A Normal Christmas ? I don't think so...

 

Brussels at Christmas time was as attractive as ever, no snow or rain and the temperature quite convenable  as some of the locals would say. In fact as my Eurostar emerged from the tunnel after a slow and slightly delayed journey through a Kent landscape that looked awfully like Siberia in Dr Zhivago, we came into a smiling French land all blue sky and with not a trace of snow. Being protected from French weather is  another of the benefits of BREXIT I suppose.

Mind you there is a downside to the EU as far as I am concerned and that is that the metro station  I use to get to the Defence College is appropriately named Schuman but right underneath the EU headquarters. When they have a lot of big wigs coming for meetings etc they tend to close it at the last minute and without warning. This is nuisance as it means a much longer walk for me and the really nice Starbucks where I have my breakfast (much more convenient than the hotel) is in the station. Otherwise things went pretty much as normal, goggling at the simply amazing son-et-lumiere in the Grande Place, getting the customary chocolates for Christmas, dining with the students (Belgian, Dutch, German and Portuguese) and patting the stuffed horse in the Roi d’ Espagne, as  I have been doing once a year for several decades. I was pleased to gey my favourite widow tables in both the restaurants I frequent. A glass of Leffe Bruin over my e-mails and then a light supper. Perfect.

Getting home from Paddington wasn’t so perfect though. My taxi driver got stuck in awful traffic on the Hammersmith flyover and I had to wait 90- minutes  or so before he made it. Worse, both my phones were on low charge and Paddington is a big beast of a place to be picked up from. One needs to be able to talk people into the RDV point. Fortunately I had my charger handy and was able to locate an ordinary plug in one of its many exit hallways, so stood by until I got enough charge to communicate.

Once home all was not well. It had been very, very cold and in some mysterious way which I totally do not understand frozen external pipes had caused a couple of leaks. The first was a slight drip from the tun dish of the water-heater, which wasn't a serious issue. The second, apparently unconnected, leak happened the day after I got back, the Sunday evening after our friendly and effective plumber Pete had sorted out the first one. I was cooking in the kitchen (well, doing what I call cooking anyway) when I realised I could hear running water, and in fact saw it was coming in under the kitchen door. Weirdly, the water was pouring up out of the plug hole in the washbasin in the downstairs loo, not the tap. It was rapidly flooding the kitchen, hall and advancing on the dining room. Panic. Another phone call, Sunday evening or not. Turning the water softener off seemed to stop the flow for some reason. That was a mercy but it meant I had to spend the next 4 hours mopping up and the next 4 days drying everything out. Not ideal !

Then there was a short gap, where I was supposed to go down to Dartmouth to stay with some old friends, attend a funeral and do some business at the naval college, where my career had started. It sounds dreadful to say that I was really looking forwards  to a package of events around a funeral but so I was. The day before, though, all packed up for an early morning start I could feel a cold coming on. It arrived with a bang the following morning and turned out to be a real stinker. I was not nice to be with, though it wasn’t Covid. The weather was foul too, so I called the whole thing off. The following day, I was much better, and the day after that the cold had practically disappeared.

And then of course, all of the carefully articulated plans for a family get together on Christmas day got seriously dis-articulated when Covid struck the host and hostess. Disappointed but resolute, the survivors put Plan B into effect. This involved one party coming to me on Christmas (despite the fact that I had deliberately run supplies down to a minimum because of projected absence elsewhere and to make room for a big order coming in for a planned new year celebration. That was a nice interlude of course, if much quieter than anticipated.

The following Boxing Day morning we were to depart early to separate Boxing Day festivities. They made theirs, but I didn’t. Halfway down the A303 one of those worrying warning lights saying ‘Engine fault- garage !’ came on and I pulled into a large and convenient lay by. There were dire warnings of imminent disaster in the handbook, if I just carried on.. Cutting a very long story short, an RAC chap came to my rescue had a couple of goes at sorting the problem out both there and later at a service station a couple of miles down the road. He couldn’t fix it, thought it probably wasn’t serious but all the same  advised me to drive home. He said I should follow him so he could keep an eye on me. The warning stayed on, flashing away. We stopped at Ludgershall. He said If I hadn’t noticed anything else wrong with the car's performance by then I should be Ok to go home on my own. So that’s what I did, arriving home mid-afternoon, and tracked by the family all the way. 

At this point I began to think that Christmas was starting to feel a touch over-rated. But hope springs eternal....

New and Old Amsterdam

 

My last two weeks in the US and the first week in the UK have certainly been busy. Apart from the business of packing up the house and closing down the office, I had a splendid long weekend with a colleague in New York, - which used of course to be called New Amsterdam. This included a very long Amtrak ride from North Kingston, a car journey away from Newport. The railway station looked the ones in old Western movies like 'High Noon'. I did the driving as my colleague was recovering from cataract surgery. It being Veterans’ day weekend, the car park was absolutely packed but I managed gingerly to mount the pavement in Snowflake III, my Toyota Camry hire car,  and park hopefully on the grass under some trees. When we got back we saw that many others had followed my example. No parking ticket yet at any rate ! The train ride was very long and likewise packed but all seats have to be reserved. The seats are so close to each other, one’s knees touch those of the person sitting opposite, or even have to be inter-leaved. It rained and was dark as we pulled into the station, but we got safely to the Yale Club. No tea-making equipment in the room to my dismay. What sort of country is this, I wondered ?

The treat for the first night was 'Don Carlos' at the Met. Not exactly a barrel of laughs and fiendishly expensive, but worth every cent. Simply being there in good seats underlined the enormous difference there is between listening to an opera on a CD and actually being there and watching it at the same time. As it happened we sat next to two Scottish ladies who were obviously regular opera buffs at the Met, who helped me at least really get into it. The benefits of expertise. Mind you, I scored heavily in the first interval, by being the only one who had ordered drinks for us in advance. Perhaps they don’t do that in the US ? 

The following day to the other Met where there was a superb collection of Tudor art, collected from all over the place. A big queue to get into the building but it was so vast that unlike pre-Covid London Art exhibitions, it wasn’t a question of seeing bits of paintings over someone’s shoulder. I recommend the café there too. Great cappuccino.

That evening to the New York Yacht Club for a dinner organised by the American friends of the Royal Navy Museum in Portsmouth  and of the 1805 Club, dedicated to the memory of Nelson. The occasion was HMS Pickle night, commemorating the day when the sloop of that name reached Plymouth with the news of the Battle of Trafalgar. The Club house, predictably, was a grand affair with models of innumerable racing yachts and the like stuck on all the walls, and an enviable collection of silver. The speaker was our Second Sea Lord (who I didn’t know at all) minded by our naval attache over there who I had met the week before. Great food and by British standards an early end which was fine, after such a day.

Thereafter, as I said, the packing up and departure process. Much less wearisome than usual because I was able to put all my stuff into a cupboard there since I will be going back to the same place in late February. Snowflake had to be returned as well, and college arrangements made. I left at 0300 on Monday and for once had a completely painless journey home. Getting into Boston airport when it’s almost completely empty is well worth the awful departure time. Two films to watch on the way back and I was surprised to be given a whole bottle of good wine, as I was the only one who had chosen it and the steward said otherwise they would only have to pour the rest down the drain !

No disaster awaited me at home late that evening, and the water leak which had plagued me just before my departure in early October had not re-appeared. But sadly the string that held up my soaked paperbacks in the garage had broken and its burden, dumped on the floor which won’t help their recovery. Really sadly some of my 19^th Century Wiltshire books won’t be the same again. Otherwise all was fine. The following day I rushed around unpacking and repacking for the next departure, getting some essentials from Devizes, dealing with a mountain of mostly surplus post, getting our first Christmas tree up from the garden. After such a day I treated myself to the first fire of the winter. While I was away, and bearing in mind the energy prices, the house was kept on a very low temperature and it was pretty chilly.

Next morning I was off early to the original (Old) Amsterdam on a combination of Eurostar and Thalys trains for a talk on the naval side of the Ukraine war to a Dutch naval group. This was fun. I was met at Amsterdam Centraal to my surprise and taken to a restaurant for the nicest steak I’ve had for many a long year. The following day was the talk in the old Stock Exchange, now turned into a conference venue.

I was one of four talking in a small room with perhaps 30 people while many more were watching via a screen in another room. It was an interesting  experience and exchange. What I didn't realise was that candid photos were being taken of me, while in full flow or reflective mode. It's always  sobering to see oneself as others do. I had always thought I looked like George Clooney. Apparently this is not so.  The evidence for this fact is displayed below. I also realised, once again, that nearly all Dutch people are much taller than me !" 

Otherwise Everything went well, and before I left for home, I managed to squeeze in a visit to ‘Our Lord in the Attic’ – a charming Catholic house church, so if anyone was tracking me and wondering what I was doing in the red-light district at my age, that’s the explanation and I have photos to prove it. 

But of course the main event of this period was the big family event to mark Cherry’s passing, five years ago incredibly. On the Saturday, a fire, fish and chips and despite rain and wind a firework display plus the decoration for the Christmas tree we always put up for Cherry’ birthday on the 24^th . She had always wanted to do a parachute jump for some bizarre reason and it was on the bucket list for our last six months back in 2017, but twice the weather defeated us and she never managed it.

It had seemed very cruel of fate at the time.  So two heroines in the family jumped for her, again in pretty dicey weather and with great aplomb and success. Here they are rehearsing

not praying for deliverance. They were splendid. After that we went to a Mexican restaurant in Salisbury, opposite the pub I used to use when in the sixth form, which I had forgotten all about. And so dispersal, while for me Wiltshire life resumed its  more normal path, for a few days at least.        

Coyotes on Campus

 

This must be one of the rarer College transmissions to come across a British academic's desk.  Apparently there have been a spike in sightings recently and people, and especially those who live in the naval station (NAVSTA)  have been told not to feed them, to practice 'yard hygiene' and not to let their pets out after dark. They seem to be more of menace than urban foxes in England.  What with that and another recent alert about a big increase in 'deer strikes' and the constant warnings about deer ticks in the woods around where I live, Rhode Island isn't quite as safe and calm as appearances might suggest.

The only hazard I see is the influx of tourists who don't know quite where they are going (and of course, why should they ?) and who stop in the strangest places and often don't observe the courtesies of local drivers. So it's dangerous to assume that cars will stop if you want to cross the road, or for that matter will automatically stop at the many many stop lines there are on the roads. Newport in particular seems a very safe, genteel sort of place.  When it was even more of a Navy town than it is now that wouldn't necessarily have been the case. In fact I was taken to a restaurant right in the centre of town, where I was told would have been close to a dangerous area, as recently as ten years ago.

I naturally assume there is some connection between this and the fact that  its political complexion is strongly Democrat and 'liberal.'  Of course at the moment there's a lot of talk about what might happen at the mid-Terms next week. I listen  to National Public Radio   (and in a fit of guilt have even contributed to it in one of their frequent funding drives ). When they discuss the stolen election that a very large proportion of Republican politicians and an even larger proportion of the people who vote for them still adamantly believe in, NPR always say 'for which there is no evidence.' So I can see why the right are so convinced the media are against them, but the real problem is that it makes no difference to them. They believe what they want to believe. The  general expectation is that this plus discontent about the cost of living crisis (which I have to say is not very obvious here) means the Republicans will almost certainly take Congress back and make life for the Biden administration even more difficult than it is at the moment. I've never heard so many pundits worrying about the survival of America democracy before. Grim, but least Bolsonaro got booted out if only narrowly. There is serious talk of Trump throwing his hat into the ring before the end of the month. Could anything be more appalling or worse for the West ?

Enough of that. It's been a quiet period if not as quiet as my trackers probably thought as I tend to leave my UK phone at home when I go out. To get my steps up I have taken to a little evening stroll down to the waterside where I sometimes chat to a metal detectorist there who has real yen to come to England 'as they're always finding things over there !' The Ida Weston yacht club makes a nice picture on a stormy evening. Not that there have been many of them. It's been mild here as in England with day temperatures in the mid 60sF and sometimes even 70+ Completely different from earlier sojourns over here at this time of the year when even snow was quite common. It doesn't look like it but the club is at the end of a very long pier. Behind it you can see a tall ship and, just about,  Fort Adam 

This morning  delightful session with the family on Zoom and yesterday with Christopher and Elowen. Won't be long before I am back with them all, provided the Heathrow baggage-handlers allow it. Christmas is now beckoning, and arrangements are being made. I began to get into the festive spirit when I re-visited the Breakers mansion this afternoon. Big Christmas trees up in the main bedrooms, very recently installed by the look of them. One was crowned by a top hat instead of a fairy on the top for reasons I couldn't quite fathom. Otherwise even on the nth visit the Breakers is still a pretty stunning place. Good thing they didn't demolish it, when the Vanderbilts left,  as they did several others 

After the great hike of getting there and round it and before the great hike of getting back I took coffee and a weird but quite nice little pot of grapes and oats which was a lot nicer than it sounds, in the Garden Cafe. Curiously unfrequented. If it was in the UK people would pour into it to recover from their visit to the big house just as in National Trust poperties.  Just not the American way I suppose. Anyhow I stayed in there quite a long time very agreeably catching up on my e-mails, before staggering home.

A big week, next week, to prepare for.....and Christmas.

     

Owning up

 

I suppose it was probably inevitable. The plan was for this to be my last couple of months over here and that I would go home at the end of November, bowing out gracefully from the Newport experience. The problem of course, is that everyone seems to expect me to stay on for my last half year in 2023, and plans are already being made for next Spring. Then there won't be a problem as my contract and my work visa both end in the Summer of 2023. At that stage the decision would be out of my hands. It's true that Covid and the high percentage of people working more at home means that the College is less congenial than it was, but it's better now than earlier this year since people seem to me to be drifting  back towards a more normal work/life balance. I don't suppose it will go all the way back to normal, and even I, with every incentive to go in to see people, enjoy my three day weekend (even though I'm still working !).

I do have lots of people to see here too. An American naval officer who I really liked when we were both back in Greenwich in the 1980s has a big admin job here. He also lost his wife recently and we frequently exchange notes and reminisce. There's a Russian lady, married to a US Commander, who I met in Hawaii years ago  who I have now helped to get on a PhD programme at King's. She's at the Russia Institute here, takes me to a French confectionary and is really interesting for an insider's view of Russia and the Ukraine war. At a class on Monday there was a visiting speaker, on the war, an American but at St Andrews University, who came in to the seminar room. He did a really classic double take and greeted me across the room like a long-lost brother 'Geoff, he said,' I didn't know you were here !'  He then explained to the class that I had examined his PhD so he would need to be on his mettle. I didn't admit that I had completely forgotten that ! I shall miss that kind of thing when it finally stops. I've also picked up a new class called the 'Advanced Strategy Programme' of high flyers (quite literally in one case - a B52 pilot) who are staying on for an extra year being prepared for policy jobs in the Pentagon and such like places - and they are very stimulating people, and extremely friendly.  

The final reason for my hesitation at breaking free is also that next Spring I would be able to teach my normal class based on my new book which came out in September. All my classes so far were part of the evolution of the book, but it will be really interesting to see what the students make of the final version !  I can also hardly persuade the College into a small bulk buy, if I am not really going to be around to use it ! They really are an interesting and impressive set of people, and I learn a lot from them, too. 

So for all these reasons I was in any case beginning to think again about the original plan, being tempted to stay on for just one more gig.  I don't think it has crossed anyone's mind that I wouldn't stay for the rest of my time. They always seem slightly bemused that I go home at all ! I've also got the new office virtually sorted out and at least some of the pictures up. Most of what's there won't be coming back as there's no room for it at Wansdyke, so it would be nice to give it all one last run for its money.

But the last straw this week was an e-mail from my realtor, asking whether I would like to rehire the current rental for the Spring and early Summer as my new landlords (a couple living I think in California ) are wanting to make their plans for a Summer stay here, but wanted to accommodate my wishes. That offer was too hard to turn down ! So it looks as though March to mid June will be the final curtain call if in fact two weeks shorter than usual. This all subject of course to Covid and everything else that might happen between now and then. And these days who knows about that.

Observing the shenanigans that's been going on back in the UK, or rather listening to it on my phone as I cook and wash-up, has been amazing. people speak to me about it in hushed tones, as though at a funeral. But in no sense of superiority as many of them seem to think the US is in danger of imploding as we approach the mid-terms. Some of  the things one hears on the national public radio just beggar belief. But one remembers what Churchill said about Democracy  'the worst form of government except for all the others.' Dead right !     

I must say I do quite fancy sitting in my porch which will be completed by then, sipping my mint julep and looking out over the water in the warm Spring sunshine. Not of course that it would be a mint julep since we tried it in Carolina years ago and thought a really disgusting drink. Being able to keep my stuff here and not go through the exhausting business of shifting it back into office and out again like I had to this time would be a real bonus too.

Otherwise, I'm thoroughly back in the routine now, revisiting the mansions, walking on the beach etc. Until recently it's been really quite warm, but I've been surprised at how few people there can be about on Second Beach on a sunny Saturday afternoon. That's the Chapel  of St George's Public/Private school on the hill. It's all too English for words. I am constantly reminded of Britishness here, not least because of the large number of ex-pats there seem to be living around here. I met a couple in 'Stop-and-Shop' desperately hunting for a kettle and told them where to go. The receptionist at the old Redwood library had I thought the remnants of a British accent. She said,' I have to ask THE question..' She didn't need to. 'Yes, I said 'and I was going to ask the same.' She'd come over 32 years ago and hadn't lost the accent, but said all her friends said she shouldn't as everyone liked it. But I don't think that will be a problem for me as. My accent is in no danger through an overlong stay. Honestly.   

Gone West

 

Amazingly, I got nearly everything done back at Wansdyke before departing for the US though it was a bit hectic. This included in the last week (the one after my return from Singapore)  getting three separate injections, having  a dental check, hosting two Peppermill lunches for friends  and even exploiting friendships ruthlessly for help in getting a huge apple crop either  juiced up on the spot or taken away for later juicing. I was really pleased and grateful for this as I can't abide waste ! I closed up the house, though of course Nathan and Carline will be looking after it, and even did some pre-emptive de-micing and de-ratting !

My flight back to Newport by contrast was completely hassle free. Everything worked perfectly. The meal on the plane was really excellent and the service couldn't be faulted.  I must say when BA gets its act together it really is very good.

Of course coming back to the College did involve hassle. I spent the first whole day in Newport collecting the car, being taken on a walk-round of my new rental and then the really arduous business of collecting all my stuff from my office on the third deck (this is a naval college after all) at the of the old Mahan building. As well, there's been yet another re-organisation of office accommodation. I've lost my former proper (shared)  office but am still in the one I temporarily perched in on my own. Because I thought I would be moving out of that bolt-hole everything in it had all been boxed up and so had to be un-boxed.  When that's piles of books and papers, it's no joke ! On top of that all my stuff from my 'proper office had been boxed up and moved in and also had to be unboxed. Worse still so had all of colleague John Hattendorf's because he had been moved in with me. Presumably the thinking was that those two old half time codgers would be perfectly happy up in their eerie and not get in anyone's way. Which is perfectly true ! I spent a whole day sorting  this chaos out and was aching all over when I stopped. It was the long weekend of the Columbus day holiday so there was no-one else around at all. It was also a hot day - over 70 Fahrenheit. It was just as well no-one saw me too closely.

But it's done. Personalising my new house, on the other hand was fun. I enjoyed unpacking everything  and discovering things I had forgotten about, including an old Burmese lunch pot I thought I had inadvertently left behind in the Carriage house when I scuttled away from Covid two years ago. The house is a single storey wooden two bedroom cottage built around 1900, with fittings that in part date from the 1960s I should think. Here's a picture, with my new rental car - Snowflake III the third white one in a row.

To the right of the tree you can just see the sea. The house is part of a small estate centred on a large house of about the same period that is divided into condos. It's surrounded by trees but provides a view of the ocean from the back porch. A view, I might say, currently dominated by two huge cruise ships in port for the holiday weekend. Behind my dining area there's a large window looking out on some superb and large rock formations. My landlords live in South Carolina. I don't think there can be much wrong with them since they left me a bottle of gin and four bottles of wine, plus a whole load of food ! Mind you I did have to give quite a lot of the cutlery and cooking equipment  a good clean before using it. You can't have everything.

A few minutes away there's this rather splendid statue of General Rochambeau who arrived  with a French Army in 1780 to help the struggling George Washington drive us Brits out. Weirdly, he seems to be pointing back at France, perhaps acknowledging that supporting revolutions didn't turn out to be a very good idea as far as the French were concerned  !  So far, at any rate, I have concluded that being here still does look like a good idea, but we'll see.

Firebanners and Muntjac

 

It's been an exciting and busy time since I got back from Singapore and Indonesia, where I immediately plunged back into the business of preparing for the next departure to Newport. This mainly involved getting in people needed to do what's necessary for the house (getting the chimney swept, the fire extinguishers checked, a new alarm system installed, dripping taps seen to etc) and doing something about the garden -  'autumn-cleaning' as it were (garden furniture put away, mowing done, and a huge amount of apples and other such fruit dealt with. Various friends have already helped me out with this, and more are in the way. I also have to prepare myself !  This means a variety of things like getting the jabs I need, stocking up on pills - and more importantly continuing my education into the mysteries of the mobile-phone, thanks to Chiff. At the most basic this can also mean not leaving the phone behind in the airport departure gate, as I did in Doha on the way back !  (Very embarrassing !)

But there was time for some fun excursions too. Lunches with friends and a quick trip to Burgess Hill, where the coincidence of its being the weekend of the local Bonfire Society gathering. For those unfamiliar with this traditional Sussex activity, the county is full of such societies and every week they gather in support of one of their number for spectacular torch lit processions though the town or village followed by a firework display.  The firebanners at the beginning are amazing; they look quite alarming, and how they get away with it in these cloying days of oppressive health and safety regulations I do not know. (In this area, the local Pewsey carnival that has been held for over a century is likely to be stopped for that reason- the insurance has become  exorbitant). This year there was a special banner to the King. The marchers and bands must devote much of their lives to preparing for these often weekly occasions. A remarkable and much needed demonstration of community spirit, effective, said Philippa, even in Burgess Hill.

There were some quieter moments too. Swishing open my curtains early one morning I saw a Muntjac on the back lawn. It was quite unfazed by this and stared back at me curiously wondering what I was doing on its patch. Its unusual stillness offered me the chance for some quick photos. Of course, after my breakfast granola, I rushed out to check that my laurel defences were in good order after the depredations of the roe deer last spring. ( They weren't- but no harm done).

 

However, the general need to rush around to get everything done in time does raise the question of whether all this flitting about the world is actually worth it. In the case of my three weeks in Southeast Asia, the answer is definitely yes. It was my first time back since the beginning of Covid, nearly two and a half years ago  and so provided an opportunity for meeting up and working with friends and colleagues I haven't seen in a long time. This also involved a number of very enjoyable social occasions in both Indonesia and Singapore. Encouragingly, the one with the beer mugs is of a friend even older than I am !

 The one of me by the sea with the straggly hair was before I got a much-needed haircut in a local hawker market for rather less than it would have cost in Devizes (until the recent devaluation at least). These were all both interesting and fun. I was also struck by the fact that several of my colleagues, quite unprompted, referred admiringly to Cherry (including a Canadian historian at the NUS who I hadn't even realised had met her) now nearly five years, incredibly, after her departure.  

Also, the opportunity to re-visit - or at least look at - some of the places we used to frequent was fun. The Marina Bay Sands is new but one of the most iconic. It's a posh hotel, with a swimming pool and bar built across the top. There are even trees up there. For obvious reasons we used to refer to it as the cricket stumps. We stayed there a couple of times, courtesy of various conference sponsors. One had to come all the way down to the bottom to get breakfast and there were so many people staying there, it was a bit of a  mission. The swimming pool was one of those 'infinity' ones which have invisible glass sides. A reasonable head for heights as one towers above the city is an advantage. Creepy. Here it is from the top of the National Art Gallery across a Padang prepared for this week's Formula 1 race 

 

And here are two colleagues from my outfit in Singapore on Boat Quay, with the famous Fullerton Hotel in the background, all lit up. We stayed there too. Nothing but the best for us       

So it was all worth it, Will the same be true of the next sojourn in Newport ? Well I shall have to wait and see......

Back to the Land of the Green Lanterns

 

For the first time in over two years, I'm back in Singapore. Quite a lot has changed, including something like a 30 per cent cut in the number of taxis, so the 'green lanterns' - the sign on the taxi roof denoting 'availability' - are even scarcer than they were. Uber is quite rightly banned in Singapore for its atrocious treatment of drivers but there's a regulated alternative here called Grab. However even this, plus Covid, has resulted in the departure of many drivers, so perforce I have had to resort  to the underground, the MRT, more than usual. Being Singaporean, this is quick, efficient and cheap, but also crowded. As well, it involves a lot of walking about which in this climate means rather too many of what the locals call 'three shirt days.'  

This plus the fact that the Monsoon this year is particularly rainy, means that there haven't been many of the idle hours by the hotel pool that I was looking forwards to. In fact Singapore is not generally looking its best. The authorities took the opportunity of Covid to close down many of the attractions in order to refurbish them and a lot have still to complete this process. The City is opening up again, but preparing for the Formula One motor race through the streets also means a lot of barriers spoiling the view. Like this of the National Art Gallery (which, in a former incarnation was where Mountbatten took the Japanese surrender in 1945).

But that's OK, this wasn't meant to be a holiday, and in any case I have managed to revisit some favoured spots and have been welcomed with enthusiasm by at least one of the residents.

 I've also managed to get in some of the kind of thing that tourists like to do - like a drink (in my case a Tiger beer not the infamous sickly 'Singapore Sling' attributed to Noel Coward, probably wrongly) at Raffles Hotel. (We stayed there once when there was a special offer for local ex-pats, and enjoyed every minute of it. The occasion  was a visit by a UK based theatre group doing something by Noel Coward. Cherry wangled it through one of here local friends ).

And just wandering  around means encountering interesting sights. Not least the amazing trees they have around here. This one was on the way to a jungle area near the McCritichie reservoir, as  a taste of things to come.

But mainly this has been a work trip, with a week in the very different Jakarta as well. There have been lost of policy meetings for the Singapore delegation on which I am one, some held in shopping malls to cut down on time wasted in navigating Jakarta's interminable traffic jams. Another of these was a slightly incongruous gathering of me plus one Admiral and five other Indonesian naval officers for dinner in a prestigious Japanese restaurant. I don't usually much care for Japanese food but this was excellent - but offered some challenges. You try exploring the legal technicalities of 'archipelagic sea-lanes with a mouth  full of Prawn Tempura. Some of these Malls are real state of the art, as modern as modern can be, in extraordinary contrast to the rows and rows of tiny roadside stalls in narrow lanes, 100 yards away. Most of these look positively medieval, and have the same protocols too. This includes clusters of people making and selling the same kind of thing - such as stretches of mirror-makers, or people selling water-melons or whatever. Indonesia is building a new capital at the other end of Java, as the only way of escaping from such inconveniences. A shame in some ways. Yet more cultural homogenisation

But the trip has involved have been formal meetings too. here's a typical one. Polite chit-chat about protocols and memorandums of understanding between my Singapore outfit and our various hosts. I can easily be identified by the white hair, but also, the Batik shirt I am sporting.

Its much more comfortable  than a lounge suit and in fact rather more correct wear, in any case. 

Of course there have been presentations too. Quite a few in fact, some in Singapore and some in Jakarta.  Here's my audience  at SESKOAL the Naval Staff College. Note the mask wearing. The enforcement of anti-Covid regulations in Jakarta is stricter than in Singapore. You have to show evidence of vaccination to get into shopping malls, and many restaurants. Seating is often socially distanced.  But in Singapore too, though there has been some relaxation, there's very high levels of mask-wearing. This of course is another significant impediment to be confronted when walking about. There's a noticeable difference in attitude between the locals and Westerners. Looking at the scenes associated with the Queen's obsequies back in the UK, it looks very much as though we think we're done with Covid, but out here they are far less sure that Covid has done with us. We'll see, no doubt. 

 

This and that

 

Pete the Plumber called a few days ago to fix an outside tap. He's been with us for yonks and told me he was about to retire, but might still do a few jobs to keep his hand in. Quite unexpectedly, and through nothing I said, he started talking about Cherry, saying what a nice lady she was and how amazing it is to realise that it's getting on for five years since she died. Obviously, as our wedding anniversary approached, I've been thinking about that a bit more than normal too. Coincidentally one of Canadian protégées wrote to me about a sea-related issue. He asked  about Cherry and was plainly shocked by the news. He sent a lovely  reply, I thought: "I am so sorry, I hadn’t realised that Cherie had died.  Both my wife and I remember her very fondly from the few times we met in Singapore and that serendipitous meeting in Cambodia on the side of a temple as we watched the sun set with our kids.  I was so touched by the friendliness she offered us and in hosting me at your cottage in 2007.  What a great time it was.  I was happy to have a bed and a ride into the college, but a guided tour of the Avebury area and a night out in Salisbury as well was above and beyond.  I regret I never got Cherry a dragon for her collection. My deepest condolences." He's obviously got a much better memory than me but it was a nice reminder of the fact that I have a lot to be thankful for. For the fifth anniversary, I am sponsoring a 'weathering stone' with her initials that will be put on the East End of Salisbury Cathedral. It'll be there for 800 years they say.

 

          All that is also something to balance against the grim news and forecasts we are being bombarded with at the moment. Although the garden now looks parched and brown instead of an overgrown Borneo, I've survived the drought quite well so far, despite the inevitable failures and losses. An now, extremely sensitive to the prospect of the annexe flooding for a fifth time, given the warnings about flash-flooding, I've cleared the drainage ditches. I've never really got over watching the water coming down from the hills behind,  across the field and into the back of the garden, while not being able to do anything to stop it ! On the other side of the ledger, my well has done sterling service and still has an unbroken record of never drying up. Excellent as a means of restocking water-butts and filling up the ponds without breaking the bank. With this prospect in mind, I have also been cutting back on electricity use, and making plans for the coming energy hike, to which I am especially vulnerable. Of course the 3-4 year store of wood I've now accumulated will help. However I had to get Danny the electrician in to restore power to the outhouses, evidence that the power system in the house isn't as good as it should be. He did a quick survey with a plan for a much longer -and more expensive !- one later. But there and then he insisted on either replacing or disabling the 4 exterior lights. They're halogen he said: they get hot and are much too close (inches not metres)  to the thatch.  He told a horrid story about the thatched house with just such a problem next to the pub in Bishop's Cannings.  'What thatched house ?'  I said. That of course was his point.

 

          The detritus of the tree clearing has been moved away and put ready for a bonfire (hard to guess when that will be safe enough) and converted into three huge animal and bug residences in the wooded area. Since then, academic activity has taken a decidedly back seat in my priorities, and I have been engaged in an apparently endless round of domestic preparation for hard times ahead.

 

          But that hasn't stopped some fun times too. A self-indulgent day in Salisbury, picking up Aunt Ethel's art deco clock, getting a new cam belt put in the car, cappuccino in Caffe Nero, the Hardy exhibition in the Museum, tea the Antelope and a browse round the Antique Centre where I bought an 1809 naval book which I found I already have ! (Still, an enjoyable chat with the old bookseller -probably younger than me- about the repair of leather-bound books) Etc, etc

         

          The following week a very nice lunch and catch-up with Pat and James in their charming house in which we very deliberately did not talk about our ailments !  And then a mini-Summer holiday with Graham and Lo in Devon, during which we managed to stagger slowly round the gardens at Forde Abbey and explored Montacute House. In neither case were there vast crowds and in fact we practically had Forde abbey to ourselves  - it was quite eerie really.

          On our return I still had enough energy left to go and look at Hawkchurch's church.  It's famous for its carvings, not least this weird capital carving. A man linked to marine dragons, crocodiles ? What on earth was the sculptor taking at the time ? Disappointingly, the teddy bear parachute display from the tower was the following week.  

 

          The only sadness at Montacute House was that the famous third-floor long gallery was closed, as it was too hot for the guides to be able to stick it out for any length of time ! They had a lovely library but I felt a certain malicious satisfaction in noting that their copy of Pitt's speeches was incomplete, while I have complete set.

Not in such good order admittedly. We liked the charming summer houses too. They had a display of samplers. These days, sadly, the quite touching 1785 one rather invites a cynical 'yeah, right !'- guess who was doing what she was told.

The last two lines of the 19th Century one, appropriate to the time,  though puts things quite well - at least it would be nice to think so.  

g

   

 

Noises Off

  

Two very busy weeks back in the UK, and no sign yet of much in the way of R&R - rest and recuperation. The tree surgeons very expensively  took down one dead ash tree and trimmed another very big live one, cut down four dead elms, a dying maple, a very dead plum tree and trimmed a large elder blotting the sun from the lean-to tomato green house. They left a huge pile of detritus which I have been working my way through for 2-3 hours every day. It contains quite a lot of log potential and useful kindling, but this has to be sorted out, sawn and stacked for storage. The rest is going to a planned big bonfire (but maybe not if the drought continues) and three huge wild life sanctuaries in the wooded area. It's taken a lot of time and energy, but I am nearing the end of it.

I've learnt a lot about wood in the process. Elm is very tough to cut and doesn't snap. Try to break a branch off and you end up twisting it round and round. I have a vague memory that hurdle or trug makers used to exploit that characteristic in some way. Elder strikes me as completely useless. The Bullas trees are hard to cut too and dangerously prickly. Compared to them, ash is a doddle. Anyway when I'm finished, I think I'll have probably four to five years worth of firewood for the wood-burner. Given the soaring cost of energy that might be quite a bonus.

So one of the sounds of the past two weeks has been that of sawing interspersed with the odd bout of cursing. Another one I've missed over the past four months is the sound of heavy agricultural machinery trundling past. A further rural sound of course is that of horse-riders trotting past. It's a kind of background one gets used to and doesn't really focus on. Except one day recently that these seemed rather fast. So, I went to investigate, and found two riderless white horses in the front garden panting deeply but clearly about to have a whale of a time. So having failed to rouse the local farmer, I dialled 999. I was trying to explain to the local police  (whose record in attending to public calls, rather like the ambulance service, is amongst the worst in the whole country)  where my village was when I heard an explosion of hooves and through the window saw the horses racing off down the road, clearly having the time of their lives. No reports of subsequent accidents, fortunately. Selfishly I closed my gates that evening. It clearly alarmed my newspaper deliverer who simply threw the Guardian over the gate instead, American style, but without the protective plastic wrapper. So I gave that up pretty quickly The nervousness remained for a day or so. A bout of clip-clopping the following day sent me rushing to see, but it was only a girl from the village riding past.

The other adventure of the fortnight was a talk on the South China Sea for a long time friend and colleague to an organisation called Probus. It has nothing to do with the saint my prep school was named after, but stands for Professional and Business. 'Oh it will be at the High Rocks Hotel Tunbridge Wells' he said blithely, ' you can't miss it.' The project was complicated by the fact that the same morning I had to take the car into the garage in Salisbury and collect a hire car. Assuming it would have a satnav I didn't take a map. It didn't but the young lady connected my US phone(the UK one wouldn't work)  to the car's audio system , the route came upon the car screen and off I went. The system flipped out before I had left Salisbury. So I stopped, having correctly guessed which road to take, and dialled up satnav just on the US phone, and switched the car audio system off. Fine. There was no phone-holder of course, so I laid it on the passenger seat  and did what Vera (the satnav voice) told me to do. It all worked and I made such good progress I decided to stop for a cappuccino at Fleet services on the M3. Resuming I realised that Vera had gone. The picture was still there, but I couldn't restore the sound. But with a lot of looking down at the passenger seat I ploughed on.

The issue is that High Rocks is to Tunbridge Wells what Stonehenge  is to Salisbury, only worse because it's inside a maze of very hilly single track roads with inadequate signage and a lot of other cars hurtling about. Sudden stops and the phone slid onto the floor, its map screen included. Nowhere to pull off and find it again, a car right behind me invading my space. It was awful. At one stage in the middle of this unexpected nowhere, I had the help of a glamorous young lady-receptionist  in  a nearby Restaurant called the Beacon who assured me that the steep track by the side of the building was indeed a road and that if I kept on down it I couldn't miss the High Rocks. She was right. Weirdly I was only ten minutes late. Much more delay was caused by my friend and his colleagues trying to a make the electronics work ! Getting the hotel 'techy' in solved the problem eventually. After that everything went fine.

I went on and stayed the night with Ruth, Simon and Violet. The occasion was the latter young lady's graduation from pre-school. The parents all gathered for this charming celebration to watch them all miming with hand movements the lyrics of two pop songs. It was all very sweet, bordering on the hilarious. Equally so were stories of Violet's attempts to put spaghetti up her nose, one of those issues where the 'how' is as difficult to understand as the 'why.'

The other family catch-up event was the hot weekend before when I was privileged to see both Barney and Martha in the school play - 'Legally Blond' - the musical. It was a lot better than I had been led to expect and I was really quite impressed by the overall standard, though I could see why some parents had reservations about the school's choice of play. The following day the whole dynasty turned up for a splendid day chatting, eating, drinking, staying out of the sun and being splashed by the kids in the paddling pool. It was terrific. Many photos of course, including the one above with me and all four grandchildren. Somehow I never imagined that one day I would be in a photo like that !

After both events on the way home I stopped for just a few minutes of R&R at Benbow Pond. Alongside the A272 it's an oasis of calm, with no noises off.

Home Again, Home Again

 Any idea I might have had about a nice quiet period at home devoted to rest and recuperation seems doomed at the moment. Deserved, mind you, but doomed. The last few weeks in Newport were hectic indeed, but a hint that the immediate future might not prove all that different was evident in my journey home. I knew it was going to be arduous with a 0300 taxi pick-up and three overweight suitcases full of books and other such paraphernalia likely to anchor me down at all stages of the trip. I had hoped that the extravagant devotion of my 'points' to a business class trip would ease my passage. And so it did, but not to the extent of neutralising what turned out to be a 15 hour delay !

I don't think it was really BA's fault. Apparently that day back in Heathrow, Immigration had been overwhelmed by the numbers travelling and required airlines to cut or delay their flights out from all terminals. Rather than simply cut my flight out from Boston, they put it on at the end of the day rather than the very beginning, after the other timetabled departures. They texted warnings of a delay but didn't say for how long so everyone turned up as normal at 0430 in the morning  So in an otherwise deserted airport there was a conglomeration of anxious and confused people and harassed staff at the BA desk. Because they had limited storage and had to save what they had for their normal flights, we could check in but couldn't unload our luggage. My half a ton of books began to seem quite threatening, especially as Boston is one of those airports that only has cafes and shops after security and not before it and obviously one cannot go through security with suitcases ! Fortunately, a nice young lady took pity on me and said she would take my cases, trolley and all, and stash it with a note explaining the situation, in a space beside the First Class Counter so that the police wouldn't blow it up or Japan airlines (who were shortly due to take the counter over) send it to Tokyo. She also gave me  kind of boarding pass so I could go through security. At about 0500 they were just opening up and I went through all on ,my own. The staff seemed in a holiday mood and were jovial and friendly and advised me to go through and walk along to another Terminal where they thought a Starbucks would soon be opening up. And so it proved !

          Thereafter I spent the next 15 hours shifting around both Terminals, having coffee, much later a nice breakfast courtesy of a coupon from BA and plugging in my laptop and getting on with various academic tasks. One of these was to check on line the index of my book, something which easily too took a couple of hours. I had a variety of make-do offices with different views of life in an airport terminal. 

 After 7 hours or so, I had to go out through security again and check in my luggage, just as Japan Air folded their tents and stole away. I got in just before the first rush for the next scheduled BA flight and the chap agreed against the rules to take my luggage (which I was very relieved to see still there) simply because it was blocking up the space. I left very pleased but wondered when I would see those cases again. And so out through Security for a second more crowded time. Thereafter, it was all plain sailing for the next 8 hours as the BA Lounge had now opened up, and there was space and quiet, snacks and G&Ts to hand, as passengers for the scheduled flights came and went. The only concern was telling my taxi chap what my new arrival time would be which remianed uncertain until the last minute, and wondering if he could make it. The flight was fine. For once I even dozed a bit.

          It all worked brilliantly. We arrived mid morning on the Friday.- 15 hours late.  It just so happened that I was one of the first off the plane. At immigration I could see that the passport reading machines were failing a lot of people, so didn't bother to try. Instead I went directly to the chap who deals with the failures, and was though in 5 minutes. Bearing in mind all the horror stories about baggage handling problems, my expectations about luggage claim were low. I was so early , there were only one or two other passengers hanging about the relevant luggage carousel. The carousel started up as I approached with my empty trolley  and to my surprised delight my three cases were first out, all arriving together. I was through it all in just over 15 minutes which must be some kind of record. I had just finished my usual cappuccino at Costa  when Alistair the taxi arrived. So swings and roundabouts, and everything worked out well in the end.

          But two nights without real sleep meant I would have welcomed some peace and quiet. But there were three suitcases to unpack, 4 months of post to sort out. The house was fine the garden a bewildering approximation of Borneo. Cherry's Goose was enveloped in foliage.

 

One of the big ash trees had obviously died and several Elm trees too, all along the roadside so obviously required urgent attention. Plans and appointment for the next few weeks had to be sorted out, the car (working well I was relieved to find) booked in for an urgent MOT, wondering whether to get a new alarm system,  etc etc etc.

          One break was  my first Church trip with the Friends of Wiltshire Churches  exactly a week after my arrival. The theme of the day was Victorian 'restorations' of parish churches. We learned about Pearson who conserved and restored while Butterfield remodelled and rebuilt. A lot of Wiltshire Churches have been well and truly 'butterfielded,'  but at least they haven't fallen down which they might otherwise have done. Talking of which the last optional visit was to a ruined Church at Sutton Veny  now conserved by a special trust. I liked it most of all for its ancientness, and also for  a wall memorial to  a George Martin of the East India Company who died in 1815 in 'Bellary' in the East Indies, - wherever that is. A project for my autumnal Singapore trip ?  Already Newport seems a distant memory, as more urgent considerations pack in.