Atomic Mars

Life on Mars. If it's anything like this, I might think of going!

When boys become men.

 

Take two teenage brothers in nice suits and some hard-earned cash in the bank; and what do they do?

When they told me that they were going to New York, somehow I imagined that they would be going with their father. But no!

They're using their own saved money, they've booked everything themselves, and they're off on their very first real big adventure together. A week in NY, seeing the sights, eating burgers, plus a visit to the Guggenheim. It's all been well planned in advance. 

For one whole post-election week, their studies in Cambridge will be put on hold, and they will immerse themselves in American life. I think they arrive in NY on election day, so it's anyone's guess who will be in The White House during their visit.

Frankly, at their age, I don't think I would have been too comfortable going to NY with a friend (or brother), but I was never the adventurous type. I just hope they stay safe. They're very used to traversing and enjoying London by themselves, so I have confidence in them.

The world seems much smaller to today's youth. Nothing is beyond them. I'm very much looking forward to a few trans-pond WhatsApp calls.

The working man.

I used to be a full time painter, but not these days. I don't even have a studio any more.

The top photo was a Brighton studio shot that my agent took. He wanted a publicity photo showing me hard at work. I hope his other pictures were better than this, and didn't have that flash reflection on them.

This is another picture that he took, when I was showing with a British Gas touring Exhibition. I'm afraid they're both photos of photos.

I had my moments as a painter, but a few unwise personal decisions meant that I was never going to become well known, or sell lots. Maybe my work wasn't good enough anyway.

I have lost my desire to paint these days, although I still enjoy drawing. I can't see myself taking it up again, other than drawing Billy from time to time.

Pondering.

 

Sometimes I sit here, in front of my laptop, trying to think about what, if anything, I will write about. Will it be about something that makes me happy, or will it be about something that drives me bonkers. I'm equally driven to write about both.

As I get ever older, I do tend to think back more to past times, past events, and past delights. The present hasn't offered too many pleasures, in fact in recent times it has done the opposite. My failing mobility, a few unpleasant encounters, and old age (I'm 78), have slightly tarnished an otherwise pleasant life, but I try not to let them dominate.

At the other end of my laptop are people I care and worry about. We recently lost dear Weaver, and the bravery of Yael is often in my thoughts. Blogging is not a young person's activity; I imagine we are young-at-heart, middle-aged, and upwards. Blog writers are more likely to have health problems than ones 'of the heart'.

My favourite subjects of the moment are food (I'm a true foodie at heart), and the vagaries of those who attempt to rule us. I must say that I despair when I see certain people in positions of power who didn't even pass their 11+, let alone their Common Entrance. I enjoy (if that's the right word) writing about both.

Writing is addictive. At 5.30 am each morning (after breakfast) I am perched in front of the keyboard  just waiting to write about something that's been on my mind. I can't see that changing. I'm sure many others do the same.

So, just occasionally nothing specific comes to mind as subject matter, and I sit here twiddling my fingers and thinking that I might as well take Billy for a walk. After that I tend to have a clearer mind, and I feel more like having my say!

Something is bound to cross my mind!

Popaul.

This photo of me, Lady M, and Kimbo, was taken in the French village of Beaumont du Périgord. We had just eaten a hearty meal, and were about to go dancing at the local hop.

The restaurant where we had just eaten was probably one of the world's greatest. It was generally known as 'Chez Popaul', but was officially called the 'Hotel des Voyageurs'.

It was situated about 50 kms away, making a 100 km round journey. We went on several occasions, and it was worth every kilometer. Sadly it closed quite a while back.

It was said that Germans would fly into nearby Bergerac, just to eat there, then fly home again. I can believe that.

The sumptuousness of the food was legendary. Like most French restaurants, the ambiance was basic, but we weren't there for the décor.

We would always start with a Lobster Bisque soup which was out of this world, then a Plateau de Fruits de Mer (similar to above) which was a huge meal in itself, Then either a steak or Confit. A wonderful selection of desserts, and a cheeseboard fit for a king. Such restaurants will never again see the light of day. Some may offer one or two of the courses, but a similar whole menu is a thing of the past.

It wasn't cheap, but it wasn't overly expensive either. Oh how I miss it.

That particular evening, there just happened to be a Fête in the village square, so we had a twirl or two.

RIP Chez Popaul.

 

'Working People'.

 

I didn't vote at the last election, simply because where I vote there was absolutely no point. I'm not a supporter of hard-left politics, but, like many others, I was always willing to give Labour a chance.

But dear Sir Keir 'freebie' Starmer is really starting to get people's backs up. He has now stated that people who own 'Shares, Property, and Savings' are not 'Working People'.

Yes you did read that correctly, and that's exactly what he said.

Of course, his statement has come under instant criticism from all quarters, as so often happens, but this time it's really hit home. What the hell was he thinking? Actually, it sounds as if he wasn't thinking!

How does he think that people (like him) obtain their shares, property, and savings? By sitting around on their backsides? According to official records, even 42 of his own Labour MP's own rental properties. Are they not 'working people'?

No, these people get where they are BY WORKING of course! These are people who probably work a bloody sight harder than most of his beloved civil servants or Union members, They are people who risk their own capital, who work all hours, and who probably employ people. These are the people who should be praised, encouraged, and nurtured; not treated like a cash-cow. In his party manifesto, Starmer promised not to raise taxes for working people, but he seems to have changed his mind. It seems that 'hard working people' are no longer 'working people'. We simply can't trust him.

Next Wednesday (I think), we will see the true extent of Labour's venom against the wealth makers of this country. As far as we can predict, they will make life much more difficult for 'employers'.

What have they got against 'enterprise'!

Growing-up in a foreign country

 

When I first went to live in France in 1973, I had two small children (above). Kimbo must have been about 3, and Tenpin about 1. At that age they didn't really know that they were in a different country.

All they knew was they had a lovely big house to live in, with plenty of old straw-filled barns and land. Along with Hamlet, our dog, they were in paradise.

Lady Magnon had moved around a lot when she was young, from Moscow, to Caracas, to Washington DC, to Porto Rico, etc; but maybe not in that order. She later returned to school in England.

The children soon settled in, and it wasn't long before they started at the nearby Maternelle (Infants school). At first the mini Kimbo spoke in Gibberish, that's how he heard them speaking, so he replied in the same way. However, it wasn't too long before he began to speak fluent French, and soon became confident in being bilingual. My daughter did much the same a couple of years later.

Our local roofer's wife was the school cook, and both children really enjoyed their lunchtime meals. I often asked Kimbo what he'd eaten, and invariable he'd reply "Flat meat". I imagine this was any form of thinly sliced meat. 

They stayed at school in France for several years, before returning to continue in England.

My third child was born in France but never got to immerse himself into the French school system. He speaks various languages, including French, but none was learned in the same way as his siblings.

I think their early upbringing was wonderful, and I wouldn't have changed a thing.