So, I am on my exercise bike this morning and looking out of the window down the garden. The garden is looking the best ever since we bought the house over thirty years ago and that’s without paying any gardeners.. There are my tomato plants on the right. They’ve survived their first couple of nights and have stopped crying for their mother. Cara had her second day back at nursery yesterday and also stopped crying for Rachel. Amazing how kids adapt. She’d got used to being handed from one loving pair of hands to another and then suddenly for three months she sees nobody except her Mummy and Daddy and Sam and Tabitha the Cat. Oh, and us in the bottom corner of an I-phone screen at bath time and her other grand-parents, Anthony and Rhonda at supper-time. So, children and tomato plants just get on with it. Like I need to with this blog.
The patio is looking good as well. Nicely plotted plants. The flower beds actually have flowers in them ( all down to my wife, not me ) , the lawn is a bit brown but gets mowed every week ( by me ) so it isn’t complaining and there, beyond it all, at the end, is the garden shed. It’s relatively new and as our regular builders and decorators pointed out when they looked in the old one, “ We knew it belonged to Mel because there were no tools in it and just a broken garden rake “ Well, there are none of my tools in this one either, largely because I have no tools, but there are loungers and the canvas from my hammock (which we used last weekend even though my wife, who is always responsible for construction had initially forgotten how to put it together. Me, I can look at various bits of an object for hours and still not figure out how to put them together to make the object )
And there I was, cycling away, listening to Chris Evans on Virgin Radio as is my wont… thinking what a brilliant broadcaster he is… ( he corrected somebody for saying they were “sat “ opposite him by pointing out they weren’t “ sat “ anywhere, they were “ sitting “ and in the Times the other day there was an advert that asked if people were “ bored of box sets“ and surely that should have been “ bored with box sets ? ) and then my own brilliant thought came to me. Just how alike Arthur Miller, the playwright and I, really are. I mean, he was Jewish ( I still am, not ready to be used in the garden as de-biogradable matter ( given my wife’s penchant for recycling I am fairly convinced that is how I will end up when the time is right ) He wore glasses as his eyesight was poor. So do and so is mine. He married a Marilyn and so did I (this is getting a bit spooky isn’t it ? ) He wrote “ The Crucible “ and “ All My Sons “ and I wrote “ Gazza, My Life in Pictures “ and “ How to Complain “ and we both have ( or in his case had ) a garden shed.
It seems that rather than write in his ( I can’t get past the detritus to write in mine ) he got up early every morning, chopped wood and laid it lovingly in the shed. So, I am looking on Amazon today ( who phoned me twice this morning to tell me my Amazon Prime was renewing which is good as some of the Premier League matches are being shown live on it and we just started watching the new Reece Witherspoon serial on it last night, which is very good by the way )for a woodchopping axe and maybe a lumber jack’s shirt. I am thinking that if I can round off the Arthur Miller similarities then the quality of writing in this blog may well improve. I did see him once in the theatre. He was watching a performance of one of his own plays. I was with my son, Nicky, and I suggested we go down to get the programme signed ( I don’t understand people who don’t buy a programme when they go the theatre. I always do and then save them. That’s why my lofts at home and in the Cotswolds are rammed full ) Nicky said it would be intrusive and embarrassing so I didn’t. And then he died two weeks later. Carpe diem.
I feel a bit like Jean Van Lendeghem as well, although he’s ten years younger than me (Miller was older by the way, but I think I may nearly have caught him up ) Readers from the early days of this blog may recall I kept getting unwanted food parcels having been classified as “vulnerable “ Eventually, I managed to put a stop to it, but only by intercepting the well-intentioned delivery man and refusing to accept what he had to offer so that he put it back on his van and presumably reported back at base that some miserable bugger had refused to look the gift horse in the mouth. I don’t know if the driver was Greek or not, but that wasn’t the reason I was wary of him ( Beware Greeks bringing gifts if you missed that classical reference )
Jean hasn’t been so lucky. He lives in the Belgian city of Turnhout and for nine years has been “ Turnhing out “ to receive unwanted deliveries of pizzas, kebabs and other food. And not just one pizza at a time either. They comes in armfuls. At first Jean thought it was a mistake, but then the deliveries became more regular ( or irregular as far as delivery times were concerned ) because the kebab delivery boy was knocking on his door at 2.00am. (Even the annoying kebab place at the top of my road is closed by then and who eats a kebab at 2 in the morning? Or at all? ) Mind you I do recall a photo in the paper in the 90’s of Danny Baker, Gazza and Chris Evans all eating kebabs in the wee small hours of the morning in the shadow of Eros at Piccadilly Circus. How their paths have taken different directions since !
Poor Mr Van Landehem had the worst day of his life last year when ten different delivery men arrived at his door, one of them carrying 14 pizzas. He says it’s not only difficult for him, but also for the suppliers who have to throw them away when they are returned. It’s not clear why the deliveries are made presumably without payment unless the prankster is using a stolen credit card. I also can’t tell you whether or not Jean ever gives the delivery boys tips. We, for our part, have run out of small change for our Sainsbury’s delivery man and have to mumble an apology and something in the order of “ we’ll look after you next time .” Think he may have heard that one before.
I loved the story today from Joburg in South Africa where, reminiscent of The Italian Job, a bunch of thieves blew up a security van. They obviously hadn’t made a trial run because they used just a little too much explosive and it blew off the roof and all four sides. Banknotes cascaded down like confetti, a crowd gathered to collect the money and then immediately vanished with their pockets full of notes. Seems that three cars where used in the raid and the incompetent villains also managed to set one of their own vehicles on fire. Police are warning that those who took the money will be charged with aiding and abetting and …. breaching the social distancing regulations. Nobody knows whether or not the gang leader did an imitation of Michael Caine and said, “ You were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off “
You were all expecting me to write 1000 words or so about the Saga saga, weren’t you? But, my wife told me I was getting boring and self-indulgent so although I did post a spoiler on Face-Book ( but only in response to all the messages I got about the bad experiences of others in respect of car insurance renewals )let me tell you that I think I got a result. Or at least Anthony, Rachel’s dad got a response for me. You remember from the song that all the nice girls love a sailor. Well, I love one too. He’s an Admiral and I have joined his fleet. I accepted their quote which was precisely … wait for it… £6000 ( not a typo ) less than that which came from Saga. The Saga Manager did call me by the way. Hot on the heels of his call came an email with a quote reducing their figure by £1000. I am looking forward to my call to them today telling them that although I am grateful for their generous concession I won’t be joining up with them on this occasion. Or ever, for that matter. So, you will be relieved to know that is my last word on the subject. Just like “ Game of Thrones “ or “ Lord of the Rings “ that saga is at an end.
A smile for the weekend from Sonny aged 7 on Chris Evans. This is the joke he posted today. “ What does a policeman say if he runs into a three-headed monster? “ I think you may well know what is coming. It’s “ “ Hello, hello, hello “
So, have a good weekend a peaceful Sabbath and if we are spared I will see you all again on Sunday morning.