. The last charter flights to the nearest airport on our neighbouring rock of Skiathos will be, I think, some time early in October.

As the season progresses so the nature of the holidaymakers who come to Skopelos changes. Assuming the season starts in May the progression of holidaymakers goes something like this: mature couples, outdoor types, families with pre-school age children, families with school age children, Greeks, young couples and single-sex groups of young adults, older people.

That's sort of seven groups if not ages. By my reckoning we are in the last stages, so there are quite a few older folk around. I think they like it because it's quieter, not so hot and probably there are a few bargains to be had for getting here. They are quite easy to spot as a lot of them appear to like walking - I have no criticism of that - and you can see them wandering around clutching maps.

In terms of numbers it's very much a Bell curve with the peak being late July/August, which is the favoured time for Greeks to go on holiday. It's easy to spot some, but only some, Greek holidaymakers because they go jogging. I kid you not. Not all Greek tourists are joggers and not all joggers on Skopelos are on holiday, but I see very few joggers here the rest of the year.

This summer, my dog, Bonnie, and I encountered a Greek couple jogging in the woods near Amarantos (Αμάραντος). They were going in the same direction as us and soon left us behind and so we were slightly surprised when we found the same couple doing yoga on mats next to their car which was parked in the woods. I was more than a little distracted by the woman, a slender, Lycra-clad vision of flexibility, and much less distracted by her rather portly male companion. Anyway, it takes all sorts and maybe I should take a leaf from their book. Just my little joke, I will NEVER go jogging and yoga's a no-no, too.

It might have been stretching things to suggest that there are seven different categories of visitors, but I'm always ready for any chance to acknowledge Shakespeare. So thank you WS for Jaques' monologue from Act II Scene VII of As You Like It. If you'd like a quick look at the monologue then click here.

Now a brief apology. I've been a bad blogger, a very bad blogger, in that I haven't written anything for ages. It's not been an easy year for me or my family, but even so I have sat around at various times this summer thinking "I've got to write something" and then I've just carried on lounging around feeling a bit bored. For such poor service I apologise and to make up for it I offer you this wonderful song by Sam Cooke. By the way this does not mean I want to marry you and take you home, it's just a nice song. OK? The video is a bit ropy, but the shots of the audience make it all worthwhile. Different times indeed.

And finally, a question: Have you ever seen a smiling jogger? No, me neither. That's got to mean something.

Hold on a minute, I'll look it up

I have at least two Greek phrasebooks and somewhere around the house I think there is a third and possibly even a fourth. They are the sort of thing you accumulate over time and jolly useful they are, too. Well, at least in theory.

Nothing can replace having in your head a working knowledge of a foreign language. Even if it's a bit sketchy, I genuinely believe you're better off stumbling along and learning as you go rather than constantly leafing through the pages of a phrasebook.

Yesterday, I successfully purchased a ballcock for our toilet cistern. Ballcock is not a word that appears in either of my phrasebooks nor in my Greek dictionary. Anyway, the transaction wasn't that difficult, I took the broken part with me and in my rough and ready Greek asked: "Have you got one of these, please."

But I still wouldn't be without my phrasebooks, if nothing else they provide plenty of entertainment as I try to work out the sort of situation where I would refer to the book rather than throw myself on the mercy of the Greek person I am trying to communicate with.

The two phrasebooks I have in front of me are a Berlitz, published in 1973, and a Lonely Planet, published in 2006. What a difference more than three decades makes.

The Berlitz book was published when Greece still had the Drachma - something which many Greeks wish was still the case - and besides the usual sections on checking in to hotels includes help on going to the hairdressers. Phrases include how to ask for a pageboy cut and also having ringlets put in your hair.

Having got your hair looking good, you might then want to go to a boxing match. I kid you not, the book even includes a phrase for finding a bout at lightweight. If all that activity leaves you feeling a little peaky, then maybe you need to see a doctor. The book admits it might not be much use in the case of serious injury or illness when you should just let the doctor take over, but the section includes how to explain more minor ailments. My favourite phrase here is one telling the doctor that you've been having nightmares.

In contrast, the Lonely Planet guide reflects the needs of a more modern readership, even including a phrase for explaining that the drugs you are carrying are for personal use. In fairness there is also a section on hairdressing, although no mention of ringlets.

My favourite section in the Lonely Planet phrasebook is the one on sex. While sex might be a universal language, I suppose there are still occasions when you need to make yourself perfectly clear with words. Having said that, I'm not sure that in the throes of passion you'd have either the time or the inclination to look up the phrase or word to say things like "touch me here" or "faster/harder/slower/softer". Maybe actions would speak louder than words.

All this talk of words and love has got me thinking of one of my favourite albums of the 1980s, The Lexicon of Love. Enjoy this video, it's a bit of its time, but the song's a cracker. In fact, the whole album is stonkingly good and I don't care if that makes me sound a bit dated.

Question: What is the most useful phrase you've learned in a foreign language? I make no bones about it, that the phrase which has stood me in good stead in Greek is "I'd like a beer, please". Purely by coincidence it was the first phrase I learned. 

The sound of the summer

AS I write this all I can hear is the sound of cicadas. I live in the middle of an olive grove and so I suppose there must be thousands of the little buggers everywhere and they're all doing that weird thing they do to make a noise.

I suppose, to be fair, I call it a noise, they regard it as communication. But whatever, it is a sound I associate absolutely with summer here on Skopelos. When I used to come here as a holidaymaker, the sound of cicadas was one of the first things I would notice as I got off the plane at Skiathos.

It always seemed quite charming and while it's not the case that I dislike it now, it is relentless and sometimes it would be nice to have a break. Informed sources tell me - I looked it up on Wikipedia - that it is the males that make the noise using a part of their body called a tymbal. The abdomen is largely hollow and acts as a soundbox and so the male cicadas can create a special sound to attract a mate. Be my guest if you wish to draw a comparison with humans....men lacking inner substance, making a lot of noise in the pursuit of sex...nah, silly idea, isn't it?

The sound is quite overpowering and at the hottest part of the day is so loud outside my house that it almost blanks out other sounds. Every now and again, the cicadas stop, even if only for a few seconds, which is quite extraordinary.

Give it a couple of months and the wall of sound will come to an end as the cicadas move on to the next part of their life cycle. To find out more about cicadas, and there are many different types, click here.

Watch this video from the USA to find out what one cicada sounds like and then multiply the effect a couple of gazillion times and you'll get some idea what it's like here.

I called this post "The sound of the summer" and bubbling up through my subconscious came this splendid little ditty from The Members, Sound of the Suburbs.

Question: Have you got a sound you associate with the summer? If you live in the suburbs it might be the sound of drunken young men calling each other various parts of the human anatomy, or it might be slightly older people talking incessantly about house prices. Or it might be the sound of rain pounding on the roof of your tent. Let me know, if I get enough answers we might end up with a scientifically valid survey.

In the land of ifs and buts

The late, great Bobby Moore. England fans
 will know of his significance, everyone else
will just have to accept he was a great man.
 Pic by Carlos Yo. Used under GNU Free
Documentation License

I know a lot of people are already fed up to the back teeth with the World Cup - yes, rugby fans, the football world cup, your turn is next year - even so I can't help following up yesterday's post.

Last night I went out to watch England who were beaten 2-1 by Uruguay, and Greece who achieved a no-score draw against Japan. This leaves England and Greece both needing a) to pull their fingers out and actually win a match, and b) other teams in their groups to have results that favour England and Greece.

Interestingly I noticed this morning that players on both teams have already invoked the Almighty as a possible means of getting through to the next round.

England captain Steven Gerrard, a man who rarely lets a carefree grin cross his face, admitted that England were now at the stage of "clutching at straws." In particular he said: "We need to be professional and pray for that scoreline to go for us."

Specifically, Stevie G needs to pray that Italy beat Costa Rica and Uruguay, something I am sure the Italians are more than capable of, and that England beat Costa Rica by a hatful of goals. Oh dear, can you see where that might go wrong?

Greece were dogged against Japan even after going down to ten men when Greek captain Konstantinos Katsouranis was sent off, something he seems to have a penchant for, having been so punished three times in his last 16 games for club and country.

Dogged or not, bottom of the group is bottom of the group. Defender Sokratis Papasthopoulos has taken a philosophical view, but then, of course, he is Greek and with that name, too. He said: "If things go well, let us get four points with a win in the next game - and if God decides that we are eliminated because of the other result, so be it." What was missed out, but I bet he said it anyway was that favourite Greek phrase "Τι να κάνουμε" - What can we do?

Decision day for both England and Greece is Tuesday, June 24. I can hardly wait, can you?

While writing this I was reminded of the desperation I feel nearly every time I watch the English football team play and "hanging on in quiet desperation" led me to this:

Question: Do you feel desperation while doing something that you really ought to be enjoying? Or is that only for England fans harking back to 1966 (and the late, great Bobby Moore)?

Listen, I can explain. It's not what it looks like

Oh, I'm a bad, bad blogger. It was all going so well, I was posting regularly for the A to Z Challenge and then.....woomph! Nothing for more than a month.

Well, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, all I can say is that I went back to the UK for a month - during which I managed one, yes, one, post - and then I just found myself always doing something else. OK on that basis I'd convict me, too, on charges of wilful slackness and culpable workicide.

Anyway, now I'm back on the rock with all the distractions that life here offers in the summer. And on top of that we've got the World Cup to contend with. Actually, when I put it like that it's quite amazing that I'm even writing these words now, but miracles can and do happen and so here I find myself tapping those keys to produce the deathless prose that is my attempt to stave off a full-on descent into bonkersness. I'm not sure it's working, but I'm giving it a go.

Having mentioned the World Cup I might as well admit that I've been watching quite a lot. It's still the group stage when there are at least three matches a day and four on the concluding day of each group, so the potential to put in almost a full working day just watching football is always there. I try to be discriminating, if only to prevent the onset of pressure sores from sitting too long gawping at the big TV sets in my local café where I watch matches.

Tonight is a big night. England play Uruguay and Greece play Japan. I'm English and would like England to do well, or at least not be disgraced, and I live in Greece and would like to see them do well also. Unfortunately, my footballing loyalties are causing me some pain and both sides need to win or they might as well head for the airport. I suppose supporting teams that might not triumph is where the character-building element of sport resides. We shall see.

Since writing the opening line of this post I've had a song in my head and it eventually surfaced through my murky consciousness as Bad, Bad Boy by Nazareth, Scottish heavy rockers formed in 1968 who I'm pleased to say are still going, albeit in a slightly different line-up than they started with. As a way of making amends for dilatory behaviour with the blog I offer you Nazareth at their raucous best.

Question: Does anyone have any top tips for avoiding fecklessness? There must be a way, or should I give in now?

Found myself in a strange town

Readers of a certain age may well recognise the title of this post as the opening line of the Jam's single Strange Town and it seems quite fitting.

For a few weeks I am back in the Devon town where I lived for most of my adult life until we decided to move to Skopelos.

The truth is everything feels strange here.

I know my way round, I recognise the shops, pubs and other businesses that form the core of the town, but it's all a bit disjointed. My lovely family are the reason for me being here, which is very sustaining. However, I've also bumped in to a few acquaintances and I've been left wondering if I look as old to them as they do to me.

That's the thing when we lose that continuity of contact with people and places. Incremental changes become massive jumps.

Anyway, I'm here for a few weeks so I suppose I'll get used to it. Somehow, though, I can't get this song out of my mind.

A to Z Reflection: Well, how did I get here?

I'm writing this with less than five hours to go to the deadline for these pieces reflecting on the A to Z Blogging Challenge for 2014, which is similar in a way to how I got involved with the project to begin with.

I've been intending to write this piece for a few days and have only just got around to it and I always intended to take part in this year's challenge, but only formally threw my hat in the ring the day before it all started.

But in whatever haphazard way I've approached this, I've really enjoyed it. It was fun, it was definitely a challenge and it also taught me a few things about blogging and/or writing. First off, if you have a specific target it's amazing how you can make yourself achieve that - especially if you're doing it in the public gaze. Secondly, there are as many different ways of approaching blogging as there are people who choose to blog. Thirdly, you have nothing to lose by attempting something and keeping on attempting it. I'm sure there are other lessons I have learned, but these will have to do for now.

Were there any downsides to the challenge? What I would say is that I found it quite daunting trying to visit blogs, comment when I felt I had something to say, and respond in a meaningful way to the people who left comments on my blog.

It's also quite a task trying to sort out which blogs to visit and I still have feelings of regret that there are many more participating blogs that I didn't visit than which I did. But such is life. One can only have the greatest respect for the Challenge "officials" who did visit every blog. At this point it would also be appropriate to thank those who organise this challenge. Such things do not happen without a lot of hard work.

So would I do it again? It's easy to say now that I would because April 2015 is such a long way off and anything can happen between now and then. But next time, I'll be much better organised, I'll write everything way in advance, I'll schedule posts so I've got more time to visit other blogs AND I'll set aside time every day to get back to people who comment on my blog. Oh yes, next time it's going to be perfect. What's that you say? Pigs might fly...well, yes, but better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.

Because my A to Z entries had music and memories as a theme I'd like to sign off with a piece of music which I have chosen simply because I like it.

Z is for Zager and Evans

I'm feeling a bit sad that we've got to Z - it's the end of this year's Blogging from A to Z Challenge. I suppose I should feel a sense of satisfaction that I've made it thus far. Also, and MOST importantly, it's brought me closer to the date when I am reunited with herself. Yes, I am counting the days. I hope that those of you who came to my blog because of the A to Z Challenge will continue to visit. I've certainly seen other blogs that I intend to keep reading. It's been fun and, it's early days admittedly, but I couldn't rule out doing it again.

However, that's very much for the future and the future was the main concern of the one hit that Zager and Evans had. One hit is all you need if it sticks in people's minds and In The Year 2525 definitely stuck in my youthful mind in 1969. The single reached the number one slot at the time of the first manned moon landing, how much more memorable do you need something to be? A cautionary tale of what might happen if mankind becomes too dependent on modern technology, the single still has some relevance, I guess, although where would the A to Z Challenge be without "modern technology"?

Anyway, 2525 was one of those songs that made an impression although I couldn't have necessarily told you who sang it. As a result, it was only when I was researching likely candidates for my Z posting that I came up with Zager and Evans. Sorry, guys. Thanks to Wikipedia I can tell you that Zager and Evans continued to record after releasing 2525, but with limited success. Their follow-up single, Mr Turnkey, was about a rapist who nails his own wrist to the jail wall as an act of atonement. Interesting, as we Brits say when we very often mean the complete reverse.

Also-rans: I love the thumping power of some ZZ Top singles which for some reason reminds me of Thatcherism. Mrs Thatcher rocking out to Gimme All Your Lovin' - it seems unlikely, doesn't it? Also a very honourable mention to Warren Zevon. I am always receptive to a good song, as I've said before, and he's been responsible for lots of good songs, not least Werewolves Of London. Oh, and let's not forget Frank Zappa. I'm really going to miss doing this...

Y is for Neil Young

Y is, as you'll have seen, for Neil Young, but it could just as easily be for "Ye gods, we've nearly made it". I'm running on fumes at this stage and I've struggled a little bit to come up with a Y reference that also triggers a memory.

However, sometimes a great bit of writing will just fix a song in your memory and so it is with Neil Young's After The Gold Rush. I love the song and the album of the same name.

It's one of those songs you listen to and go "Yeah, I mean, yeah, like...er...you know". And then you could reasonably go, "but what on earth is it all about?" A little trawl on the internet will come up with a variety of explanations from people who also like the song, but find it leaves them a little baffled.

I have absolutely no intention of trying to come up with my version of what the song means, if, indeed, it means anything. Who cares? Does it matter? Sometimes liking something for those reasons you keep in your head and your heart is more than enough.

As I write this I am listening to the album and I'm torn about which song's video to include in the post, but I suppose it really can only be After The Gold Rush.

Also-rans: This is somewhat tenuous. I once met former Yes keyboard player Rick Wakeman on the Lundy supply ship, the Oldenburg. He was accompanied by his wife at that time, the former model Nina Carter. He was a nice bloke to talk to, but I was busy just trying my hardest not to stare too obviously at Nina Carter. Strangely enough it used to be possible to buy a tea towel which had on it a picture of Rick Wakeman and Nina Carter.

X is for X-Ray Spex

April, 1978, and when I should have been studying hard for my A Level exams I was doing things like going to London to join a Rock Against Racism march which ended with a splendid gig in Victoria Park, Hackney.

Performing that day were such punk luminaries as The Clash and The Tom Robinson Band as well as reggae band Steel Pulse. But the musical memory link is formed by the wonderful X-Ray Spex and their superbly raucous singer Poly Styrene. Such names were de rigueur in the world of 1970s punk.

I had already bought the single Oh Bondage Up Yours!  by X-Ray Spex and the chance to see live the creators of such a joyous two-fingers to pomposity was too good to miss. As a result, I was part of the march which took us past pubs from where National Front supporters would emerge to call us "red scum". That's all they did and I think the day passed off peaceably on the whole.

Poly Styrene died from cancer in 2011, but her unforgettable voice - and believe me once you've heard her, you won't forget - ensures that she lives on.

The sound quality isn't the best on this video, but you'll get the idea.

Just for the record, my A Level results were a disappointment although I don't think they can have been much of a surprise to anyone who knew my lacklustre approach to studying. However, I survived and I can always say I saw Poly Styrene on stage.

Also-rans: XTC: A very fleeting memory of the father of a friend of mine seeing XTC on television and being very sarcastic about them. What I particularly remember is thinking "You're not meant to like them, you're an old man". This was slightly unfair and he might actually have been younger than I am now, but our perceptions of age certainly change with time.

W is for Steve Winwood

More than 30 years ago my attempts to get my first job in newspapers were meeting little success and then I got two offers - one for a paper in the north of England and one in the South-West. I headed west ("Go West, young man" etc etc) and in the words of Robert Frost's famous poem The Road Not Taken "that has made all the difference".

It's a tempting game to play where you wonder "what if?" and it's too easy to view certain decisions as turning points, but I think my decision to head to Devon was important and much of what is most significant in my life followed directly and indirectly from that decision.

Steve Winwood fits in here because in 1980, the year I got that vital first job on a paper, his first solo single While You See A Chance was in the charts. He has had an illustrious career and played a part in many great singles, but this one remains a favourite and seems quite fitting to the way I was thinking at the time.

The video is worth watching if only for the strange antics of the two people in the gimp suits.

Also-rans: The Who and in particular their album Quadrophenia. I tried to sing like Roger Daltrey, usually after a certain amount of drink had been taken, but the truth is nobody can sing like Roger Daltrey except the man himself. A feisty legend to this day, as far as I'm concerned. Also, yes, two Also-Rans today, Andy Williams singing Can't Take My Eyes Off You. This featured in a bar scene in Michael Cimono's The Deer Hunter which is one of my favourite scenes from one of my favourite films.

V is for Vivaldi

We've got this far through the alphabet and this is the first time I've touched on classical music, which is probably a realistic reflection of my musical tastes. "I don't know much about classical music, but I know what I like."

Nearly 30 years ago I was admitted to hospital having been diagnosed with cancer. I was about to be operated on and, to be honest, I was pretty scared. Luckily for me, my oldest daughter had lent me her personal tape player - nothing as swanky as a Sony Walkman, but it did the job - and I had been given a tape of Vivaldi's Four Seasons. The music transported me away from the hospital ward.

It is a beautiful piece of music and suffers a bit these days for being so well known and so popular. It nearly breaks my heart every time I hear it used as "hold music" when I'm on the phone to some big corporation.

Ideally, I'd post the whole of the Four Seasons for you to enjoy, but it's quite a long work, certainly compared to most pop songs. Instead, and trying to think laterally, I'm going to post Silver Star by the Four Seasons. I know...some people think I just chuck this stuff out, but there's real thought goes in to it sometimes. While nothing like the Vivaldi, the song does have some joyous harmonies in it which should lift the spirits.

Also-rans: If further cheering-up is needed, try Village People's YMCA. It reminds of events such as wedding discos when everyone's had a few drinks and loses their inhibitions enough to just get out on the dance floor and have fun. Very important.

U is for The Undertones

"Teenage dreams, so hard to beat." That's from the Undertones Teenage Kicks which came out in my late teens and is just one of those perfect singles.

The late John Peel played the single twice in a row on his radio show because he liked it so much. After his death the line from the song was inscribed on his headstone. That's the sort of song it is, it has meaning and significance, but is still pure punky pop.

No specific memories to do with this great song other than it seemed to be the perfect soundtrack to my latter teenage years. I think I was just beginning to realise that going round with a face like a smacked arse and being all angst-ridden was only acceptable (but only just) from a spotty teen. The big wide world beckoned.

"Teenage dreams, so hard to beat." Oh, they are, they really are.

Enjoy the video, in fact, why not play it twice?

Also-rans: U-Roy Dread In A Babylon. A lot of punks (I wasn't really a punk, I just liked the music) were in to reggae. I sort of slavishly followed suit, but then found bits of reggae that I really liked, such as U-Roy. "We're going to light up a chalice in the palace," hmm, and then again, maybe we're not. 

T is for the Thompson Twins

The year 1984 was a special year. Forget Orwell's novel of the same name, actually don't forget it, it's a great piece of work that continues to serve as a warning to us all. However, for the purposes of this blog, put the novel to one side.

No, 1984 was special to me because it was the year I got married and also the year that I first flew. In fact, put those events in reverse order. A holiday flight to Spain and then a few weeks later back in the UK, tying the knot after which connubial bliss ensued (30 years this year).

So far, so good. The musical memory comes from the second time I flew, which was that summer in an RAF Hercules. In those days I was a newspaper reporter and my job that day was to cover the local RAF station's air day. Included in this assignment was going up in the Hercules with the RAF's parachute display team, the Falcons. No, nothing so bonkers as doing a parachute jump with them, just talk to them as they prepared for their jump and then observe them as they peeled off from the gaping ramp of the Hercules as it flew at about 12,000ft.

All well and good, we were on long harnesses so we couldn't fall out and it was quite something to see a group of men take a leap in to the wide blue yonder. But after that we were all told to sit down sharpish because the plane had to make a "tactical landing". Basically that's going from 12,000ft to the ground as swiftly as possible to get out of the way of the next flying display.

"You will experience positive and negative G," we were warned. They were right, one minute I was being crunched in to my seat, the next I was rising up against the harness holding me in place. Not a good sensation for a relatively nervous novice air passenger. We landed perfectly safely and somehow I managed to resist the urge to kiss the ground.

So where do the Thompson Twins fit in? And, by the way, I mean the 1980s New Wave group, not Tintin's detective chums although that's who they were named after. Well, before we took off in the Hercules the RAF Falcons played out on the ground the manoeuvres they would follow in their descent. It's a slightly odd spectacle on the ground and all the time they were doing that one of their team was playing a Thompson Twins' tape. Perhaps oddly for such a personally remarkable year, I have nothing by the Thompson Twins in my collection, just some wonderful memories.

Here's a bit of music to jump out of planes to.

Also-rans: Talking Heads and Once In A Lifetime. "Well, how did I get here?", a great line and always a good one to sing when things become puzzling, shall we say. Also Marquee Moon by Television. Both these fine American bands remind me that not all the best rock'n'roll begins "1...2...3...4".

S is for Sex Pistols

I suppose if I'd stopped to think about it at the time, I might have seen a certain calculated approach from the Sex Pistols in everything they did, particularly when considering their manager Malcolm McLaren. They were a bit like a naughty child who says a rude word just to get a reaction.

But in the heady days of 1970s punk I couldn't have been happier buying their singles. I loved 'em. I still have them, but haven't played them for years, which might be significant, then again it could be that putting a single on a record player is quite laborious in these days of digital downloads.

So in the Queen's Silver Jubilee year of 1977 the Sex Pistols released their notorious God Save The Queen which wasn't a light-hearted punk take on the national anthem, but instead a demented thrash which ended with lots of chanting about their being "no future". It was the perfect single to go with a sulky teenager's (me) view of the jubilee, not that my stropping about had any noticeable effect on anyone else's enjoyment of the celebrations.

The single came off the album Never Mind The Bollocks, Here's The Sex Pistols which I never got around to buying. I think the thing with punk was that as long as bands produced singles lasting about 2m 30s and which began with a gobby youth shouting "1...2...3...4" then all was good, but an album? I don't think so.

Rather than put up some video of the Pistols doing GSTQ I've selected a version of their first single Anarchy In The UK by a band called, I think, Sick Diary. Quite a spirited bash at it and some splendidly impassive playing by the bassist. She is showing the way the bass guitar ought to be played.

Also-rans: Where would I be without Bruce Springsteen? Lots of memories to do with his music, but I'll settle on Glory Days which always reminds me of meeting up with friends I haven't seen for ages and going to the pub to catch up.

R is for Jonathan Richman

Week four of my musical trip down memory lane where sometimes I don't even much like the music and the memories are odd, but hey ho let's go, as the Ramones said although they're not my letter R.

Instead, I offer you Jonathan Richman. He is one of those musicians who just seems to go and do whatever takes his fancy. This might explain why he doesn't bestride the earth like a mighty Colossus, but I don't suppose he cares. His great contribution to my musical memories is Roadrunner, which he did with his band The Modern Lovers.

Around the time it was released in 1976 I was obsessed with motorbikes and it was the perfect accompaniment to daydreaming about being on two wheels. I used to scrounge goes on friends' mopeds and motorbikes and eventually bought a motorbike of my own. It was a short-lived love affair as the big end went and my motorbike rotted away. Never mind, there's still Roadrunner.

Also-rans: Radiohead and, specifically, their single Creep. This came on the radio as I was driving to the funeral of a friend who died too young. It has absolutely nothing to do with him, but that's the way it is sometimes, the tune just sticks. Anyone thinking R would be the Rolling Stones was wrong with a capital R.

Q is for Queen

This one is going to be short and sweet. Queen released Bohemian Rhapsody in 1975 and I remember declaring to my friends it would not be a hit.

Nine weeks at Number One and selling a million copies by January, 1976, must qualify it as a hit. Good job Freddie and the boys didn't come to me for advice on which singles to release.

I'm not really sure why I didn't rate its chance in the charts. It does go on a bit, which would count against it as far as I'm concerned. Whatever, I WAS WRONG and you don't often get that admission out of me.

It's one of those singles that seems beyond parody and there are many versions of it. One of my favourites is the car scene from Wayne's World, but I reckon a lot of people know that one already. Instead, try this rendition by a man who shows that we humans are endlessly resourceful when it comes to amusing ourselves.

I just hope it was his hands he was using there.

Also-rans: These are clothing-related. Suzi Quatro, whose tight leather outfits had a most unsettling effect on me in my youth, and denim-clad rockers Status Quo (the Q is what counts here). In emulation of Quo I once had a denim waistcoat, what was I thinking?

P is for Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

You can't really do road trips in the UK. Well, not as I imagine them to be possible in the USA. Even so, my letter P selection links in to the nearest I ever got to doing a regular road trip.

I used to live in Devon, my parents in Kent. Consequently I got to know the drive between the South-West of England and its South-Easternmost point pretty well. Sometimes I had my children with me so music to keep us entertained was important. I'm pleased to say that Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers were a cross-generational favourite.

The route I took went past Stonehenge so Tom Petty often provided the accompaniment to a quick stop at the 'henge for a pee before heading on to the horrors of the M3 followed by that monument to traffic congestion, the M25. Somewhere in the preceding sentence there ought to be a joke about rock music and a load of old rocks, but I'm not sure I can be bothered. You have a go if you want to.

Here's the man himself, not looking like an ancient monument.

And here's Stonehenge. When I was a child we would stop there on our way to holidays in the South-West and I would clamber all over the stones. If you try that now, guards dressed as druids will appear and shoot you with Tazers.

Also-rans: Gene Pitney. I once went to a Gene Pitney concert, I think mainly because I was the only person who would take the review tickets. He struck me as being not very tall, but had a mighty voice. He reminded me of a person I used to know called Walter, who had mental health problems. This was not because, like Walter, Gene Pitney went around going "Hello, Curly" at people, but because they both had a slightly vulnerable look to them.

O is for Roy Orbison

O was always going to have to be Roy Orbison, his nickname was, after all, The Big O, although even a cursory search on the internet will reveal that the term The Big O will not necessarily lead you to Roy Orbison.

For now, though, it does, and in particular to his hit, Oh, Pretty Woman. I think I remember it when it first came out, but that's the trouble with this memory lark, you can't really un-remember things. I just know that I know the song.

Where this is leading to is the film Pretty Woman, which used Roy Orbison's song on its soundtrack and which stars Julia Roberts and Richard Gere. The film is OK, but I am always surprised by the number of women who swoon over it for being "so romantic".

I suppose it is if your idea of romance is a multi-millionaire buying sexual services from a woman who has to sell her body in order to pay her bills. Apparently though, this doesn't count when you have the ending in which said rich man saves his favourite prostitute from a life of turning tricks and they both live happily ever after.

I shall just have to lighten up and accept that Pretty Woman is a Hollywood take on the story of Cinderella and that's that. I'm obviously in a minority which reminds me of another of The Big O's singles, Only The Lonely (Know The Way I Feel).

Here's Roy Orbison NOT singing about a prostitute. By the way, the drummer in this is clearly at the point of ecstasy.

Also-rans: Hat tip to John Gill of Skopelos News for his suggestions at a time when I was flagging. I opted for Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. Reminds me of reporting on Bideford Magistrates' Court when a hack from a rival publication sang the intro to OMD's hit Enola Gay and wanted to know what the tune was. Fortunately the magistrates were out but that didn't stop my fellow reporter getting a few odd looks. I was able to enlighten him which at least shut him up.

N is for The Normal

Ah, who can forget TVOD and Warm Leatherette? Lots of people, I should think, that is if they'd even heard them in the first place. Both tracks are the A and B sides of the first single by the Normal.

I bought the single after hearing it on the John Peel show and it reminds me of him and his fantastically broad taste in music. Some of the music I liked, some I didn't and frankly, listening to the Normal's single now, I'm not sure which category this single falls in.

Here's a version by Chicks On Speed that I think John Peel might have enjoyed were he still with us.

Also-rans: Norman Cook. All right, this is cheating slightly because the music I'm thinking of is issued under Norman Cook's stage name, Fatboy Slim. Anyway, Fatboy Slim's music tends to make me think of dancing. That's dancing as I know it, not what other people think of dancing. You have been warned.

M is for Van Morrison

This is an easy one. Van Morrison's Brown Eyed Girl reminds me, not that I need reminding, of my dear wife. After all, it is, in a way, because of her that I'm doing this challenge to make April pass a little more quickly and we are now at the halfway mark, which means we're closing in on the time when I shall see her again in May. For a quick refresher on all of this see here.

There are quite a few brown eyed girls in my family, but today there's one who is particularly on my mind. So now I'm just going to listen to the music and think about her.

Also-rans: Phil Menard and his Louisiana Travellers playing One Is A Lonely Number. This reminds me of the time I nearly drove my family mad by repeatedly playing a compilation tape of Cajun music as we went round the Vendée region of France. I tried to justify this by pointing out the Cajuns had originally come from that area before crossing the Atlantic to settle in Canada and ultimately ending up in Louisiana. This nod to history carried little weight with my family. I still like the song and it's quite appropriate at the moment.

L is for Led Zeppelin

First two tracks of Led Zep IV, the runes album, Zoso, whatever you wish to call it, had me hooked the moment I heard them. They still get me excited in ways that a man my age should surely have outgrown by now. Proper bish bash bosh rock'n'roll.

So what I regard as my Black Dog, Rock And Roll (tracks 1 and 2) memory is listening to this album in my mate Tony McCarthy's bedroom while drinking Strongbow cider. Not a good idea really for me as a teenager, over-excitement from the music and chemical stimulation from the cider. He had to keep turning down the volume as I, in my febrile state, kept wanting the music louder and louder.

In the end I tottered off in to the night. Tony's mum gave me a bit of a funny look as I said goodbye. I suspect I appeared to be quite drunk and I think I might have been sick on my way home. Funnily enough while I still like Led Zeppelin I'm not very keen on cider.

As a postscript I would add that those two tracks do still affect me. I once fell backwards off the sofa while dancing to Rock And Roll, which I was doing in an attempt to psyche myself up for going to a job that I had become severely disenchanted with in my late 40s.

The video seems to support my view that Rock And Roll (the track) affects different people in different ways. I should warn you that a rude word written in ketchup appears very briefly right at the end.

Also-rans: Lynyrd Skynyrd. I used to live in a grotty bedsit and the bloke in the equally grotty bedsit above mine used to play Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd having first taken off the return arm on his record player. It played over and over again - talk about aversion therapy.

K is for the Kinks

This is a bit tricky because there's no specific memory that I can pin to the Kinks, but I do get a sense of my Englishness from them. It's Englishness that has nothing to do with jingoism and everything to do with a sense of almost whimsy mixed up a bit with melancholy.

There are any number of Kinks numbers that deserve a mention but I've picked Waterloo Sunset because it's a beautiful song laced through as it is with great wistfulness. This bit of video is a bit murky, but don't forget it was Britain in the 1960s, we'd only just got electricity.

Also-rans: There's nothing wrong in being an also-ran to the Kinks especially if you are the late Kirsty MacColl. She did a beautiful version of Days. If I listen to both these songs back-to-back I get quite emotional and have to take a long walk with the dog, preferably in the rain.

J is for Jimi Hendrix

What's that you say? Jimi Hendrix should be under H for Hendrix? Look, you index things your way, I'll do it mine.

I'm a bit too young to really have been into Hendrix (filed under J for Jimi), but I know he caused a stir. In particular, my mother had homicidal thoughts about him. I guess she was always a bit too old for Hendrix.

I have a very clear memory of Jimi Hendrix appearing on British TV. While he was playing the guitar with his teeth, my mother, who as I said was no fan, said: "I hope he electrocutes himself." I told you she didn't like him.

Poor Jimi, it wasn't playing the guitar with his teeth that did for him, nor even setting fire to his guitar, instead it was asphyxia following aspiration of vomit. The precise details of his death are disputed by some, but at 27 - the mythical age for rockers to die - he was too young to go. And, just to be clear about this, my mother had NOTHING to do with it.

Watch this and marvel.

Also-rans: Tricky, but just for the way some songs pin certain memories firmly in place I'd go for Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word by Elton John which takes me straight to the back bar of the Golden Lion pub in Whitstable where we used to play bar billiards and drink illegally. It was a bit of an old gits pub, I wonder what would have happened if we'd tried to play Jimi Hendrix on the jukebox.

I is for Iggy Pop

As I write this post I am listening to the CD version of Raw Power by Iggy and the Stooges. It reminds me that the vinyl version, which I have in my collection, is responsible for me having a slightly irrational dislike of David Bowie.

Iggy and Bowie have a history of working together which has produced some very fine work, but Bowie's mix on Raw Power, which he did in collaboration with Iggy, makes it sound as if you're listening to it through a wall. I bought the vinyl version many years ago having read that it was a must-have for anyone who liked ballsy rock'n'roll. I liked it and still sing the songs to myself while walking my dog, but there was something missing from that recording. And then came Iggy's remix and lo! there was the most wonderful noise and Raw Power had turned in to what I was expecting all along.


In the sleeve notes for the CD Iggy Pop admits that a lack of technology, money, time and equipment led to the original version so it's fair to say my dislike of David Bowie, which is only slight really, is completely irrational, but I'm only human. On the back of the CD, Iggy says: "Everything's still in the red, it's a very violent mix." Yes, it is, it's brilliant. Let's listen to some of it.

You might want to sit quietly for a while after listening to that. Or try the Also-Rans.

Also-rans: Easy one, this...Summer Breeze by the Isley Brothers. It's a beautiful summer tune, even in winter.

H is for Bill Haley and the Comets

Time to slaughter a sacred cow. Supposedly Bill Haley and the Comets brought rock'n'roll to a wider audience in America and the rest is history. Well, so what? I expect he was revolutionary for his time, but all I could ever see was a load of blokes in matching clothes led by a tubby gent with a kiss curl.

Is there a memory attached to all this? Only in that I remember I don't like it. Sorry and all that, I know he led the charge at a time when all around were crooners with string section backing music, but I don't like it. And another thing, if he was going to call himself Blah Blah and the Comets he should have been Bill HALLEY as in the comet.

Rant over and you're NOT getting a film, but come back tomorrow when I'll be much more loving and giving, sort of.

Also-rans: Not an also-ran at all, but anyway....I offer to you Isaac Hayes and, in particular, the Shaft theme. Cool, cool, cool, which is more than can be said of a certain Bill Haley AND Isaac Hayes was chef in South Park.

I'll leave you to decide which of these two gents, neither of whom is still with us, really had their mojo in full working order.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

What do you mean, which one's which?

G is for Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five

Ah, hip hop, some good, some...well, let's leave it there, shall we? But in the good category I would definitely put Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five, if only for their splendid name.

I really liked The Message by GFATFF, so much so that when it appeared on the jukebox of a rather seedy (yes, a bit more seediness) pub I used to frequent in Bideford I'd try to put it on again and again. The single includes the insistent line "Don't push me, cos I'm close to the edge" and so it seems was John, the landlord of said seedy pub. By repeatedly selecting the single I drove him nuts and he rejected it whenever it came on to play. Never mind, I had some good nights in that boozer.

Here is The Message in all its glory. There is no chance John can reject it, he passed away a few years ago.

Also-rans: I'm not a fan of Genesis, but play I Know What I Like (In Your Wardrobe) from their album Selling England By The Pound and I am instantly transported to Gatefield Sounds record shop (I think that was the name) in Canterbury. I used to go in there in my teens, smoke countless cigarettes and spend hours listening to records on the headphones that all record shops used to have. The song had that great line "Me, I'm just a lawnmower, you can tell me by the way I walk." No idea what it means and I don't really care. I never bought the album, either.

For more on the A to Z Challenge go to: http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/ 

F is for Fleetwood Mac

Here we are jogging along nicely in to week two of the A to Z Challenge in which I am writing about music and the seemingly random memories it can throw up.

It occurs to me that so far little of what I've written about reflects my musical tastes, but then as I keep pointing out this is about memories as much as music. This particular memory features Captain Dim, a real person, I assure you.

So, Fleetwood Mac and principally their gazillion-selling LP Rumours. I don't mind them and I quite, but only quite, like the LP. However, play the album on the slightly tinny sound system of a very tinny Ford Escort - this was in 1979 - as you drive around Sheffield desperately trying to look cool and the music becomes so much better.

The Ford belonged to Captain Dim, someone who lived in the same seedy lodging house as me and my friend, Brian. I think Captain Dim's real name was Roger, but he definitely had Captain Dim on the toolbox he used to take to work. Anyway, he lent us his car while he was away for a while and we charged around in it listening to Rumours. There is a certain dissonance between Sheffield in the late 1970s and the California rock of Fleetwood Mac, but that didn't stop us having a good time - and then the car broke down. Story of my life all over.

Nobody needs to see a video of Fleetwood Mac so instead here is some video featuring someone called Captain Dim. Not the same one from all those years ago, but a very athletic substitute.

Also-rans: Four Tops singing Reach Out, I'll Be There. Just reminds me of being dragged around Chatham town centre by my gran while she went shopping. An utterly great song to be dragged around to.

For more on the A to Z Challenge go to: http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/