Ah, the love of poverty!

I've no idea when or where this photograph was taken, but it just proves that my parents were FRIGHTFULLY POOR, and couldn't afford to buy me a swimming costume! Nor did we have a Rolls Royce, a tennis court, or an indoor pool. Life was tough back in those days!

It's also good to see that my ample paunch is a congenital condition. Another sign of dreadful poverty.

Yesterday I heard some radio presenter ranting-on about how proud he was of his poor, working-class, and uneducated background. Poverty is highly revered in certain parts of Britain (mostly the north), as personified by this classic comedy sketch

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-eDaSvRO9xA

If the link above doesn't work (which is quite likely), go to 'youtube' and search for 'Original 4 Yorkshiremen sketch'.

Fyfe Robertson.

Fyfe Robertson was always one of my favourite TV personalities of the 1960's.

His relaxed but heavy Glaswegian accent, and the sporting of his trademark-tweed-trilby, made him instantly recognisable.

I remember one interview he did with an Irish Gypsy man at the Appleby Fair (a big annual Gypsy gathering).

Fyfe asked him "Is it true that you always leave a terrible mess behind you?". "Yes sir, it is", replied the man.

"Is it also true that you steal chickens and vegetables?" asked Fyfe. "Yes sir, we do that", replied the man again.

"And I've also heard that you break down fences to gain illegal access to fields", said Fyfe. "Yes sir, I have to admit that we do", said the Gypsy.

End of interview. His honesty was admirable.

Don't you just wish that Gordon Brown had said "Yes, she was a right bloody bigot!" and been done with it!

(Non-Brits may not know that wee Gawdy McBrown was recently overheard calling some old bigot, a bigot. Instead of being true to his opinion, he spent an hour apologising to the woman, and got slaughtered by the press as a result. Will we EVER get truth and honesty in politics? Thank goodness he's gone)

Handsome?

Amy Saia (http://thatamysaia.blogspot.com/) recently posted this picture of Alain Delon, and the whole question of attractiveness surfaced. I hope she won't mind my using it again!

Women often talk of each other as being 'pretty', 'beautiful', or even 'gorgeous'; men never do that. I have never heard a man refer to another man as being 'handsome', or 'good looking'. We just don't go down that road.

Many years back I had some dinner guests (women) who broached the subject of handsome men. When asked for my suggestion, I just couldn't think of anyone. I simply didn't know, or understand, the criteria. About two days later I suggested to Lady Magnon that maybe Imran Khan (the cricketer) could fit the bill; she agreed.

Alain Delon (above, in his younger days) was unquestionably 'handsome'. Strangely though, I don't remember his name being bandied about at my dinner party. Actually, I can't remember anyone who was named.

So, here you are girls. One of the world's (I'm told) most handsome men. No swooning!

Interior. That other wall.

My late father-in-law worked abroad all his life. When he retired, he never really settled. The world is filled with such people.

He never re-acclimatised to the English winters and would up-sticks pre-Christmas; only returning to Blighty in late spring.

He over-wintered in Spain (he spoke Spanish), in Morocco (he spoke French), and in Turkey (he spoke Turkish). He also spent time in Syria, and in Lebanon.

On one such winter trek (possibly around 1978), he was crossing some desolate mountain range between Syria and Lebanon when, miles from anywhere, he came across a tiny shepherd's cottage set back from the track. Outside the cottage was hanging what you see above. A hand spun, hand dyed, and hand woven, rug. It measures 1 metre wide, by 1 metre 30 long (without the tassles). On the question of knots per square 'whatever', it is pretty tightly woven.

My father-in-law asked the lady of the house if it was for sale, and predictably the answer was yes. She explained that she made two such rugs each year, and the money she earned was for HER use only. The asking price for her 6 months work was £5. This poor woman (presumably having sold both rugs) had just £10 to spend on herself each year.

Sugar and spice, and all things nice...

This rather battered photograph hangs on our wall at the cottage. It was taken in June 1954 at the embassy in Washington.

Churchill was making some very important speech, and was accompanied by Sir Anthony Eden (who I think was Foreign Secretary).

Unfortunately most of the media attention was focused on the small girl sitting against the pillar. No doubt she was extremely bored, and was getting up to all sorts of mischief.

So dear friends, who was that naughty little girl?

Well, you knew all the time, didn't you! It was indeed our own dear Lady Magnon. Winston was not amused!

Interior

This is our sitting room (or part of it). I've previously posted a picture of the fireplace, three posts ago, and people have asked to see more. It's nothing special.

Homeowners (ex-pats) in this part of the world often ask you on a first visit, if you would like to look around their home. I always reply 'no thank you'.

Anyway, this is 'chez nous'. The small niche was my doing. Previously there had been a large cupboard that filled half the wall, so I cut some stones with chamfered edges, and reduced the size to what you see now. The painting 'Odette' is from 1997. Odette was a Parisian lesbian zen-buddhist; she was also my lovely next door neighbour. She used to admonish me for wasting time mushroom hunting, when I should have been painting. The painting was my reply. (Sorry, you can only see part of it. On second thoughts, it's probably a good thing).

The dresser is made of very solid beech. I bought it at an auction sale in Shropshire about 40 years ago; it cost a staggering £5. The lamp base started life as the cap of a banister newel post, and cost nothing. The green chair was about to be burnt and I saved it; maybe I shouldn't have.

Post Scriptum: On the other side of the room is something much more interesting. I shall post that in a couple of days.

The Sunday Story: Illegal immigrants.

A few years ago I'd driven non-stop up through France and was feeling pretty tired; it'd been a long day. I was waiting for the ferry, in a shortish queue, at the port of Dieppe (Northern France). It was late at night but the whole port was well lit. In front of me was a huge UK registered lorry, like me, on its way back to England.

The port was reasonably quiet; there's always a stark eeriness about these places at night. Suddenly some 'officials' began to poke long metal rods into the back of the lorry in front; then having registered some anomoly, opened the back to reveal about a dozen young men who jumped out and ran off. One jumped from a great height, fell awkwardly, broke his leg, and had to be carried off.

The whole scenario seemed unreal, but for the French officials, and the English driver, this was just another everyday occurance. For me, it had been quite a dramatic experience; for them it was just normality. The driver even said to me "They'll be back, it happens every night".

Stories about illegal immigrants, and their bizarre antics, abound. But to witness it quite so closely was something of a shock; at first I didn't even realise what was happening. These young men (they're always young men) have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. They are prepared to do the unimaginable to get access to the UK.

I don't see any easy answer to this problem. Every bar-room politician has his own solution, but I've not yet heard of one that is fool-proof. It's a very sad situation.