Category Archives: The story of my life!

The Post Holiday Blues

Posted on by Steve Higgins

It’s always sad to come home after a holiday, especially when you’re leaving a warm and lovely place like Lanzarote and returning to cold and wet England. We’ve been in Lanzarote for the entire month of February as well as the end of January and it almost felt more of a house move than a holiday. On holiday you know you only have a week or two weeks to do all the things you want to do but with a month out here there is no rush to do anything so you can simply relax.

To be honest, Liz and I don’t do much in Lanzarote anyway except read, swim, have barbecues or go out for meals. All the other stuff that people do on holiday, visiting the sights and things like that, we’ve done it all before on previous visits. We don’t even bother hiring a car, we just get on the local circular bus which is pretty reliable or get taxis.

I’ve often thought about actually moving here. Of course, I don’t speak Spanish which might be a problem but there is a huge British ex-pat community here and I’m sure they don’t all speak Spanish either but of course, knowing the language would not only be a great help but also a way of connecting with the locals. I remember once meeting someone in France who had lived there for years but seemed proud of the fact he did not speak French and had no intention of ever learning it. That seemed to me to be rather pompous and hugely disrespectful to the country that had taken him in.

Another relocation issue I thought about was how would I go on about health care, eye tests and dentistry and so on? Then of course there is Brexit and the fact that the UK is no longer a part of the European Community. We Brits can only stay for 90 days out of every 180 days so I’d have to get a visa. How would I go about that? Is it easy? Would the Spanish even accept me?

Talking of the 90 days, we tried a new bar which was about a five minute walk from our villa. It was only small and served beer, snacks and cocktails but we met an English couple there and we felt pretty pleased with ourselves when we mentioned we were staying in Lanzarote for a month. They were clearly well versed in the art of one upmanship as they promptly advised us that they were staying for three months! Ninety days actually, they stay for ninety days then pop back to the UK and spend 90 days there. When they told me they hated the cold I knew they were talking my language.

The weather was fabulous from day one and in fact we only had one or two bad weather days and when I say bad, they weren’t even that bad really, just a bit dull and windy. On day one the holiday stretches off into the distance and then at a certain point when you still think you have ages left, you realise you only have a week to go. Suddenly the end of your holiday is rushing towards you and then there you are, waiting for your taxi to the airport.

Flying into Lanzarote there must have been a pretty big demand for the journey because our aircraft was upped to an airbus with more seats. They were set out in 2 4 2 formation, two seats, an aisle, four seats then another aisle then two seats. The change of aircraft meant that Liz and I lost our pre-arranged seats so I called the airline up, had a moan and they put us together although we were sat across from each other on either side of the aisle. I had a very pleasant family sat next to me and Liz had a spare seat next to her but she decided to stretch out onto the empty seat. My seat was quite comfortable but on the smaller aircraft coming home I was really cramped and very uncomfortable, so much so when we got back to Manchester my back was killing me.

It always makes me laugh to see the way air travel is portrayed in films and TV. They always, especially on American films, have big seats and lots of legroom. In the second of the Die Hard films, Bruce Willis’ wife is stuck on an aircraft with lots of room and can even make telephone calls. Clearly, these updates to air travel have not yet made it over the Atlantic to UK aeroplanes.

Coming back Liz and I had a free seat next to us so I was able to move over to the window seat. I was all ready with my camera to record the take-off but when we taxied over to a waiting area, the captain advised us that we had a problem with something on the underside of the wing and someone was coming over from the airport to take a look. The guy came over and all was ok but it meant we had to wait for over an hour before we could finally get going.

When we did get going, I felt I needed a wee but almost as soon as the seat belt light went out, a big queue formed for the bathroom. OK I thought. I wasn’t desperate, I can wait. We were on row two so we were one of the first to be served by the ‘in-flight service’. Liz and I had two small bottles of wine each, a cheese and ham toastie each and we both chose the special offer half size (or was it quarter size) packet of Pringles.

A few glasses of wine later and perhaps it was time to try for the facilities again. There was one guy waiting to go in but very quickly a queue formed behind. Before I could get up the queue began to get longer. The guy must have been wondering if there was actually anyone in the toilet and he tried to open it but nothing happened and he resumed his wait. After a while the stewardess came down and she tried knocking on the door. Nothing was heard so she tried the door which opened. The bathroom was empty. There was a communal moan from those waiting in the queue but finally they all began to move up.

There were two people waiting when I decided to get up. Liz had to move to let me out and I had to shuffle along the seats, making sure not to knock over our remaining wine. Just as I managed to squeeze out of my seat, we hit some turbulence and soon the seat belt light was on and the stewardess asked us all to sit down. She went onto the intercom and told everyone the toilets were to be locked while we went through the turbulence. Sadly, I had to squeeze back into my seat.

Despite closing the toilets, the turbulence was clearly not bad enough to affect our in-flight service. By this time, I was having serious tea withdrawal symptoms. I’d only had one cuppa earlier that morning so I ordered a tea. The seat belt light went out but I couldn’t get to the toilet because the stewardess trolley was in the way. Frustrating I know but I’m a big fella and I told myself that I must therefore have a corresponding big bladder so I settled down to enjoy my tea.

A little later I’d finished my tea and I needed to go, I mean I really needed to go and soon I saw my chance. There was one woman waiting and then the bathroom became free and she went in. I asked Liz to move up and she did so, happily blocking someone who was planning to pinch my place. I stepped up to the bathroom. Finally, no one could stop me now. Even if we hit turbulence, I was going into that toilet. What was that woman doing in there? Reading a book?

Finally, she stepped out and I managed to gain entry and relieve myself. Happy days! I zipped myself up, washed my hands and went back to my seat. I finished off my tea and then, wait a minute, I’ve just had a wee, why do I need another one?

That was a very uncomfortable flight back to Manchester but happily our friend and taxi driver Craig, was ready to drive us back to St Annes.

Hasta la vista baby!

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Cigarettes and Whisky and Wild, Wild Women.

Posted on by Steve Higgins

This is a story about cigarettes. Women come into the picture too but not necessarily whisky. Still, it’s also about pubs and pubs do sell whisky so in a roundabout way that title isn’t such a bad one. Anyway, I’ve made the graphic now and it’s too late to change it so let’s crack on.

Even on holiday in wonderful warm Lanzarote I’m a man who needs a cup of tea, and by tea, I mean hot tea. Just think of all the workers in far off India who have worked to grow and cultivate tea leaves and package it and send it off to people like me. I wouldn’t dream of insulting those people by drinking a cup of lukewarm or even cold tea. Liz however doesn’t mind cold tea but after chatting further I found our earlier experiences have shaped our attitude to tea. She had a Saturday job working in a café and usually found that she was so busy that she had little time to drink her cuppa and generally picked it up when it was cold.

Once, many years ago, I had a cigarette vending round. I visited pubs in Merseyside, serviced their ciggy machines, filled them with cigarettes and took away the cash. A lot of the time I was in a hurry to get going to the next site. Even so, I would never turn down a cuppa and so many times I would have to drink a steaming hot cup of tea quickly so I could move on. The faster I worked, the earlier I finished and I very soon developed the knack of drinking hot tea,

Some areas of Liverpool were rather dangerous so in places like Kirkby, Croxteth and Anfield, I learned to cultivate the cleaners and find out which ones would come in early so they could in turn let me in to do my job and get going before the villains had time to wake up.

I had a fabulous van, a brand new Ford Transit. On Monday mornings I tried to be the first one in the depot in Warrington. The stock delivery came, I helped sort it out with the other early starters and then I would check my own, sign it off, fill my van and be off for a day of filling machines with cigarettes and taking cash.

I used to park as near as possible to the pub doors and knock on the windows until the landlord or cleaner would appear. A quick check for any villains (Scallies they call them in Liverpool) then I’d whip out my K9 and slip into the pub. A K9 was a big cart on wheels. On the top I would have my paperwork and my numerous keys and inside the cart would be a selection of cigarettes. Each machine usually had a big security bar. I’d insert the key and get that off and then depending on what kind of machine I had, I’d select another key and open it up. A quick clean of the coin mechanism and then I’d count the stock, fill it up and put the cash into a numbered cash bag. Then perhaps I might have time for a cup of tea and a bit of a natter to the staff. If not, I’d be off to the next pub.

Collectable cigarette item

In Liverpool my top selling brands were Regal King Size and Lambert and Butler although in Manchester their top brand was Benson and Hedges. At the end of the week if I was running low, I’d be swapping cigarettes with Paul who covered Manchester; I’d swap my Bensons for his Regals.

In some pubs I’d be just in and out but in others I became really friendly with the staff. At one pub in Huyton the cleaner was a lovely lady called Marge. She always asked me to call her when I was leaving the pub just around the corner and then she would put the kettle on and slap a couple of crumpets in the toaster. We used to have a nice brew and a natter and then I’d get on with the job of filling the ciggy machine.

Things changed a little when the company was taken over by Imperial Tobacco. I was given new sites to visit and a different accounting system. We had a gadget called a ‘ready’, a little hand held computer which totalled the stock and cash and helped with the accounting. I also got a new van, a Mercedes Sprinter van.

I always wondered at the hold cigarettes had over people. I used to service one pub that the manageress always described as being ‘out in the country’. In fact, it was about 10 minutes from the M62 motorway. Yes, it was down a country lane but it was hardly out in the country. Betty, the landlady, would sometimes call up, seemingly almost in agony because the Lambert and Butler column was empty.

“Steve,” she would wail. “We’re out of Lamberts! Everyone’s desperate, there are no shops nearby!” (Except for Asda, a ten minute drive away, just by the M62!) “We need you round here straight away!”

“I’ll be there this afternoon Betty,” I used to say. When I’d finished my normal day’s run, I’d nip onto the M62 and go round to her pub. Sometimes she would be waiting just by the emergency door and she’d open it and beckon me over.

“The Lamberts have run out Steve. Everyone’s going mad!”

I didn’t ever see any mad queues of people panicking about the lack of cigarettes. Once I went there and Betty was over with her £5.20 for a packet of Lamberts before I had even got my keys out. It turned out that the coin mechanism had been jammed up because some idiot had torn up a beer mat and shoved it into the coin slot. When I showed her, she went bonkers; “I know who that was. The bastard! Wait until I see him tonight!”

cigarette machine

It was funny to see the effect of the cigarette on her. After a few puffs she would start to calm down, the nicotine seemed to relax her and soon she was offering me a cup of tea and laughing about the whole thing. It must have been stressful to be a pub landlady.

Betty was quite a nice looking lady. She was always smart but she was always smoking. I sometimes asked her if she had ever tried to give up smoking but she would always refer to someone, her father or grandfather who smoked so many packets a day and yet lived to be eighty something. Even so, like many smokers she had a sort of grey pallor. I often wonder how she went on with the later pub smoking ban. Did she ever give up smoking? What did she do when the cigarette machine was finally taken away?

I visited another pub nearby. It was in a run down area that looked a little like Beirut. The pub was a square building with a high fence around it. Both the fence and the roof of the pub were covered with barbed wire. The car park entrance was at the back and I used to park up and ring the bell. After a while a little hatch would open and someone would say “Who is it?”

I’d tell them who I was and I’d be let in. I used to visit at about 9am and despite the early hour, the pub would be full of illegal drinkers. I serviced the machine which happily was behind the bar. The first time I went they asked me if I wanted a drink. I said ‘yes please’ and a few minutes later a pint of lager was handed to me! When they mentioned drink, I thought they meant a cup of tea! The landlord, a big sumo wrestler sized thug said “Tea? We don’t serve tea in here!”

I didn’t want to upset him so I drank the beer and left.

A few months later I returned to the pub and it was gone. When I say gone, I mean gone; there was nothing left but a smoking ruin. Later I mentioned it to Betty and she told me that the owners were in a feud with another family. They duffed up a guy from another family and so the other family duffed up a guy from their family in return. Things escalated and the other family torched the pub! Things get serious in that part of Liverpool!

One day I got robbed. Well, an attempt was made to rob my Ford Transit van. Surprisingly, it wasn’t in Kirkby, Anfield or Croxteth, some of the less salubrious areas I used to work in, it was in Haydock. I was near the end of my shift and I was visiting a small pub where I sold very few packets of cigarettes. I returned to my van and the alarm was sounding. Someone had forced open the back doors but sadly for them, just behind the back doors was another security door which they were unable to break through. It was a bit of a bummer for me though because I had to get the doors shut, report to my boss and also contact the police.

The Mercedes Sprinter van I had later had a lot of gadgets including a ‘proximity alarm’. Whenever anyone loitered too close, a voice, an American voice, used to tell people to ‘please step away from the vehicle’. It was very polite but soon everyone in the depot was trying to wind me up. ‘Please step away from the cash machine Steve’. ‘Please step away from the computer please Steve’. That alarm did lose me a lot of sleep.

I started in that job in the late 1990s and gradually government regulations became more severe. Bar towels and beermats featuring cigarettes were banned. Cigarette advertising was banned on the machines themselves. I had to take out pictures of packets of cigarettes from the advertising panels of my machines and replace them with bland pictures of a match flaring up. I left the job in 2005 and joined the Highways Agency and in 2011 cigarette machines were banned from UK pubs. Nice to see some familiar looking ciggy machines here in Lanzarote though!

In a lot of ways I miss that job. Liverpool may be rough and ready but it was a friendly place and I spent a lot of time chatting with a lot of talkative people.

And it’s where I learned to drink hot tea very quickly.

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Sandwiches, Questions and New Technology

Posted on by Steve Higgins

Back here in Manchester it was nice to have a few days to myself after Christmas and New Year. One thing I tend to eat a lot of when I’m alone is sandwiches. Yes, I’ve always loved the humble sandwich. As a child I took sandwiches to school, either ham, cheese or corned beef, almost always on white bread. Occasionally I’d have a salmon or salmon paste sandwich but generally salmon or any kind of fish just isn’t my cup of tea.

In a quiet moment during the Christmas holidays, I was skimming through Pinterest and came across a pin for a hot pastrami sandwich. I can’t say I’ve ever had pastrami either on a sandwich or not but the thought of one brings to mind American films where the characters go into a New York delicatessen to eat.

In the film When Harry Met Sally the two main characters, played by Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan, visit a real deli for the film’s most famous scene. It’s the one where Sally shows Harry how easy it is to fake an orgasm by demonstrating it there and then in the deli. According to Wikipedia, the location was actually Katz’s Delicatessen at 205 East Houston Street in Manhattan. Also, just while I’m in the mood for dishing out useless information, the lady in the film who says to the waiter, ‘I’ll have what she’s having‘ when Meg Ryan, who played Sally, had finishing orgasming was actually director Rob Reiner’s mother and the line was suggested by Billy Crystal who played Harry.

Woody Allen’s characters spend a lot of time in New York Delis. In Broadway Danny Rose the film opens up in another actual deli, this time the Carnegie Delicatessen on Seventh Avenue across from the Carnegie Hall, where a bunch of comedians discuss a well known theatrical manager called Danny Rose who has had a sandwich named after him in that very place.

As a great fan of the sandwich, I reckon it would be pretty cool to have a sandwich named after me and in a previous post I put forward for consideration a sandwich of my own creation.

The Ham, Cheese and Coleslaw Higgins Special.

I prefer this with a fresh white bap but it’s equally as good with a brown bun; split and butter it, slap on some thinly sliced honey roast ham, then some grated cheddar and to finish off add a generous portion of coleslaw. Settle down, tune the TV onto your favourite channel, pour yourself a cup of tea and enjoy. Give it a try, it’s lovely.

After writing the above I decided to pop to the shops and pick up some pastrami and cheese so I could have a go at making that hot pastrami sandwich I mentioned earlier. On the way out I picked up one of those free supermarket magazines. On the back page there was a question-and-answer article with a celebrity. The celeb in question was Fearne Cotton who I have to say, I’ve never heard of but anyway, here were her questions and I thought I’d have a go at answering them myself

Tell us about your new book.

Well, I don’t have a new book, just an old one, Floating in Space which you buy from Amazon. It’s about a young lad back in 1977 who gets fed up of his boring office job. Why not buy yourself a copy and help me out with that big electric bill I just received?

Best advice on keeping a positive outlook.

Well, I’d have to refer you all to my spiritual mentor Marcus Aurelius. He said that you and I have power over our minds but not external events, so any pain you might feel about any situation is not caused by the situation itself, but by your own thoughts which are under your control. Wow, bet you weren’t expecting philosophical stuff in this post, were you?

And your first novel is coming out in June 2024.

Actually, no it isn’t but if I manage to pull my finger out, I might have a short story collection ready round about then.

Who is left on your celebrity wish list for the Happy Place?

It turns out the Happy Place is a podcast which Fearne runs so if I was having a celeb on my podcast who would I ask? Lewis Hamilton perhaps. I’ve never seen a decent interview with him. Then again, I wouldn’t mind having Oliver Stone on for some serious chit chat about cinema and the JFK assassination.

You’ve got a busy schedule. How do you unwind?

Busy schedule? I don’t think so. I don’t even know what a busy schedule is.

As a vegan, what are your tips for anyone wanting to try a plant based diet?

A plant based diet? Listen, plants are for pots on the windowsill or out in the garden. I have grown chilli peppers before now which are great in a dish like chilli or curry. I’ve even grown small lemon trees from a pip but I’m still waiting for that first lemon. A plant based diet? I don’t think so.

What is your go to dish for those evenings when you’re stuck on what to cook?

Well, chilli and rice is one of my favourite dishes. I tend to start it in the morning in a big pan and then throw it all into the slow cooker. For something quick I usually have a jar of pesto in the fridge so I’ll just cook some pasta, throw in the pesto and then serve with parmesan. Of course, there is always the pastrami sandwich.

What are you most looking forward to in 2024?

Let me see, there’s our trip to Lanzarote in a few weeks. I look forward to the summer when we’ll once again be taking our motorhome over to France but most of all I’ll be looking forward to some warm weather. I really do hate the cold.

New Technology

I think I’ve written before about my brother and how when we were younger, we were always swapping things. My brother, whose name is Colin although I always call him Jimmy (I’m not sure why) still swaps things today, mostly with his friends. He recently came into possession of a television set which he didn’t actually want. It was quite a big TV set, much bigger than mine and so I offered to swap a portable TV set which I knew he had always wanted for this new, bigger TV set. He wanted the smaller portable because it had a built in VHS player and he wanted to play some of his old VHS tapes. Anyway, we did the swap and I plugged in the TV set which seemed to be working well and all seemed ok. Later I decided to set it up properly and to link it to my trusty old DVD recorder.

It’s a long time since I bought that DVD recorder and technology has moved on quite considerably since then. Back then the universal connecting element between TV sets and DVD players and set top boxes and so on was the SCART plug. These days it seems to be something else, the HDMI plug. Anyway, I shifted furniture about as I realised the new bigger TV wouldn’t fit on the old TV stand so I shifted more stuff about and put the TV on an old computer desk but I still struggled to fit the DVD recorder into the same area. Then I realised the new TV didn’t have a SCART socket. It did have an AV socket though but even though I had an AV lead I just couldn’t get the two devices to connect together.

A few years ago, I was in Currys or some other kind of TV technology hardware store and when I told the shop assistant that I wanted a new TV with a DVD player, He told me to forget about that as a DVD player was ‘old technology’. Of course, I could see his point, why buy a DVD when you can download a film or any TV show to your hard drive without a shelf full of discs? Even so, I had to tell the guy to go away because the thing is I actually like old technology, I like DVDs, I like their special features, I like the director’s commentaries and the ‘making of’ documentaries.

That night I ended up flipping through the TV channels because there was nothing much worth watching and to watch one of my DVDs I would have had to put everything back together with my old TV just the way it was before.

Oh well, that’s enough TV for today. Might as well give that hot pastrami sandwich a try.

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A Slice of My (Christmas) Life

Posted on by Steve Higgins

A few weeks ago during November, I thought that it might be a jolly good idea to start my Christmas shopping so I’d be pretty much ahead of the game when it came to Christmas itself. I’ve had that idea before, on a number of occasions. The strange thing is I’ve never actually done anything about it. Oh well, there’s always next year.

About a week before Christmas, I bought a load of stuff from Ebay and various other places and finally, with a few days to spare, I felt ready for Christmas. On the Monday prior to Christmas we went to our favourite restaurant, Ego. Ego has a special Monday offer with a reduced price for two courses and £10 off a bottle of wine. What I’ve always liked about Ego is that even though the food isn’t actually outstanding, the staff are. They don’t make excuses if you complain, they just sort out whatever the problem is with your food or your wine or whatever it is. Just lately the food there has been a little tame but on that particular Monday our meal was really rather lovely and as a fully paid up member of the Society of Northern Tightwads, the £20 off our two bottles of wine went down a treat.

Tuesday was our day for Cheapy Chippy Tuesday which is a special Tuesday deal at our local chip shop and as a cup of tea goes so well with fish and chips it was also a chance to have a totally alcohol-free day.

Tuesday is usually the day for the quiz down at the Pier Inn but for whatever reason they were having their Christmas version on Wednesday so the next day we went down for a couple of pints and to join in. We didn’t win which was a shame but it was fun anyway, what with some music and a raffle. Our friends Ray and Helen were there and they mentioned that on the following day, Thursday, Ray and his fellow musician Dean would be performing a number of glam rock era songs in their musical alter ego as the Boogie Brothers. That led to a discussion about the efficacy of playing songs by the now disgraced king of glam rock Gary Glitter.

Glitter is another music icon now airbrushed from history. You won’t find him performing on old episodes of Top of the Pops. On a recent TV show about the glam rock era Glitter only got passing mention but none of his music was played. Back in the 1970’s he was a big star but his downfall came when he took a computer to be repaired and it was found to have numerous pornographic images of young girls. Still, is it possible to separate the man from his music? Can we enjoy Gary’s old songs and still condemn him for his pervy activity? Ray was thinking the same thing. If he did a Glitter song in his act, how well would it go down? I told him that we would be there the next day to listen to his music even though we would have to leave early for our regular Thursday quiz night.

That particular night I was wearing a gold signet ring that Liz had bought me some time ago. I’ve always rather loved that ring. I had lost it a while ago but after a little thought and a mental reconstruction of the last time I had worn it, I realised where I had left it. Anyway, reunited with my ring I wore it out to the quiz at the Pier Inn that night. When I came home to get changed, I opened my drawer to pop in the ring but dropped it. I heard a metallic ping so I guessed it had bounced off a fan that was down by the side of the bed which we had used quite a lot during the summer. I lifted up the fan but I couldn’t find the ring. The next day I shifted the fan and a load of books and other stuff that was down there but the ring still eluded me. Later I asked Liz to take a look but she couldn’t find it either. I looked again but it wasn’t there. Where could it have gone? What the heck had happened? I wasn’t happy.

I can’t say that the TV channels have given us much new to watch this Christmas. We watched The Sound of Music over Christmas, one of Liz’s favourite films. I’m not much of a fan of musicals but I do love The Sound of Music. The performances are fabulous as are the songs. I remember once seeing Julie Andrews on a talk show complaining about the goody two shoes image the film had given her. Maybe the film did do that although I’m not so sure but it’s a film that has given a lot of joy to a lot of people and I hope she felt proud about being a part of it.

A different sort of music was performed in The Glenn Miller Story, a film that was shown again on Boxing Day. I really loved that movie when I first saw it on TV back in the 1960’s. Sadly, as much as I loved it then, when I see it these days it is a little disappointing. James Stewart was far too old to play Glenn Miller.

June Alyson played Glenn’s wife and she elevated the use of the word ‘annoying’ to a new level with her constant beginning or ending of a phrase with ‘Honestly!’ I imagine the scriptwriter was fairly pleased with himself, coming up with a cute bit of business like that. Wrong! If I had been Glenn Miller and June Alyson my wife, I would have been sorely tempted to employ some appropriately placed Gaffer tape to remedy that situation.

Another moment in the film comes when Glenn comes home from work and his wife takes him upstairs and says, ‘look what just arrived,’ and guess what had arrived! Two children who seemed to have appeared in time honoured fashion via the unseen stork. Of course, they may have been adopted, I really don’t know because it wasn’t really explained very well but it was a little bit like one of those moments in old episodes of Blue Peter, the children’s TV show, where Valerie Singleton or John Noakes would say, ‘and here’s one I made earlier!’

I must have mentioned in previous posts about how I used to have a cassette tape recorder and how many times I used to drag my poor brother into performing the skits and plays I used to write.

One time we did a skit on the Glenn Miller story and there was me in my best American accent drawling, James Stewart style, ‘that sound, that certain sound, I need to find that certain sound and I’m gonna keep on looking till I find it.’ Throw in my brother blowing a raspberry down a cardboard tube and cue me as James Stewart: ‘That sound, that certain sound: That’s it! I’ve found it!’

One last Glenn Miller memory: Back in the 1970’s I went to see the actual Glenn Miller Orchestra. They were touring the UK and they appeared at the Free Trade Hall in Manchester headed not of course by Glenn Miller but bandleader Buddy De Franco. I didn’t manage to drag any of my friends along so I took my mum with me.

My mum died this year aged 93. It was sad to see her go but at the same time good to see her released from pain and confusion.

The one new thing I watched on TV this Christmas was the new Doctor Who. I’ve watched Doctor Who off and on since I was a child from the first Doctor Who, William Hartnell up to the present. The Doctor, in case you didn’t know, is an alien from the planet Gallifrey whose body ‘regenerates’ every so often which is pretty convenient for when a new actor begins to play the part. In 2017 the Doctor regenerated into a woman for some reason and now the latest Doctor has regenerated into a black man. There were a lot of good points in this Christmas edition of Doctor Who. The production values were excellent, the photography was good. There was a new assistant introduced who seemed pretty interesting with a fascinating and mysterious backstory. On the flip side, the main story about goblins who steal a new baby so they can feed it to a monster resembling Jabba the Hut from Star Wars was a bit weak. I liked the new Doctor’s leather jacket though.

Thursday was a bit of a disaster for us. Our bus into St Annes never appeared so we had to get a taxi. That made us late for tapas at the 54 restaurant and we had to miss out the Boogie Brothers at the Pier Inn so we could get to the Lord Derby in time for the quiz. Hope the glam rock night went ok!

Anyway, fast forward to Christmas morning. It had actually only just gone midnight on Christmas Eve when Liz handed me a small present. It was very small and I guessed it was something like a walnut whip or something small to eat but when I tore off the wrapping paper and opened it, I was surprised to find my lost ring. Yes, Liz had found it after all and had wrapped it up to give me a cheeky surprise on Christmas morning.

Hope you all had a good Christmas and best wishes for 2024.

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My Week with Man Flu

Posted on by Steve Higgins

It’s been a tough week for me, stricken with man flu, hanging at death’s door. I managed to get through but only just.

Friday was another cold and wet day here in the north west of England. We had planned to dine out at a nearby Italian restaurant and then walk over to the Pier Inn for a few beers and listen to the music. I wasn’t feeling at my best even though Liz and I knew our friend Ray would be performing and we do like his music. There was a 30% off deal at Allegria, the Italian restaurant in question but the catch was this: to get the 30% off, diners have to book a table 24 hours in advance. We hadn’t booked and that meant paying the full price. There was only one thing for it, I had to call for help. I quickly dialled the Northern Association of Tightwads and I was soon through to an advisor.

I outlined the situation and he answered immediately. There were two possible options, I could stay at home or I could try to bluff it out.

“How do you mean?” I asked.

“Bluff it out! Tell them you called up yesterday and booked the table. Make out they have lost your booking and insist they honour it.”

Knowing the guys in Allegria I knew they were a little touchy about their offers. It was always important to check the small print because if you didn’t meet the criteria, they wouldn’t give you the offer. Anyway, I wasn’t feeling too good and thinking about it, I suspected even then that I was suffering with the lethargic symptoms of pre-man-flu. What the heck, we had some leftover cottage pie in the fridge so after a quick look outside and taking in the cold and windy evening we gave it all a miss and stayed in.

I didn’t sleep well that night and the next morning I had a sore throat and headache and then the sneezing began. My worst fears were confirmed: I had man flu.

A quick look around the bathroom and I found a couple of old cough mixture bottles which was handy and in the kitchen I still had some Lemsips left. That might just keep me going I thought. It wasn’t going to be a good day. I dragged myself outside and filled up the coal scuttle. Then I raked out the ashes, got some wood together and finally got the fire going. A lot of people think it’s great to have a real fire and it is nice I must admit but it takes some time and effort to get it going, which is not ideal when you’re suffering with one of the most deadly illnesses known to man.

Soon the flames were roaring in the hearth and that felt good but the effort had worn me out. For a moment I thought about calling the emergency services but of course, these days our NHS emergency services are really stretched. Of course, I know they would help and be sympathetic but one of the problems the ambulance services have to put up with are these idiots suffering with inane things like the common cold or a headache who call for an ambulance. OK, I know I’m hardly in that category but I thought I’d try and brave things out, for a little while anyway.

The next day I was worse but I was able to light the fire again and watch the qually for the Mexican Grand Prix. It was a good qually but sadly my current favourite driver Alex Albon didn’t do too well despite a good showing in the practice sessions. It was great to see the two Ferraris both on the front row though. I managed to drag myself through the day, staying close to the fire and dosing myself with Lemsips and whisky. A few times I felt really poorly, constantly sneezing and coughing and the cold sweats and shivering were dreadful. That morning I reached out to call for the ambulance a few times but ultimately I just said to myself, come on Steve, we can get through this.

By Sunday I was feeling slightly better. I wasn’t getting much sleep but the sweating had eased off. The headaches were down to bearable and the only real problem was the constant sneezing and coughing. That seemed to ease off later and Liz reminded me that we had booked to go to a church charity night. I wasn’t sure whether I could make that but the thing was, we had already paid for two £5 entry tickets. There was only one option, I had to call the emergency hotline for the Northern Order of Tightwads again and I got through quickly.

“Hello, Northern Tightwads, Yul B Allright speaking, how can I help?”

I quickly outlined the situation to Yul and his immediate response was “Looks like an open and shut case to me Steve. Are the tickets refundable?”

“Sadly no,” I answered.

There was a long intake of breath on the line. “That’s your problem straight away Steve. If you don’t go to this function, you’re out of pocket by £10. I know you’re not well and I take my hat off to you even considering going out when you’ve got man flu, I know how tough that can be but it seems to me that shelling out £10 and getting nothing in return is just plain wrong. I’ll bet you’re not happy about that yourself.”

“Well, I didn’t actually pay for the tickets myself.”

“What?”

“Yes, my girlfriend paid for them so I myself won’t actually lose out but I don’t want to see her lose out either.”

“Wow, that’s a tough situation Steve. Firstly, let me congratulate you, making sure advance payments are paid by others is one of the great tenets of Tightwadism as you know. Look, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I need some further advice. I’m gonna make a few phone calls and get right back to you.”

“Thanks Yul.”

I put the phone down feeling already that a great weight had been lifted.

I made myself a Lemsip, put some more coal on the fire, wrapped myself in a blanket and waited for the call. I wasn’t well and on top of that, Liz had already told me what I could do if I didn’t turn up that night and it wasn’t pleasant. I did think of telling her that what she suggested doing with the coal scuttle was a medical impossibility but I decided to keep that to myself. Not long afterwards the phone rang.

“Steve Higgins,” I answered.

“Yul B Allright here. Steve, I’ve spoken to some colleagues and what we think is that health situation permitting, you should get down to that charity do.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Yep. I know you didn’t buy the tickets but what we have to think about is our ideology here at Northern Tightwads. We could just say OK, you didn’t buy the tickets and of course your girlfriend, Liz, isn’t even a member but this a wider issue. Culture and ethos are important here and even if the loss won’t be sustained by a member of our group, paying for something and not getting the benefit of that payment is not acceptable. We think the only course of action for a true tightwad is to go down to that function and enjoy what you’ve paid for.”

“Well, there is a hotpot supper included in the ticket price.”

“That just confirms it Steve, you’ve got to get down there and make sure you get that hotpot and if humanly possible, make sure you get an extra portion!”

I was moved for a minute.

“Yul, you’re right. I just don’t know what to say. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your advice. No way we can leave that hotpot uneaten. Thanks Yul.”

“Anytime Steve. All of us at Northern Tightwads are right behind you and just remember.”

“Remember what Yul?”

“Anytime a round of drinks need buying, just make sure you need to visit the gents.”

“Thanks Yul, I’ll remember.”

We had a good night at the charity night, we even won a fiver and a bottle of gin in the raffle. I even started to feel better but that night things took a turn for the worse. I awoke at five in the morning with a major coughing and sneezing fit. I wrapped myself up in my dressing gown and staggered to the lounge. The fire had gone out but it was still warm in the room. I settled down with another Lemsip and watched the Grand Prix. Local star Perez got himself shunted off at the first corner much to the dismay of the crowd. The Ferraris tried to hang on to the tail of new three times world champion Max Verstappen but sadly failed and Max won again.

I watched a shed load of TV until about 9am when I went back to bed for some more much needed sleep.

When I awoke later my sore throat had eased a little, my temperature was down and the coughing and sneezing had begun to subside. I checked my pulse.

Yes I thought, I might just get through this.

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A Few Random Thoughts about Time

Posted on by Steve Higgins

Time is a pretty odd thing when you think about it. You can’t see it or touch it but it’s there just the same. As far as I understand, time is uniform, it bumbles along at exactly the same speed, year after year. There are always 24 hours in any given day and 365 days in every year, except of course for leap years. I mentioned last week about encountering each new birthday with a sense of apprehension. After all, each birthday brings me closer to my inevitable end, my dying day but it seems to me that as we get older, time seems to speed up and the months and years pass by faster and faster.

Perhaps that’s a consequence of nearing the latter stages of my journey through life. Recently when we were travelling through France motoring along through the endless country lanes of the Loire valley, it seems as if I only became aware of the speed when I reached a new village or hamlet and had to slow down. Perhaps that’s the way it is with time too, that you only notice the passing of time with some new event, something that brings time into perspective.

One of my friends has a daughter born on my birthday and the other day the child’s grandmother mentioned to me that she would be soon off to school. School already I thought? After all, I still think of that child as a baby, which clearly she no longer is. (Quick check and the little girl in question was born in 2019!)

In the boot of my car are two big yellow anoraks with reflective stripes. I put them there in case I ever break down on the motorway although they were given to me when I first joined the Highways Agency. They were compulsory clothing for being out and about seeing the motorway network first hand with our traffic officers, our area contractors and the police. I remember being out with the motorway police for a day and looking down at the speedometer as we made our way to an RTC and seeing it registering 120mph. That was an interesting day but it was actually back in 2005, 18 years ago. Can those yellow jackets really be 18 years old?

Music is another thing that always registers the passing of time. In the pub quiz that we visit every Thursday there is always a music section. The quizmaster plays 10 tracks and asks for three answers for each; the title, the artist and the year. We are helped in the year aspect as the DJ plays two tracks from each of ten decades and gives us the year endings. Now back in the 1980’s I was at the height of my love of vinyl singles. I bought singles every week, usually when they dropped out of the charts and were sold off at half price and not only that, later in the 80’s I bought my first video recorder and spent a lot of time recording my favourite music on video. What this means is that I should be spot on with the 80’s music but a lot of the time I sadly am not. Last week at the quiz, one of the tracks was Red Light Spells Danger, a hit by Billy Ocean which I was convinced was 1987. Actually it was older and was released in 1977. Fortunately Liz’s recollection was better than mine.

I have always been one for skimming through records and CDs, especially when the word ‘sale’ can be seen. Some years ago, a prime location for buying cheap CDs was Woolworths which sadly went bankrupt in 2015. In Woolworths many years ago I picked up a compilation CD. It had some really nice tracks and a few I’d never heard of but I chose it particularly because of one track, ‘Horse with no Name’ by America. I’ve always loved that song and I don’t have a copy of it so I bought the CD. Later when I had got home and played the album I was surprised to find another track that I hadn’t spotted earlier, it was Desiderata, a poem by Max Ehrman made into a pop song, of sorts, by an American guy called Les Crane.

Now not only is that poem one of my favourites but so is the musical version. It was played a lot at school by our headmaster in the morning services and as soon as I heard it again it brought memories of those long ago schooldays flooding back to me: The registrations, the morning assembly, the prayers. Back in the late sixties a lot of those morning assemblies were about Vietnam and how our headmaster, Mr Trickett wove his morning address from Vietnam to the Desiderata, I do not know but that musical version was something I loved and finding it again on a CD was like getting part of my youth back.

 

Quite a few years back Liz and I visited many of the war cemeteries in Northern France and like many others were moved by the many monuments to those who lost their lives in two world wars. I made a video about the many war memorials we came across and in the video commentary I spoke about the passing of time.

I have a theory about time and it’s this, it’s that time flows differently in different places. OK; sounds a bit mad doesn’t it? Let me explain further.

On many occasions when trundling through rural France I’ve come across many bunkers, fortresses and other sites. In northern France Liz and I stopped at a war grave cemetery that was picture perfect in its own way. The lawns were incredibly neat, and the hedgerows immaculately trimmed. Sadness pervaded the site like a scent coming over from the adjacent fields. Throughout there is a feeling of peace, of slowness and a feeling that time has stopped here or perhaps just slowed. That’s not strange when you think that time must have speeded up during the action of the first and second world wars, so it seems only fair that nature must compensate, that time must slow later to make up for the fast and frantic earlier time.

You can imagine the pace of things even a hundred years ago: The early morning bombardment, the whistles blowing as officers called their troops to go over the top. The advance parties who made ahead to cut the barbed wire, the troops walking apprehensively forward until they walked into the deadly machine gun fire that cut most of them down. Many found their final resting places in these cemeteries, places that are now quiet and peaceful with a silent beauty, timeless and moving with the beat of nature as a backdrop; the humming of the insects, distant cows mooing, and the birds flying past.

All the places we visited have had their moments in the spotlight of world history. They all lived through times of accelerated pace when time flowed swiftly. Perhaps it’s their time now for a quieter pace while time flows slowly.

Back to me then and my 67 birthdays. Time as I mentioned seems to speed up with age but there is still time to mention one more thing.

Time for a cup of tea!

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My Birthday Week

Posted on by Steve Higgins

Some time ago, and I can’t remember when it was, I went from looking forward to my birthdays to not being interested in them at all. In fact, I even think I’ve gone a little the other way. I don’t hate my birthdays but they worry me as with each one I just get older and older.

I’ve had 67 birthdays now which is quite a considerable number and one thing is certain, I won’t get another 67. This year I took my birthday off Facebook, I’m not sure why, perhaps I just don’t want people to know I’m so ancient. Perhaps inwardly I’m ashamed of being old but either way, Liz posted birthday wishes on Facebook so removing my birthday was a pretty pointless exercise. Anyway, together, Liz and I had a pretty lovely week.

To kick things off, on the Monday prior to the big day we visited one of our favourite restaurants. It’s called Ego and it’s actually part of a big chain of Ego restaurants and on a Monday they have a special offer which consists of any starter and main course at a reduced fixed price and also £10 off a bottle of wine.

The food isn’t outstanding at Ego but the one thing that makes it stand out is that if something is wrong, the staff will fix it. There will be no questions, no excuses, they will just get you another meal or just fix whatever it is that was wrong.

In a lot of restaurants staff seem to want to give excuses or reasons for the problem but never seem to want to do anything about it. A while ago we were in another restaurant, actually one of my favourites and we complained that the mussels were a bit gritty. The manager came over and explained that it wasn’t the fault of the restaurant but the fishmongers. Really? Another time we complained that some of the leaves in a salad were a bit dead. Again, it wasn’t their fault as the salad comes pre-washed. Yes, but didn’t the chef look at the plate? Wasn’t it checked before it came to the table? A quick check and the offending leaf could have been removed and then there would be no problem. That particular restaurant has since gone down a little in my estimation.

Anyway, if those things had happened at Ego, the manager would be round to our table to apologise, the food would have been instantly replaced and now I come to think of it, the last time we complained, the manager not only sorted the issue but also gave us both a free glass of wine which is why we keep coming back there. The food is important at a restaurant but so is the service.

Anyway, that was Monday. On Tuesday, the day of my actual birthday, we went to the restaurant which served the gritty mussels and I had a really nice meal. The waiters had been tipped off beforehand that it was my birthday and after our meal came and sang happy birthday and two of our friends who were also in the restaurant came over and joined in too.

Later, we went over to the Pier Inn for their Tuesday night quiz. These days you hear a lot about pubs closing down. Even the Rovers Return, the pub in the long running soap Coronation Street is currently boarded up and closed so it’s nice to see new pubs opening. The Pier Inn used to be a shop many moons ago and now it has reopened as a small pub serving some very nice real ales.

(Picture courtesy Wikipedia creative commons)

The quiz at the Pier Inn is one of those that is mostly based on current affairs rather than general knowledge so as we hadn’t watched the news that much it was certain we weren’t going to do well, however, we were joined by a friend who actually was pretty well up on current affairs and combined with a few crucial answers we added when it came to music and Hollywood, we ended up as the winners!

I believe that the decisive question was actually one that I answered. Which four things were removed from the top of Mount Lee in Las Angeles, California in 1949?

 Yes, that was a tough one for many of the quizzers but being a fan of classic Hollywood I guessed that the four things were letters, actually LAND. Yes, the famous Hollywood sign was originally ‘HOLLYWOODLAND’ and was erected to advertise a new housing estate in Hollywood in 1923. In 1949 when the sign became rather dilapidated, the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce offered to repair the sign but removed the ‘land’ segment so the sign would advertise the area itself and not just a housing estate. It was refurbished again in the 1970s and still stands today.

I thought I’d take a break from my birthday week and talk for a minute about Sex and the City. On a previous post I gave the latest series of And Just Like That a bit of a slagging off but I thought, is it that bad or is it that SATC was not actually as good as I remember? In order to resolve this issue, I opened up my DVD box set collection and plumped for my favourite season, season 4. With the DVD player cranked up I slipped in the first disc and there it was, SATC how it used to be; fabulous stories, great characters like Maria, Samantha’s lesbian lover, Charlotte’s husband Trey and his mother Bunny, Aidan, Steve, Mr Big, the OCD jazz guy and many others and Charlotte doesn’t look like some plastic botoxed oddball version of herself like she does today. I loved it and yes, And Just Like That really is as bad as I had thought.

Picture courtesy Olivers

Wednesday was a day of rest and a chance to ease up on my food and alcohol intake but on Thursday, our regular quiz night, we ate out once again. This time we went to Olivers, a friendly little place only a 5 minute drive from Liz’s house. Olivers is a small place with only a few tables serving pizza and pasta. They don’t serve alcohol but you can bring your own beer or wine which keeps the prices down which of course is vital to a tightwad like me. The pizzas are nice at Olivers but the dish I really like is a sharing board consisting of some pretty simple elements. Meatballs in tomato sauce, slices of some fabulous bread the chef makes himself, a pretty amazing garlic mayonnaise, olives, salami and potatas bravas which Liz doesn’t like so we swap that for a side salad. It’s simple but I love it plus the pizza we share for a starter is really nice.

After that it was off to our regular quiz. We excelled as usual in the picture round, we did reasonably well in the general knowledge but the music round was our downfall where we attributed the wrong songs to the wrong years. Oh well, you can’t win them all.

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Writing and What Happened in 1977

Posted on by Steve Higgins

1977 was a different world. There was no internet and there were no mobile phones. The only phones were landlines and they were big and heavy with great rotary dials with which you had to laboriously dial a number. As more people wanted telephones they needed more numbers and so numbers got longer and longer. 061, the dialling code for Manchester became 0161 and the code for London which was 01 became two new codes 071 and 081

I should tell you that I’m actually quite interested in telephones, especially those big heavy ones with a dial. I used to collect them and in fact I have quite a few; my two favourites are an old Bakelite phone from the 1940s and a Trimphone from the 1970s. The Trimphone was a new style telephone created by BT. It was a wedge-shaped light phone and the handset fitted neatly across the dial. Although it’s a phone I’ve always associated with the 1970’s, it was actually first introduced in 1965 and had a warbling ring tone instead of the traditional bell. The original versions had a green dial which lit up in the dark although this was discontinued due to concerns about radiation as the phosphorous which gave off the green glow was energised by a small tube of tritium gas which was mildly radioactive. Personally, I wouldn’t have thought anything could be ‘mildly’ radioactive but happily my two trimphones do not glow in the dark.

Anyway, time for a 1970’s telephone anecdote:

Once in 1977 I had a bit of a crush on a girl named Anne. I was a bus driver and my conductor had gone out with Anne a few times before moving on to someone else. I asked my friend Des for her number and I called her up one evening. I didn’t have a phone so I had to use a call box. I dialled the number and the phone rang for quite a while and finally someone answered.

‘Can I speak to Anne’ I asked.

‘Anne?’ said the voice.

‘Yes, Anne. Tell her it’s Steve.’

‘Steve?’ said the voice.

‘Yes, Steve.’

‘Just a minute.’

I could hear someone in the background asking who is it? And someone saying it’s for Anne and I had the feeling then that Des was playing a trick on me but hopefully the girl, whoever she was, had gone to fetch Anne.

A vintage bakelite telephone bought in France

I waited for quite a while and soon the pips went on the phone and I had to put more money in. I was still hanging on when the pips went again and in went my last coin. After what seemed like ages Anne came to the phone. I told her I didn’t have any money left so I quickly asked her out, she agreed and we set a place to meet, just before the phone finally cut off. When I finally went out with Anne, she told me that the phone wasn’t hers, it was her auntie’s phone and her auntie lived around the corner so Anne’s cousin had to nip round to Anne’s house, tell her there was a phone call and bring her back to the phone!

I remember telling Des about it and he laughed his head off. ‘Why didn’t you tell me it was her Auntie’s phone, you twit?’ I said.  Des just laughed even more.

Anne was the template for the character of Anne in my book Floating in Space. Floating was set in the year 1977 and as I mentioned earlier there was no internet, there were no mobile phones and wireless was an old-fashioned name for the radio. What else happened in 1977?

Jimmy Carter was the 39th President of the USA and he had won the election the previous year, taking office on January 20th, 1977. He was a peanut farmer who defeated President Gerald Ford who had served as President after Richard Nixon resigned in disgrace in 1974. As I write this, Carter is currently the oldest living former President.

In the UK the Prime Minister was Jim Callaghan. According to Wikipedia, he was the only Prime Minister to have held all the four main offices of state; Chancellor of the Exchequer, Home Secretary, Foreign Secretary and of course, Prime Minister.

A previous Prime Minister, Anthony Eden died in 1977.

Today’s blog is my 578th post over here on WordPress. It’s my 578th time of reaching out and showing readers a little of my work and hoping it might stimulate a few of you to click the links above and perhaps buy a copy of one of my books.

Creativity is important to everyone and my creative outlet is here in these weekly pages. For others it might be painting or photography. It might be working on a car or motorbike or even a little woodwork or home improvement. Creativity can take many forms, even making a post on Facebook can be creative. If you are on holiday and take a picture of a sunset and make it into a post, that is creativity. You can even take it further, crop the picture, add a filter to the image. Add a quote, Oscar Wilde is always good for one and so is Noel Coward or the big daddy of the written word; Shakespeare. The more you add the more creative you are. You can even write more on the post, another sentence, another paragraph, even another page. Soon you are on the way to a chapter, then more chapters and in time you will find that you have written a book. You’ve become a writer which, let’s face it, is a big achievement but then you need to write more, you need more pages, more chapters and more ideas.

Some people might write more than 578 posts, others may fall by the wayside after a mere eight, after all we all have things to do, jobs, work, life. All of that gets in the way.

Perhaps it’s time to get back to 1977:

On the 16th August 1977 at 6am, it was time for Elvis Presley to get some sleep. Night and day were reversed in Elvis’ world. He spent most of the night awake doing all the things he wanted to do. If he wanted to see a film at the cinema, he paid the cinema to run a film for him and his friends at night. He ate and played games at night, like the racketball he played with his step brothers and friends before going to bed that morning.

His fiancée, Ginger Alden was with him and Elvis who had trouble sleeping, took his usual assortment of sleeping pills before turning in. Sometime around 9am, Elvis awoke and told Ginger he was going to the bathroom. His bathroom was huge and he had made it into a truly personal and private place. In the bathroom was a circular shower. One wall was mirrored and fringed with those lightbulbs that one sees on the dressing table of a stage or film star and Elvis’ toilet things were clustered around the basin. The room was carpeted in purple and as well as a circular shower there was a couch and a TV set.

Elvis may have been sat on a chair reading The Shroud of Turin by Ian Wilson or he may have been using the toilet however, sometime during the morning he keeled over and fell face down to the floor wearing only a pair of blue cotton pyjamas. Elvis Presley, the King of Rock and Roll had died.

A few months before Elvis died, my friend Chris and I decided to pack in our jobs and travel to Spain and look for work there. His sister had already made the trip and assured Chris that there was a big British contingent and plenty of jobs available in bars and restaurants. Accommodation was readily available too. Chris and I hitchhiked to London where we caught the boat train to Paris. We wandered about in Paris trying to get a ride further south but after waiting for days trying to get a lift, we caught the train down to Spain.

We had a big reunion in a place called Lloret de Mar with Chris’ sister. Two Scots guys fixed us up with a pension, a small place to live and we met them later in the bar and bought them drinks as a thank you. After a while I became a little fed up of buying them drinks, yes, they’d helped us get a place to stay but that didn’t mean I was committed to providing them with free beer for the rest of my life.

I’m not sure they appreciated being told that and afterwards even though Chris got on with them pretty well, I didn’t. The incident contributed towards a certain unpopularity on my part in the local community but at least it kept the cadgers from mythering me. Still, other newcomers to Lloret were pretty popular, they had money in their pockets and the local Brits didn’t.

Quite a few notable people died in 1977. Groucho Marx, Joan Crawford, Wernher von Braun, Roberto Rossellini, Marc Bolan and of course, Elvis Presley.

I stayed in Lloret for two weeks and it was fun. Every night was like a Saturday night but after two weeks I realised I didn’t just want Saturday nights. Sometimes I wanted a normal Tuesday night watching TV. Sometimes I wanted a Sunday night and my mother’s Sunday dinner and sometimes I wanted a rainy Thursday afternoon. After a few weeks in the sun I left Chris in Lloret, hitchhiked north through France and finally back to Manchester.

We didn’t have a telephone at home so I couldn’t call to say I was on my way back. I always remember knocking on the door of our house. Mum opened the door and said ‘What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be gone for six months. ‘It didn’t work out Mum,’ I told her.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘I don’t know what we’re going to do. I threw your old bed out!’

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Funerals and a Star of England

Posted on by Steve Higgins

Before I went away on holiday at the beginning of May, I went to see my mother. She had lived in a care home since 2020 and suffering with dementia, she would alternate between periods of deep depression and confusion. The first words she would usually say to me are ‘where am I?’ or ‘when am I going home?’ The home she remembered though is her childhood home, one that she left behind many years ago.

On visiting just before I left for France, the staff took me aside and told me that Mum had only a month to live. She looked bright and cheerful, if a little thin but certainly not someone with only a month to live. Over two years ago they had told me the same thing. Then on another occasion they told me she only had six months left. Both forecasts were inaccurate. This one however, proved to be correct.

When Elvis Presley died someone approached John Lennon with the news and waited for his reaction. He reportedly said, ‘Elvis died ten years ago’. Lennon despite his peace and love image always struck me as a hard faced sort of man who cared little for the sensitivities of others. Those words of his came to me when I heard the news that Mum had indeed died. Her name was Mary and the real woman, the real soul or spirit that made Mary what she was, had either long gone or been obscured by dementia.

Still, even though I felt as though I had lost Mum a long time ago, I still grieved at her passing and of course there was a funeral to arrange. I don’t really know much about funerals and what they involve so I began to cast my mind back to other funerals I had attended.

When my Gran died the funeral service was held in Marple. I’m not sure why as it was nowhere near where my Gran lived or was buried. The journey from there to Southern Cemetery in Manchester was for me, a masterpiece of motor car management, juggling with high water temperature and having to dive into a garage to top up my car with water and then hurry along to catch up the funeral cortège.

At the graveside I noticed my Dad making signs to the two grave diggers and after the coffin had slipped into the ground and the final words of the vicar had faded, my Dad, a former grave-digger in years gone by, had a happy and joyful reunion with two of his old co-workers, much to the dismay of Mum who stood with me and cried her heart out. (Not your finest moment, Dad.) At least he thought better of introducing her to his friends which I thought he was going to do at one point.

My Uncle Raymond was my favourite uncle and my Dad’s best friend. When he died his funeral cortège took a detour past the British Legion, one of his numerous watering holes, and the staff and customers came outside to pay tribute as his coffin passed slowly by.

The funeral was sad and tearful and the wake was pretty similar. A lot of sad people, a lot of tears and my Dad, who had lost his best friend was devastated.

I was driving that day and was asked to run some long forgotten relative home. I did so and returned a short while later. Only twenty minutes or so had passed but when I returned, I returned to a happy, noisy, enjoyable party, full of laughter and fun. I don’t know what had happened in the twenty minutes I had been gone but I came back to exactly the sort of party that my Uncle Ray would have loved.

Over in France I called the funeral home. They assured me Mum’s body would be looked after and soon someone would give me a call about further arrangements. The next day someone did indeed call and we set a date. I called or messaged all the relations that I could and then waited for the next step. The next step never happened so I called the funeral home again. No rush they said, finish your holiday and then come and see us and we’ll set a date for the funeral. Set a date? But we’ve already done that, haven’t we? It turned out that the date I’d set was a date to speak to the funeral home’s financial advisor! Perhaps I was more stressed than I thought.

I was full of nerves as we approached the day of the funeral but I went back to some of my old Paul McKenna confidence building routines that I used to use before job interviews. I woke on the day of the funeral feeling calm and confident. Everything went as planned and it was good to see my cousins and other family members who I hadn’t seen for many years.

My mother was born on Black Thursday, the day of the Wall Street crash, October 24th, 1929. She was born in Cheltenham, I’m not quite sure why, perhaps my Grandad was there looking for work. The family lived for a while at 36 Bath Street in Hulme, a suburb of Manchester. They moved to the new council housing estate of Wythenshawe in the 1930s. It must have been a wonderful place then, surrounded by farms and country lanes. Mum was the eldest in her family, followed soon by, in no particular order, Ada, Beryl, George and Frank.

The war came in 1939 and being the eldest, Mum helped with the cooking and shopping and used to tell me stories of queuing at shops and ration cards and swapping ration coupons for the things you didn’t want for the things that you did. She told me she could tell the German planes from the British ones by the sound of their engines and when the blitz came, the family used to troop out to the bomb shelter, all except my grandad who under no circumstances Mum said, would he ever step in there.

When Mum left school, she worked in a series of local factories and then later worked in Manchester city centre. She used to meet my grandad in Piccadilly; he would be going home after a night shift at Evans Bellhouse in Newton Heath and she would be on her way to work.

In 1948 tragedy struck when her sister Ada was killed in a cycling accident. Mum was deeply affected and told me about it many times.

Happier times came when she married my dad in 1954 and although they had their ups and downs, they stayed together until he died in 2000.

Mum was the centre of our small family. She organised everything we did. She arranged all our family holidays to places like Rhyl and Prestatyn, Blackpool and Morecambe and all the seaside destinations of northern England. They were always caravan holidays and as we had no car we always travelled by coach. We took the dog with us and no matter what preparations were made Bob, our dog, was always sick on the coach. Myself, my brother and my dad all looked the other way and pretended the dog was nothing to do with us while Mum, always prepared as usual, cleaned up the mess.

She also arranged all the decorating in our house taking charge of the wallpaper and preparing all the surfaces for painting. Dad would appear in his overalls, do the painting and then Mum would clean everything up.

She was devasted when he died in 2000 but like always, she just carried on.

I used to ask her if she wanted any shopping and she would always say, when she couldn’t go shopping herself anymore, then she was finished.

Once, when I was living in Merseyside, she bought a new lawn mower from Argos and asked me to pick it up. I kept putting it off but eventually drove back to Manchester and down to Argos. I had the code she had given me but the staff told me it had been picked up. I insisted it couldn’t have been but they were equally insistent that it had.  I drove round to Mum’s and it turned out she had got tired of waiting for me and had picked it up herself. She had gone to Asda, got herself a trolley, pushed it to Argos, the staff put the mower in and then she pushed it home, returning the shopping trolley the next day.

When she began to suffer with dementia my brother and I looked after her with the help of carers and believe me, it was very difficult indeed. She would forget she had eaten and demanded more food. She complained that her clothes were not her clothes and after an illness which I personally thought might have been covid she moved into a care home.

Sometimes I’d visit her and she could hardly put two words together. Other times she’d be bright and happy and talkative but even so, her death was more of a freeing of her spirit than anything else.

A lot of the words above came from the eulogy I read at her funeral. I’d decided to finish with these words from Henry 5th by William Shakespeare: Small time but in that small most greatly lived this Star of England.

You might those words were perhaps a little inappropriate, after all, Mum wasn’t a king or a queen. She was a simple lady who loved her husband and children and did her best for her family. She was proud to be a housewife and a homemaker but I truly believe she was, in her own way, a Star of England.

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Thoughts in My Car

Posted on by Steve Higgins

Every couple of weeks or so I hop into my car and set off on the journey back to Manchester. I usually have some provisions packed although a lot of the time I will pop into the shops and pick some things up, a loaf of bread, a bottle of milk. I’m a man of simple tastes.

The car starts up fine and I’m off down the drive and heading towards the M55 motorway.

Once I’m moving I crank up the stereo and settle back to drive and listen to my favourite music. I hate adverts. TV adverts are bad enough but radio ads are the ones I really hate so no commercial radio, just CDs. My stereo takes five CDs which is great as sometimes I might get bored with the current CD and I like to click forward to the next one.

Coming along Queensway towards the M55 and there are roadworks ahead. There’s not a great queue but the only other route involves a huge excursion to bypass the area so I reckon I’ll just stick it out.

My much missed Renault convertible

My car is a Skoda Octavia Scout 4 wheel drive. It’s not anything I’ve gone out of my way to buy it just happened to be available when I wanted to change cars so I went for it. The only car I’ve ever really gone out of my way to buy was probably my last car which was a Renault Megane convertible. I don’t suppose I took the roof down that much now I come to think of it but a convertible was something I’d always wanted. I really did love driving on a warm summer’s day with the top down. My previous car was a Rover and it had a somewhat old fashioned radio and tape player. Not that I minded having a tape player. Ever since my teenage days I’ve enjoyed copying my vinyl 45s to tape and making what they call these days a mixtape, although back in the mid seventies that wasn’t a phrase I’d ever heard of.

Anyway, I loved tapes and I enjoyed compiling them. If the tape broke: no matter, they were only cheap, throw it away and record another. Bored with a tape? Again, no matter, just record something else over whatever was already on there.

Tape cassette

Finally through the roadworks on down towards the M55 motorway.

When I moved up to the Renault my collection of tapes was consigned to the storeroom and I brought a box of CDs into the car. I wasn’t totally happy but then I realised I could continue in my mixtape recording by just creating collections of my favourite music on CD. I began to copy CDs onto my laptop so I could burn my favourite tracks to new CD collections. I even had a program in which I could digitise some of my very best mixtapes which had clips from TV and film shows and burn them to a new CD.

Finally I turn on to the M55 motorway. I see I’m perhaps a little short on fuel but I’ve got easily enough to get me to Manchester and back. It’s always worth checking your fuel as when I was a motorway traffic officer, running out of gas could be a big problem. So many stranded motorists used to call up and mention they had run out of fuel as if we were going to pop down with a tank of petrol. No, we would be towing their car away and charging them £250 for the privilege, assuming the police didn’t get involved and give them a ticket. Imagine if they had run out of fuel in the fast lane or on a motorway with no hard shoulder; that could be dangerous and even fatal. Always check your fuel before going onto the motorway.

After a while I thought about actually having my original CDs in the car rather than copying and editing them. After all, if you come to a dud track it’s easy to just flip to the next one. So I brought a couple of boxes of CDs into the car, one in the passenger footwell and another in the boot. Every so often I’d rotate them.

Not so long ago I was stuck in a traffic jam. I was a little bored with my current five CD selection and wondering if I should reach over and select some new music from the zip folder of CDs in the glove compartment or even reach down to the box of newer CDs on the floor. We started to move up slowly but just then my eye happened to catch something on the front of the stereo. There was a small slot I hadn’t seen before and was that worn mark the symbol of a SD slot, you know, a slot for a memory card? We started moving and I made a mental note to look into that later.

By now I’d reached the junction with the M6. I took the slip road for the M6 south but I knew that soon I’d have to make another decision. Should I go M61 south and then M60 ring road or stay M6 south and then M56? Decisions. The M61 is not one of my favourite motorways. It always seems to be busy and then there’s the confusing link to the M60 anti clockwise where you have to move over to the right but traffic from the A666 that wants to go M60 clockwise tries to go left. It’s an accident hot spot and I can almost hear myself in former days when I was the radio dispatcher: Romeo Lima three four. Can you make to an RTC southbound M61 just by the junction with the M60 clockwise?

‘State five, Hotel Alpha’ would be the hoped for response, state five is code for enroute to the incident. Hotel Alpha was my call sign. Anyway I decide to stay on the M6 south. It’s a bit of a risk as I know there are roadworks and a 50mph zone but I still reckon it will be better than the M61.

Police and Highways dealing with an incident. This was on the M25

I checked the stereo and guess what? Yes it was a slot for an SD card. Now it just so happens that all the music I have copied and digitised I had already placed on a micro SD card for my MP3 player. I copied all that to a standard size SD card, popped it into my stereo and now I can listen to my entire music collection without changing CDs, without rotating boxes of CDs, without having the footwell of the passenger seat full of CDs. I was feeling pretty pleased with myself. OK, I’d have to copy all the newer CDs in my collection that I hadn’t already transferred to the SD card but even so, I still have a huge collection of music on that card, all of which I like and all advertisement free.

I’d hit the roadworks on the M6 and dropped to 50mph as per the speed restrictions. A lot of people look down on my Skoda but Skoda is actually part of Volkswagen and the engine is basically a Volkswagen engine so really the car is actually a pretty impressive vehicle. I’ve got a cruise control so I set the speed to 52 MPH and glide gently along in the slightly faster moving outside lane. I’m gradually working my way through my SD card and along comes some music I haven’t heard for a while, the soundtrack from the film Aliens.

Sigourney Weaver as Ripley from Alien

Aliens was the James Cameron sequel to the Ridley Scott sci-fi horror film Alien. Alien is a sci-fi classic and I’m never sure which is the better film Alien or Aliens. The other sequels in the Alien series were poor and even the prequels weren’t that good, even though Ridley Scott himself directed them. The first was Prometheus which he followed with Alien Covenant. I tried to watch Prometheus but just got bored with it. Alien Covenant was much the same.

Alien had a top-notch cast including Tom Skerrit, Sigourney Weaver, Ian Holm, John Hurt and others. The actors in Covenant were good but I just didn’t have any interest in them. The plot seemed pretty similar to Alien; a spacecraft receives a distress call and goes to investigate. This involves a long hike through the countryside although why they couldn’t have landed closer, I don’t know. Instead of the eggs and the face hugging parasite from Alien some alien spores are encountered by one crew member. He is taken back to the spacecraft and to the medical bay. One crew member gets locked in with the deteriorating man and guess what, an alien bursts out of his body and attacks the other one although just about then I switched off. Why is Alien so good and Alien Covenant so bad? It’s hard to say. Was it just the charisma free actors in the latter or the slow pace? Alien ticked along fairly slowly too but the director always kept the viewer interested in what was going to happen, plus the actors in Alien were so good.

A dubious area of the M6 is around Warrington where the M62 joins us and things always seem to get busy. There are queue caution signs up but these are automatic signals which are activated by a system called MIDAS. Motorway Incident Detection and Signalling. Slow traffic has been detected but then it is always busy in this area. Things speed up and we are soon over the Thelwall Viaduct and onto the M56.

I click onto the next CD on the SD card and it’s a singer called Rumer. Rumer is a British singer-songwriter with a really lovely voice. I reckon it’s just as good as Karen Carpenter and both have the same smooth and warm tone. The album that’s playing is one that has a fabulous version of a Carpenters classic, I Long to be Close to You.

Listening to the wonderful voice of Rumer, I pass the airport, another incident hot spot, without any problems and soon I’m pulling up at my mother’s house. I’ve got my laptop with me and I’ll have a few days to write a new blog post.

Not sure what to write about though.

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