David's Cruise

After Sunday’s technical failure at church,(the first since the sound system’s upgrade circa 2015), I find myself at St. John’s today, for the memorial service of two prominent members of the congregation until ill-health made it necessary for them to move to a  care home.  Once again, my remit is, as it always seems to be these days, to “waggle the handles” of the now “faulty” sound system.  It seems that the circuit which controls three hard-wired microphones has failed. I have checked the microphone for today’s commemoration.  It works perfectly; might it conk out ? I sincerely hope not! 

I have determined that I shall not squander this week away mainly in front of the T.V. even if a few days of seemingly doing nothing might actually have been quite beneficial, last week. 

This morning, I have put myself on the wait-list for a single cabin on the almost sold-out QM2 Eastern Caribbean cruise from Southampton in January.  Although a lavish extravagance, I now feel a fairly urgent need to chill out in some decent sunshine.  I don’t feel overly guilty; even during the more recent pandemic lockdowns, people have gone abroad in their droves regardless of the obvious risks and unexpected expense of quarantining in Government approved hotels at their own expense. 

Wednesday saw the one day visit of my oldest friend, Stephen, whom I befriended at primary school when we were just five. That is a scary sixty seven years ago! Even now, I can still learn something from these infrequent encounters. Although very unassuming, Stephen comes across as something of a walking encyclopaedia, with an amazing memory, occasionally to my discomfort!

Another week races to an end with obscene haste. At least the weather is dry, if not spectacularly warm.

Thanks for reading, David, 01.00hrs 27th August. Another late night then!

This was the headline one of the tabloid newspapers “screamed” when reporting the tragic Ladbroke Grove rail accident, within a couple of years of the Southall rail disaster, not all that far away from Ladbroke Grove, in the late 1990s.

I was, once again, taking care of the sound system at St. John’s. My heart sank as I realised that a crucial microphone 🎤 in the pulpit had “died.” “Oh no, not again!” But, as far as I know, this was the first technical failure since, at my own expense, I replaced all the unsatisfactory equipment during my time as Churchwarden, in (I think) 2015. Investigation after the service produced no obvious reason for the sermon and following intercessions having to be delivered without amplification. All very annoying for both the clergy and me!

Coffee with two church colleagues followed and I continued to feel subdued. Eventually, I joined my neighbour, Roger for lunch, and we dined al fresco; one course and (another) coffee. The lousy weather of the past few days had morphed into something much more pleasant. And afterwards, we went for an extremely scenic walk of just three miles. However most of this was along very difficult (for me) terrain. But, I did manage the steep and un-even paths, as well as, walking across the River Dane!

This is a popular walk, and we acknowledged several people enjoying the nice weather and the magnificent scenery.

Ye gods! It’s 21.45hrs already. No wonder I’m a little peckish. I shall finish the day as I started; porridge and banana!

Thanks for reading, David, 21.46hrs.

As you can imagine, I had to exercise care yesterday when contacting the local roofer! This sad occurrence was brought to my attention by a neighbour over the road, concerned about possible water damage in the “loft.” Unfortunately, birds had taken advantage of my “misfortune” and only now can I, without, hopefully, upsetting any local habitat, have any necessary repair carried out.

Today is “M.O.T. Day” for my little red convertible, now well into its fourteenth year. This little “runabout” has served me very well, and I am loathe to part with it. This annual mandatory test usually takes around an hour, giving me the opportunity for a coffee and snack over the road in the cafe at Morrison’s supermarket.

The weather, this week, continues to disappoint. While it is dangerously hot in southern Europe and many places elsewhere, we seem to have returned to rain emulating stair-rods, and the occasional need to activate the central heating! The roofer does seem to have cured the decades old irritation of a leaking carport, where the space acts as a conservatory and is furnished appropriately. I have been assured by more than one “source” of another heatwave. I do hope so.

The car pictured, did pass its M.O.T. with a recommendation that slight corrosion issues reported last year are dealt with. I meant to have this taken care of at the car’s annual service (not mandatory but recommended) in November last year. I forgot!

I enjoyed my coffee at the supermarket opposite the garage. The cafe was quiet when I went in, but soon filled with joyous shoppers and teenagers. My train of thought was “derailed” while writing this blog. I am at home now, with a full afternoon ahead of me. I do like range of Suzuki cars on offer, but I am not tempted to trade in my car just yet.

All the best and thanks for reading,

David, 13.19hrs 18/8/21.

There seems to be little evidence of global warming in Buxton right now.  We did have periods of hot weather which I have written about previously.  But “disappointing” is about the most positive description I can label August 2021 with.  However, I do not envy the countries in the southern Mediterranean and elsewhere experiencing record (and unbearable) temperatures.  Even in Sicily, back in the 1980s I do not recall temperatures anywhere near the 40s Centigrade. 

Tomorrow, I think the final covid-19 restrictions are lifted, with over three quarters of the population fully vaccinated. For whatever reason, I cannot feel out of the woods quite yet. New cases of covid-19 are being confirmed each day by several thousand, and the daily deaths attributed to coronavirus would be considered catastrophic if attributed to anything other than the pandemic. 

Being Sunday, I attended Sung Eucharist at St. John’s, as I do every Sunday.  This week, Bishop Jack presided over a baptism, which in modern times is (when required) part of the regular service.  Some regular members of the congregation don’t like this, and take the day off.  In his address, the Bishop quoted some Saint whose name I didn’t quite catch.  “Children should be allowed to do as they please, and explore where they wished,” as Saint Whoever declared; “Children playing in Church are playing with (or perhaps, getting to know) their guardian angels and should not be discouraged from doing so.”   I remember no such encouragement when I was growing up!  All I can say is that St. John’s was crammed full of guardian angels!  And I got the feeling the families and friends came away from St. John’s with (in modern parlance) a positive experience.

As usual, Tom joined me for cappuccinos and decaf lattes after church; I then treated myself to a chicken schnitzel, mash, red and ordinary cabbage at the now nearby 53 Degrees North eatery.  This saves messing up the recently tidied kitchen at home.

I was relieved to find that, having signed up to Sky Fibre Broadband, I can now access all the blogs I have ever written. While still not a big fan of modern technology, I find it remarkable that, thanks to the same, I am able to recall, and still enjoy my travels from January 2018, as well as anything else I have documented in between. That is not to say that I have forgotten about the not quite so far flung journeys prior to retirement.  This year, Amtrak (America’s answer to British Rail) celebrates 50 years.  Ye gods! I travelled on Amtrak in its first month of existence. And in 1969, experienced U.S. passenger trains when still run by “private companies.”  None of this feels up to fifty-two years ago. What is amazing is that some tourist lines I visited then, continue to flourish today.  I really would like to revisit the Durango and Silverton (formerly the Denver and Rio Grande Western) line of unsurpassable scenery.  What an adventure for a twenty year-old. I would not see the United States again until 1991, unbelievably thirty years ago. From 2001, crossing the Atlantic by ship would start off as a trip of a lifetime morphing into a commute as the years passed and visiting North America became more frequent. By March 2020, I had travelled by sea to six out of the seven continents. Beautiful and fascinating as Antarctica is, I don’t really feel hardy enough to travel there!

Many thanks for reading, David, 17.19 Sunday 15th August.

Yesterday marked the 53rd anniversary of the much documented “15 Guinea Special,” the unofficial name bestowed on British Rail’s Last Steam Train for which tickets for the journey between Liverpool, Manchester and Carlisle cost £15.15 shillings, £236.88 today, which actually, doesn’t seem all that bad for the occasion which, although in Second (Standard) Class throughout, did include morning coffee, cold salmon salad for lunch, and high tea. 

Huge green tickets were the authority to travel on The Last Steam Train; passengers were also issued with commemorative certificates which I have never seen for sale on eBay.  Mine remains in an album purchased at the time, still awaiting framing! Red seals of the former railway companies over whose territory the the train travelled, embossed on the certificate makes forging just about impossible, and probably not worth the expense.  Back in 1968, I could never imagine life fifty three years hence.  Looking back over that same period of time seems stranger still.

I thought very little about what I have just written about yesterday. I was to be taken along an unfamiliar but very popular walk near Glossop – Werneth Low, a gentle hill from where magnificent panoramic views of distant Manchester, Ashton Under Lyne, Oldham and other surrounding towns can be had.  A path follows the circumference of the hill, but today, we covered probably just a mile in each direction, as far as a WW1 cenotaph.  This area is more like a park with innumerable walking routes to explore, and park benches to sit quietly on.

I had intended resuming the 10,000 steps walking yesterday, but actually, just over half that amount felt more than enough. However today, by the time I reach Parsley Hay from where I had followed the familiar route to Hartington, I should be well in excess, having walked four miles, albeit along level terrain.

Tonight, back at home, I prepared a meal of minted lamb-burgers, cauliflower, cabbage, onion, carrot, mushrooms and potato. Not a bad effort ‘though I say it myself!  I rounded off this “health kick” with fresh kiwifruit and an orange.

That’s it for today. Many thanks for reading, David, 23.58hrs 12/8/21.

The first paragraph was not proof read at all well! Mistakes have been rectified and a more correct version is available via Google on http://www.davidscruise.wordpress.com

I have absolutely no recollection of planting, or ask to be planted, the two magnificent pampas grass “bushes” illustrated. Apparently, in certain parts, they can send an “inappropriate signal!” I don’t remember them last year; but there is at least one other garden on our lane, with a superb display. And there have been a lot of strong winds recently!

Two days ago, in Church, Guy’s 85th birthday was marked with an “un-Anglican” singing by the congregation of Happy Birthday. For the first time since March last year, we were issued with hymn and prayer books as well as the order of service and a very simple news sheet from which one could follow the readings and some of the prayers for that day. 

I was one of around 75 people invited to Guy’s birthday party at his magnificently restored residence, just five minutes’ walk from the Church, where I chose to leave the car. 

Few people were on duty at St. John’s on Sunday morning, and thus, I had a couple of other small tasks as well as presiding over the mixing desk. 

The weekly sermon is usually quite thought provoking. One is made comfortable, initially by some often clever humour, before the real message is made abundantly clear.  Following thoughts on global disharmony, either between countries, various governments etc., we, in the congregation, as part of the sermon, were encouraged to take up the challenge not to be dismissive of those around us for an eight day period. Wow!

Back at the birthday celebrations, the afternoon passed quickly.  Persistent heavy rain showers precluded venturing into the wonderfully landscaped grounds of Guy’s fine house.  Nevertheless, numerous volunteers entertained the guests with an eclectic choice of music and song. 

When most people had left, I drove home from Church, where I had left the car. I allowed myself the luxury of flopping in front of the “telly;”  I think I watched an episode of Endeavour as well as catching up with the news.  I could find little about the Closing Ceremony of The Olympics (Tokyo 2020), the only part of the event that I might have been interested in. But, I do feel a sense of pride and amazement at the number of medals Team G.B. brought home with them. 

Many thanks for reading, David. Tuesday 10th August 2021, 09.44hrs.

53 years ago today, I travelled on one of the numerous steam specials to Carnforth on the last day of scheduled steam train services on British Rail. Annoyingly, my photographs of, I think, three Stanier Class 5 locomotives, cleaned up and lined up for this curtain-dropping day, failed miserably; I had used the wrong exposure, causing the image to be overly pale. Nevertheless, I was there, as a somewhat impressionable nineteen year-old. I was also there for The Last Steam Train of August 11th, for which my father very kindly treated me to a ticket. Maybe, I shall write about that next Wednesday. I really can’t believe all that was fifty-three years ago. And the words of Simon and Garfunkel’s Bookends “How Terribly Strange to be Seventy” come to mind. That phrase has always stuck with me. Back then, I would imagine myself at that age, not really believing that I would sail past age 70 in Brisbane of all places, two years ago! Occasionally, I do “sit on a park bench, quietly” usually in the Pavilion Gardens. While I shuddered at the thought of retirement, nothing surpasses the almost total freedom of today. The switch from regular employment to absolute choice of how I now spend each day never phased or traumatised me. I am never bored, and have a ton of travel and other events to look back on, and maybe, one day, write about. I now have a notion to sit on park benches in major cities across the world, beginning with Tokyo next May, covid permitting. That’s another justification for “extravagant journeyings – park bench spotting!”

In Buxton, we have had a “run” of fairly decent weather after the sweltery weeks of “Festival July.” Previously, I had complained about grey skies and autumnal temperatures, but these were short-lived. The stifling heat has gone, but it is not uncomfortable being outside in short sleeved attire as dusk falls.

Thursday 5th August

For some reason, the weather forecasters on T.V., some of whom are more concerned with self image and irrelevant entertaining, rather than just delivering the weather forecast, are extraordinarily pessimistic in their warnings of low pressure from the west and thus unsettled weather to come. I.T.V. local forecasts are prefixed and suffixed by excruciatingly annoying sponsorship announcements from utility companies and come coated with irrelevant drivel. Despite Daily Expressesque prophecies of gloom, each day, albeit with a distant thunderstorm and occasional downpour, seems to be quite nice, really.

I enjoy being a “grumpy old man!” And I hope those around me take my rantings with a sizeable pinch of salt! However, I do reserve the right to blow a fuse/gasket when the occasion calls for it.

As you can see from my random ramblings, there is little to write about that comes to mind. While I have no interest in the Olympics, when unable to escape related news reports etc., I am in awe of those participating, whatever the event. And I can’t help but quietly celebrate when Team G.B. trawls in a stack of medals. What the participants achieve, merely just by entering, is beyond astonishing.

But my interest is in the resumption of the former Henry Wood Promenade Concerts, irritatingly now branded “The B.B.C. Proms.” Actually, perhaps the “Beeb” does have a right to put its branding on this wonderful annual event, even if the founder, Sir Henry Wood receives little acknowledgement these days. Last night, I listened to the entire concert through those wonderful headphones I bought in Singapore two years ago, with absolutely no disturbance to those living next door. When was the last time I heard Mendelssohn’s Reformation Symphony in its entirety? I was familiar with most of it, but the opportunity to tune in (on my T.V.) and listen in the lounge, feet on coffee table, disturbed only by the half-hourly chiming of my great grandfather’s clock, was precious. It is said that one returns to one’s childhood as time progresses; certainly, I am beginning to enjoy, once more, the pleasures of listening to classical music, as I did in childhood days.

Before the pandemic, I crammed in as much global travel as I was able, with the philosophy that there will (or might be) no tomorrow. There nearly was “no tomorrow” as the “isolated bubble” (Cunard’s Queen Victoria) sailed along an almost life-less Solent into Southampton two days early from its voyage around South America. I certainly felt like one of a chosen few at that time, aboard a vessel completely free of coronavirus. I know that I am always referring to this voyage, but it did make a lasting (positive) impression on me. “Struggling through the next eighteen months with not so much as stepping aboard a U.K. train was therefore not the hardship it might otherwise have been. There were small inconveniences of course; not being able to have my hair cut for seven months being one of them. But the opportunity to walk to places I would never dream of exploring, did present new and unexpected delights. Only now, 18 months later, am I beginning to want to venture further afield. But, there’s still an unnecessary risk. I shall probably wait until May to “sit on a park bench quietly” in Tokyo.

Thanks for reading my ramblings,

David, 11.55hrs, 5th August 2021, with feet on the coffee table.

Whatever has happened to the Summer. This time last week, or maybe just a little bit earlier, we were basking in Mediterranean style sunshine, or even Singaporean, if the humidity is taken into account.  Now, only the green trees indicate that we are not in the middle of Autumn.

Yesterday, I attended a memorial service for a lady whom I had known (only slightly) since her her teenage years, at one time being at discos I was hired for at the local village hall, and later, as an employee for the local arts organisation at which I was, and am now again, a volunteer.  Being at St. John’s Church, I was called upon to ensure the best possible sound from the mixing desk. Thus, I didn’t feel as if I was intruding on what was a very full service.  I’m not sure what I was expecting; as one-time Churchwarden, I had been in attendance at one or two memorial services, and several funerals.  Even if I did not know any of the family of the deceased, these were always poignant occasions; the one this Saturday, particularly so. 

This morning, I was back behind the mixing desk for a Gilbert and Sullivan inspired Sung Eucharist with much of the music written by Arthur Sullivan. I like Sullivan’s music, but perhaps not the libretto to Onward Christian Soldiers, which I quite liked when attending the equivalent of Sunday School at primary school age. Ye gods! St. John’s, Brooklands, now in Greater Manchester, had four services each Sunday, Young people’s service at three (pm) being one of them. Onward Christian Soldiers was always popular with a certain group of misbehavers drowning out Percy’s organ playing with the a mischievous stamping of feet on the uncarpeted floorboards! It’s a good job we wear face masks in Church these days, I couldn’t keep a straight face as the refrain in between each verse reminded me of that miscreant stamping of feet! To make it even funnier, organist Michael Williams let rip, particularly in the last verse, “out-Percying” the long since late Dr. Percy Penrose, organist and choirmaster of St. John’s Brooklands…and that would take some doing!

Lunch with Roger followed the now customary post- Eucharist coffee at 6 The Square. (The coffee, that is; lunch was at the Lone Star Restaurant which these days really needs to be booked in advance.) Although it had warmed up this afternoon, neither of us felt much like walking, and our weekly exploration was postponed to Wednesday.

After the recent Festival, life feels suddenly peaceful and I now feel ready for a brief change of scene. A few days down south, maybe, or I might splash out on one of those post pandemic jaunts along the U.K. coast on a cruise ship…or both! Or, maybe, I will merely wait until next year, for the “biggie” to Japan, Canada and the U.S.A.

Many thanks for reading. Sorry about the lack of pictures this time! David, 20.22hrs August 1st….already!.

The last four days of “BIF 21” are as packed and vibrant as at anytime during this year’s Festival.

Last night, I treated myself to a decent stalls seat at the Opera House for Malcolm Arnold’s one act opera, The Dancing Master. This was apparently commissioned by the BBC in the 1950s, but dismissed as bawdy, and presumably shelved, maybe until such time as Buxton Festival got hold of it!   I am now informed that this was a three way collaboration with The Barbican and The Edinburgh Festival, as well as Buxton Festival.  Being much nearer to the sidetitle screens made following the performance much easier, and thus more enjoyable, even if the music was mainly quite challenging.

We have lost the “Singaporean summer” and today feels quite a bit cooler.  I attended a recital for trombone and piano, given by two virtuoso instrumentalists at the top of their game.  I learned that it was possible to produce chords (and other weird sounds) on a trombone. This event was followed unexpectedly by “champagne” or fruit juice. This time, water was to hand and was thus I was able to join other audience members for a short while. 

Saturday 24th July

This morning was grey gloomy and much cooler, just what one expects of a North Derbyshire summer.  However, it wasn’t miserable all day; Helius did make occasional guest appearances with backing from bits of blue sky.  For the penultimate day of the Festival, I attended two events at St. John’s, a cello and piano recital, and a sung unaccompanied concert late this afternoon, of music spanning several centuries, and even a rendition of Cliff Richard’s Summer Holiday.  I decided against seeing A Little Night Music for the third and final time; instead I am waiting for a curry which tonight, I am having at home.  The restaurant is packed and the staff very busy indeed.  And it looks as if my order is way down on the list.  I do hope I don’t get “pinged” as a result of waiting here while people come and go! 

Tomorrow’s Festival Mass at St. John’s is the final event of this year’s B.I.F.

Sunday 25th July

The setting of this morning’s final Festival Mass was to music composed by Thomas Luis de Victoria 1548 – 1611. There was something familiar about this; I am sure I have written about him in a previous blog. The Buxton Madrigal Singers were, as usual, wonderful, and their singing made for a veritable act of worship. For the first time since March 2020, the congregation was allowed to sing. And, I have yet to be “pinged.” Don’t ask me to explain; just Google “Pingdemic”. I was thus still required to operate the mixing desk, which seemed to insure adequately clear sound.

After the service, a “post mass coffee!” and then, lunch over the road at Roger’s, prior to a trek through more neck-high undergrowth towards Chelmorton. The start of today’s walk seemed to be along a former farm track flanked by almost parallel stone walls on each side. While an authorised footpath, it was very overgrown, no longer in use as a farm track, presumably for access to adjacent fields, but also very little used as a footpath.

Eventually we arrived in time for tea at the Church Inn at Chelmorton, a village I like increasingly with each visit. Afterwards, we tried to find the grave of a mutual friend whose funeral we attended at the Parish Church of St. John the Baptist. We were unsuccessful.

We walked back to the car the way we had walked last week, but in the opposite direction, past where there was a field of hay, baled in the old fashioned way. All had gone, by now.

Soon, we were driving home with the roof down. It had turned into an extremely nice day!

Many thanks for reading, David, 20.03hrs 25/7/21.