Signpost Days.

There are days in your life that you mark as important events. Some are weddings, some are funerals. Some are first dates, some are divorces. And some come out of left field and whack you around the head. Such was a day in the Summer of 2002. We were having a weekend in London and had had a long, convivial lunch before getting into separate taxis. Mrs B, to shop, me, to mooch round HMV Oxford Street. Having done the Ground Floor I made my way down the escalator to the World, Folk & Country section. As my slightly wine-addled brain registered the music playing, I began to stalk the racks. My methodical search was constantly distracted by the music drifting trough the speakers. I couldn't place the voice, or the music, which means....I'm fucked. Finally, I give in. I do the unthinkable and approach the counter to admit my stupidity, my lack of study, my ignorance. "What's this?" The black-shirted beardy-bloke hands me a black CD cover, the none more black cover peppered with stars. The title is "Under Cold Blue Stars." The artist is Josh Rouse. I spin the memory-wheels in the music section of my brain (by far the biggest of the brain sections as you can prob...sod it, it's the ONLY section that works properly,)but, no, I've never heard of him. All 3 of the tracks I've heard so far have been wonderful. So wonderful that I hand over the £12 asking price without question. So begins a decade of discovery. I now own everything Josh Rouse has ever recorded, the 10 albums, 5 mini-albums and various downloads. I've never seen him live but, for now, that doesn't matter. The point of this, the whole point is that Josh Rouse's songs have given me so much joy and pleasure. I adore his sense of a good melody, his musicality, his various bands of musicians and his slightly mournful voice. But, most of all, I adore the fact that I didn't get in the cab with my wife but went off for 'a mooch' and discovered the musical love of the last 10 years of my life, completely by accident. He's not well known, he's not on mainstream radio so there is a good chance I might never had heard him. My life would be all the poorer. This is "My Love Has Gone."

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When good things happen to nice people.

Our best friends live half an hour from us. We see each other a lot, holiday together and we make each other laugh. A lot. Tony & I have been mates for 23 years and, when my wife came into my life, 17 years ago, they embraced her completely (whilst being initially careful that I wasn't going to get hurt.) You see, something happened to me in '94 that nearly derailed my whole life. These 2 people almost adopted me, taking me under their wing and cooking me Sunday meals in their warm old house. Over the last couple of years they have retired from their Care business and decided to transform their house. It has taken almost a year, through the wettest Summer, and the builder has done a great job. We've not seen the progress because they didn't want people round while it was such a mess. Yesterday, we went for lunch. Lunch turned into the rugby, 2 films and a bed for the night. Their 2 grandchildren helped cook breakfast and pancakes and we left around midday. The house? Stunning. Wooden floors, minimal, clean lines, just gorgeous. I have always said that, after what happened to me, I 'got better' in that house. A tiny part of me was dreading seeing it changed. I should have had more faith in our two wonderful friends. Their hard work and dedication over many years has allowed them to reward themselves with a house and garden that will give them true happiness for the rest of their days.

Thank feck that's over.

So, the calendar finally says February. Is it just me or was that January longer than normal? What with the snow and the unrelenting cold, my normal January blues were much worse than usual. So it was lovely to end the month with a few days away for Janet's birthday. I won't go into too much detail about the trip. We are very lucky that JB works in the travel business and has friends in nice hotels, so our traditional birthday jaunt is an excuse to live like people that have more money than sense, when we don't have much of either! All I'll say is that, at 5pm on her birthday, we sat on a bench, effectively on the roof of our hotel. Bundled up in coats and scarves, the last of the day's sunshine was fast disappearing behind a mountain. Medical history means we can't be in the sun for long so the feel of a warm, Mediterranean sun on our faces, on January 28th, is a rare victory. We hugged, knowing that this fleeting pleasure brings both of us so much joy.

Two lives, fully lived.

Elizabeth Ellen Spencer was born in the 1930's in Ealing, West London, and was evacuated to North Devon, during the War. She had an older sister who worked at Bletchley Park, on the Enigma codebreaking machines, although Elizabeth never told anyone. After she left school she became a Children's Nurse and met a man from Northern Ireland, newly out of the Navy. They and their friends would meet up, on International Saturdays, at The Rugby Tavern before walking on to Twickenham to watch England play. She and the Irishman were married at the same time as Hillary & Tensing were scaling the summit of Everest, in 1953. Their first child, a boy, was born in '54, then more boys in '56, then '58, then 1960. Finally a girl came along in 1963, then the 5th boy, in '67. Betty, for that was how she was known, dedicated herself to bringing up her large family. The Irishman had moved her and the family out to Surrey where life was untroubled until the IRA blew up 2 pubs in the town where the family lived. For a while, being from Northern Ireland, and having a very Irish name, made life difficult in the schools in the town. A few years later, the Irishman became ill and then died, aged 55, in 1981. The 4 older children were grown and had left home but Betty brought the two younger ones up until they were ready to leave, too. She sold the family home and moved to a 'chocolate box' cottage with a beautiful garden. She did voluntary work, delivered Meals On Wheels, worked on Hospital Radio and then got her own show on local radio. She travelled extensively, spending 6 months with son number 3 at his home in Sydney, Australia, driving across Canada, New Zealand, hot-air ballooning in the Australian mountains and, in her late 60's, belly-boarding down a sand dune near Perth, Australia, to show a van-load of student backpackers how it was done. She died 6 years ago, today, in her bed in her chocolate - box cottage.

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Betty Spencer was my Mum. She told me about this song, knowing that I'd love it. She said it reminded her of The Irishman.

22 years ago today,

I had one of the best days of my life. Today is F.A Cup 3rd round day. To the prawn sandwich brigade in the Prem, it's a day for stomping on the little people. For the rest of us, it's the best football day of the year. So, 22 years ago? I worked the Saturday morning, locked the warehouse up at 12.30, got my mate and the boy in the car and started off. Kick-off was 135 minutes away. We were in Woking. It was in West Bromwich. It was pelting it down. Got to the ground 10 minutes late, Got up into the main stand, asked a steward where our seats were and, while he checked the tickets, asked the bloke sitting on the back row what the score was. "You're losing one nil, bruv." said, Kevin, my brother. I had no idea he was going. If you're any kind of football fan, you'll know what happened next. Tiny Woking, from the Isthmian League, hammered West Brom, 4-2. It was no accident. We battered them. Their fans applauded our players off the park, then applauded us as we left. I had driven miles following this team. In the next few years, as success after non-league success came, I regularly drove the length of the country to watch them. I don't anymore. I realised that that passion was filling a gap that was missing from somewhere else in my life. When the gap was filled by something (someone, actually) else, the need to 'be there' went away. They are still the result I look for on a Saturday, still the name that will stir a thousand memories. I gave them my undying love, about 9 sets of tyres, thousands in fuel and tickets and hours and hours of precious time. They gave me one of the best days of my life. I got a bargain, I'd say. The video is the wonderful Saw Doctors with To Win Just Once.

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You know when everything you think you know is wrong?

When I was about 14 my Mum & Dad bought an upright piano. Not for me, you understand, but for one of my younger brothers, Phil. His music teacher said he had a real talent and an ear for music. Phil went for proper Grade lessons but hated it. You see, he didn't need the formality of it. He just wanted to play. And, boy, could he play. New Elton John song? Two listens. Nailed. He is just an wonderfully talented musician. Great guitarist, piano player, makes you sick! Anyway, this story isn't about him. By the time I was 16 and doing O Levels, we'd had said piano a couple of years. I got to going home if I didn't have a lesson on the odd afternoon, a two mile walk. One day, I turned into the drive and heard the piano. I remember stopping. Phil is 2 years younger than me, so he was still at school. Martin, 2 years younger still, was also a talented player (became a pro-songwriter) but he was also at school. I let myself into the house, quietly. The door to the room where the piano lived was slightly ajar. I listened as this beautiful piece of music drifted out of the room and filled the house. I knew the piece. Dad had it on an album and played the record frequently. I leaned close to the door and peeked a look. Mum was in a trance, eyed closed, as she delicately played the gorgeous music. She had no sheet music and wasn't even looking at the keys. I stood in the hallway for a minute and then quietly let myself back out of the house. I didn't tell her for 30 years. You see, she'd never let on that she could play. Not once. When Dad died and she moved to a smaller, chocolate-box cottage, she took the piano, "so that the boys can play when they come to visit." It was then, quietly, when we were alone, that I told her. She smiled. "Our secret, eh?" Yesterday, someone I follow on This Is My Jam and Twitter, AndyMack, posted the piece of music that Mum was playing as his Jam for the week. It caught me unawares. Actually, that's not true. It has never failed to catch me unawares, ever since that day. I weep everytime I hear it. Mum died nearly six years ago, but that's not why I weep. The music is beautiful and the fact that she kept her talent from us is so typical of a woman who gave up being a nurse to raise 6 kids and be a mother until her beloved husband died at 55. After that, once we were all grown, she travelled, had her own radio show, went hot air ballooning in Oz, sand belly-boarding and, near the end, took herself off to the Grand Canyon and Monument Valley 'to see all the places in The John Wayne films.' So, thanks to Andy, and I'm raising a big fat glass of red to Betty Brannigan, my Mum. The music she was playing? Debussy's Au Clair De La Lune.

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I love The Famous Five.

I love great singers. I love singers who have pain and loss and soul in their voice. I have a Famous Five of great, British voices. Paul Rodgers of Free & Bad Company heads the list which is, of course, indisputable. The other 4, in time-honoured no particular order, are Frankie Miller, James Dewar, Jess Roden and Peter Cox. If you don't know them, go look them up. The first four are rooted in the 70's. Peter Cox is from the 80's but is still touring and making new music. I have loved his voice since Go West's 'We Close Our Eyes.' I own everything he has ever done. We go and see Go West at every opportunity. Peter has made a new solo album, Riding The Blinds, via Pledge Music. This where the audience pay for the album to be made by buying various gifts and experiences. I bought 2 VIP passes to the sound check at a gig on the tour. It was last night and it was one of the most wonderful experiences of our lives. He was just the nicest bloke you could want to meet. We got to spend 90 minutes with him and his band. After the gig he signed a copy of the set-list for us. As we were leaving I was gripped by the urge to tell him what he meant to me. So, I told him about The Famous Five. He nodded when I said that Paul Rodgers was number one but said he was amazed to be linked with Jimmy Dewar. We nattered about those early Robin Trower albums and then we left. This morning he tweeted me, thanking me for my comment, for putting him in a list with four of his heroes, and hashtagged the tweak #humbled. As I said, you couldn't wish to meet a nicer bloke.

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