Bangers & Mash for Sarah B 50

Penny's place was packed a week or two ago. Wherever I stood, I was in the way as what seemed like most of the inhabitants of Astcote and Cold Higham had arrived to sample a whole load of variations on the theme of bangers and mash. Many had also arrived by invitation to wish Sarah B a slightly early happy 50th birthday. (The real occasion is tomorrow.)

Richard had the wood burner going in one room where the temperature was tropical and Penny's ovens were working at full steam so the kitchen was only marginally cooler. Wearing a shirt that I'd sprayed myself with blue and yellow stripes and some 1950s Polaroid sunglasses I felt appropriately dressed for the climate but, perhaps, not the occasion. The outfit had gone down well at Adrian's Half Century do just a week before so I thought an appearance, at least, was justified and a suitable nod in the direction of Sarah's penchant for the weird and wonderful providing it has something wackily artistic about it. The spray paint clogged up all the holes in the shirt fibre, though, so it was like wearing a cellulose mac and, especially in the vicinity of Richard's wood burner, the heat (and risk of explosion) necessitated a quick change to something more comfortable.

The food was, as always, brilliant and most of us had several helpings as well as indulging in the plentiful supply of alcoholic beverages available. For once, the Committee remained sober for long enough for me to read out one of my traditional birthday poems and that seemed to go down well. Here is is for anyone who missed it or fancies another chuckle.

Hawaii Five Oh, Dear

At possibly the most colourful events I can recall attending, a huge pile of friends and representatives of the Paddock Party Committee gathered at an Indian restaurant to wish Adrian Pinckard a jolly 50th birthday. He had entitled the event Hawaii Five O - hence the ridiculous garb someone managed to snap me in. It could have been worse, I suppose, had I had the courage to don the grass skirt!

The mixture of Hawaii and some unidentified province of India was strange to say the least and perhaps it was just as well that we were more than entertained by each other as the poor waiters looked totally confused as they attempted to deliver people's orders correctly. The music may have also contributed to their confusion, the normal Indian fare being replaced by The Beach Boys and Monkees for the night.

The Paddock Party Committee had wrapped a 30-CD collection of Carry On films which I understand Adrian is slowly working his way through and a dozen selected bottles of beer which are probably suffering the same fate (OK, delete the word slowly!)

It was a splendid evening and strange to think that yet another friend has now passed the 50 mark. Indeed, next year several reach the next milestone of 60 (no names, no pack drill) which is frightening. But that's another year. Have to survive this one first.

Local chaps carving out a new career

Messrs Pinckard & Hill in the new shop they have opened in the village. Pinckard can be seen here greeting a customer and rolling a good-sized joint. In the background is his business adviser, Hill, who was mainly concerned at ensuring a plentiful supply of coffee and coke while he prepares for a forthcoming Ofsted Inspection after which he may be on his bike, (well, Pinckard's old bike actually), delivering groceries rather than lectures. An abundance of cheery swearing will enhance their coarse provision while their Rustlers' Special   lamb and Roadkill pies ensure they'll meet the Quality & Diversity regulations. Elliotts of Towcester and Towcester Tea Rooms have nothing to fear, however, with this new enterprise, as Pinckard & Hill do not, as yet, have any room in their premises for tables and chairs. Pinckard expects that he may be able to extend his shed a little in the future once he's drunk all the beer stored there. "That may .. hic .. take some time .. hic .." he said, ".. but people .. hic .. keep buying me more.. hic .. each  .. hic.. ruddy year!"

[Adrian Pinckard was 38. Ed]

All credit to the wonderful Spitalfields Life blog for the original image, by the way, and hoping they don't mind the minor editing.

Adrian's years must be shorter than ours

Walking through Towcester on a sunny afternoon with a Beach Boys vinyl album under my arm today. Now that, apart from it being a Music For Pleasure one, was cool. Found it in the charity shop where I had gone looking for a pair of sunglasses. They didn't have any sunglasses but, as well as the vinyl, they had a reasonably loud shirt which I bought too. Now, you may be thinking that the burst of sun had affected my brain but this was all part of preparation for a party this evening to celebrate Adrian Pinckard reaching 50. One shouldn't really mention people's ages in public places like this but he really doesn't look any older than over ten years ago when I landed up living next to him in the village. I can only conclude that his years are shorter than most of ours. He is a bit shorter than the rest of the Paddock Party Committee so maybe that's what it is.

And, of course, to mark such a notable event, there has to be a poem:

The Artist In Residence

Quite flirty at thirty and bold,

And naughty at forty, I’m told,

All I can recall

Is that we’ve had a ball -

And guys like you just don’t get old.

Always bright and ever cheery

Cool and smart and gay

(That’s not the first part of query –

Whatever they say, by the way).

You daily drove your little Polo;

Inside you sat so low

I had to peer across to see

If there, indeed, a driver be.

Then one day in the morning,

Just as the light was dawning,

I saw the car but no-one there

Seems like you must have got out somewhere…

Somewhere on the straight A5

You’d shouted out “Screw this life!”

“I’m leaving! Get stuffed!”

“That’s it! Had enough!”

You’d held out your thumb

Like a hitchhiker bum

To get a ride home

Where no-one’ll moan

About lesson plans, SARS,

Or some silly arse

Wanting ECM themes

In all of your schemes,

And Equality embedded

(Not to mention the dreaded

Diversity strictures

About black and white pictures).

“Hooray!” You cry, as some chap stops,

He offers a lift – but your face drops

As he opens the door and there inside

Is one of those students you could never abide.

He goes away and you seem quite forlorn,

Until you hear the sound of a familiar horn.

“Drunk again?” I ask as I open the door,

“Nudge nudge, wink wink, I’ll say no more?”

“No. I’m free. On the dole!”

“What, you’ve left that old hole?”

“Yes. Oh, what a great day –

No more MK!”

“So, where shall we go?

“To the movies, a show?”

“I could do with a beer

“But no money, I fear.”

“Perhaps they’ll make me an offer I can’t refuse:

“Get out and we’ll give you a big box of booze.”

“That would be good -

“Yes, really they should -

“All in all it that’s quite a good ruse.”

“Now I can do all the PPC signs

“The minutes, too, and the funny lines

“I’ll be Chairman, Chief Saladeer too

“Quorate with relish, yes, that’ll do.”

“I’ll build my own trains

“Mow grass when it rains

“And I can whiz around the garden

“Even fart , get a hard on, without saying ‘Pardon’”

“I’ll be king of erections

“Give you astronomical directions

“A Ph. D in Gazebos

“And bad innuendos.”

Oh boy, won’t it be great -

For Paddock Party 8

To have AP in the tents:

Our Artist In Residence.

When petrol was 6/8d a gallon

This 1960 Ford Popular took me around Hertfordshire lanes at 17, on a trip to Glen Trool in the west of Scotland with Ian Golds to celebrate leaving school and later all the way to St Andrews University and back and back again. With just three forward gears, a key that you could remove from the ignition when it was still on and windscreen wipers that went slower when you went uphill and often packed with teenagers, there was never a dull moment! I called it Trundle and bought and sold it for £30.

Next came The Cardinal (named by Vincent), a 1957 Wolseley 1500 with leather seats and real wood on the dashboard. I bought it in Dundee for £40 when the Ford had expired and was going to cost more than that to repair. This was the car in which Tony Bragg and I made the trip home in March and took the treacherous A68 across Carter Bar in a blizzard, a detailed account of the journey is written on the inner sleeve of a Beach Boys Greatest Hits LP. It started with a button on the dash.

There were a couple more that I haven't found any photos of yet and then the wonderful Hengist, a 1962 Rover 100 with rear doors that opened the wrong way, a big bench seat across the front and an electric fuel pump that often got stuck, usually in Edinburgh traffic. A sharp thwack with a hammer or large screwdriver, however, got it ticking again soon enough! The Rover cost £100 and I sold it for the same price, being without a car for a few months before and after getting married in 1973, when a train to Edinburgh from Kirkcaldy where we lived was a rather more sensible way of commuting.

Me and a road sign

This is somewhere near Stoke Poges in Buckinghamshire. As I didn't get long trousers until I was in the Third Form at school it must have been around 1965.

View Larger Map

The sign doesn't look as if it's changed from this Google Street View image today! 

Problem solving at Level 8

Found this computer chess set that JM gave me back in the late 1970s. It's still immaculate and works well. It probably has less processing power than my door-bell but that was enough to make me struggle to beat it 30 odd years ago. It has eight levels of play and I do remember eventually winning at Level 8, after which it must have gone back in its box until now when my son's starting over at Level 1!

Even though there are probably wonderfully animated and instant response versions on-line nowadays there's something appealing about the buttons and old-fashioned beeps, not to mention the warm browns that would once have matched the sofa, cushions, carpets and curtains!