GIRL FROM THE NORTH COUNTRY

After writing a post about 'actors (who) can bring a tear to the eyes of the audience. They do this by playing their role with soul . . .' and that 'audiences who are impressed by the technique and the learning of all those lines, by university actors, but half the time you don't believe them.'

And then I go to the theatre last night and at the end of the show there wasn't a dry eye in the house.

I went to see GIRL FROM THE NORTH COUNTRY at the Old Vic Theatre in London. It is what you have already guessed: a play with a title from a Bob Dylan song.

But not only that, it also uses his music. It was written by the brilliant Irish playwright Conor McPherson who conjures up a play, set in 1934 – which is before Dylan was born – and uses some of Bob Dylan's music.

It is a good play and it is peopled with some great actors from Ireland and Britain who use American accents. The fact that the piece is set in Duluth, Minnesota, didn't tempt any of them to try a Minnesota accent, like they use in programmes like Fargo, didn't distract from the evening of brilliance; in fact it was an evening of magic.

Even though I thought the play was brilliant I don't think it would have caught fire without the songs. What stands out is the genius of Dylan; not only are the lyrics outstanding but his songs are beautiful and they are beautifully performed by the cast. There are great singers and as some of the cast are well known I was surprised at how well they sung.

The genius of Dylan is of course in the words. They evoke all kinds of imagery and sometimes you wonder where he gets them from. For instance:

Idiot Wind Blowing every time you move your mouth
Blowing down the back roads headin' south
Idiot wind
Blowing every time you move your teeth
You're an idiot, babe
It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe

I ran into the fortune-teller
Who said beware of lightning that might strike
I haven't known peace and quiet
For so long I can't remember what it's like
There's a lone soldier on the cross
Smoke pourin' out of a boxcar door
You didn't know it, you didn't think it could be done
In the final end he won the wars
After losin' every battle

There are many more, many more pieces of magnificence, and this is probably not the best, just something that came to me. It makes me think back to the naysayers when Dylan first came upon the scene and when it became clear that he had named himself after the poet Dylan Thomas they sneered and the same sneering started when he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature but . . let them sneer.

There is a set of drums on stage, which various members of the cast play throughout the evening but . . . . it finishes on October 7^th.

I think it will be back soon in the west end and then the world – look out for it!!

Where have all the Bob Dylans gone?

Bob Dylan.

I have read that a lot of people describe themselves as bloggers and activists; I write this blog but that's not how I would describe myself. I write it to keep up to date with my typing and stringing a few words together and after this amount of time – 5 years – it's become a kind of habit.

What surprises me is the number of people who read it. Not who officially follow it, but those that actually hit it and, presumably go on to read it. 

Last week's post – My Secret Play – really surprised me; it's not like Matt Drudge's blog that must attract millions of hits but I'm satisfied with the people who read it. I have 16 faithful followers but lots more who dip in.

I wrote a post called My Teenage Love Story on February 12^th 2012 and within the last month 88 people read it; or one person read it 88 times – here it is if you want to see it http://storytelleronamazon.blogspot.co.uk/2012/02/my-teenage-love-story.html and here are my top five posts since I started:

Wake up and smell the coffee! Sep 14, 2011	8420
Julian Assange, WikiLeaks and other BS. Dec 7, 2010, 6 comments	5085
Javier Barden and The Golden Globes. Dec 22, 2010	3781
Are the Royal Family Lizards? Jan 29, 2011, 2 comments	2812
In Flanders Field Nov 11, 2010, 3 comments	1607

Those posts won't be controversial as this is not a political blog because I leave that to the experts but do you know what's missing these days – a singer like Bob Dylan. And maybe Springsteen! Where are they? Where is the voice of youth these days? The voice of a generation?

Just where are the protest singers? Are there any? There's more turmoil these days than in those.

In those days (or doze daze) there was the Vietnam War and the 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago; the Kent State shooting of demonstrating students by the state police and other things to complain about. The answer, of course, is blowing in the wind but the wind isn't coming my way.

We have image conscious politicians on the UK, they are so image conscious it's hard to imagine any of the UK political leaders in jeans. They're not exactly cool like Obama who apparently does it without effort.

I've never been much of a fan of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, but give their song Ohio, written by Neil Young, a spin; it's been known to make listeners angry and when you consider the subject which was the mowing down of protesting students by Ohio National Guard, it's not surprising:

Kent State.

The guardsmen fired 67 rounds over a period of 13 seconds, killing four students and wounding nine others, one of whom suffered permanent paralysis; enough to make anybody angry especially the parents of the victims when they heard President Nixon call them 'campus bums;' he actually said 'You see these bums, you know, blowing up campuses storming around about the issue.'

None of those shot were bums - all were students in good standing at the university They were only protesting about the Vietnam War and the invasion of Cambodia and it caused a national reaction – they made the ultimate sacrifice as their generation were killing and being killed thousands of miles from America - but did it stop the war? Not for 5 years and the USA lost.

So all those young men with an average age of 19 died for nothing: it is said the people who look at the wall, and see all those names, usually shed a tear.

But what did the Vietnam War teach industry and governments? It taught them that war is money; President Eisenhower (a Republican President, no less) warned of the Miltary-Industrial-Complex; and what is the Miltary-Industrial-Complex?

This is the official answer from Wikipedia:

 The military–industrial complex, or military–industrial–congressional complex,^[1] comprises the policy and monetary relationships which exist between legislators, national armed forces, and the arms industry that supports them. These relationships include political contributions, political approval for military spending, lobbying to support bureaucracies, and oversight of the industry. It is a type of iron triangle. The term is most often used in reference to the system behind the military of the United States, where it gained popularity after its use in the farewell address of President Dwight D. Eisenhower on January 17, 1961, though the term is applicable to any country with a similarly developed infrastructure.

Would anybody do that these days? Would they have the time to look up from their smart phones and Facebook and their 'it is what it is' attitudes and see.

100 years ago, this coming Christmas, German soldiers and British soldiers, on their own bat, decided upon a Christmas truce and played a football match against each other on Christmas Day; this was before America entered the great war – 2 or 3 years – and when the football match was over they went back over their lines – from their so called no man's land – and resumed the killing.

Pathetic isn't it – just following orders.

Morrissey.

Morrissey.

I'm a bit late this week with my post because I've been getting my Christmas song ready for release on iTunes and other sites on the Internet and that's a bit complicated. I-Tunes use MP3 which is quite a poor quality and that is quite simple. I just send the song electronically to my distributor and they take if from there. They have all the art work etc and, as a matter of interest here it is and it's called Every Day is Christmas Day - http://tinyurl.com/old9xu3

The complication happens with the hard copy which cannot be sent over the Internet and I have to send it as a hard copy to another company on the west coast (USA) by snail mail. The reason for this is that it is 266 MB which is huge. The MP3 is only 5.54 MB so you can see the reduction in quality. The hard copy version also has another track which is a love song called, appropriately enough, I Love You.

Oh here's the love song - http://tinyurl.com/nss6l3n

You may have to copy and paste.

They are only on Amazon.com and not Amazon.co.uk as yet; that's a pisser isn't it?

Now what has this got to do with Morrissey, I hear you ask – well absolutely nothing; I'm just chatting. By the way John Lennon said that the word 'just' is a complete waste of time and I tend to agree with him; I just used it – oh there I go again!

But there he is up there; Morrissey – I don't know a lot about him but what I have heard is not too positive, in fact most of what I have heard has been fairly negative. But I have heard him sing, I have heard some of his records and songs and I really like what I hear; he was in a group called The Smiths and what I've heard from The Smiths I quite like too.

They seem to record songs which have a different rhythm from the musical backing, a technique which I have always liked.

I can't quite figure out how The Smiths, in their hay day, passed me by; I was a great fan of rock and pop music right up till the late nineties so what happened? I even liked some hip hop and rap but then suddenly . . . I went off it. Looking back the songs, CDs, records (whatever the current vernacular is) that I liked weren't hits; they fell by the wayside.

What I plan to do now is get some Morrissey and The Smiths tracks and maybe enjoy them but recently Morrissey has written an autobiography and it is published by Penguin Classics.

I am not a great fan of pop autobiographies or sports ones; in fact I think sportsmen and women are the most boring self obsessed people there are. One only has to look at Andy Murray smashing yet another racquet to realise this; I think I blame the sporting commentators for the way they describe the actions of some of the sporting super stars.

There used to be a shot-putter in Britain called Geoff Capes – who was a copper would you believe – and a commentator called David Coleman would build him up to be some kind of funny tough guy 'Geoff Capes has knocked over one of the East Germans in the tunnel; good old Geoff!'

But let me get back to Morrissey before I go completely off the subject; his autobiography has been published by Penguin Classics!! Yes they're my italics! Penguin Classics are usually reserved for Classic books, such as Shakespeare, Jane Austin and the like so how can a new book – a new title or whatever – be deemed to be a classic when it had yet to be published?

The reason, apparently, is that Morrissey wanted it that way. Isn't that some kind of blackmail from the reclusive, cult of a pop star?

I saw him one day in Los Angeles. Where? At the Farmers' Market, of course; a place I have written about on more than one occasion: there is a tiny street that separates the two parking lots that serve the Farmers' Market and the bloody 'eye sore' called The Grove (I don't even have to describe it do I, for you to picture what it might be like – yes Abercrombie & Fitch, The Gap, The Apple Store), and the parking lot the furthest away from The Farmers' is the one I used to use.

On the side, next to a bank, is the post office and out of there, one day, emerged Morrissey. He was with a small woman who might be described as on the plump side – that's nothing against her as I like plump women (well sometimes – it depends on what they want me to do). Because she was so small he looked very tall.

He looked very serious as if he had been over charged for a stamp at the post office but now I know he must have been thinking what to put into his classic. They got in to a mini and drove away and I went about my business not realising I had been in close contact with a cult!!

Now when I say I don't particularly like pop autobiographies or sporting ones I did like the Bob Dylan book Chronicles; I loved the way it was written and I am looking forward to volumes two and three. In it he tells of his friendship with the pop singer of the sixties, Bobby Vee, who was always one of my favourites – anybody who sounds a bit like Buddy Holly was in my record collection which is why I liked The Beatles.

Come to think of it when Bob Dylan picked up his GRAMMY he mentioned Buddy Holly. He said he saw Buddy Holly in Duluth when he was about 16 years old and he was three feet away from Buddy and he said 'he looked at me.' And he said that look inspired him when he was making his GRAMMY winning album.

So you never know; Morrissey's book might be good; who knows? I haven't read it yet but I know it has received 'mixed' reviews. One of the critics on a radio review show last week said he wasn't going to give it a 'mixed' review – he said it was the worst book he had ever read!!! He obviously hasn't read any of mine!!!!

Memorial Day - one year on.

Burcot Grange (above) built in 1890 and my home for a while as a young child.

The blog has been down for the past few days due to some kind of bug and I am repeating a post from last year's Memorial Day as there are still things, anniversaries and people to remember.

It's Memorial Day here; Memorial Day Weekend with the actual 'day' being on Monday and who do I remember? I remember lots of people as I am fortunate to have a good memory. On a site in the UK called Friends Reunited I looked at the people in my class at school and there were just a few; one or two of them got in touch with me, the memory man, and one or two wrote to me that I had forgotten; so not too much of memory man after all. All the things I write on here are from memory and sometimes I look on the Internet for some details like the road where such and such happened; one guy I wrote to, wrote back and said he couldn't remember anything about school at all. If you mention his name to anyone from my class they certainly would remember him as he would sit back on his chair in full view of the rest of the class and . . . well maybe if I put that in it will be picked up as a metatag and draw porn readers to the site – so he forgot all about school did he? The teacher (male) of the class must have seen him but what could he do? What could he say? **** put that thing away? That boy is probably a grandad now and what would his grandchildren think? A year or two before that, a boy at school suddenly stopped coming to school; nobody said anything and we didn't notice that his name had been taken off the register; his name was Michael Holmes. He came to our house to play a couple of times and I got to know his sisters later on; after a few weeks we found out that he had fallen into the canal and drowned. It was a shock but the school didn't let us know; I don't know what age we were but I would guess around eight or nine; I was in the Junior School in any case – Clifton Road Junior School. Now I don't need memorial day to remember Michael as he springs into my mind quite often. What happens here this weekend is the same in Britain only in Britain this weekend it will bank holiday weekend – I think it was called Whitsun at one time and on this American Heathen word processor on this computer it comes out as a spelling mistake – there now I've added the word to the dictionary so it's officially in. In Britain remembrance day is in November and people wear poppies to signify the ending of the first world war at 11/11. That's when Britain remember their heroes. The heroes they remember, of course, are the dead from wars. I think they go back to World War One which started in 1914 and ended in 1918 and there is hardly anybody left who actually fought in that war – the great war the war to end wars. I heard recently that the last one died either here or in the UK. The other world war started in 1939 and ended in 1945; I have to put those dates as some people here have different dates when the Americans joined in; here they might say 1941-1945 and 1917-1918 – I have heard both and, indeed, people just might not know. I hate the idea of war as it has always been young men fighting old men's battles and even though I had a small amount of military service war heroes have never been my heroes; they are everybody's heroes and should be; they paid the ultimate sacrifice and they should never ever be forgotten - but my heroes have always been pioneers and not necessarily people who fight. I am more impressed by ideas and most of the long conversations I have are about ideas; once a week I meet a pal for breakfast who majored in philosophy and we have many an interesting tête-à-tête and I have read books by Nietzsche for example as a result of our meetings; I have another friend I meet once a week for lunch to talk about politics; I talk British politics and he responds with the American version; another friend I meet intermittently and we talk about the theatre. I feel quite privileged that I have experienced both worlds and can't think what I would have done without that knowledge; I would never have written my novel, for one, and I don't think I would have started my one man Irish show in the theatre – A Bit of Irish. But I have always been curious; I watched a film once called The Land That Time Forgot and I remember one line from it - Plato was right and I wondered who Plato was and researched it; I put this curiosity down to my lack of formal education so when I look back I don't regret anything about my education or experience. But the four men I admire the most (no not the Father, Son and Holy Ghost) are Muhammad Ali, John Lennon, Bob Dylan and Roger Bannister. I really admired the way Ali stood up to authority, forfeited his world championship for his beliefs and finally, in the end, won. A lot of people disagreed with him including Jackie Robinson who was also a black pioneer in baseball – his own business, of course, but I know very little about him. John Lennon was just a hero because he was a singer; I stood within three feet of him once in a bar after seeing the Beatles at the Ritz Ballroom, King's Heath, Birmingham. Looking at him then, and you could see the Beatles were destined for something, I wasn't sure if he knew what was going on; The Beatles came from a middle class background; John wanted to be a 'working class hero' but he was middle class; they were art students and up to that time art students – students in general in Britain – liked jazz. When I say students I mean mature ones as the Americans tend to call everybody at school students as opposed to pupils in the UK. When I was a student – a mature one – we liked The Beatles. Later on John might have been misguided by Yoko Ono but I think he was a man that did more for peace than is generally realised; I know Beatles fans dislike Yoko and he loved her but I love my wife; I wouldn't take her to work. Bob Dylan I just find the most talented poet I have ever heard or read; I like lyrics by Chuck Berry and John Lennon but Dylan has so much imagery in his work - just look at any of his lyrics – look at these I ran into the fortune-teller, who said beware of lightning that might strike I haven't known peace and quiet for so long I can't remember what it's like. There's a lone soldier on the cross, smoke pourin' out of a boxcar door, You didn't know it, you didn't think it could be done, in the final end he won the wars After losin' every battle. I woke up on the roadside, daydreamin' 'bout the way things sometimes are Visions of your chestnut mare shoot through my head and are makin' me see stars. You hurt the ones that I love best and cover up the truth with lies. One day you'll be in the ditch, flies buzzin' around your eyes, Blood on your saddle. I have been more influenced by Buddy Holly and Eddie Cochran when I know, as an actor, it should be Marlon Brando and Laurence Olivier. So who have I left out? Ah!! Roger Bannister.

Roger Bannister broke the 4 minute mile barrier in May 1954; I was a little boy watching my friend nearly drown at Moseley Road Swimming Baths and finding out that another friend had died. I lost a lot of time at school as I suffered from conjunctivitis (in the eyes) which developed into ulcers; I remember seeing the horrible white things on the blue of my eyes and I was told that this was because I rubbed them; I couldn't face the light and water would consistently run from my eyes.

So that was the end of my education as I failed the secondary exams - but that's only an excuse as I can clearly remember sitting to do a paper for the 11+ and not putting anything at all on to the sheet of paper.

Then one day on the TV, the news came on and it said that the 4 minute mile had been achieved; the race came on and there were only 3 runners in the race; the other 3 were invisible. Christopher Brasher was ahead with Bannister behind up to about half a mile and then Chris Chataway took the lead with Bannister second to him up to half way around the final lap and then on the final lap Bannister took the lead and made history; to a ten year old boy this was like an orgasm. Later in the year the Bannister/Landy Miracle mile and that was the best mile race I have ever seen – do yourself a favour and look for both races on YouTube. I won't give you the result of the latter race but John Landy of New Zealand broke the world record after Bannister and then they had to meet in the Empire Games. Have a look - it will bring a tear to your eye and a lump to your throat.

So I had to go a place called Burcot Grange - above; this is a very large house in Bromsgrove, Worcestershire. It is a very large Victorian House and had been donated to the Birmingham Eye Hospital by its owners giving prolonged treatment of children suffering from inflammatory conditions of the eye associated with harsh city life. It was also a place where squint operations were performed and a lot of the other children had lost an eye. It was at Burcot Grange that I was introduced to elevenses which was a snack at eleven-o-clock; maybe a biscuit (cookie) and some orange squash. It was like being let loose as there were 5 acres of grounds; so we played cowboys with real hills, valley and bushes to hide behind. The other thing I did was run; I was going to be a Roger Bannister and I ran around those acres every day. My mother came to see me with a tear in her eye, and encouraging one in my infected ones, every week and I cried when she left and then forgot her for a while. Of course one of the nurses was my girl friend; she was nurse Hollingshead and maybe 15 years older than me. She wrote to me for quite some time after I left and when I did they presented me with a book by Enid Blyton called, something like, Around the Year. It was a nature book and they wrote in the inside cover to Christopher with lots of love from Burcot Grange. I still have the book which is at my daughter's in Suffolk. As we sat there in the sun the nurses would 'time' me as I ran around the grounds. I remember I could get around in about three minutes; one day one of the nurses, who had timed me, called another nurse and said 'Hey! Is it the four minute mile or the four mile minute.'

I can just imagine the four mile minute. When I got home I would run around the block – where we lived – and I managed to get a sucker to beat. He was Roger and looked more like Roger Bannister than I did and I would let him run ahead of me so I could run along the back straight which ended just by the lane where we lived in South View Terrace on Moseley Road. So Roger Bannister is my hero; he ran for many years after that to keep fit although he retired from competitive racing early after the 'Golden Mile' to continue his studies to be a doctor where he worked at Northwick Park Hospital as a neurologist and later as Director of the National Hospital for Nervous Diseases in London and a trustee-delegate of St. Mary's Hospital Medical School in Paddington. A few years ago I bought his book called The Four Minute Mile, of course, and just as I was coming up to the Golden mile on page 224 about the Empire Games, where he met Landy, I found the page was blank. The next page was there and from there till the end of the book many pages were missing and there was only an intermittent report from that section. I called Amazon, where I had bought it, and they referred me to the publishers, The Lyons Press, and when I called them they hung up on me. So there we are – there are my memories on this memorial day; I wonder what yours are?

Landy and Bannister Statue in Vancouver; the scene of the Miracle Mile.

Memorial Day and my hero.

Burcot Grange (above) built in 1890 and my home for a while as a young child.

It's Memorial Day here; Memorial Day Weekend with the actual 'day' being on Monday and who do I remember? I remember lots of people as I am fortunate to have a good memory. On a site in the UK called Friends Reunited I looked at the people in my class at school and there were just a few; one or two of them got in touch with me, the memory man, and one or two wrote to me that I had forgotten; so not too much of memory man after all. All the things I write on here are from memory and sometimes I look on the Internet for some details like the road where such and such happened; one guy I wrote to, wrote back and said he couldn't remember anything about school at all. If you mention his name to anyone from my class they certainly would remember him as he would sit back on his chair in full view of the rest of the class and . . . well maybe if I put that in it will be picked up as a metatag and draw porn readers to the site – so he forgot all about school did he? The teacher (male) of the class must have seen him but what could he do? What could he say? **** put that thing away? That boy is probably a grandad now and what would his grandchildren think? A year or two before that, a boy at school suddenly stopped coming to school; nobody said anything and we didn't notice that his name had been taken off the register; his name was Michael Holmes. He came to our house to play a couple of times and I got to know his sisters later on; after a few weeks we found out that he had fallen into the canal and drowned. It was a shock but the school didn't let us know; I don't know what age we were but I would guess around eight or nine; I was in the Junior School in any case – Clifton Road Junior School. Now I don't need memorial day to remember Michael as he springs into my mind quite often. What happens here this weekend is the same in Britain only in Britain this weekend it will bank holiday weekend – I think it was called Whitsun at one time and on this American Heathen word processor on this computer it comes out as a spelling mistake – there now I've added the word to the dictionary so it's officially in. In Britain remembrance day is in November and people wear poppies to signify the ending of the first world war at 11/11. That's when Britain remember their heroes. The heroes they remember, of course, are the dead from wars. I think they go back to World War One which started in 1914 and ended in 1918 and there is hardly anybody left who actually fought in that war – the great war the war to end wars. I heard recently that the last one died either here or in the UK. The other world war started in 1939 and ended in 1945; I have to put those dates as some people here have different dates when the Americans joined in; here they might say 1941-1945 and 1917-1918 – I have heard both and, indeed, people just might not know. I hate the idea of war as it has always been young men fighting old men's battles and even though I had a small amount of military service war heroes have never been my heroes; they are everybody's heroes and should be; they paid the ultimate sacrifice and they should never ever be forgotten - but my heroes have always been pioneers and not necessarily people who fight. I am more impressed by ideas and most of the long conversations I have are about ideas; once a week I meet a pal for breakfast who majored in philosophy and we have many an interesting tête-à-tête and I have read books by Nietzsche for example as a result of our meetings; I have another friend I meet once a week for lunch to talk about politics; I talk British politics and he responds with the American version. I feel quite privileged that I have experienced both worlds and can't think what I would have done without that knowledge; I would never have written my novel, for one, and I don't think I would have started my one man Irish show in the theatre – A Bit of Irish. But I have always been curious; I watched a film once called The Land That Time Forgot and I remember one line from it - Plato was right and I wondered who Plato was and researched it; I put this curiosity down to my lack of formal education so when I look back I don't regret anything about my education or experience. But the four men I admire the most (no not the Father, Son and Holy Ghost) are Muhammad Ali, John Lennon, Bob Dylan and Roger Bannister. I really admired the way Ali stood up to authority, forfeited his world championship for his beliefs and finally, in the end, won. A lot of people disagreed with him including Jackie Robinson who was also a black pioneer in baseball – his own business, of course, but I know very little about him. John Lennon was just a hero because he was a singer; I stood within three feet of him once in a bar after seeing the Beatles at the Ritz Ballroom, King's Heath, Birmingham. Looking at him then, and you could see the Beatles were destined for something, I wasn't sure if he knew what was going on; The Beatles came from a middle class background; John wanted to be a 'working class hero' but he was middle class; they were art students and up to that time art students – students in general in Britain – liked jazz. When I say students I mean mature ones as the Americans tend to call everybody at school students as opposed to pupils in the UK. When I was a student – a mature one – we liked The Beatles. Later on John might have been misguided by Yoko Ono but I think he was a man that did more for peace than is generally realised; I know Beatles fans dislike Yoko and he loved her but I love my wife; I wouldn't take her to work. Bob Dylan I just find the most talented poet I have ever heard or read; I like lyrics by Chuck Berry and John Lennon but Dylan has so much imagery in his work - just look at any of his lyrics – look at these I ran into the fortune-teller, who said beware of lightning that might strike I haven't known peace and quiet for so long I can't remember what it's like. There's a lone soldier on the cross, smoke pourin' out of a boxcar door, You didn't know it, you didn't think it could be done, in the final end he won the wars After losin' every battle. I woke up on the roadside, daydreamin' 'bout the way things sometimes are Visions of your chestnut mare shoot through my head and are makin' me see stars. You hurt the ones that I love best and cover up the truth with lies. One day you'll be in the ditch, flies buzzin' around your eyes, Blood on your saddle. I have been more influenced by Buddy Holly and Eddie Cochran when I know, as an actor, it should be Marlon Brando and Laurence Olivier. So who have I left out? Ah!! Roger Bannister.

Roger Bannister broke the 4 minute mile barrier in May 1954; I was a little boy watching my friend nearly drown at Moseley Road Swimming Baths and finding out that another friend had died. I lost a lot of time at school as I suffered from conjunctivitis (in the eyes) which developed into ulcers; I remember seeing the horrible white things on the blue of my eyes and I was told that this was because I rubbed them; I couldn't face the light and water would consistently run from my eyes.

So that was the end of my education as I failed the secondary exams - but that's only an excuse as I can clearly remember sitting to do a paper for the 11+ and not putting anything at all on to the sheet of paper.

Then one day on the TV, the news came on and it said that the 4 minute mile had been achieved; the race came on and there were only 3 runners in the race; the other 3 were invisible. Christopher Brasher was ahead with Bannister behind up to about half a mile and then Chris Chataway took the lead with Bannister second to him up to half way around the final lap and then on the final lap Bannister took the lead and made history; to a ten year old boy this was like an orgasm. Later in the year the Bannister/Landy Miracle mile and that was the best mile race I have ever seen – do yourself a favour and look for both races on YouTube. I won't give you the result of the latter race but John Landy of New Zealand broke the world record after Bannister and then they had to meet in the Empire Games. Have a look - it will bring a tear to your eye and a lump to your throat.

So I had to go a place called Burcot Grange - above; this is a very large house in Bromsgrove, Worcestershire. It is a very large Victorian House and had been donated to the Birmingham Eye Hospital by its owners giving prolonged treatment of children suffering from inflammatory conditions of the eye associated with harsh city life. It was also a place where squint operations were performed and a lot of the other children had lost an eye. It was at Burcot Grange that I was introduced to elevenses which was a snack at eleven-o-clock; maybe a biscuit (cookie) and some orange squash. It was like being let loose as there were 5 acres of grounds; so we played cowboys with real hills, valley and bushes to hide behind. The other thing I did was run; I was going to be a Roger Bannister and I ran around those acres every day. My mother came to see me with a tear in her eye, and encouraging one in my infected ones, every week and I cried when she left and then forgot her for a while. Of course one of the nurses was my girl friend; she was nurse Hollingshead and maybe 15 years older than me. She wrote to me for quite some time after I left and when I did they presented me with a book by Enid Blyton called, something like, Around the Year. It was a nature book and they wrote in the inside cover to Christopher with lots of love from Burcot Grange. I still have the book which is at my daughter's in Suffolk. As we sat there in the sun the nurses would 'time' me as I ran around the grounds. I remember I could get around in about three minutes; one day one of the nurses, who had timed me, called another nurse and said 'Hey! Is it the four minute mile or the four mile minute.'

I can just imagine the four mile minute. When I got home I would run around the block – where we lived – and I managed to get a sucker to beat. He was Roger and looked more like Roger Bannister than I did and I would let him run ahead of me so I could run along the back straight which ended just by the lane where we lived in South View Terrace on Moseley Road. So Roger Bannister is my hero; he ran for many years after that to keep fit although he retired from competitive racing early after the 'Golden Mile' to continue his studies to be a doctor where he worked at Northwick Park Hospital as a neurologist and later as Director of the National Hospital for Nervous Diseases in London and a trustee-delegate of St. Mary's Hospital Medical School in Paddington. A few years ago I bought his book called The Four Minute Mile, of course, and just as I was coming up to the Golden mile on page 224 about the Empire Games, where he met Landy, I found the page was blank. The next page was there and from there till the end of the book many pages were missing and there was only an intermittent report from that section. I called Amazon, where I had bought it, and they referred me to the publishers, The Lyons Press, and when I called them they hung up on me. So there we are – there are my memories on this memorial day; I wonder what yours are?

Landy and Bannister Statue in Vancouver; the scene of the Miracle Mile.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

I got a few e-mails after my last post about the song 'Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas' and I have to say maybe I didn't quite get my point across; I'm not saying I want another Christmas song but I think the crooners should move on with different songs as we have heard 'Goody Goody' and 'Jeeper Creepers' - enough already.

But my brother writes and tells me that 'Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas' was recorded by 136 people from Judy Garland to Bob Dylan and that the original version was too maudlin for Judy Garland's husband, Minnelli, meaning that have yourself a merry little Christmas as it may be your last.

He thought it was in that military film when the bloke got executed in the end but according to 'Bing' it wasn't – well actually it was, Pat, your first thought was correct:

As the soldier is brought from his confinement and tied to the execution stake, the music is Frank Sinatra singing "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas," and the moment the soldier is shot, it skips to a joyful recording of "Hark the Herald Angels Sing."

That was part of a review by Bosley Crowther Published: December 20, 1963 in the New York Times.

So BING is wrong and you're right.

I can't remember the Hark the Herald Angels bit but who could forget such a moment in a film; as I am writing this I looked on Netflix but it's not available and that is a shame as the film by Carl Foreman is a classic – a bit long but a classic.

Netflix is the on line video shop we use here.

My friend Jeffo in Florioda wrote to me and said - Well if I may boldly go against your argument, poetic license dictates the rules may be set aside. And we who write must appreciate that better than anyone. "To boldly go".......sounds much better than "boldly to go" or "to go boldly." Sure it violates the mores of grammarians, but so fucking what? It works so leave it alone.

As I said to Jeffo . . . . first of all I believe in nearly everything you say apart from the fact that I might not have got my point across; with regards to the splitting of the infinitive I am really nit-picking as I am sure I do it myself and also use bad English - the last phrase there in America would be 'use also bad English' - which to the ear, that has only been listening to English on the other side of the pond, strange. The strangest of all is the use of take and bring. On the other side of the pond it is take things to and bring things from.

Now when I say the other side of the pond I mean England as in Ireland they use the brings and takes the same as the US.

With regards to boldly go or go boldly - it depends on how good the actor is delivering the line.

Happy Christmas everybody!! The photo above is the LAPD arresting Kid Cudi here 18 hours ago - let's hope he played last night!!