Hooptedoodle #497 - In the Garden Again

 Just a quick postscript to my last post - things are sprouting and flowering and all that. Here are just a few additional photos.

 

An old friend, always welcome; our white lilac, Madame Lemoine, is a lovely thing, but you have to be quick to catch it at its best - not quite in full flower yet, but the first heavy shower will wreck it!

 

Vigorous signs of being ready to go again - our Cotinus is a bit of a monster (in a very nice way)

 

The little red apple tree (with red blossom, and red fruit with bright red flesh) is looking good. The dry summer last year gave us quite a lot of apples, but they were small and as tough as conkers - I hope the wasps enjoyed them...

 

Appropriate alpines have been planted in the pockets in the old herb garden - I have a little spreadsheet which tells me what they all are...

 

 

...to keep the Professor happy, they are (from the far end round to the left): dianthus (Inchriach Dazzler); arenaria (montana); armeria (maritima Deep Rose); sedum (Cape Blanco); campanula (Blue Clips); oxalis (adenophylla); phlox (McDaniel's Cushion); Delosperma (Table Mountain); erodium (Bishops Form) 

 

Hooptedoodle #496 - Got to Get Ourselves back to the Garden

 It's a year since we planted our brave new shrubbery on the site of the legendary Roland's Hedge (which was wrecked in a storm so long ago that I now can't remember which one). The flowering shrubs have come on well, so now we have reached the time for Phase 2 of the Roland's Hedge Memorial Project - the planting of the perennials.

I've been looking forward to this, with just a faint buzz of apprehension. Planning has been thorough - Matty the Heroic Gardener put together a monster plan - words and pictures - of what we should get, and where it should go. All colour-coded and touched in with felt-tips - how big, what colours, when do the flowers appear - all of that. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

Planning is all well and good, but actually doing it is still a little scary. Well, it's been done - the days are accomplished.

 

I brought in a couple of loads of hardy perennials - for a week I kept them safely out of the wind, and watered them devoutly every morning

 

Then, last Tuesday, the great planting went ahead. At present, you have to look for the new wee fellows in among the shrubs, but it should all be a riot of colour when it gets established

 

We are still on a gentle watering every morning

 

We are keeping the gates closed at the moment - we have a history of passing deer coming in for a munch...

 

 

This is a further sub-project - we had some helleborus in pots at the top of the steps, and they took a beating during the recent monsoons and gales, so they have been moved to the old herb-garden. The flowers should be white, but are currently brown - let's see how this goes. Our herb-growing days are in the past, so some nice, tight little alpines will go in the pockets. The patio paving needs to be re-pointed - I regret this may have to be a forthcoming project too

 

We have a pieris (mountain fire) which was planted last year - they have a reputation for being easily discouraged by the cold, but it has done well. An interesting plant - the new leaf growth is red, which fades to green, so you get a good idea of how things are going

And, in tribute to my borrowed title for this post, here's a version you may not have heard before - Symphonic Joni:

I confess that I am more than a little shaken to realise that this late retrospective album of Joni's work (arranged and conducted by Vince Mendoza) was almost a quarter of a century ago. Next time, I promise myself, I'm going to try to pay more attention. 

 

Hooptedoodle #495 - Joseph Spence Revisited

I still own a lot of CDs, which I am told is very 1990s. I don't care - they are mine, and I love them (most of them), and I can play them whenever I like, in super quality, without asking anyone, without leaving my personal details all over the web and without watching someone's bleeping adverts.

Recently I've been making an effort to tidy things up a bit, get rid of stuff I don't want any more, spot old discs which are starting to degrade (and rescue them if possible, if it's worth it), and do some serious-quality rips that I can play in the car. I've had some interesting reunions with a number of voices from my past.

 

Joseph Spence

(1910-1984)

During this latest period of avoiding the news I spend a lot of time listening to Finzi, Ravel, Fauré and odd-bods like George Butterworth and John Jeffreys, so it was a bit of a culture shock to meet up again with Joseph Spence.

Joseph was a pipe-smoking stonemason in the Bahamas, who had a fearsome local reputation as a guitarist and entertainer. Word sneaked out in the late 1950s, when he was visited by collectors and the Folkways people and was recorded in his home. He became something of a celebrity, was recorded again, more professionally, and was booked for a tour in New York and Boston in 1964. This didn't go wonderfully well. His family were very religious, and did not approve of drinking or songs about inappropriate behaviour. Thus he was allowed to travel to the US only on the understanding that he was accompanied by two women members of his family, who monitored his behaviour very carefully, and appeared on stage with him, singing hymns. 

This is why you have probably never heard of Joseph, in the same context as you have probably heard of Blind Gary Davis, Mississippi John Hurt, Rosetta Tharp and others from those days. However, the fact remains that Joseph was a self-taught phenomenon - wildly gifted and completely unfiltered. His guitar playing is remarkable (he was a noted inspiration to Ry Cooder, Tommy Emmanuel and all sorts of people), and he sort-of sings along (deedle deedle), coughs and mutters his way through performances. Most importantly, his music is happy - it is very difficult not to smile at his work.

After the failure of the Newport Foundation tour, Joseph returned to live in peace in the Bahamas, and disappeared almost completely, though I am sure that he was still the life and soul of the spontaneous building-site parties, and that his sisters still disapproved of the rum. 

And I'm sure he wasn't a bit bothered.

 

 

Hooptedoodle #494 - Google AI Gives Us the Lowdown...

 A friend of mine - who must be remarkably short of things to think about - asked Google AI about my blog (this very one you are reading), and he sent me an extract from the reply, since he thought it would amuse me. At least I hope that is why he sent it.

Here it is:

Can't really protest too much about any of that, though I am maybe a little saddened by the perceived balance. It makes no direct reference to bullshit, for which I guess I should be grateful. You probably expect me to set about checking out all sorts of AI reports now, but no. 

Not going to.

Out of perversity, I asked Google AI to describe Google AI (yes, I used to watch Star Trek many years ago - I know how to upset robots). Disappointingly, the description read much more like a marketing push than an analysis - I shall not reproduce any of it. There is enough bullshit around already... 

Hooptedoodle #493 - Cherry Cake - They'll Never Believe It

As I get older and less receptive, I am saddened to note the increasing importance of Schadenfreude as part of my life mission.

Despite my better judgement, I spent some time yesterday watching highlights of US Attorney General Bondi's Congressional Reality Show on TV. American politics is really none of my business, but decency and the future of the planet are certainly worthy of focus.

If the facts are against you, argue the law. 

If the law is against you, argue the facts.

If the law and the facts are against you, pound the table and yell like hell

― Carl Sandburg

 

It seems to me that, years from today, people all over the world may remember that there was once a very strange woman who postured and smirked and overacted her way through a very serious, very noble and very visible forum, and committed the most public career suicide in history.

 

I can only assume that she is getting paid an awful lot of money and has the promise of a very big piece of cherry cake. I doubt whether anyone will remember her name.

 

Speaking of names, I have a little list of them, and I have a special bottle of wine put aside for Prizegiving Day. 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

Hooptedoodle #492 - The Business Model of the Souq - a little Xmas karma for me

 I hope anyone who reads this has had an enjoyable, relaxing Christmas period. We've had a very quiet spell - my mother passed away at the end of November, so things have been a bit distracted, but I'm very pleased that she had such a peaceful end, and I do not have much to discuss about that.

It would be wretched to come up with a miserable, Scrooge-like theme for a Xmas post, but I thought I'd share with you a small, recent personal triumph from among the extended tangle of my coping with the way business works these days.

Here are a couple of parables - the first one is obviously fiction, and silly fiction at that.

Parable A: An elderly man takes a sliced loaf to the checkout at his regular food supermarket. The checkout girl tells him the cost of this loaf is £3; the old chap protests that this is very expensive, and that he can get the same loaf for £1.58 at the local ASDA store. The girl says, "Well, we can't match that, but since you are a regular customer, you can have the loaf for £2".

The customer is not happy, but he can't be bothered going somewhere else for his loaf, so reluctantly pays the £2, and leaves, muttering. He feels that this doesn't seem very fair.

Parable B: The setting for this one is about a year ago. I received a renewal reminder and quotation for my car insurance, from a firm I have dealt with for many years, and was disappointed by how high it was. I contacted them, and pointed out that I could get the same cover for about half the cost from another provider. The customer service rep on the phone never missed a breath, and immediately reduced the quoted premium to a figure which was rather more than half of the original figure. No problem at all - they obviously expected people to phone up and haggle. I was pleased that I had reduced the cost, but the system seemed unfair - especially in a world where the possibility to shop around online has apparently removed any slight concern that not everyone has the opportunity to do such comparison, and may in any case not be inclined to waste so much effort on a routine transaction. This unfairness was emphasised to me last year since the same pantomime had been acted out the year before.

My insurance renews on 16th January, and, sure enough, the quotation for my insurance for 2026 arrived a week ago. The insurer (let us say, for the sake of the story, that they may be called Direct Line) requires me to pay £697 for the year; I realise that this is just them chancing their arm with an opening bid, in case I am daft enough to fail to notice, but I am well tired of this game. I have no wish to waste time and blood pressure phoning to negotiate.

Without contacting them, this year I have arranged identical cover, online, simply and quickly, from the mighty Automobile Association, no less, for the cost of £395. When the documents arrive, next week, I shall ask Direct Line to place their esteemed policy where the sun does not shine. I have, in fact, merely shuffled out into the modern world and shopped around, but it still stinks. 

A small matter, but gratifying. The world does not muck around with Scrooge McFoy, I can tell you. 

Hooptedoodle #491 - Fowl Play Suspected

 Invaded again. A couple of chickens from the other side of the farm steading were here today checking out our new squirrel-proof bird feeder, which may feature in a post soon. I went outside to discuss it with them, and they ran away. They are quick - not graceful, but quick.

 As long as they stay away from the power cables... 

Hooptedoodle #490 - Power Supply Management in the Post-Truth Age?

 

Last night I received a text message from our electricity supply company, apologising for frequent short outages over the last few months, and especially during 27th-30th Sept (?). This remarkable note explains that these are due to environmental situations such as trees touching overhead lines and cattle rubbing against electricity poles - yes - you did read that last bit correctly. They go on to state that they are going to build some fences and do some tree-trimming to address these problems.

 

Of course we have to be grateful, and one is keen not to say the wrong thing, but it seems there may be evidence of bulls making a bit of a mess as well. I would be more convinced if the lady on the supply company's helpdesk in Birkenhead hadn't told me a month ago that the problem seemed to be the supply being (automatically?) switched between areas at times of peak load. [We the customers have already done some investigation to check whether the outages coincided with time-switches turning on the big grain dryers on the local farms, which was interesting, though inconclusive.]

 

It also surprises me that cattle should rub against the poles at exactly 6:30am or 7pm each day - creatures of habit, obviously. I consider it unlikely that there are any livestock (apart from horses, which are fenced away from poles, and pigs, which are kept indoors) within 30 miles of here. Generally, I'd be more convinced if the note didn't read as if it were written by AI, or maybe Ms McOswald's class at the primary school.

Hooptedoodle #489 - It's a Living

 My compliments to Count Goya, who has outed me. He sent this evidence of my current gig in the real world. Well, in Fife, actually.

It isn't easy keeping things together when you are a a 250-year old retired general without a Skilled Worker visa. If you live near Kinghorn and you want a little plastering or light joinery work done, I might know someone. Cash only, please.  

Hooptedoodle #488 - Berries on the Whitebeam - Autumn May Be a Little Early This Year

 A bit earlier than usual, the Whitebeam trees at the bottom of our garden are coming into berry, which is always a cheering sight. This year, understandably, they look a bit parched to me. Usually these things are at their peak in mid September, when sometimes we get raided by flocks of Redwings, who just hoover the berries and move on; this is mysterious when it happens - we never see Redwings at any other time, in fact we hardly see them when they come, since they huddle into the trees and get busy, very early in the morning. If we are up early enough we will certainly hear them, but they are hard to spot; you just have a vague feeling that you have been robbed.

 

Whitebeam gets its name, I am told, from the fact that the leaves are very pale on the underside, so the tree seems to shimmer in a breeze. Weißbaum

 

Elsewhere the new hedge plants at the front are starting to look worryingly autumnal. I have put in many hours in the early mornings, trying to keep them watered (no hosepipe bans here), but they do not look happy at all. Perhaps they will be all right.

Tomorrow will be a very heavy day putting fresh gravel down on the driveway. It was delivered last Wednesday, and once again I am astounded by the skill of the driver, manoeuvring an 8-wheeler in through our gate, which is tricky enough in a car. I am pleased to note that the spray that I put down on the gravel area about 5 weeks ago has removed all the weeds in preparation for the big day. It takes a while (much longer than the old stuff, now illegal), but quietly we get there in the end.

 

Border Aggregates of Kelso - good lads. I had ideas about doing the job in instalments this year, but it's £50 delivery whether you get one bag or a load, so here it is!

 

 

 

***** Late Edit *****

 

 

And here we are, one day later - job done!

 

********************* 

 

  

Hooptedoodle #487 - A Taste for Alternative History

 This last week I took the opportunity to read the starter volume for the Very British Civil War. It has taken me a very long time to get round to this, and my interest is not because I have any particular wish to play the game; I just have a great fondness for what-ifs, how history might have been if the wind had blown the other way. What prompted my renewed interest was some other reading about the 1930s in Europe and (all right, I'll admit it) my watching, also after a very long delay, the movie The King's Speech.

 

The VBCW booklet is absorbing - a thorough, thought-provoking job - I do like my fantasy with detailed embroidery.

Right on cue, in the last few days, one Mr Huckabee, a man described without apparent irony as a diplomat, former Fox News host and current US ambassador to Israel, voiced his opinion that if Sir Keir Starmer had been the British leader during WW2, the United Kingdom would be German-speaking now. 

Maybe that's true, I have no idea; interesting. More alternative history. If we're playing this game, it also seems to me that if the present US Administration had been in charge in Washington in 1939, they would have been solidly aligned with the Axis, so WW2, if it had happened, would have been a walkover. Which means that Huckabee's current gig in Israel wouldn't have existed either; interesting.

 

Major rally of the German American Bund in Madison Square in Feb 1939 - maybe they didn't get a fair chance?

Möge sein Arsch eitern, as Anton Drexler used to say. 

Hooptedoodle #486 - Village Idiot? Land grab?

 One of our neighbours, on the far side of the farm hamlet (maybe 200 metres away) keeps chickens. We don't see much of them, unless we go for a walk down there, but we can hear the rooster crowing in the morning, which is very pleasant and just as it should be. Nature's alarm clock.

For the last couple of weeks we have a rooster in our garden too. He spends most of the day here. There's not much to eat, though there have been a lot of windfall plums this summer, and he has no friends here. He does no damage, as far as I can see; he likes to sit inside our front hedge - I imagine the shade has been welcome in the hot weather; he stalks about the place looking vaguely belligerent, and he seems to drift away home in the evenings. It is noticeable that he gets here early enough to welcome the dawn each day, which certainly wakes you up if you are not used to it.

I also noticed that I can still hear a rooster crowing on the other side of the village when our new friend is here, so there must be two roosters. Hmmm.

 I thought that roosters couldn't share a yard. A little inherited country lore and a lot of cartoon films have reinforced this belief over the years. Maybe that's what's happening? - perhaps he has been bested, humbled, chucked out (see what I did there?). Maybe he is sulking up here, or feels he has taken possession of a new yard (without wives). Perhaps, like me, he is here because he is a hermit. Maybe he is just happy here. 

 Any suggestions on the psychology of poultry would be welcome. He isn't a problem at the moment (though sometimes he does get sworn at in the mornings), and I am sort of assuming he will go away later in the year, but I have no valid reason to think this. He is quite a big, impressive looking chap, to my unpractised eye anyway. I would rather have him as a friend than otherwise.

There is drinking water for him; I'm reluctant to start putting food out for him, in case all his relations arrive. Should we be doing anything for him? 

Hooptedoodle #485 - a Rare Touch of Class - Cleo Laine

 A respectful note from me for the passing of Dame Cleo, who has died at the age of 97. Here's a little dalliance with Shakespeare; my favourite track from what was one of my very favourite albums when I was a student (and subsequently, in fact).

 

Hooptedoodle #484 - Unwanted Immigrant

 

I am depressed to be reminded that Jeffrey's ugly friend will be arriving on Friday for a 5-day visit to Scotland. 

Why is he coming? We certainly don't want him here, and - given his record - I'm surprised they would let him in.

It seems he will visit his own golf courses at Turnberry and Aberdeen. No doubt he will break the course record at each, and there may be some carefully vetted press sessions, so that he may rant incontinently about irrelevancies. I certainly expect that any incidental exposure he has to the actual Scottish public will leave him in no doubt how much he is loved and respected here.

 

The clubhouse at Trump Turnberry was not looking its best in April this year, after it was subjected to an attack of what is officially termed "malicious mischief". It has been cleaned up now, and there are also some very expensive enhancements to the course. No doubt our VIP visitor will be reopening it. I hope it pisses with rain.

Our Prime Minister is to travel up here for a meeting of some sort in Aberdeen. Whatever. Why a meeting in Aberdeen? Maybe it will be easier to avoid someone punching the Orange Nose this far from London? Starmer's attendance has something to do with refinements to an earth-shaking non-event masquerading as a trade deal. Why Sir Keir would waste his time having a discussion with a lunatic who changes his mind every day, and who hasn't the merest grasp of the basics of trade, diplomacy or integrity, escapes me. 

[Digression: In an idle moment, I was wondering whether anyone knows whether Washington or Lincoln used to spend all their time making stuff up and spouting about how great they were? Maybe they had other things to do - history doesn't seem to mention it, anyway. I think I am sufficiently interested in this idea to see if AI could manage a suitably edited re-write of the Gettysburg Address.]

Mostly I'm avoiding news topics like this at present, and I must say my health appears to be showing some benefit as a result. However, I also have to say that I am very uncomfortable about the forthcoming state visit (no capitalisation) when the Unmentionable One is to visit our King at Windsor Castle. It is probably polite to extend the hand of hospitality to heads of state, but this visit is going to be met with considerable public hostility, which potentially places His Majesty (that's His REAL Majesty) in a difficult position politically. Maybe, to ensure there is no trouble at dinner, a company of Beefeaters could attend, in full dress?  It goes without saying, the beefeater joke would be further enhanced by the serving of a vegan dinner.

Also, King Charles might take the opportunity to ask his guest where he was educated, since his spoken English is clearly not anyone's first language. 

Hooptedoodle #483 - A Little Help Goes a Long Way [Artificial WHAT?]

 Two days ago, I am awake at 05:00. It looks a bit gloomy outside, so I am pondering whether I will need to do my early morning pyjama run, watering the shrubs, and whether I will get a chance to do a little more weedkiller spraying of the gravel driveway today.

I decide to get advice from the electronic friend and helper on my phone, who is always faithfully awaiting a chance to serve.

05:06 - "Siri, what is the forecast today?"

Siri - "Today it will be mostly clear; daytime temperatures will rise to 18degC, with overnight lows of 13degC"

Fair enough - maybe I should keep an extra sweater handy, but that sounds OK. My alarm is set for 06:30, so I can enjoy a preparatory snooze until then. Better just check...

05:10 - "Siri, will it rain today?"

Siri - "There is very little chance of rain"

Righto - that will do nicely.

My snooze is suddenly disturbed by heavy rain hammering on the Velux window above my head. What the...? What is the story now?

06:15 - "Siri, will it rain today?" 

Siri - "There is very little chance of rain"

Maybe an alternative approach is required...

06:16 - "Siri, at what time will it rain?"

Siri - "It's raining now"

 

It's OK - this is a library photo of someone else's garden, for dramatic effect

We have to be grateful, I know, but I may go back to keeping a piece of seaweed in a jam jar on the window-sill. 

Hooptedoodle #482 - Get the Word to Neil - I nearly made it into the 21st Century

 I was having a read of my football team's website, and there was an offer of a free download of the season's fixtures into my calendar. Sounds OK, so I made sure I was signed in, clicked a few things and set about setting this up. 

Very quickly, it became apparent that this isn't going to happen unless I sign up to something called ECAL, which appears primarily to be a marketing tool. I am sure it works very nicely, but I had to agree to ECAL having full access to the information in my diary, for whatever reason they wish, and the ability to add or delete data.

Screech of brakes - no thank you. My diary contains medical stuff and all sorts of personal contact info, and a pretty thorough record of where I've been and what I've done for the last 12 years or so. I'm not daft - I understand that ECAL can obtain all this from my Google account anyway, but I have not given explicit permission for that, so they would be breaking the law. This is different.

I shall enjoy my pathetic little fightback - every single time I have to look up the fixture dates elsewhere; ECAL, whatever they represent, can go and do one, as quickly as they like.

 

Hooptedoodle #481 - The King's Card

 

It will be my mother's 100th birthday on Monday. She doesn't know it will be her birthday, and she will not notice when it happens. The poor old soul is resident in a nursing home in Berwick upon Tweed, where she is wonderfully well looked after and is as comfortable as we can possibly make her, but she cannot walk, or see, or make sense of any sounds. She sleeps most of the time - they get her into some sort of semi-conscious state to feed her, but she doesn't communicate and as far as I am aware she has no idea where she is or what is going on.

I visit once a week, though she is not aware of my visits, and in fact she hasn't known me for about 5 years now. That's OK - it's a routine - I visit this very old lady, who doesn't remember me and appears to have nothing to do with any mother I ever had. Mostly, I think, I do it for my own peace of mind. I sit with her for an hour or so each week - I haven't seen her awake in about 6 months. I make sure her radio is quietly tuned to her favourite classical station (just in case she can hear it) and before I leave I chat with the staff about how she has been.  

A 100th birthday is a serious business in the UK. You get a greeting card from the Monarch. One advance in recent years has been that, if you are in receipt of the State Pension, this all goes ahead automatically. So I have been waiting to see how it all works.

About a month ago I received an undated letter from the DWP, the main message of which was:

We have attempted to contact you to organise congratulatory messages for their 100th birthday.

As their representative, you can arrange for cards to be issued from the King via the Centenarian Team.

All we need is for you to confirm that the personal information we hold on the Department for Work and Pensions' records is correct.

What to do next

If you would like the team to organise the messages on your behalf, or you would like more information, please get in touch with us. Our contact details are at the top of this letter.

Yours sincerely

 

W R Swanson
Office manager

Righto - here we go - the system has everything under control. Only slight concerns were:

(1) There was no mention of what personal information they wish to have confirmed, though they gave my mother's name and National Insurance number, and they obviously have some idea that she is going to be 100.

(2) The National Insurance number was incorrect. [Goodness me - don't tell me that all this digital magnificence is manned by idiots, after all? Surely no-one expected that?]

 I leaped into action - I spent a singularly unproductive 45 minutes waiting for someone to answer the supplied phone number (which is in Newcastle), and then typed up an old-fashioned letter and sent it to the supplied postal address (which is in Wolverhampton), confirming that, yes, I did want the Centenarian Team to send out a card, thank you very much, and pointing out the error in the NI number.

Two weeks later I received another letter from the DWP, which turned out to be an exact repeat of the original undated letter, complete with incorrect NI number. With some vague idea that I was already in the system, I refused to worry about this, and waited for a meaningful reply, aware that the time left for arranging a greetings card was disappearing fast.

I received what was clearly a reply to my letter - this dated 3rd June, though I received it on the 9th. All it contained was some generalised acknowledgement of my notifying them of a "change of circumstances" - there was no mention of greetings cards, and the Newcastle phone number no longer appeared. I am left to assume that the DWP's computer is very busy. 

In two days I shall travel down to Berwick for the "big" day. I expect that no card will be sent to me before then; it is possible that there may be one sent direct to the nursing home (the DWP have that address), but I doubt it. Since my mum will not know that it is her birthday, and since no-one would in any case be able to explain to her that she had received a card, or what a card was, I have to accept that it really doesn't matter. I may be pilloried by the nursing home staff for failing to arrange the King's card, but that is the least of my worries. 

 

I understand that this is what the card looks like, if you get one. I have to say that I am very impressed with the idea of sending a picture of oneself as a birthday greeting, and am thinking seriously of getting a supply of suitable cards printed up. No expense spared for my friends, I assure you - I know how much they'll appreciate it

 

***** Late Edit *****

 

Well, the card did turn up on time, so all due credit and respect to those involved. The system works, even if it does not feel very robust during the process. I knew the King wouldn't let my mum down...

 

 

********************* 

Hooptedoodle #480 - Something to Do with Having Your Cake

 I've always been fascinated by how memory works. Part of this has been reinforced recently by living through my mother's mental decline, and also by my occasional sifting through the big box of old photos I rescued when we sold her house. 

The photos themselves can become a little misleading, since sometimes I can remember seeing a photo before, and am no longer sure whether I can remember the actual event depicted. This may also have something to do with having a strong impression that my early childhood was all in monochrome!

How far back can we really remember? They say that between ages 2½ and 3½ is when we start to put together coherent memories - it probably depends on how spectacular one's early years were. I have some photos here of a weekend I spent with my parents at the seaside at Borth-y-Gest during the Summer when I was 2. There are pictures of me playing with my toys, and I can remember some of these toys from having known them in my later childhood, but I don't remember being there. I don't even remember that my dad almost drowned us all by taking us out in a rowing boat when there was a gale warning, which must have been fairly memorable. 

I am sure there must be bits of real memories in the early mixture, but the first definite event I can remember and put a date on was shortly after my 3rd birthday. I went to stay for a few days at my Uncle Ernie's house, across the river in the Wirral, because my mother was in hospital giving birth to my sister, and unfortunately (always having been a klutz) I fell off the swing in Ernie's garden and broke my left leg. I can't remember the swing or any of the trauma, but I have very vivid memories of two days spent in Birkenhead General Hospital; I remember the strangely-coloured lights they had on at night in the ward, and I remember very clearly playing in my cot with a Dinky Toys refuse truck which Ernie brought me by way of apology.

Just like this one, in fact:

 Dinky Toys model no. 25

I also have pretty clear memories of travelling with my mother by bus back to the hospital however-many weeks later to get my plaster cast removed. 

One thing that doesn't necessarily attach itself to old remembered images is how I felt about what was going on. However, during the recent annual festival of Gorging on Chocolate which has replaced the religious themes of Easter, I was reminded of The Incident of the Easter Chick Cake, and this may be a very early sample of my feelings about events.

This must have been my 4th Easter, so I would be 3-and-a-bit. My mother came in with some groceries, and she handed me a small paper bag, which contained a simple little novelty cake she had bought at the baker's. It was a very plain likeness of a small Easter Chick, not much bigger than a real live one, I guess, made of two balls of sponge cake, covered with yellow icing, with currants for eyes and a little beak of folded orange marzipan. It must have been pretty crude, really, but I loved it, and no-one had ever bought me a cake before. I spent some of the afternoon staring at it, being its friend; at teatime it was served up on a little plate, and I ate it.

I was heart-broken. Inconsolable. It hadn't been all that wonderful to eat, and I now knew for a fact that I would much rather have kept the cake as a friend. My mother was actually quite worried, and the following day she quietly went out and brought me another little bag. Yes - that's right; she had gone back to Mr Osborne the Baker (in South Street) and they had one Chick Cake left. I can still just about remember how wildly happy I was - all of a sudden life contained the possibility that something you had lost could be replaced. I had maybe never thought of that before. It probably ruined me for life, in fact...

This time, I decided, I was going to keep my cake safe, forever - you may have some concerns that this might not have gone very well. What actually happened was that the replacement cake was served up on the same plate, at teatime on the day of its arrival, and I happily scoffed it without hesitation and without any subsequent qualms. It seems that, once I had explored and enjoyed the personal tragedy of having eaten and lost the first one, I was ready to move on to more orthodox gluttony. I have never looked back. 

I find this interesting. We must put together a whole life-set of values and feelings based on personal experiences; I'm sure mine started a long time before the cake, but this is the first one I can identify.

And you know what? Both the Chick Cake and the Dinky refuse truck are remembered in full colour. Hmmm.