So sad.

This is a picture of our two dogs, Gypsy, the collie/German shepherd cross, and Ozzy, the Jack Russell. Paul and I love them dearly. However, for the last 2 or so years I have been having health problems that have been getting slowly worse. It turns out that part of the problem is an allergy to the hair/dust of the dog’s coats. We sent them to a kennels for a short while to check, and I did start to feel better. In the end there was only one decision we could make, the dogs have been re-homed. I know they will be well looked after, and, being friendly dogs, will soon settle in. But I still feel guilty. Logically I know it is not my fault, any more than it is theirs for having caused the problem in the first place. Paul is going to miss his daily walks, but I tell him he doesn’t need a dog to go for a walk! The plus side is that he doesn’t actually need to if the weather is dire! Ozzy won’t walk if its so much as spotting with rain, but Gypsy demands at least an hour in the worst of the weather (except thunder and lightning, which she loathes!) I keep reminding myself of the ‘ups’. They aren’t cheap to keep, we can go out, stay away etc without having to worry about them, and I am feeling so much better. But we do miss them.

Today is the 1st November, and I am sitting here looking out at a bright sunny day. What is going on? It’s supposed to be grey and cold. I’ve just seen a pair of paper delivery girls in summer vests! And the year must be getting on. We have booked our Christmas lunch at a local hostelry, and the Christmas cards arrived this morning. And I keep getting programmes for theatre/cinema which stretch into 2015. Time does march on. In fact I have just remembered that my wedding day, which seems like only yesterday, was actually 30 years ago on December 22nd. That’s a pearl anniversary. Should I point this out to Paul?

Magnificent!

I know this is a bit late, but last weekend was a magnificent time for European golf. ‘Our boys’ pulled together and scored a wonderful victory over the US team. And there is the difference in just a few words. ‘Pulled together’ and ‘team’. The European team were made up of members from all over Europe, and the Americans were, supposedly, just one country. So what went wrong for them, and so right for us? The idea that putting the team before the individual, and the right sort of leader. Individuals matter, but the team comes first. And not just in golf.

My last blog was about armchair politicians. In a way this is about the same thing, and I am the one in the armchair! The European Ryder Cup anthem was the one for the European Union, Ode to Joy. I seem to remember a long time ago they played the national anthems of each country who was represented. It took forever! An umbrella anthem is so much less tedious! But this set me thinking. My views on the merits and demerits of the EU have tended to be a bit wavering. Some things are good, some not so. I worry about the UK not having control of its borders. I worry about the Human Rights Act. (How can you have a Human Rights Bill without a corresponding Human Responsibilities Bill?) I worry about some of the supposedly daft legislation coming out of Strasbourg. I am so glad we resisted entry into the Euro zone. But, but…? There has to be safety in numbers. The last two major wars we fought were against a fellow member of the EU, surely that must be progress. Economically the EU is a huge market. If we opted out would we be able to easily replace it? I know the Commonwealth has been mooted as such, but that seems to be breaking down at the moment. How long would that last? What I find so difficult is deciding where the compromises (and whatever happens there will have to be compromises) will have to come. And nobody seems able to tell me convincingly. UKIP for example concentrate on the scaremongering, headed by the tediously jolly Mr Farrage. The Lib Dems, so blindingly devoted to the idea, if not the reality of the EU, fantasise. Ed Miliband is just a joke. And our Prime Minister stumbles along promising ‘change’ without any concrete details. What I am looking for is a leader in the mould of Paul McGinley, clear goals, brilliant man management, and more than a smidgen of common sense. Is that too much to ask for?

Armchair politicians

Recently the whole of the news has been swamped with the Scottish referendum, which has brought out a whole new breed of armchair politicians. I have tried desperately to avoid the whole kit and caboodle. I don’t have a vote, so my opinion is not really necessary. The fact I think the ‘Yes’ camp are acting like lemmings is irrelevant. But  what really annoys is the ranting of the armchair politicians, which I have been unable to totally avoid. They sit on their sofas and pontificate about things they have no practical idea about, and no concept of the price of failure.

But these are not a new phenomena. Every election, and most of the time in between, we are treated to their whinging about the shortcomings of our political elite. Emphasis is placed on the relatively small percentage of our MP’s who are truly dreadful. The ones who use their position to milk the taxpayer for all they are worth. But out of a total of over 600 MP’s the one’s who hit the headlines are relatively small. About the same percentage as the ‘bad apples’ in most other walks of life. Good constituency MP’s are not good media copy, so they pass unnoticed.

What really irritates me about these people though is the fact they sit there and shout the odds – but actually do nothing. If they really feel so strongly why don’t they try it. At an election, if there is no candidate you feel you can support, don’t just not vote. It is a civic duty to register an opinion, otherwise how can the powers that be know what it is. Go along to the polling station, get a voting slip, and write all over it NONE OF THE ABOVE! Spoilt papers have to be counted. Enough spoilt ballots send a message. However, a much better option is to try it yourself. Standing for parliament is everyone’s right. Pay a deposit and get some signatures on the form, and then go out and persuade others to agree with you. I know the arguments – the political parties have deep pockets. But it has been done. A few years ago there was a major problem with the NHS in the constituency of Wyre Forest. A local GP, Dr Richard Taylor, decided to put  his money where his mouth was, and won! He was such a good constituency MP he defended his seat, as an Independent, at the next election. He has since stood down, but the principal stands.

The problem I see with our political system, apart from the party system which skews everything, and means MP’s are more dependent on and loyal to party than constituency in many cases (though happily not all), is the short-term-ism inherent in our ‘democracy’. Every MP is at the mercy of the people who vote for him. Many of there are either the ‘armchair politicians’, or those who just ‘can’t be bothered’. They are forever looking over their shoulders at the next election, and the necessity of ‘placating the masses.’ Promises are made which are either kept even to the detriment of the country, or not kept, to the inevitable cries of ‘liars’. Another problem is the turnout at elections, which is nothing short of disgraceful. Too many people shout about the shortcomings of our politicians, but, on being questioned, admit they hadn’t bothered to vote. In my view, if you don’t vote you have absolutely no right to complain about what you get.

I must make it quite clear I am not defending the bad apples in the political community. They deserve all they get, and that includes a jail term if they break the law. But we should not forget those many hard working, honest, and loyal constituency MP’s who put their constituents first, and try and do their best for the country. If the armchair politicians think they can do any better, let them try it.

As for the Scottish referendum, I hope that the voters listen to their head’s, not the ranting of those who just shout louder than everyone else. If the Yes camp wins, please can they realise than Independence means just that. Not battening on a neighbour and expecting the rest of the UK to pick up the pieces and underwrite their economy.

Sporting June

I feel really sorry for my husband during June. Unlike many households it is me, not Paul, who is the sporting fanatic. And I have control of the remote control! The one thing we have in common is a dislike of all things football, so our house is a World Cup free zone. However, when it comes to my two favourite sports, tennis and golf, this time of year is nirvana! First there is the French Open, won by the stupendous Rafa Nadal for the ninth time, followed by the grass court season, starting at Queen’s. This time it was the turn of the very talented Grigor Dimitrov. Not only is he a top level tennis player in his own right, his girlfriend is Maria Sharapova, arguably the best female tennis player in the world. What a pairing that is! By the end of the month, and still continuing (sorry Paul!) Wimbledon had started. At least another week of splendid tennis.

The golfing world last month saw the US Open golf tournament. Justin Rose was defending, but he was not proof against the genius of Germany’s Martin Kaymer! With tennis during the day and golf at night Paul got very little of a look in. This month is going to be little better. First there is the Scottish Open in Aberdeen, followed by The Open a week later.

But it hasn’t all been sport this month. Our Latin classes finally came to an end. Very sad, though the last lesson, finishing early for a trip to The Dirty Duck, was good. Sitting in the garden on a lovely evening was a splendid way to finish. We wish Neil good luck with  his new job (through gritted teeth!) But most, if not all, of the class are signing up for the replacement beginners Greek! That should be fun. Not just a new language, but a new alphabet as well! And arrangements have been on-going for the 10th birthday celebrations of the Roman Museum in Alcester. Starting on Thursday with a talk by an RSC head of wigs a makeup on the blood and gore used for the bloodier Shakespeare plays, there is a very full programme of events over four days. The  highlight for me will be a talk by Lindsey Davis about her Falco books.  I have heard her speak before, and she is splendid. Here’s hoping the weather holds as there is a parade in Alcester on Saturday.

Later this month we are going to the Herbert Art Gallery in Coventry. There is a Roman exhibition on at the moment, but we are booked in for two lectures, one by Dr Claire Rowan of Warwick Uni on coinage, and another by an ex-tutor of mine, Dr Mary Harlow, on Roman dress. Fingers crossed they will live up to their billing!

Six Degrees of Separation

This is Admiral of the Fleet Sir Edward Hobart Seymour GCB, OM, GCVO. 1840 – 1929. There appears to be only four degrees of separation between this august gentleman and myself. In order to explain this I need to go back a couple of weeks.

Every couple of years The St Hilda’s School Fellowship holds a reunion in Somerset. The latest was two weeks ago, and a cracking good time was had by all. During the AGM it was mentioned that the hon sec needed material for the newsletter. What also came up in conversation was that some of the ‘younger’ (and I use the word advisedly!) old girls did not remember the Bursar (and brother to the two Miss Burridge’s who ran the school) Captain Robert Burridge RN. Having given it a little (though not much) thought I offered to do a bit of research and write an article about him. What a can of worms! There is just so much information out there in the ether if you start to look for it. There are many, many Navy Lists charting his promotions and his various ships, apart from the obvious census lists showing his family connections. All this now needs to be collated and put into some sort of order. But one thing has emerged. During the late 1890’s, at the time of the Boxer Rebellion in China, he was in China, on board, amongst others, HMS Phoenix. The Commander – in – Chief of the China Station was one Admiral Sir Edward Hobart Seymour. Why does this have any connection with me? He was born in the village of Kinwarton, Warwickshire where I live, his father Rev. Richard Seymour was vicar of the parish, and the road I  live in is Seymour Road, named, not after the Seymour family at Ragley Hall (though they are a branch of the family) but after the local vicar. Me, Captain Burridge, Admiral Sir Edward Seymour, Me! I am sorry I have been unable, at present, to find a usable picture of Captain Burridge. Perhaps by next month..?

I seem to have spent most of the last week sitting at my computer. Partly because the weather has been so horrible, partly searching the Navy Lists etc, and partly doing a MOOC on the archaeology of Portus, the port of Ancient Rome. This has been a fascinating exercise. I call myself an ancient historian, and certainly not an archaeologist, but the course has been a bit of an eye-opener. This is a model of the port, showing the Trajanic Basin built, surprisingly enough, by Trajan. The site itself is huge, and in the first couple of weeks we have been getting an overview, and learning about the various archaeological disciplines involved. One thing that struck me was the need for the Director of the project to have the patience of Job, and the diplomatic skills of Kofi Annan! So many specialists, all believing their particular area to be the most vital. And limited funds! I don’t envy him.

The other thing I have been doing is watching the French Open Tennis from Paris. It has been an interesting year, especially in the women’s section of the competition. But I have the niggling feeling that ‘my man’ is not going to win this year. I will just sign off wishing Rafa all the best, and here’s hoping I am wrong!

 

Three score years and ten.

 

Well, I’ve made it. I have officially reached my ‘allotted span’! The trouble is I just don’t believe it. But to prove it I have a small collection of birthday cards with the words Happy 70th Birthday on them so it must be true!  The question is, how do I react? Do I ‘slow down’, ‘act my age’ or what? How do you act 70? I’ve really no idea. My mother’s generation had a much more precise idea of the ageing process. By the time you reach 70 you were officially ‘old’.  But I don’t feel old. I don’t feel all that different from my 60th birthday, or, come to that, my 50th. I remember my 50th as if it was yesterday. Paul and I spent the night with a couple of friends at The Belfry near Sutton Coldfield and had a round of golf on the championship golf course there. My eldest son, who was working in Birmingham at the time, sneaked into my bedroom while we were at breakfast to deposit two very large boxes on my bed. When opened they revealed some extremely large helium balloons bearing the legend ‘My Mum is 50 today!’ My beloved husband and both my friends refused to acknowledge me as I walked through Reception with them floating over my head! That’s friendship for you.

This year Paul and I had dinner at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre prior to seeing a production of The Roaring Girl in the Swan. The write-ups were not brilliant, but the production exactly fitted my mood! Rumbustious just about fits the bill. Still not sure of the exact story – but who cares! We have tickets for several further productions, and for some films at a local cinema. Nothing is to be gained from sitting at home and stagnating.

I am still playing golf, especially now my 3 monthly injections of vitamin D are kicking in. I seem to be winning the battle there. My medical problems are NOT related to the fact that I am now 70! But I do still need to remember that exercise, in the fresh air, is important. A trip up to Oversley Woods with the dogs to see the bluebells at their peak is very much on the cards next week, when the sun is sure to shine! I just love that particular shade of bluebell blue. So very English somehow, even if they turn out to be Spanish bluebells. To be honest I am not sure how to tell the difference, although I am sure I have been told several times! In one ear out of the other.

That brings me nicely to my next subject. Not just keeping the body active, but the brain as well. The Latin class resumes tonight after the Easter break (wine and chocolates for all to celebrate my recent Big Day!), and I have also been taking some free on-line courses. The one just finishing is Shakespeare and His World, a fascinating insight into several plays, and the world around him led by the brilliant Professor Jonathan Bate. And I am just starting another called Start Writing Fiction. Not sure about this one. It seems to consist mainly of postings by other students who seem to be very ‘up themselves’! (One section had over 3500 posts! I read very few) However, it is only Week 1 so I expect it will settle down over time. But I am looking forward to one starting soon on the recent archaeology of the Roman harbour of Portus.

For once I am ahead of myself. This is because I have a very sad appointment tomorrow. While I was studying at the Open University I took a course called 5th Century Athens which kick started my love of the classical world. My tutor was a lovely, if slightly eccentric, lady called Eileen Powell. She died on Christmas Day last year, and there is a memorial service for her tomorrow. I have so much to thank her for. RIP Eileen.

 

1944

Was a very good year! It was the year many of the members of the Ladies Section at Stratford Oaks Golf Club (including yours truly!) were born. This picture may show one of the highlights for most people, but for my parents it was the birth of their firstborn – me! My father was not at the birth unfortunately, but, according to his military record, my birthday, April 22nd, was also the date he got his commission, from Flight Sergeant to Flight Lieutenant. An officer and a father on the same day. I can only imagine the party in the Mess that night. This is not my Dad, but it is the right vintage. His wings would have have been half ones only, though, with an N for navigator.  Seventy years later the 1944 ladies are going to celebrate with a round of golf at another local club, and a meal. With so many of us we really have to mark the occasion.

Seriously though, it never fails to surprise me how much younger seventy year olds are than previous generations. It is a given that we can still do the things we have always done, and if, for any reason (normal, not age-related illness for example) we can’t we feel thoroughly let down. I am still in the process of blood tests etc. for some sort of ailment which really irritates me! Getting things done through the NHS is not a task for anyone who is not in rude health! You need to push and shove, and keep on pushing and shoving. The NHS does not seem to be set up to follow through. When I need something in 3 months it is beyond their capabilities to set a computer prompt, I have to ring up and make the relevant appointments. Then ring up to make sure I get the results of tests, and any relevant follow through. I do understand why those who can afford it opt to pay privately. I am getting there, but it is a hard grind.

Last weekend was Mothering Sunday. My three all remembered (thank you all!) which is nice. I remember so well  the day I became a mother for the first time. I remember shouting at my husband that he had better be satisfied with just the one. No way was I going through that again. Hmmm! See sentence number two! Nature is wonderful, it makes us forget until it’s too late to do anything about it! It is just so sad that my own mother is not here to see how her grandchildren are getting on. This is for all the mothers who aren’t here any more.