Bored with my regular characters? Ok , let’s get some new players and I am thinking serious ones. Like Mussolini. Now what on earth has good old Benny got to do with the Big V, I hear you ask. To be honest, what has most of what I write got to do with the Big V? Personally, I think pretty much everything because if it wasn’t for the V ( big or otherwise ) I would never have started blogging in the first place and indeed, today would have been enjoying the first day of my holiday at the Marriott in Estepona, having my breakfast on my balcony, looking at the sea and wondering if I could gather up enough energy to drive into Puerto Banus, have a walk and look at the big boats, then sit down at one of the outrageously expensive restaurants and have a coffee.
But, I’m not, am looking out of my window at Mr Shah’s house, so just have to get on with the hand that fate dealt me, get this blog done before my zoom calls at 10.30 am, 11.30 am, 3.00pm and 5.00pm.. Would I have had to make similar calls had I been away. Nah! Three of them are Big V crisis driven for football and the other is a group social call that under normal circumstances I would never have embarked upon. Not, that I mind as the guys I talk to every week from my old school are really nice and without the current situation I might well have gone to my grave without ever talking to them again. So, there are upsides. And there is Mussolini . And he is probably most famous for swinging from ( rather than leaning on ) a lamp-post and making the trains run on time.
There’s my point. The trains in England are not only running on time ( albeit 95% empty on the longer hauls ) but in some cases are departing early, which is a bit of a problem if you’ve arrived early, decided to get a coffee from Costa or the like and then ambled down to your platform to see your train tooting its way off into the distance. The only consolation you have is that the probability is that the next one ( in about three hours time given the reduced service ) will be even emptier.
It appears that we are now running the most efficient and punctual ( if you include trains leaving before their departure time ) train service in Europe. We are actually more efficient than the Germans who must be bitterly disappointed at the moment that they can’t be bagging loungers with their towels on the beach at Estepona. Some things you don’t miss. Some of them must be equally disappointed that Hitler’s birthplace ( which I assume was actually in Austria rather than Germany before the Anschluss ) has been turned into a police station rather than a museum. Not clear if all the cops stationed there have to grow a toothbrush moustache. When I visited Bariloch in Argentina to which the urban myth had both Hitler and Mengele feeling and there did seem to be an awful lot of Aryan look alikes there with the very same toothbrush moustaches and involuntary arm movements.
So that’s us in front on something that we want to be in front for, unlike the Big V League table where we still sit an uncomfortable second behind Trump’s America with Brazil catching up fast on the rails, in what we can only hope is a driving run to the finishing line on July 31st.
Let’s also do a bit of flag waving for the nonagenarians. Do you call a ninety year old German a nonagenaryan by the way? You all know Isabella, but let me introduce you to Morry. I’ve known him forever. He used to sit next to me in my old synagogue and in his box, instead of prayer books and a prayer shawl he had an excellent selection of alcohol. He’s now one of the service organisers in my current synagogue, despite his age. I called him last week to see how he was and he is unbelievably fine. Seems on VE Day he was a young Leading Seaman on a British gun boat moored in Simonstown in South Africa. When the rest of the crew went off to celebrate on shore he stayed aboard and together with a signaler they sent messages that were seen twenty-three miles away in Cape Town.
The ship then sailed with Morry aboard towards Hiroshima so you could say he had an interesting war. He then spent the next fifty years driving a black cab in London. Perhaps more challenging than Hiroshima. He still enjoys a drink every day ( as does Isabella ) so you know what? I am having what they are having.
I really feel that there are times when this blog is ahead of the curve. There have been times in my life when I’ve been so far ahead that I’ve followed the curve around and ended up behind myself. Sunday trading for example. Bojo, the Caretaker and their merry crew are thinking of relaxing the Sunday trading laws by allowing shops to stay open all day. Gives more opportunity to buy stuff and more opportunity to get the Big V whilst shopping. Great idea along with all the others.
It’s coincidental that there was an obituary in the Times last week for a lawyer called Michael Goldmeier. I never met him, but having read his life story I would have liked to have done so. Seems he was the lawyer for Tesco and paved the way for the Sunday Trading Act which came into force in 1994 allowing thousands of shops to open in England and Wales on what had traditionally been a day of rest.
The prevailing law had been passed in 1950 allowing four hours of opening. I was acting for a family who ran Sunday Markets and we found a few loop-holes ourselves. You could have a market stall on a Sunday morning if you were an Orthodox Jew or a Seventh Day Adventist. No shortage of the former but we sure as hell converted a fair number of stall holders to the latter belief. We had a constant war with local authorities, particularly Waltham Forest and Hillingdon. Lea Valley Market was the jewel in the crown of my client’s activities and they made life as difficult for us as possible. I remember when the weather was bad they accused our stallholders of bringing mud from the site on to the main roads and I found myself ( a qualified solicitor ) rolling out on a Sunday morning to develop a water trough through which we got our traders to drive their vehicles whilst being cleaned by a stiff broom! Far beyond the call of duty. A far cry from the court applications that Michael brought in the face of fierce opposition from unions, churches and charities but we sort of got the same result in the end. I suppose it was a bit like me likening myself to Arthur Miller as a writer to me comparing myself to Michael Goldmeier as lawyer, but I bet he never got himself made a Professor of Sports Law at Coventry University or wrote “ Gazza, My Life In Pictures” . Must make sure that I get that into my obituary. Again just looking out my window and seeing the growing queue forming to write that piece of literature headed by my good pal Mr Trump.
There’s the programme on this coming Sunday about the Salisbury poisoners so if anything untoward does happen to me please ask the police to trawl through all my blogs for suspects.
Anyway, we did get to see Paul and Rachel and Sam and Cara yesterday and that was lovely as we hadn’t really seen them in the flesh for other than a few snatched moments since March 14th. Hopefully, won’t have to wait so long for the next visit.
Off to my zoom meetings now and if anybody on them has read this look carefully at my texting finger and if your phone doesn’t ping try to work out who else on the call I am messaging.
Stay safe and if we are spared I will see you all tomorrow morning.