Between the Sheets; a gambling tale.

Now here's a little tale for you; and it's true. A tale is usually a tale, which means it's not true and I sometimes have to think whether it's tale or tail but when I see tail I know which one it is.

Some time ago when I had only been acting for about three years, this was after a year of night school and three years full time at drama school, although most of the rest of them called it college – in fact that college is now a university, or UNI, as they call it.

We were living in Northampton; we moved there, or relocated, as they say, because we could afford to buy a house there and it was about one hour from London by train or car.

Near to Christmas I got a job in a TV series called Hunter's Walk which was shot at Elstree Studios, less than an hour from our house.

The series was set in Northampton and that may be why I got the job as they guessed I might be able to do the accent. The people from London usually think that the Northampton accent was the same as Birmingham and the Birmingham people hear it as a London accent.

The fact is the director didn't know where I lived and when I met him I was up for the leading guest role – if there is such a thing. In America it would be called guest star. When I walked in to the waiting room one of the other actors, who was up for the same role, told me that he knew the director. He was touching wood with his hand and saying 'I know him – I know him' and crossing his fingers and when he went in he said 'wish me luck!'

Well what do you know – what about my luck?

I went in and we got on okay; I read for the role in my cod Northampton accent and the director seemed very pleased and was telling me how much he liked my portrayal, now ordinarily I would take this as a lot of encouragement but then I remembered the words 'I know him – I know him' so I didn't quite believe him.

'I think you did very well with that' he said 'you could easily play it' then the kicker came in – 'there are a few other roles to cast, as this character has some pals if . . .' and I knew what was coming ' . . . if you don't get this role would you be interested in one of the other parts – he has three pals.'

'Yes' I said and when I left the room he said 'see you in rehearsals.'

And that's how it turned out.

I didn't know the other actor but he was well known and I've seen him on TV and in movies and I think he went into one of the soaps.

There was a very well known Irish singer, exceptionally popular in Britain, with hit records, his own television show called Val Doonican. On the first day I arrived in reception at Elstree he was talking to a receptionist and I walked straight up to him, shook his hand warmly and said 'hey Barry – what are you doing here?' he looked totally confused. 'Barry' I said, then I realised who it was; Val bloody Doonican.

I made my apologies and slinked off. Every time I went in the bar after that, and he was there, he would say 'hello Barry' and laugh.

It was a fine friendly job and I was in a few scenes, too long ago to remember exactly, but we had to go to Wellingborough, which is in Northamptonshire and come out of a pub, drunk, get in to a taxi after making a load of noise and banter and then after that back to rehearsals in Elstree.

I can't remember how long I worked there but it was a few weeks and when we finished it would be Christmas. Seems easy, up to Christmas, a nice load of money from the job but . . . . it usually takes a few weeks to get paid by the time they have sorted everything out; we didn't get wages we got a fee. Bit like an attorney or some other professional but to me I had to try and make sure I could pay for Christmas. Three kids and Santa to think about, in laws or parents and all that food booze and presents to buy but I reckon I had it sorted.

I know what you are thinking; this piece is called 'Between the Sheets; a Gambling Tale' and you are thinking what's that got to do with what I have been reading.

But relax dear reader as I think it comes now.

There is a card game called Between the Sheets. So you see it is nothing to do with romping rattling.

In the card game two cards are dealt to each player around the table. Everyone can see your cards as they are dealt face up.

So let us say you are dealt a four and a nine. The dealer now asks you if you would like to bet and how much are you wagering. The idea is to get the next card between those two numbers. You had a choice of (something like) 50 pence, one pound or the lot. If your card is now five, six, seven or eight, you are between the sheets. You get a pound back if you wager 50 pence, two pounds if you have bet one pound and if you have bet the lot you get all the money from the kitty in the middle of the table.

If your card is not between the sheets you have to throw your fifty pence, your pound or – and this is the interesting bit – you have to put whatever is in the kitty which is in the middle of the table.

The games last a long time as people go for the lot sometimes and clear all the money away. Sometimes people take their two pounds and they are quite satisfied with that especially when the money in the kitty has really piled up.

Oh? Something very important. An ace counts as a one or eleven – like in pontoon or black jack. If your two cards are both aces, one can count as an eleven and the other as one so if that happens you go for the lot as there is very little chance of you failing unless you draw one of the two aces left in the pack.

If you do that, and have three aces, you have to double what is in the kitty and if the game has been going for a long time there is a load of money on that table.

We had a few games, in the bar/canteen during breaks but the last time I played it, the game had been going for a long time. Some of the regular members of the cast had gathered round, people came over from the bar – not Val – and one of the clever clogs regular members of the cast said 'It's simple. All you have to do it go for the lot every time.'

Well we all heard him and as the cards went around we would win some, the odd two pounds, the odd one pound than I was dealt two aces. I didn't have a lot of cash with me, it was in the days before the ATMs but the cards were there like Steve McQueen in the Cincinnati Kid; two aces. I looked around and no one had been dealt another ace which meant there were two others in the pack and if one came to me, and I bet the lot I would have had to cover that huge pot, in fact double the whole amount.

I had to think about it. I could have bet the maximum, get two pounds but I knew I needed to take a chance. I had heard what clever clogs has said 'It's simple. All you have to do it go for the lot every time.'

But I didn't have any money – what I did have was a cheque book and with it a cheque guarantee card, which are extinct now. So I took my cheque book out, my card and said 'okay if I lose I'll settle with this.

The dealer said 'what do you want to do?'

Three kids and Santa to think about, in laws or parents and all that food booze and presents to buy and I reckoned I had it sorted but would I have it sorted if the wrong card came up?

'Deal' I said.

He dealt the card and I won – don't ask me to tell you what card it was, all I know is that it wasn't an ace.

We all shook hands and off I went in my Hillman Minx up the M1 to Northampton and Christmas.

This is a good gambling story – a bad one would be to try and do it again but there we go.

Los Angeles to Chicago by train: including a death in Fort Madison Iowa.

There is our train engine resting in Chicago after the two day journey from Los Angeles.

Here I am in the wee small hours of January 28^th 2019' earlier I was talking about this train journey with one of my daughters and because I was put in mind of it I am, once again, repeating a post of my blog from eight years ago.

Here goes:

We are on a train and stopped in Albuquerque, New Mexico where the temperature between the inside of the train and outside is vast. We were out walking along the platform, looking at the array of Indian trinkets, blankets and the like and as we were doing this it was over ninety degrees Fahrenheit.

The journey, so far, has been entertaining. The priority of time on this train has taken a back seat to the attention to detail, the running of the system and the pleasure of travel.

There is no wi-fi on the train so I will write in bits over this journey through America from Los Angeles to Chicago; unless anything extraordinary happens between Chicago and New York I won't write about that part of the journey as I've already written On a Train in England in March, 2011.

The first thing we heard last night when we got on was a message over the speaker system from Chip the lounge car attendant telling us he was delayed slightly getting his groceries and had a problem with his fridge and asked us to give him a break and that he would be starting shortly with a bill of fare which includes coffee, beer, pizza, burgers and potato chips.

After a little while he came on again to say he was open which meant that everybody on the train went to Chip the lounge car attendant and lined up; his little lounge car is like a mini Seven Eleven – maybe about 30 feet long with passengers seats on either side – so you can imagine the hustle and bustle.

On the menu it said that they had 'freshly brewed' decaf coffee but when I went there afterwards he told me they were out of decaf!!!

After that we heard from 'Jackie in the Diner' – she was asking people if they wanted to make dinner reservations; she would say 'this is Jackie in the diner – would anybody wishing to book for dinner make your reservations now.' This voice would come on at various intervals asking people to come in for dinner, lunch or whatever.

Then Chip from the lounge car would come on again telling us he was going on a break so if anybody wanted anything they needed to hurry up and come and get it.

Things were swinging along and we were travelling then Jackie came on the speaker system again and wanted to know if people could hear her as the system didn't appear to be working. Chip from the lounge car came on to say he could, in fact, hear her.

When he said this a woman, sitting close by, used her mobile phone and speaking quite loudly in a New York accent said 'This is Dolores from Delaware; I need to speak to Mr Jefferson.'

This sounded interesting but Jackie came on the speaker system again saying 'I can't hear you at all, Chip; you're not coming through.'

Then again 'This is Delores from Delaware! Can you put me through?'

Then 'This is Chip from the lounge car – I am back from my break; if you want bagles or drinks now is the time to come.

Whilst this was going on over the speaker system a ticket collector interrupted all by saying he was coming around for tickets and 'don't forget to sign them in the top left hand corner.'

Each time he took a ticket from someone who hadn't signed it he would say 'I need you to put your autograph in the top left hand corner.'

Jackie came on again 'This is Jackie in the diner – am I coming through?'

'I can hear you, Jackie' said Chip from the lounge car.'

'This is Delores from Delaware – is Mister Jefferson there?”

The ticket inspector approached us puffing and blowing after climbing some stairs 'those stairs are killing me' he said; we're on the top deck.

'This is Jackie from the diner; I will be coming around to take dinner reservations, starting with the sleeping section and then couch.'

I sat reflecting about my years in America knowing that they are contemplating an all electric super duper rail system which will get you from point A to point B faster than a speeding bullet and wishing they wouldn't do it as it would spoil this lot.

The food in the lounge car was ropey to say the least but the food in the diner was excellent and reasonably priced.

There are four seats at each table so you are forced to face the other two people which more or less forces you to communicate with them.

On the first evening at dinner we sat with a Navajo professor and his wife; he was quite famous as he was the first Indian professor – I don't know if he was the first in the state or the country but he told us he had celebrated his 67th birthday recently by walking down one side of the Grand Canyon, along the flat bit and up the other side; he was a very fit looking 67 years of age and he told us he does 10K runs and used to be a baseball pitcher. I don't know if he was a major league pitcher or just played at college level as we never got that far but they were getting out at Flagstaff, Arizona the following morning at 4:30.

The next morning at breakfast we met Tom and Jenny from Victorville California; famous for the place where Roy Rogers used to live and have his western museum; I remember his horse, trigger, nearly stepping on me at the stage door after I saw Roy Rogers live at a theatre in Birmingham, England. I have to say that as there are quite a few Birminghams in America apart from the one in Alabama.

Tom and Jenny were also an interesting couple having cycled the world, by all accounts, and regular train travellers.

In the Observation Car I met another Navajo Indian but this one lived on the reservation. As we sat watching New Mexico flash by he pointed out lots things about the area and showed me some black stones which he said were from the top of 'that mountain' which exploded with the help of the volcano hundreds of millions of years ago. He went on to say that they used the black stones (he had a name for them which I have forgotten) in their sweat lodges.

He was going from Gallup, New Mexico, to Albuquerque to meet his son; he was sending his son a message using the modern equivalent of the smoke signal; his Blackberry.

He said he was proud of his son as he took the decision to leave the reservation and set up by himself 'abroad.' He said he had lived 'abroad' for a short time – abroad was anywhere off the reservation.

Indeed it is abroad as the reservations have their own sovereignty.

Later that day, Saturday, we had dinner with two people on their way back to live in Chicago from Los Angeles – we wished them well on their journey and they did the same for us.

Before we met them for dinner – in the usual accidental way – a man two seats in front of us was getting leery; he had been drinking all day and his voice was sounding very horse.

Whilst we were away he called everybody names and started shouting; someone called the conductor who came and told him off; he sat in his seat for a moment but when she went he started again. Then the same things again but this time he was really screaming so the conductor, a young woman, threw him into his chair, called the cops and they threw him off the train and into gaol somewhere; we were oblivious to all this as we were at dinner with our bicycle travellers.

Chip in the lounge car came on the loud speaker as we pulled in to Fort Madison, Iowa, to say that he was running out of food in the lounge car; he was out of bagles, pizzas and most of the cheese and ham sandwiches.

As the train pulled out of Fort Madison the train suddenly stopped; we had run over somebody. We were travelling at about 15 - 20 mph and apparently the person was killed. We don't know anything about it at the moment but within two or three minutes a cop car arrived and scaled a six feet fence outside; then he was told where the body was by some kids outside.

The latest news is a few young guys tried to cross the tracks and the last one was hit and killed by the train; there's no need to describe what we know or what I saw but you know what train wheels are like; the young guys were all in their twenties.

As we sit here waiting to move a voice in the background is heard: 'This is Delores from Delaware; I am just north of the train station in Fort Madison, Iowa. Today a man was killed . . . .”

As if oblivious to everything, whilst this was going on, another voice was heard ' this is Chip in the lounge car – I'm just back from my break.'

Cops look at the body whilst paramedics call the coroner.

Diary of an actor

I put this on FaceBook today. I was looking for something and came across a diary I kept when we lived in Northampton – here it is word for word (more or less) and I remember very little of it. On another page of the diary I met a famous film director and don't actually remember it at all.

Elvis Presley died yesterday. I was listening to John Peel on the radio last night and he said he had heard the news from the news room. Then he carried on with his planned show as he said 'we don't play tributes' - or words to that affect.

I'm starting a new job the week after next. I am playing Richard (the Lion Heart) in The Lion in Winter at Cheltenham. The money isn't brilliant - £58.70 including subsistence – but we should just about manage especially if the repeats from the commercial start coming in.

I thought I might have been going to Northampton to do a play or two. I went to see the artistic director, David Kelsey; he was quite specific about the time, ten-o-clock, as he was due to start rehearsals at 10.30. I arrived at three minutes to and he didn't arrive till twenty past so I wasn't very optimistic.

He entered the office and picked up the newspaper, opened a few pages then put it down; looked at his mail, quickly, and put that down. Then he turned around to look at his bookcase, with his back to me, then called over his shoulder 'do you sing?'

Eventually he sat down and said 'have a look at Arthur Wickstead in this' and he threw a copy of Habeas Corpus to me after he had sent 'upstairs' for it.

He said the part can be played any age and said to come back the following Tuesday.

I looked at the role and it was originally played by Alec Guinness – but the character had a grown up son and was aged around fifty three. I thought it was a bit ridiculous but afterwards I got used to the idea. I went back to the theatre, as arranged – on time – and there he was in his office having a production meeting -'can you wait outside, Chris' he said; so I did.

I went to the empty bar and waited for about ten minutes then I heard footsteps going down the stairs away from me and someone said 'hello.' It sounded like Lionel Hamilton. I was sure that was David Kelsey's voice, answering him back, so I went down the stairs – I could talk to Lionel in any case.

Sure enough, when I got there, it was David Kelsey, wearing his hat, carrying his briefcase and on the way to rehearsals. I said a very quick hello to Lionel and stepped back to wait for them to finish their conversation.

When Lionel went, David Kelsey said 'what do you think of it?' I said I liked it and he beckoned me to follow him in to the foyer of the theatre where he said 'that role has gone to somebody else but would you look at the Vicar; I think you would be very good.'

I said okay and we arranged to meet to following Thursday at 12.30 pm.

Thursday morning a letter arrived from the theatre; the appointment was cancelled and 'could I call the theatre to arrange another appointment for Friday.'

I did and met David Kelsey at one-o-clock at the theatre and as soon as I got in to the office he told me he couldn't use me. The theatre was way over budget and the board had agreed that they couldn't afford me. I took his cigarette and went.

Over the next couple of days, England won The Ashes.

SoundZ on YouTube.

Happy New Year to one and all – I hope you had a good hogmanay. Do you know what saddens me? Spell checks don't recognise that word – hogmanay! 

It was first used by Mary Queen of Scots in 1561 and may, indeed, have originated in France.

Here's what the dictionary says: Hogmanay (Scots: [ˌhɔɡməˈneː]; English: /ˌhɒɡməˈneɪ/ HOG-mə-NAY) is the Scots word for the last day of the year and is synonymous with the celebration of the New Year (Gregorian calendar) in the Scottish manner.

And by the way – all the spellings here are spelt the English way.

So now – I have put my film SoundZ on YouTube; it has had its film festival run, screenings at Soho Screening Rooms, Harrow Filmmakers, an audience at NW London Equity and to an audience of shrinks; well doctors. They said I'd got it about right with the schizophrenia but nobody can be hypnotised over the phone and I said it was his own voice; he hypnotised himself. 'oh yes,' they said . . . (SPOILER there).

I made the film as an experiment to see if I could do all the jobs and loved it. Those with good memories will remember me writing on here about it.

When you have seen it – when, I hope – you can always go to the IMDb and write a review – the link for that is at the bottom of the page and you are not obliged to write a good one.

There are 2 co-stars – a bird and a fox at around three minutes or so and I hope you like it; click on this to view the move which is only 20 minutes long - 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5dKxBVhpTpw&t=42s

AND FOR THE REVIEW:

https://www.imdb.com/title/tt3978386/reference

you will see other reviews which came from audiences at the screenings. But don't feel pressured.

Food Glorious Food.

There I am stuffing my face – I like that photo taken by the famous Nobby Clark.
This is an edit: after I wrote this I opened the newspaper and coincidence has it that it is Nobby Clark's birthday today.

I haven't eaten meat for quite some time; this will be my second Christmas without it. I don't call myself a vegetarian I just don't eat meat and only a little fish once in a while – the difference between vegetarians and vegans is that vegans don't eat animal products (anything with a face) at all; I wonder if they like eels?

Last Christmas I sat with the family and just ate the lovely vegetables but didn't have that ugly thing on my plate, which everybody fusses over, called meat. I don't have anything against meat but there's always a load of fuss over it and the last turkey we bought cost more than £70.

The reason I am talking about this is that the other day someone on the radio mentioned the BBC canteen and what the bill of fare was, and it all came back to when I worked at the BBC on a fairly regular basis. We would rehearse in a high rise building which was nick-named The Acton Hilton. It was maybe eleven floors or even nine – who knows? – and on the top floor was the canteen. As soon as the lift landed there you could smell the enticing appetite inducing fodder.

All self service – piles of newly cooked bacon, sausages galore with eggs, eggs and eggs. Of course there would be other stuff which I think is called fruit and they also served porridge, corn flakes and the like – even bubble and squeak - and we would pile the food on our readily warmed plates, with fresh coffee and maybe some toast.

All this for the price of a newspaper – unbelievable! I would often think that most of the people in that canteen – whoever was playing Dr Who, the cast of Z Cars, Softly Softly and the beautiful female dancers Pan People – were earning a lot of money and it seemed funny, to me, that they needed subsidizing.

I thought to myself, when listening to the article on the radio, that I wonder if I would be tempted now if I was faced with all that food.

I did a job a year or two ago in Harlesdon – or near there – where there was a canteen at the studios with the same kind of food and it was all free; so it still goes on.

But I have never been tempted ever since as egg, bacon and sausage have been cooked in our kitchen lately and it doesn't tempt me at all in fact I had stopped eating bacon since the last time I was in Dublin when my cousin cooked a full Irish breakfast – black and white pudding, bacon, sausages and eggs etc. The bacon in Dublin would melt in your mouth and the reason I haven't eaten any ever since is that when I bought some in London it was ropey, full of water, preservative and urghh!!

And then I thought of the time we came back from America on the Queen Mary 2 with the most wonderful food in the world: Beef Wellington, Sea Bass, Caviar for dinner and equal luxury during the day.

Have a Good Christmas.

Family at War

This is a kind of mish mash of stories about disappointments – not to me as I have rarely been disappointed. I've always prepared myself for one. I remember I was with a casting director in Los Angeles who actually did some casting – most of them just suggest you to a director and then you have to meet/audition. This was for a voice for a movie of which I did loads when living there – still receiving residuals even now. I voiced David Bowie, Bill Hunter, Jason Statham, a voice in Cat Woman (when I met Sharon Stone) a load of voices in Time Line and Kangaroo Jack.

The first time I met the casting director she said 'ok you got it; Thursday and Friday and maybe a day next week.'

I said 'great.'

'Is that all?' she said.

'What do you mean?'

'Well, people usually – well, usually looked pleased!'

I said 'Well I am.'

She would have seen the same reaction if she had told me that out of the hundred people they'd seen for the leading role it was between me and the other guy but the other guy got it. I always thought of it like making a sales call and being told no – try somewhere else.

You will gather, by now, that I didn't really start out to write that lot – it just came to me.

Look at that man above in the poster for Family at War! That's Colin Campbell. Family at War was a wonderful TV series made by one of the greatest television companies; Granada Television. It was, as it implies, about a family: three brothers, two sisters, mother and father, close relatives and friends. It was first shown in 1970 and is now being shown on the TV channel Talking Pictures.

I was at drama school, when they were making it, and sometimes I would travel all the way to Manchester to do a walk on for £6 per day. After a few walk ons they gave me three lines for which I got more money.

Colin Campbell played one of the sons, David, which was the best role and he was the best actor in it of his age. There are other fine performances too but he was the chap.

A few years later – 1991 – I did one of the Ruth Rendall Mysteries (Inspector Wexford with George Baker) and Colin Campbell was in it. He played a very small part as a cop in the office. I didn't see any of the episodes so I don't know if he was a uniform cop or what, but he did quite a few episodes.

The first thing I noticed about him was that he was quite tiny – even smaller than me! He also had a limp. I remember saying to Wexford's partner (his cop partner) 'you do know who he is, don't you?' and he shrugged his shoulders no. It wasn't as flippant as it might sound as he was interested – now who was he I have forgotten even though he did 50 episodes of Wexford.

I met Colin later through a mutual friend later, as we would go to our pal's plays, premiere's etc and he was a nice bloke. He still had some kind of limp, which I think I read about and it may have affected him somewhat; I said he was tiny but in Family at War he fills the screen. He has been giving a stellar performance as David Ashton most weekday afternoons in Britain lately and it has sent his STARmeter on the Internet Movie Date Base up to the 27,000s – that might not seem important to some actors but you won't get an agent in LA if you are not in the top 100,000. Colin was down in the 200,000 not that long ago. He is now quite famous which is a shame as he died on March 1^st this year aged 81.

From next week Family at War is on Wednesday evenings at 9.00 pm on Talking Pictures.

It is a funny old business when casting directors can dismiss actors like Colin Campbell and leave him to his few lines in Wexford once in a while – the other actors in Wexford hadn't heard of him either and when I watch him I often wonder if he knew the series, Family at War, was coming on; RIP.

But there are loads of disappointments – I went to Dublin many years ago to do a Guinness commercial. I particularly remember it for a couple of reasons one the song they used, which was recorded by the pop group Blue Mink famous for their song Melting Pot – in our case it was Get Together With a Guinness Right Now.

We worked in a pub in Baggot Street, Dublin. I went in to the loo and someone had written on the wall Sometimes I think I'd like to be the Saddle on a Bike. I remember thinking how wonderful that scanned.

The other thing I remember it for was the girl who was in it; we'll call her Mavis. Before filming starts the artists, the actors, the talent, or whatever you want to call us, gather on the set, which in this case was the customer side of the bar, and rehearse the scene for the camera. Three blokes and an attractive girl. The girl had been in make up and was wearing rollers. The three guys included me, and two other well known actors of the day; we were cast in London and flown over that morning. The director was an Englishman and most of the crew were from Dublin.

After we ran through the scene the girl had to go back to make up – she was a local Dublin girl. The director asked for one of the girl extras to take the girl's place whilst she was in make up. The 'stand in' was very nice and we all got on well together and then it became obvious that the director preferred the stand in as opposed to the girl who was being made up, quaffed and dressed.

'Get rid of Mavis' he suddenly said to his assistant.

“What?' said the assistant.

'Get rid of her – Mavis'

Of course her name wasn't Mavis – but what an arsehole aye.

The death of The King.

Here we have a little story set in 1952 – and it's true! A little eight year old boy with the name of Christopher Thomas Joseph Owen Sullivan was sitting in class at school. Christopher was his Christian name, being a Christian but not the kind of Christian as the school he was attending - as from an Irish immigrant family he was a Catholic – was being the operative word these days in any case.

Thomas was the second name on the birth certificate and Joseph the name on the Baptism certificate. Owen came later, when he was confirmed, and when the teacher asked for full names, in the senior school, he gave him all the names, and was known as that to that teacher forever; especially when he pulled the little side burns of the little boy and said 'so what's your answer to that, Christopher Thomas Joseph Owen Sullivan? Something Irish? Something witty?'

But enough of that let's go back to 1952.

February 6^th 1952 little Christopher was sitting in class wanting a wee wee; the teacher on this occasion said it was OK for him to go and off he went.

On that same day, Raymond Simmonds was playing the wag from school; playing the wag being the vernacular for playing truant, although playing truant is usually knocking time off from school without your parents' permission. In Raymond's case I think his mother kept him from school that day.

So when I came out of the boys' lavatory – me being Christopher Thomas Joseph Owen Sullivan - there was Raymond sitting on the school steps. 
Now if I had been playing truant, which I only did once, one afternoon, and which I have been sorry for ever since as that was, apparently, a great science lesson when Mister Edmunds, the science teacher, very bluntly told the class of fourteen year old boys the facts of life.
But back to 1952.
On that day, the first thing Raymond Simmonds said to me was 'The King is dead.'

We knew, even at my tender age of eight, that the king had been ill and in fact he had died in his sleep that morning.

There are two things I remember about the King: one was that he had the same birthday as me – December 14^th – and the other was that I thought he looked like Gary Cooper.

So now (or then) I knew what the teacher didn't know, nor the rest of the class or any of the other teachers. 
But if I went in to class and said something I would be asked how I knew and would get Raymond Simmonds into trouble.

I went back in class and kept it to myself for a while.

Sitting in front of me was Gillian Balmond and next to her was Winifred Bryant; even at that age I was deeply in love with both of them. They would turn around to chat and I would flirt in my little baby ways and eventually I had to tell one of them about the King.

I can't remember which one I told but when I did, she told the other and the other answered back 'Now Princess Elizabeth will be Queen.'

We went home for lunch and of course it was all true. 
There were no cell phones in those days, no Internet and no social media. 
Everything seemed safe and at eight I would walk home by myself; with maybe other kids; maybe a half mile walk and sometimes even raining or in the snow. 
Mothers were at home to feed and love us and the 50s never seemed dismal to me or in black and white. 
It's great me being able to publish this on the Internet and the 191,000 hits from people who read it but look what it has done and the number of zombies it has produced – millennials don't even know how to use a can opener.

On that day mothers outside the school told their children the bad news; the King is dead. Some kids would cry; some of those kids wouldn't even know who the King was as they were too young but the grown ups certainly did. 
The King's wife, Queen Elizabeth, who then became The Queen Mother, short for the Queen's Mother, always, till the end of her long life, blamed the late King's brother David (Edward VIII) who abdicated because of his involvement with Mrs Simpson. A lot of people said Mrs Simpson did a great service to Britain by taking such a dangerous and naïve man out of the running.

The public liked him even though he abandoned Britain during the war, leaving his younger brother and his wife, as The King and Queen, in Britain. During some of the war, David (Edward VIII) lived in America and whilst Churchill was trying to persuade Roosevelt to enter America into the war David, who sympathised with the Nazis together with the air pioneer Charles Lindbergh, tried to get America on the German side; now if you don't believe this look it up. In fact at one point Lindbergh was considering running for President – if you think Trump is bad just ponder on that for a moment.

I don't know who the guy on the left is but there they are: two good looking men, Lindbergh in the middle and David (Edward VIII) on the right.

Times changed a couple of years after the King died. James Dean became the first American teenager and when the draft finished – the call up – it produced plays like Look Back in Anger, music like the blues and Rock'n'Roll and, eventually, The Beatles.

I loved the influx of Jamaicans into our neighbourhood with their great double breasted suits – I remember light blue suits – with their casual walks and great music and their laughter. Even today they are still laughing even though they were treated terribly for many years and even now when some who have been here ever since then found they couldn't get passports to get back in to the country when visiting their homeland.

The Wipers Times.

I was coming out of the tube station the other day – you know something? - I might have been going in; in either case I saw a theatrical notice on the wall, as they paper the tube entrances with them, especially on the escalators, The Wipers Times.

Well I knew what that was about straight away; there was a TV film on the BBC a couple of years ago, I think Michael Palin was in it, and it was about some soldiers in the First World War who were sent to Ypres. Yes, that's right, that's how they pronounced Ypres – Wipers. And they formed a tiny newspaper called The Wipers Times.

Now that might sound strange to English people who don't pronounce the 'T' at the end of restaurant and Americans who seem to pronounce all foreign words as they are pronounced in the country of origin. 

I remember Ed Sullivan (yes a distant relation) when he introduced the Bee Gees actually pronounced Maurice Gibb as Morris Gibb, as the rest of the English speaking world do, and then said it as Maureece – the way the French do; oh and the Americans. 

Nothing wrong with that, in fact nothing wrong with anything. Anybody my age pronounces Nestles Milky Bar the way it is spelt – yes spelt, why not?

The Milky Bar Ad spelt it the way it looks https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rCbEHHsI3zQ – but if you look at some of the reruns on YouTube (not that one) the Swiss Company that now own the Milky Bar from Rowntree dubbed all those old commercials with Nestlay. I remember the big publicity campaign when some saw the accent ' - at the end of the word. The campaign sold a lot of chocolate bars but ruined the jingle.

So you know where we are – we are pointing out the difference between the UK and the USA – again? I hear you say but . . .

When I first moved to America I often wondered why they did the exact opposite from us. Over here we switch the room light on by pushing the switch down and over there it is pressed up. So it's not only which side of the road we all drive on there are other things too. If you are ever stuck when there for how you do something in America all you have to do is do it the opposite way from the UK.

But what about music? We say 'middle 8' and they say 'bridge' but bridge is not the middle 8. the bridge is for joining 2 parts of the composition together.

Songs are written, verse, chorus; verse chorus – two verses, and middle 8 and then another verse or even the middle 8 again but what about the bridge?

Here's an example:

In the UK's national anthem the bridge is here – God save our gracious queen, long live our noble queen, god save out queen THEN the bridge – da da da da da da – that's the bridge/the join - on to send her victorious etc.

The middle 8 in All I have to do is Dream is I can make you mine, taste your lips of wine etc – that's the middle 8, usually with an F chord, then a G then an F and then, maybe Am or Em – in fact that's the way to write a song.

But what drives all ex pats mad is the Democratic Party in the USA is BLUE and the Republicans are RED!!!!

Why is that?

 and . . . . hey it was Michael Palin!

Next Time!!!

hummus - how to say it and who said it first.

Sleeeep!!

                                       RUSSELL KANE

I'm an expert on sleep; it's something I do every day. Most of the people I know sleep too: some are deep sleepers and some light – some only sleep for a couple of hours a night. But the people who don't sleep at all hate people telling them what to do to sleep. This is because we all need different conditions in order to actually fall in to the land of nod.

Lots of times, if I have an important appointment the next day, I will be awake all night. I have known a target time of getting up at 5.00 am and at 10 passed 5 I am still awake. And do you know what? That's when I drop off; for 15 minutes!

It's a strange thing and the number of times it has happened to me I can't say as it's too many times but I have always lasted through the day and been quite perky and lively and . . and . . . oh I nearly dropped off then.

I have heard about a lot of insomniacs lately and in fact there has been a convention this week by people in the sleep business, and there is a word for a condition that people suffer from when so called experts are pontificating about how great they are at going to sleep.

I am okay but when away with someone – my wife, for example, and we are in a strange place, I look at her and she has gone. Laying there in bed asleep. When away filming, for instance, I have heard snoring from the next room within minutes of the person going in there to sleep.

Once I got in a train in Marseilles intending to travel the full length of France right up to Calais and paid extra to get a sleeping compartment (yes I know a compartment that is asleep) – all I had with me was a large baguette and some water which I had planned to make last for the whole journey. I sat in my seat and watched Provence through the window, started thinking and thinking deeply and then started to think about Walter Mitty and his secret life and the sound he always heard when he started to sleep – 'ta pocket ta pocket ta pocket ta pocket' and you know I could feel the sleep coming over me, I didn't need a pee, I was very comfortable, I was going to sleep and then . . .bang on the door.

The man had come to turn the bed down. It was a normal train seat which turned into bunk beds in a flash. I couldn't even sit properly, I had to keep my back bent.

I asked him of he could leave it and he said someone else might be getting on the train and they would like to get in to bed.

That did it! I eventually got into bed and every time the train stopped I looked for the old lady with a surgical stocking and sensible shoes who I was sure was going to share the room with me – or my bed!!! Arghhhh!

So that was it; I was awake.

Then I wanted a pee.

There was a hole in the floor where I was supposed to pee – what about if I wanted a number 2? - perhaps not!

Eventually we stopped at a big city; is this Paris? No it was Lyon, a huge industrial city through the window is all I could see. Steam rising from somewhere, steam going somewhere and then – sleep.

Missed the bit where we pulled out of the station, missed Paris and the train arrived in Calais after that huge journey through the night smack on time.

The sleep convention, I mentioned before, said that you must be comfortable in bed, you must relax – no alcohol because that sleep is no good for you – and you must read a comfortable, safe book, maybe one you've read before, no computer screens nothing.

What I used to do, sometimes, was count backwards from 7000; full words six thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine etc or think that I am on the stage and I have to recite The Sick Note, which I used tom do in my Irish show 'Dear sir I write this note to you to tell you of my plight/and at the time of writing I am not a pretty sight – and by the time I got half way through it I would be asleep. The secret is – and the counting backwards – it makes your mind wander and trying to concentrate sends you to sleep.

Here is one of my favourite comedians – Russell Kane.

I remember him from Edinburgh when he scolded a theatre critic for giving someone a bad review just because she had a strange voice and was fat. This critic gave me a rave review – a great one – but only 3 stars.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uMKcxrnwYV4