So many memories.....

I grew up in Guildford. We moved out of Twickenham when I was 6 years old and I left home at 22, so all of my early memories are in the comfortable, middle class, Surrey town. The Civic Hall was, by the time I was 14, the Holy Grail. It was where I saw my first live band (Peace, with Paul Rodgers, supporting Mott The Hoople, 1970.) It was where I spent so many happy, sad, fantastic, memorable and funny nights. We went to anything and everything. I saw big acts, bands I'd never heard of, bands I didn't like, bands I have now loved for over 40 years and bands, so many bands, I don't remember. Last weekend, I went to my first gig at the new venue, built on the site of The Civic. It was lovely. Great sound, intimate, much more leg-room, loads of bar staff, friendly, wonderful. I have absolutely no problem with G Live (except the name). But it ain't The Civic. The windows above the entrance, on the right of the picture below were in the upstairs bar. Famously, a couple of us created a diversion one night while a mate was let in through those windows. How he'd climbed up, I have no clue. I can't ask him as he was killed in a mugging in South Africa, a few years ago. He was the bass player in our band in the early 70's and, somehow, I stole his girlfriend. See? It was that kind of world, and The Civic was the centre of it. I threw up in The Civic. I kissed in The Civic. I cried laughing in The Civic and I fell head over heels, arse over tit in love with the best music I've ever heard in The Civic. I will probably never do any of these things in G Live. That's okay. I will probably never be 17 again. So, I raised a glass to The Guildford Civic Hall. I love you, like an old, old friend.

Keep your friends close...*

40 years ago I taught myself to play drums and joined my brother's band. For 4 or 5 years we rehearsed, played some local gigs, changed a few members and had the time of our lives. Over the years we've spread to the 4 corners but have kept in touch, with a couple of reunions for a long, drunken meal and much laughter. My brother is still an incredibly talented guitarist and lives in Perth, Oz. Chris, the second guitarist, lives in California, collects guitars and has sons who are both semi-pro players. His brother, bassist Steve, was killed in a mugging in South Africa and my keyboard-playing other brother, Marty, is a professional composer and songwriter. He has had multiple number one records here and in Europe, as well as a top ten single in the U.S. Last week, Chris got in touch, saying that he and his wife would be in the U.K for a 3 day flying visit and could I organise a beer. So, at almost no notice last night, a hotel in Sussex played host to dinner for 8 of us, including wives. 7 of us had met up over the years but the 8th, the wife of our good friend Mark Bader, a fantastic pro-photographer, was a bit overwhelmed by the speed and volume of the stories and tales from the 70's. My wife marvels at how it appears that conversations from 40 years ago just get picked up where they left off. I have no voice left from laughing. I got to bed around 2 this morning. Phil couldn't make it from Perth and he was gutted that he was missing out. Likewise, guitarist Des was double-booked but was there in spirit. Greetings and goodbyes were bound together by huge hugs and genuine claims of how much we miss each other. The point of the story is that I am as guilty as most of not paying enough attention to good friendships. Hold your friends close to you. You might be surprised at how much they value your friendship. *Bollocks to the second half of the quote. Here is the evidence. It was 1.30am.

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."

Get valid XHTML YouTube embed code for your website

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.

Get your own valid XHTML YouTube embed code

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.

Get your own valid XHTML YouTube embed code