Glastonbury or Bust

AlexandraLeave a comment

This trip was memorable for so many of the wrong reasons. But let’s start at the beginning shall we. Chris, a friend of mine, was keen to go to the Glastonbury festival. Chris being Chris though talked another friend, Martin, a musician, to come along with us, as the <i>man</i> component because, you know, two women travelling alone. All of us being short of money and with no advance tickets, decided to drive down from up north in Chris’s bright purple mini van.

We loaded up the van with our limited gear, as none of us had a tent. Talk about utterly unprepared. But all that didn’t really matter. Because, as luck would have it. About 20 miles from the venue the damn van broke down. Which obviously left us in a dilemma. Chris was adamant she was not leaving the van and called up her ex, who was a mechanic, to see if he could come down and pick us up.

At some point while we were hanging around arguing what to do, Martin decided he was going to be a hero and told us to go on to Glastonbury and that he’d wait for Dave and then, head home with him, or drive the van. I don’t know how he did it but Chris agreed. Me? I was along for the ride. So we packed what we could carry between us and decided to hitch.

The first person to stop said he was heading to the festival and could take us, so we hopped in. But, several miles in, with Chris sitting up at the front, we stopped at a traffic light next to a gas station. Suddenly, she got out. The guy started shouting. Me? I bailed as quickly as I could and confused stood on the roadside with Chris yelling at the guy. He then sped off as the lights changed.

Turns out he thought his payment for the lift was to grope Chris. At this point you would think we’d turn around and head back to Martin, but no, Chris was in no mood and checking with people at the gas station learned we could walk the rest of the way. Yeah, sure we could.

We never made it. 

Somewhere on this simple route we took a wrong turn and found ourselves lost as evening fell. It was at this point we either walk further, in the dark, or find somewhere to stay. Neither option sounded good. I made the suggestion we cut our losses. We had passed a train station so suggested we head back to it and try catch a train north, and home.

After another walk, and dog tired, we found the station and booked a through ticket from where we were to Crewe Station, were we could catch a connection to either Wigan or Manchester. We opted for Wigan.

Well, we never made it to Wigan. Not straight away. We were awake enough when the train pulled in at Crewe and changing trains and platforms, climbed aboard the Glasgow train stopping at Wigan along the way.

Guess who fell asleep and ended up in Carlisle? Yeah, we did. Getting off at Carlisle, and talking to the station master explaining what had happened, Chris convinced the guy to let us get on the next train heading south, back toward Wigan.

Yes, we made it finally to Wigan where I called up a friend who gallantly came and rescued us. 

It was some road trip, just not the one we had planned or wanted. As for Martin? Dave found him, fixed the van, and they both drove back up north without incident. We never did another road trip together, anywhere, after that. I wonder why?

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

Rocking the 60s

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Way back when, and I’m talking the mid-60s in Singapore, when my sister, who was ten years older than me, worked part time for an Army liaison officer. She was part of a team who organised rock bands tours, and, as a result, I got to meet with some of the biggest bands of the era. 

This included, at the time, over a 3 year period I remember, bands such as The Rolling Stones, The Yardbirds (inc. Jimmy Page), the Walker Brothers, and later, Jimmy Page’s brand new band, Led Zeppelin. Then there was the Kinks, along with Manfred Mann and later, Herman’s Hermits, with Peter Noone. 

I can remember being in and around all these young up and coming rock stars of the day, dressed in my Sunday best, following my sister around as, star struck, she got autographs and propositioned to come on tour with them. I remember shaking hands and, at the very grown up age of 8, talking to various members of these bands like they were my older brother, asking about their mothers and family like we were all visiting together. 

I often wonder what, if any, impression I left on any of them after our brief and sometimes, lengthy encounters. Especially as I had my photograph taken with any number of them. It would be fun to think that somewhere down the line, in a book, or museum, or on someone’s mantle piece, there’s me lurking in the background of a photo of a famous mega rock band who  even now, are still rocking the world.

I also wonder if my sister still has her collection of photos and autographs, along with her memories? Probably or, maybe not. Who knows.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

What’s the oldest thing you own?

AlexandraLeave a comment

Following in Thomas Rigby’s footsteps, I thought about some of the stuff I own, and just how old some of it is. There’s a lot, especially my cameras which are about 28 years old. But really old? Hmm…

Let’s see:

  1. A polar bear pendant carved from a piece of wooly mammoth tusk.

  2. A 1956 Steiff bear is probably the oldest thing I own. 

  3. My mother’s wedding ring.

  4. A hat band presented to from the Rear Admiral of HMS Plymouth.

  5. My first ever concert ticket, from the early 70s.

I’m sure I have a lot more than this but I’ll just stick to these top five for now. And you, what’s the oldest thing you own?

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

Mortality

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It’s not that I’ve been thinking about death, even though, last year, I had another brush with death &mdash; waving at Him on the sidelines of my own personal battlefield. But Death has a way of following us around once we reach (a) a certain age or (b) have that close encounter with Him. He’s just there over our left shoulder, lurking. 

For now, He’s mildly passive but, we all know, who know, that this state of being can change, and change in a fraction of a second. A mere heartbeat, and it can all be over. Death being there to catch us as the light winks out.

What started me thinking about Him, again, is talk of wills and notaries and the Other Half having had a fright of their own: the possible loss of me. And here we are, talking about what we want to happen to what’s left of us when we pass to that other realm, that supposed realm of Darkness. Though I prefer to think of it as the realm of light. But of course, we’ll never know till we arrive which state it will be and then, given no one on the other side has ever let us know, we are, as they say, in the dark till that final moment of seeing the light. 

But all jesting aside, the OH has been talking almost nonstop about us getting our affairs organised. Not that I own anything of great value. But needs must, as they say. And so, the OH has set up an appointment with a Notary to start the process which, I understand, will take a couple of visits at least, to get said affairs in order.

The thing is, all this talk of wills has me looking over my shoulder to check out if Death is still hanging around (of course He is) but you know what I mean.

It’s not like any of us get out of this alive to live another day. Death and taxes. Isn’t that the axiom? 

Am I rambling? Probably. To be honest, all this talk of notaries and wills has me twitchy. I told myself after surgery to live in the moment, the here and now, and not think or worry about the future and things beyond my limited control. But here we are. Sometimes we have to plan for a future we don’t particularly want to think about, our own demise. 

All joking aside, we have no choice but to step outside of the here and now, and make decisions for our future. So if ever there were a moment of Memento Mori, it’s in the writing of a will. That time to have that last say in the land of the living of what happens to us when Death finally does come.

I would like my last will and testament will simply read: Bury me under an oak sapling.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

A Drop of Corruption by Robert Jackson Bennett

AlexandraLeave a comment

As with book one in this series from Robert Jackson Bennett, A Drop Of Corruption is an action-packed adventure come murder mystery, and fantastical exploration of a magical world that sees our erstwhile heroes, Dinios Kol and brilliantly eccentric Ana Dolabra, doing what they do best. Sifting through the clues however confounding and tedious a job, to catch a brilliantly clever killer.

This time around, Din and Ana are far away from all they know in Yarrowdale, a territory outside of the Empire. But one on the cusp of joining the Empire. That is, till a high ranking officer of the Treasury delegation leading the negotiations with the King is murdered. A murder that necessitates Ana’s sharp mind and Din’s formidable skill, as an engraver, at committing every last detail to memory.

Untangling a plot that has lies and corruption at every twisted turn, Ana and Din are in a race to find a killer and get to the heart of a mystery with so many layers and misdirects, you may be forgiven for feeling bewildered. But thankfully we have Din and Ana, the Empire, and all the checks and balances we wish existed in our own world.

“This work can never satisfy, Din, for it can never finish. The dead cannot be restored. Vice and bribery will never be totally banished from the cantons. And the drop of corruption that lies within every society shall always persist. The duty of the Iudex is not to boldly vanquish it but to manage it. We keep the stain from spreading, yes, but it is never gone. Yet this job is perhaps the most important in all the Iyalets, for without it, well … The Empire would come to look much like Yarrow, where the powerful and the cruel prevail without check. And tell me—does that realm look capable of fighting off a leviathan?”

A wonderfully complex murder and political mystery that flies along through a few hundred pages without ever missing a beat, without ever dragging or rushing, paced perfectly and with constant tension and high stakes and the satisfying feeling you get when you read a story that’s plotted and executed with confident mastery.

Bravo Mister Bennett, I cannot wait for book three, A Trade of Blood, coming out in June, to see where you take us next.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧