The Vietnam War

The Vietnam War dominated the lives of people my age for a long time. I would say from about 1965 or so to about 1975. Early on we didn't know too much about it and then, when we became aware, we learned more and depending on when and where we first became appreciative of the facts, and who taught them to us, we formed our own opinions.

I remember the shootings in 1970 at Kent State University and Nixon calling them campus bums and that a majority of the Americans agreed with the shootings. No wonder they voted in Trump! I saw the demonstrations on TV, the cops and soldiers ill treating the demonstrators and watched with pity for the students getting beaten up. I remember the demonstration in Grosvenor Square; a lot of what was happening sunk in.

I had to go to hospital – an RAF hospital – for a tiny operation on my wrist in 1972 and the demonstrations were on TV there too. I was still appalled when I saw demonstrators being man handled and bullied by police and soldiers but in hospital, with a load of air-force patients, I found they were sympathising with the bullies – the police, the military.

I was in that particular hospital because I was in their catchment area and it was the first time I had seen and been with people who had different sympathies. This was 1972, as I have said; they didn't know that America in 1965 knew that they wouldn't be able to win that war and had accepted that fact and were only staying in Vietnam to save face.

Save Face was 70% of the reasons – they had others. The RAF men in the hospital were on the side of the military because that is what the military taught their people; what more could be expected?

I bring all this up now as there is a terrific documentary series, that has just been shown on BBC4. It's an American documentary made by, maybe, the best producer of documentaries there is; Ken Burns. He has made some marvelous series all shown in America: there was one called Jazz; others were The War, Lewis & Clark; the Journey and the Corps of Discovery, The Civil War and he seems to make a series called The American Experience now and again.

The Vietnam War is no exception – it is an outstanding series and I strongly recommend it. There are ten parts and a few things, which I will mention later, stuck out, apart from seeing the paper work by Johnson saying they would never (and they didn't they lost) win the war and were only over there to save face. 

In the process they spent over $70 Billion and over 58 thousand young Americans with an average age of 19 were killed together with 250,000 South Vietnamese and on the other side 1.1 million North Vietnamese soldiers and Viet Cong. All to save face!

President Johnson was a president who could do anything. He fought, bullied, cajoled and pushed civil rights through congress. 
Up to that time the Jim Crow laws ruled the south. The famous and first black baseball player, Jackie Robinson, had a gun shoved in his face for drinking out of a whites only fountain, blacks had to sit at the back of the bus, swimming pools at hotels were emptied and re-filled if it was found there had been a black person in it. Civil Rights Bills were needed which is what Johnson aim in life was: his raison d'être, his life's work and he had to concentrate on Vietnam which he hadn't started and never got to finish. He ended up growing his hair and smoking himself to death.

The Americans were against communism and that was their reason to be there; it also generated the Eisenhower doctrine of the Military Industrial Complex which, in simple words, would make war a business. Eisenhower predicted such a future in a speech in the 1950s, and in fact there was a helicopter company who were going broke before Vietnam, and at the end of that war they were one of the biggest companies in America, as with most of the armament companies.

The two things that stuck out for me in the series: first there was a pilot whose job it was to bomb the Hồ Chí Minh Trail; The Hồ Chí Minh trail was a logistical system that ran from the Democratic Republic of Vietnam (the north) to the Republic of Vietnam (the south) through the kingdoms of Laos and Cambodia. The pilot, in question, would fly over the trail and bomb the trucks with the weapons and supplies heading south, and as he looked down he realised he was on the wrong side. Looking down he admired their bravery. He realised he, with his American army, was being seen off just as the Vietnamese had seen off the Japanese, after World War II and the French who followed them.

The other thing that stuck out to me was strange.

It was told by a Japanese American who was the highest decorated Japanese American soldier of the war. I was surprised he even related it.

He was born in an Internment Camp in America as the USA were at war with Japan. His family, when released, would eat Japanese food, of course, but when he was in Vietnam the military didn't serve rice; and he longed for some.

One day they reached a village with his troop and searched it house by house and found nothing. 
In one of the houses he met a couple of grannies as he called them and they were cooking. He said it smelt beautiful, he had not eaten any rice since he was there and he stared at the rice and vegetables with big eyes. He asked if he could have some and offered a pack of American cigarettes and other stuff in exchange and sat outside eating every bit of his meal.

He wanted more and one of his buddies he told, said 'these people don't have much food for themselves so why take it?' he looked and said 'no – look they have plenty of food; in fact enough for a lot of people – men!!!!'

So they looked again around the village and found a trench which was like a priest hole, which they have in the old houses in England. 
He took two grenades and popped them in to the hole. Then they pulled up four bodies of the young men they had killed.

They studied the faces of the women to see which ones were crying for their loved ones – they all cried.

It was quite obvious who lost the war and why – but what do it know?

Bath Time.

                                            PORTNABLAGH

There is a Tory MP who spends the first hour of each day in the bath; his name is Tim Loughton. Not that his name matters apart from the fact that he claims for the water used in the bath on his parliamentary expenses because he works in the bath. He reads the papers, makes phone calls and other paper work. He doesn't hold meetings in there, like President Johnson who would even sit on the can in meetings. I don't think I would have been able to stand that and maybe that's why they all took up smoking cigars; who knows? But it got me thinking.

Some time ago, I went to Donegal; Donegal, for those who don't know, is on the north west tip of Ireland. In fact at the north of Donegal, which is in the republic is farther north than the so called Northern Ireland.

I went there with a film producer to research a script. I remember the words of his wife as we left his Ballsbridge, Dublin flat 'Don't drink Donegal Dry!' It's a pity she didn't add darling as that would have been five hymenopterons. 

We went by train from Dublin, listened to our breakfast being cooked as we travelled through the green, the green the very green Irish countryside and scoffed the bacon and eggs like schoolboys as the train travelled through the mid lands and up to the town of Sligo. At the station there, we were greeted on the platform by a representative of the care hire company and off I drove to Donegal. Donegal Town first, which is in the county of Donegal which, itself, is in the province of Ulster.

So you are with me now; you know where we are.

We had a meeting with someone at Glenveagh National Park as that is where the script, or outline, was set, as I needed to see the place and talk about the history and the events I was to write about. We decided to stay in Portnablagh which is a village and as the Portnablagh Hotel was fully booked by the time we reached there.

So we were stuck for somewhere to stay and it was suggested we go to the pub and go back to the hotel later to see if anything could be done. You don't get sent away in Ireland; they will put you somewhere.

When we got back they told us we would be staying in the cottage next door to the hotel. It had two bedrooms but only one bathroom. That didn't bother me, at the time, so off we went. We had a comfortable room each and the next morning my film producer friend got to the bathroom first.

Now that was a mistake on my part and a little bit of – not selfishness, I might say but . . . why not? It was a bit of selfishness. He didn't even think that I might want to use the bathroom. He was in there for over two hours and each time the water got cold he would turn the hot tap on and fill it; he was reading. 

I suppose he felt like Winston Churchill, in there, who would also spend hours in the bath, conducting the war and holding war time cabinet meetings, but we had a meeting at Glenveagh National Park.

Eventually my friend emerged from the bath pruned, I presume. 

A couple of days later, we were at the Dublin flat, which was on two floors so I suppose you would call it an apartment, and the producers of another project we were involved with were due to come to the flat for a meeting. I went in to the bathroom, which was on the higher floor, to start my ablutions.

Now this is where the story become very slightly indelicate and I'll try to make it as delicate as I can.

I did my poo and the flush wouldn't work as the tank was out of water – by the way, for my American friends, over here a poo is what you call a poop. We call a fart a poop or a trump and a poo is faecal matter.

I tried the shower and it was working so I figured if I had a shower first, the water in the lavatory system would refill whilst I was in there.

I got in to the shower, suds myself up with soap all over and the water stopped. Just like Steve Martin in the movie Planes, Trains and Automobiles I was stuck. I banged on the door and, eventually, told them what happened. They told me the water sometimes does that and that I will need to go to the kitchen down the stairs and physically refill the tank.

They were not a very domestic couple and the only thing they had to carry water was a milk pan; so that is what I had to use.

I put some clothes on, over my soaped body, and went down the stairs to fill the pan with about half a pint of water; this meant going up and down the stairs quite a few times to fill it.

As I went down after the first trip the front door bell rang and our friends for the meeting had arrived.

The night before I had been singing The Wild Rover in the pub and when the door was opened they saw me with my pan and started singing it. They needed to use the bathroom – you can' – why not? - you just can't – but I need to go – you can't - and on it went.

Don't ask!!

I still have the outline I wrote about Glenveagh somewhere. The other job in Dublin fell through as the production company didn't pay my hosts so they couldn't pay me and not long after that when we all came back to London we got a commission to write a commentary about a golf course in Catalonia – the producer told me I should keep the whole fee for that which I did.

But then the co-producer (his wife) said she hadn't agreed to that and wanted it back so I did four weeks filming a candid camera type series with Bob Monkhouse and Nigel Lythgo all over the north – Nottingham, Liverpool, Blackpool – and I paid them that money and that series didn't go out on TV either.

Armageddon - here we come.

There was something on Newsnight, last night, which I found disturbing concerning guest speakers, comedians and the like appearing at Universities and colleges. Words like 'Platforming' were used which, if you look up the meaning, means 'The action or practice of preventing someone holding views regarded as unacceptable or offensive from contributing to a public debate or meeting.' Other terms like Triggering, Safe Places etc were also used and some of the excuses about so called unacceptable types of behaviour, were put down to intergenerational mistakes – in other words ageism.

Triggering has always been used in things like medical procedures which 'trigger' something else and also in the recent 'Article 50' trigger.

It seems that certain every day words, which have always been acceptable, and I don't mean ethnic slurs etc, have been grouped in to the ethnic and vulgar slang category. Ridiculous words such as Oriental are now not to be used and certain pronouns are really a 'no no.'

Why are we so frightened of offending someone? What do you think Lenny Bruce and Joan Rivers would make of it all?

Why do you think we ended up with Trump in America and Brexit here?

I don't think it's a very smart thing to follow ideas by the young just to try and appear trendy and there is nothing so sad as mutton dressed as lamb.

But there is a lot of ageism with computer experts' condescending attitude to a person who is not 100% sure about a computer. A bloody computer of all things which doesn't sound as good as a good guitar, piano or even taste as good as a cigar.

The cowboy heroes of my youth wouldn't be seen with a computer; that would be for the dude.

There is always a place for a dude.

In the 50s a little kid would take his collection of records to a dance hall and play them on his little record player. The boys and girls, the guys and dolls, the men and woman would dance and move and flirt and things and the little kid would play the records and have them in alphabetical order and they would be as pristine as a parson in his Sunday go to meeting suit.

Then later on in years the little kid would be on the radio calling himself a jockey; a Disc-jockey. He would speak as closely to the microphone as possible and he would sound like a big man, a husky man, a pioneer a rider like a jockey.

The disc-jockey became the deejay the hero of the youngster who wanted to sit on their arses and ride those platters.

This spawned pieces of filth like Jimmy Savile and the air-guitar generation.

Then when the internet came along people surfed the web.

Surfed! my arse!

'Go on' a guy said to me when he had fixed me up with the internet 'enjoy!'

He didn't quite have the energy to say it 'enjoy' he said – no it.

The greatest piece of surfing or riding I ever saw was Slim Pickens as Major (King) Kong as he rode the H Bomb down to its destination at Armageddon at the end of Doctor Strangelove.

Because that's where we're heading.

Here he is again; ride him Slim:

Ken Dodd

I did something last night I have wanted to do for some time; I went up to Blackpool and saw Ken Dodd live. I have always been a fan but only saw him on TV and never saw the legendary live act even though I met him years ago. 

He is a proper comedian in the tradition of Dan Leno going back to Music Hall and he was tremendous; his technique is to throw so many gags at you that you have to laugh; PC or no PC.

I do realise, of course, that my friends in America have probably never heard of him; well he has been a big television star for years over here but his TV act and antics are different from his stage act – so I had heard.

At the time of writing he is one month from his 90^th birthday and, in fact, he is Sir Ken Dodd; he was knighted this year 2017. Also for my friends in America, being a knight here doesn't mean or give you anything – apart from a good seat in a restaurant. Most people in the acting profession don't use their rank, no matter what it is, in their professional capacity but I have noticed that actors don't (except King Bensley) but people in pop music and comedians do.

One of his biggest fans, I reckon, is Michael Billington from The Guardian who included in his book on GREAT ACTING PERFORMANCES Ken Dodd's performance as Malvolio in TWELFTH NIGHT and has written further books about him.

But the big thing that made my night was when I went to take my seat, there was an old lady sitting in it. My seat was I-18 and she said to me, with a defying twinkle in her eye, “I'm not moving.”

Then when I went to look for help she said to my wife “Where has that boy gone?”

That Boy!!!!

Of course her ticket really said I-8 – she was shown to row I and mistook her ticket.

But That Boy!! Wow!

There were two other acts in the show, an illusionist and a music act and we also had a 20 minute intermission but apart from that it was Ken – from 7.00pm till midnight. One of his gags was '50% of the people here tonight are optimistic – they ordered taxis for 12.30.'

He is renowned for long shows and makes a lot of it in his act - as I said earlier he was tremendous and even though I don't have a bucket list if I had one his live show would be on it. 

Ken Dodd as Malvolio in Twelfth Night

Whole Lotta Love!

This is a post about pop music; what is the difference between pop music and popular music? Pop Music is a certain genre and popular music is any music that's popular. Music has influenced my life more than anything else and it still does but since about 1999 I don't know too much.

It was supposed to be 1968 which was the end of pop music as we know it with All You Need is Love by The Beatles when they sang it on the world TV link.

I can't remember who wrote the book and the documentary film which said 1968 was the peak but he certainly had a point.

Over the years since then there have been some wonderful records with great intros: Whole Lotta Love by Led Zeppelin, Hotel California by The Eagles and Baker Street by Gerry Rafferty to name but three.

Today the number one hit single in Britain is by someone called Smith and it has one second of intro. The last (so called) number one had one second of intro too. Intro short for introduction, by the way, just as app is short for application. That will probably be a question on University Challenge in 30 years.

The reason for this is that to be number one in the charts they count streaming; with streaming it doesn't matter how long you listen to the song for, it all counts. So these artists are just cutting the intro altogether.

Now I have quite a few songs on iTunes, Spotify and the rest of the streaming services and nobody ever told me to cut down the intro – maybe because they don't care. But it says something, doesn't it, when you realise that something which most music lovers held dear has now gone.

Streaming doesn't pay much in any case; I get one cent per stream. Before streaming I used to get 99 cents per sale and with all the on line outlets, even then, it mounted up. But the most I ever got paid was about $500 per month for a ring tone. They used my intro.

I get paid every time someone plays one of my songs on YouTube but that is collected by my publishers and that takes about two or three months.

Whilst I am having a moan – here we go:

The Bridge is a tiny piece of music that bridges two themes etc. In God Save the Queen it is the bit that goes da da da da da da.

For some reason the Americans called the middle 8 the bridge.

The other moan – there is one lyric to a song. You can't say you like the lyrics of Summertime Blues as there is only one lyric.

So I've had my say – and if you want to give me one cent click on this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mGJLQ6Ut_4A