Remember my old mate Bert? He was 87 years old on November 24th. Of course he had a fall in his house back in early July and was then in hospital for almost a month. He had broken his hip - an injury which required surgery.
For four and a half months Bert has been housebound. He has a walking frame and he cannot get upstairs. His bedroom is now in the front room of his terraced house and he uses a commode for his daily "discharges". Fortunately, his 55 year old son Philip is able to act as his live-in carer.
However, Philip is a football safety steward and every two weeks he spends five hours at Sheffield United's football ground - Bramall Lane. He was there today as United were playing Brentford in a Premier League fixture. I knew that Bert would be on his own all afternoon so I went over to see him and stayed in his house for a couple of hours.
I was able to make him a mug of coffee and a snack. I had also brought over a couple of bottles of beer for him, a banana, a chocolate roll and a bag of cheese and onion crisps (American: chips).
Bert's house
He finds it very difficult to use the TV remote even though his son has helpfully made a big drawing of it with arrows pointing to the vital buttons. I played around with it and was able to get "YouTube" on screen. Then I searched for a couple of Bert's favourite songs that he used to sing in our local pub.
I was able to locate "Whispering Grass" by The Ink Spots, "We'll Meet Again" by Vera Lynn and his most favourite of favourites - "Hev Yew Gotta Loight, Boy?" by Allan Smethurst - a.k.a. The Singing Postman.
It's a novelty song that was a hit in this country in 1966. Sung in a Norfolk dialect, it concerns a relationship in which the need to light cigarettes seemed to be ever-present. The object of the postman's affections was one Molly Windley, his "little nicotine girl". It's got to be one of the weirdest songs ever by one of the most unlikely pop stars and if you are not English you may struggle to understand it. But it's a song that always brightened Bert's face.
I left him after five o' clock watching "Crocodile Dundee" but here's "Hev Yew Gotta Loight, Boy?" Don't have nightmares.
Do you remember Donovan? He is seventy eight years old now and lives in County Cork, Ireland - not far from Dave Northsider - our esteemed blogging colleague. Donovan's full name is Donovan Phillips Leitch and he was born in Glasgow, Scotland though both of his grandmothers were Irish. I must confess that when Donovan broke into the British folk-pop scene in the mid-sixties I was drawn to his music. It was pure, simple and unprocessed, driven principally by the lyrics. His output owed things variously to the hippy movement, to Bob Dylan and to anti-war artists. I saw him in concert three or four times and many years later saw him here in Sheffield. However, it didn't seem as those he had advanced. I even learnt to play several of his songs on my guitar, including the following one which many would argue is his best and best-known song - typical of him in his heyday. Please listen... In the East Yorkshire village where I grew up, my best friend during my teens was a lad ca...
I prepared a Sunday roast feast today. We had to extend out Victorian pine table by adding an old drop leaf table from the greenhouse. It worked out fine. Shirley put linen tablecloths over the whole shebang. All the people I love the most were in attendance: Shirley, Frances, Stew, Phoebe, Margot, Ian, Sarah and Zachary. The menu included roasted loin of pork, vegan nut roast, apple sauce, sage and onion stuffing, tender stem broccoli, roasted carrots and parsnips, roasted potatoes and two types of homemade gravy. This was followed by a homemade apple crumble using the last of the usable apples from our garden with vanilla custard or vegan ice cream. And of course there was water and fine wine to drink. I got to sit next to Margot who remains such a lovable child. She can mimic "mamama" and "dadada" now and when she stands without assistance for twenty seconds or more she is very proud of herself - clapping and laughing when she finally drops to the floor. Za...
I’m not sure what I’m all about today. It’s a nothing day as I’m back on nights. This time doing my own and not a colleague’s who had been delayed in the beautiful looking Sicily. I’m mourning my cancelled trip to Italy and will organise one as soon as I can afford it . I’m sat at the kitchen table and the almond milk in my bucket of coffee has curdled. The oven is purring and I’m going to be making soup soon Butternut squash, bean and chilli I can hear pawsteps from the bathroom Soon Roger will jog purposefully through the kitchen and into the garden. He will do a figure of eight around the paths, give a half woof at the gate, then will watch the blackbirds or a sparrow for a while, or the bantam cockerel who still lives in the gardens west of the Church before bouncing back to the kitchen. He will stop for a head rub before sitting in the sunny spot on the living room carpet with the others. An hour or so later he will be off on his rounds if ...
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