Dumbo The Suzuki Jimny is an occasional writer, here on Ogblog and also at King Cricket. Dumbo’s writings are more widely read than those of most automobiles. Dumbo only ever refers to me as Ged and to Janie as Daisy. Why Dumbo has chosen to write a “review of the year” public message is a mystery, but 2020 was a strange year in so many ways.
2020 started badly for me. I acquired a squeak that would not go away. It was incredibly loud and hugely embarrassing – heads would turn in the street at the sound of me coming and going.
A huge team at my car hospital struggled to get to the bottom of it. Ged and Daisy started dropping hints about my possible retirement. It got as bad as that.
Eventually, just before lockdown, thank goodness Derek, Colin, & Marlon performed a pioneering operation on my viscera, which solved my problem.
Just as well I got better in mid March, because within a few weeks I was being called upon to do voluntary work.
In theory I was on call for NHS Volunteer Responders from early in the pandemic, but no gigs were coming through at first. So Ged and Daisy signed us up to do FoodCycle gigs once or twice a week, which we have continued to do throughout the pandemic.
My copious rear (as Ged describes it) comes in pretty handy, especially for the FoodCycle gigs.
It wasn’t long before the NHS Volunteer Responder gigs started to come through as well. That and FoodCycle kept us really busy through spring, summer and into the autumn.
Just occasionally, it got a bit much; like the time the NHS Volunteer Responder app went into overdrive…
Ged was busy with work the last few weeks of the year, so we did a bit less volunteering in the run up to Christmas, but during that time the pandemic got a lot worse again and the need out there started to rocket up, so we started NHS Volunteer Responding again on Christmas Day and have done lots of gigs since.
My proudest moment of the year was just a few days ago, when Ged and I went to the Co-op on Hanger Hill to get some shopping for a person who is having to isolate. (There seem to be a lot of those at the moment.)
Three young fellas from the Tesla Show Room & Shop around the corner came out of the Co-op just before Ged came out with the shopping. The young fellas stopped to admire me and one of them said, “I think these cars are pretty cool”. Ged overheard him and said, “seriously cool, not just pretty cool”.
So I don’t think Ged & Daisy will be dropping hints about my retirement again any time soon. I think we’re going to be pretty busy with NHS Volunteer Responding & FoodCycle for the next few months at least.
Your call is important to us. Please stay on the line.
AN OPEN LETTER TO THE BRITISH GAS CUSTOMER RELATIONS TEAM
2 NOVEMBER 2020
Thank you for your response to my complaint last month.
For the benefit of new readers, I complained about shortcomings in the establishment of a joint electricity and gas account which required me to spend 10 to 15 minutes unsuccessfully and eventually 45 minutes successfully waiting for my phone call to be answered. I would not have needed to phone British Gas at all, but for shortcomings in the on-line service which allowed me access to the electricity account but required me to phone to initiate the gas one.
I asked you not to blame the Covid pandemic for these shortcomings, but you spent some 35% of the words in the substantive part of your response doing just that. I did not complain about the delay in commencing the gas service, as I am aware that you were one of two suppliers involved. But you spent some 30% of the words in your substantive response implying that Opus might be to blame. (The previous supplier was Octopus).
To be clear, only British Gas is to blame for:
the fact that the on-line system worked for the electricity account on commencement but not for the gas account;
providing no means for me to initiate on-line activity for that gas account – there was simply a clear message on the screen telling me to call a particular phone number;
such dire staffing on that phone line, I waited an hour before speaking with someone.
The reason I didn’t want you to blame Covid is because I KNOW that British Gas can staff telephone lines adequately at the moment. The sales team responded to my calls very rapidly. British Gas has chosen not to staff adequately the customer services phone. I strongly suspect that the dire service level I experienced is regular fare for your poorer and more vulnerable customers, who might lack the literacy or IT skills to use the on-line systems and webchats (if/when available, which in my case, you realise, they were not).
You end the substantive part of your response with a delicious question:
“In terms of complaint resolution, other than apologies, could I ask what are you requesting?“
I find this question hard to answer. Perhaps some of my friends and contacts have ideas, which is one of the reasons I am publishing this letter openly. If I get any great ideas from my personal network, I shall pass them on to you.
But I suspect that your question is a veiled way of asking “how much compensation do you need to go away and not come back?” I shall leave the answer to that question to you. I spent an unnecessary hour just waiting for you to answer the phone and I have spent a further 90 minutes or so actually getting my problem resolved and writing to you.
At minimum wages levels that equates to £21.80. At my commercial charge out rate it equates to £1,000. Somewhere between those two figures feels right to me.
Whatever you decide to provide as compensation to Buffalo Woodfield Limited, I pledge personally to donate that sum to FoodCycle, the charity which my wife and I are supporting through the pandemic by doing food drops to the needy. My friends and contacts will eagerly await the donation figure.
I genuinely want British Gas as a supplier to look after poorer and more vulnerable customers properly. You are a large organisation which can make bigger and bolder choices than small companies like mine and individuals like me. Currently, in the matter of customer service, you are making bad customer care choices. Do better.
With best wishes
Ian Harris, Director, Buffalo Woodfield Limited. Complaint Reference number: 5022907658.
Postscript
Seventy minutes after sending the above complaint (and posting it on Facebook & Ogblog) I received correspondence offering £200 as a goodwill gesture.
…it was with some trepidation I switched on the app on my next visit to my Notting Hill “Ivory Tower” the following Tuesday afternoon.
Once bitten twice shy, though. I now knew to regulate my own uptake of the calls by waiting a while between accepting a task and making the call, or between completing a task and confirming that the task was done and that I was available again.
Thus I was able to field another half-dozen or so calls while also completing the work tasks that I had undertaken to do that afternoon.
The last of those calls did want some shopping. The woman sounded old. With a heavy Caribbean accent, she almost apologised for needing help. Her son had been getting shopping for her all the while, but he had developed a chesty-something and the doctor had recommended that he isolate. Sounds sensible.
She didn’t need much and she hoped that I could get everything she needed from the pound shop on Portobello Road, which is just a couple of minutes walk from her place. Otherwise there is a Sainsbury’s (other supermarket chains are available) just opposite the Poundland (other pound shop chains are available)…
…that’s fine, I said, after making sure we had clarity on the payment protocol…
…I told her I’d be about an hour, as I resolved to finish my work, “shut up shop” in the Ivory Tower and get her shopping on my way back to Noddyland…
…no rush, she said, she didn’t want to inconvenience me too much.
…no trouble, I said, delighted to help.
It must have been about 17:45 by the time I parked up in Elgin Crescent (close to her place and the pound shop).
Photo taken lunchtime a few days later
It was a glorious sunny evening. The pavement outside the Duke of Wellington was heaving with trendy young folk eating, drinking and making merry. Trustafarians, mingling with local folk and people who work in the area.
This end of Portobello is the part where bijou Notting Hill meets social housing Notting Hill.
The street scene looked like Portobello as I had always imagined it before I moved to the area, but never really lived it, although I have lived in the neighbourhood now for well north of 30 years.
I hadn’t seen scenes like this since before lockdown…not since last summer…in truth I’d never really seen scenes like this before – it was as if the Notting Hill of my imaginings, back in the 1980s, when I chose to come and live here, had suddenly been brought into existence, filmically, in this time of pandemic. It certainly showed no signs of social distancing or increasing social need.
Social housing/bijou housing/social housing…
But just around the corner from that hedonistic street festival was an old lady who needs a few things from the pound shop so that she can get by for a few days; her son is ill and she was almost too proud to ask for help with her shopping.
Indeed, just up the road and around the corners are lots of people who need help, because my responder app goes off as often as I let it and the need for FoodCycle deliveries seems to be going up and up still.
But in many ways this is still the Notting Hill where I chose to pitch my tent 30+ years ago. It always was a strange mix of gentility and grunge.
Stand in the middle of Portobello Road at a suitable junction, such as the Elgin/Colville/Portobello one shown above, look one way and you can see boutique-style shops & The Electric…
…look the other way for the Sally Army, pound shops and (if you venture even further north), informal hawkers under the flyover on a market day.
Anyway, the pound shop indeed had all of the food items that my elderly client had requested. I had no idea that pound shops sold quality-stamped Danish bacon and posh-looking tubs of tiramisu for a pound each. Now I know.
Feeling like a mighty hunter who had landed his prey, I swaggered around the corner to my client with her swag. Old school Notting Hill, her place; a conversion in one of the many old, somewhat dilapidated, Victorian houses around there; not vastly different in architectural style from my place.
The client really did look old; late 80s or possibly even 90. She’d have hardly been a youngster when I moved in to the neighbourhood; she’d have been…
…57 or 58…
…that’s what I am now. There’s a pause for thought.
She thanked me. I wished her good luck and hoped she would enjoy her food.
Less than a minute later, I was back at the youthful throng of Portobello/Elgin:
Heaving even more, it was.
I couldn’t help wondering whether some of these trustas might deploy some of their energy towards volunteering. They mostly didn’t look as though they were demob happy after a hard day’s work. They mostly looked as though they had not yet been mobilised on much, ever, in their lives, other than looking good and having a jolly time.
As I drove back to Noddyland, I resolved to write up this little episode, but then realised that I hadn’t taken any pictures for the blog.
I then also realised that I had in fact never taken any pictures around Portobello. Back in the late 1980s, you didn’t tend to take pictures around your own environment…
…why would you?
So I resolved to return at lunchtime on the Friday and snap a few. They depict the market on a Friday lunchtime, rather than the hedonistic bar/cafe life of that Tuesday late afternoon, but the sun shone and I think I snapped a few nice pics around abouts my own manor.
The Government is encouraging people to try and get back to “normal”, whatever that might be, while the pandemic is in its summer recess. This doesn’t seem to have reduced the load on charities, such as FoodCycle, nor yet on the needs emerging for NHS Volunteer Responders.
What it is achieving, though, is a reduced volunteer force…
…Janie was back to work this week, but she’s not letting that stop her from continuing with the volunteering, at least for now…
…yet I get bemused looks from plenty of people when I tell them that our voluntary workload is increasing.
Two examples this week.
FoodCycle Marylebone 15 July 2020
Probably a temporary glitch, for this project, which we have been supporting by doing deliveries for nearly three months now. The delivery load has increased to three teams these past few weeks, but this week, try as they might, they could only find two so we needed to take on an extra half load.
That meant 16 deliveries; 32 bags full (sir).
Our previous record; 24 bags. “32 bags full sir” required some strategic stacking
Mostly on the Lisson Green Estate, plus one or two blocks on the Church Street side and a few up in Maida Vale; mostly people we’d delivered to before, which helps.
When there’s something strange……in your neighbourhood……who ya gonna call?……I said, who ya gonna call???…FoodCycle!!
As usual, we got a lot of satisfaction from this gig; huge amounts of gratitude from the guests who clearly need the food and really appreciate our help.
But it really was a bit of a marathon this week. Back to three teams for Marylebone next week; Janie and I are grateful.
The Day My NHS Volunteer Responder App Went Berserk, 17 July 2020
Since May, we’ve both had a steady stream of calls. Not all that many, frankly, but around a dozen gigs each (more if you count the “no shows”), which, from what I can gather, is significantly above average.
I think the run rate has been increasing slightly, but when the first eight weeks is metaphorical dot balls and the next few weeks is ones, twos and the occasional four, it is hard to be overly analytical about the rate.
Then came Friday 17th July.
I relocated to the flat, for the first time in months, as Janie was taking patients at the house and I thought it was about time I collected the post, flushed the loo, ensured the computer was working/updated properly and got on with preparation for the Z/Yen Board meeting. Frankly, now we do everything in the cloud, I could now do Board preparation work from pretty much anywhere without shlepping loads of files or papers.
I’m not entirely sure what triggered the storm that followed, but basically the NHS Volunteer Responder App decided that, as soon as I closed one call, it wanted to alert me to another one.
I didn’t really notice it earlier in the day. My first call took a while to close. An utterly charming South-East Asian woman – Vietnamese I think from the name – who didn’t answer the first time I called and then wanted to come off the calling scheme as she is no longer isolating and is returning to work. The first such call I have taken, I called the support line to establish the protocol for doing that – basically the woman herself needs to call the support line to be removed from the scheme.
Perhaps my first ever human (telephone) interaction with the scheme itself triggered a new status on my account…
Super-responder. Bit of a mug – probably will help pick up all the slack everywhere. Bombard with calls until this responder expires.
…or perhaps the algorithm detected “a new kid in town” around Notting Hill and there happened to be a lot of business around there on Friday.
Most of the calls were delightful folk who really appreciated the scheme, had used it when they needed stuff but didn’t, as it happens, need any help that day. One other person wanted to come off the scheme and I advised her on how to do that, now I am an expert on that protocol.
As the afternoon went on and my little “ivory tower” office heated up, I decided to return to Noddyland, taking one last call. I think my 12th of the day. A charming gentleman in Earls Court who did, on this occasion, as it happened, need a prescription collected and one or two other things from the pharmacy.
In truth, I was glad to at least have one of my calls today result in an errand, even though it was a little out of my way on a hot day.
I ran the errand and returned to my car, opened the windows and checked my messages.
I picked up one message from a client that absolutely needed dealing with before I could draw stumps on my working week, but my mobile phone battery was already running low (NHS Volunteer Responder does that) so I arranged a call with the client for 30-45 minutes hence, when I’d be home.
Then I cleared the good deed I had just done by clicking the “completed task” button.
The responder went off again instantly.
I realised that I should switch myself off duty, so I hit the “reject call” button and switched myself to “off duty”.
The responder went off again instantly.
The “off duty” signal must have crossed in the post with that one, I thought. So I rejected that call and started the engine of my car.
The responder went off again instantly.
I’m starting to sweat a little now. I rejected that call. I had now been off duty for a good two or three minutes.
The responder went off again instantly.
I rejected the call and closed down the app. That would shut it up, surely?
The responder went off again instantly.
People in the street are starting to look. It’s not a quiet thing, the NHS Volunteer Responder App. It has been borrowed from the Royal Voluntary Service GoodSam scheme for emergency defibrillation, so it sounds like an emergency alarm.
In fact, if you haven’t heard it before, brace your lug holes and listen to this:
There was only one thing for it, I deleted the NHS Volunteer Responder App from my phone.
That did shut it up.
I reloaded the app later on, once I had spoken to my client, cooled down and seen real umpires draw stumps on the test match day. In short, once I had fully recovered my composure.
Fully recovered
I dread to think what might happen if the UK Government’s world beating “track and trace” app can go into that sort of overdrive. Perhaps best not to think about it.
Joking apart, that bizarre day was unusually rewarding. Swathes of gratitude from people, many of whom don’t need a lot of help (or rather, they have their own sources of help) but feel much reassured by the periodic calls to know that they have a back up service that will seek them out if they find themselves needing the help. It must be a very vulnerable feeling, to be shielding for several months and needing people to help you. Even if we are mostly just providing some psychological comfort to shielding people, as much as the occasional “errand running” gigs that form part of the deal, I think it is a very worthwhile service.
Plenty of calls for me again the next day, too. So I think this is partly about a build up of demand and a reduction in supply. Anyone out there who hasn’t volunteered yet, simply because you’ve heard there is no demand…that’s not so…
Nearly 40 years ago, around about the time I went off to university, Graham Greenglass and I would occasionally swap mix tapes, as young folk in those days oft did.
Graham (left with tickle stick), Ros, Alan & Paul – spring 1979
On one of those tapes was the quirky song, Rossmore Road, by Barry Andrews. I loved that song and listened to it (along with its companions) a great deal in my early months at Keele.
If you’ve never heard it before, click the YouTube below and you might well be transfixed. If you have heard it before, I suspect that you have already clicked the link without waiting for my edict.
So, imagine my delight when Janie and I were instructed, for our next Marylebone FoodCycle gig, to forsake the Roman Catholic Church of Our Lady on the junction of Lodge Road & Lisson Grove, which had previously always been our starting point. Instead, we were to start and end our gig at St Paul’s Church, Marylebone, on Rossmore Road.
Jenny (left), Curate Ali & Me at the Church of Our Lady the week beforeWorra lorra grub! Church of Our Lady the week beforeDumbo The Suzuki Jimny piled highReturning to Rossmore Road after the gig……specifically, returning the temperature controlled box and temperature checking apparatus
Of course I have walked and driven past Rossmore Road hundreds of times on my way to Lord’s. But this was the first time I had ever actually had an appointment on Rossmore Road. I mentioned this fact to Curate Ali, who, surprisingly, previously had no idea that there was a cult-status song about the road in which her parish church is located.
But it’s not all about Rossmore Road.
Janie and I have had one or two interesting occurrences and adventures over the past few weeks.
A couple of weeks ago we needed to go into the congestion zone, south of the ring-road. There was a contraflow just outside the block we needed to get to for our drop, so (contrary to Janie’s entreaties) , I insisted on driving around the block and walking the food around the block, rather than causer a possible obstruction, even for just a few minutes. Sometimes our drops can take some time.
Doing the more southerly Marylebone drop
In the course of that simple walk around the block, three different, unconnected people stopped us at various junctures to quiz us about our face guards. It was as if such things had not been seen in that part of London before! It felt really weird.
On progressing to our next drop, the road we wanted to use was closed for some unknown reason (there are SO MANY road closures in the parts of London we are serving for FoodCycle just now), so we were trying to navigate our way around those narrow Marylebone Streets while working out what to do without the help of the sat. nav. which was blissfully unaware of the road closure.
A car came down the road the other way, quite quickly, making it impossible for either car to get through without a convoluted “dance” of reversing and manoeuvering. The other driver hollered at me aggressively. Janie leant across with our FoodCycle permission letter to let him know that we were doing charity deliveries and could do without his aggression. I finished off the interaction by saying…
…behave yourself…
…which Janie told me afterwards might well have come across as a little bit passive-aggressive. Tough.
As we drove around the block looking for an escape route, a car came the other way.
It’s him again…
…said Janie.
Looks nothing like him…
…I said…
…100% sure it is him, he’s just hanging his head in shame, so he looks a bit different…
…said Janie.
We’re delivering to all sorts of interesting people on these rounds. One thing they almost all have in common is how grateful they see for the help FoodCycle are giving them.
And it’s not just the Marylebone round that we’ve been doing; we also do the East Acton gig quite often.
Janie with Richard (aka Friar Tuck – at least that’s what i have decided to nickname him), Alannah & Francesco
But next week we’ll be at Rossmore Road again – I can hear that dreamy saxophone refrain from the start of the song; it’s become an earworm for me again some 40 years after its first appearance there in my ear:
Daisy loading up Dumbo with our first NHS Responder client’s shopping.
The morning after the Government announced the NHS Responder scheme for the Covid-19 crisis, 25 March, Janie and I both signed up for it.
Even before the Government scheme, we had joined the local community volunteering network, but it was clear that, apart from a bit of help for older/isolating neighbours that we (Janie) pretty much would have done anyway, there’s far more supply than demand in Noddyland.
My NHS Responder application was accepted very quickly (27th March), whereas Janie had to wait quite a few more days before her application was accepted. Clearly my bona fides for such matters simply shone through my application, whereas Janie’s needed more thorough checking.
On Monday (18th), our NHS Responder alarms went off just as we were leaving the tennis courts. That potential gig turned out to be a false alarm, as the gentleman we called told us that neighbours were helping him regularly and he didn’t need any other help at the moment. I suspect that he has been set up on the system for a weekly call just in case the neighbours let him down.
The next day, Janie’s responder went off while I was driving us back from the tennis courts. This time, there was a real need for a woman with suspected Covid-19 who cannot do her own shopping at the moment.
“OMG, what do we do now?” we both thought, having steeped ourselves in the instructions/protocols back in early April, but having done other stuff under other protocols since then.
Fortunately, the “NHS Respondee” woman didn’t want a rapid response – indeed she even suggested that we might leave it until the next day as she hadn’t yet composed her shopping list, so we had time to go home, freshen up, mug up and return to the client to collect her instructions and fulfil the gig an hour or two later.
The list looked extensive to me with a few luxury items on it and she had furnished us with a mere £40 for the shop. I thought we’d have to leave some items out.
Her instructions were explicit, although it proved to be like a bit of a treasure hunt to find the exact outlets she wanted us to use for the exact products that she gets at those exact prices.
This is not our world and it was eye-opening.
Of course, our client knew what everything cost so her £40 was almost but not entirely exhausted and we managed to get all of the items.
She seemed like a very nice woman and was extremely grateful and pleased when we got to the end of it.
And of course NHS Responder alerts are like buses – you wait for ages and ages and then two come along at the same time. The alarm went off again while we were doing that gig in West Ealing.
I guess the lesson is that there is more volunteer supply than demand in West Acton, whereas in West Ealing there is more demand than supply.
I suspect we’ll see some more action if we keep playing tennis down at Boston Manor – all the more reason to go there.
Keen to help at a time of national crisis, but frustrated at having received no calls for help yet through the NHS Responder scheme – although we both had our applications accepted several weeks ago, Daisy (Janie) took matters into her own hands. A friend recommended that she speak with FoodCycle.
Under normal circumstances, FoodCycle’s thing is to use surplus food to reduce waste and to bring people together around healthy meals. It is a superb, award-winning charitable idea.
But the current circumstances are not normal; the social gathering element of the idea has needed to be parked at this stage of the Covid pandemic.
Thus the charity has had to re-orient itself towards distributing food to the vulnerable and needy, which profoundly changes the supply, production and distribution aspects of the initiative.
In this maelstrom, volunteers like me and Daisy become surprisingly useful. We possess cars, smart phones and a willingness to be guinea pigs as delivery folk for new/temporary food distribution projects.
Daisy signed up and did a delivery round for our most local, East Acton, project last weekend. I then signed up this last week.
FoodCycle were clearly keen to use us. Could we help out this weekend with a new project in Clapham/Battersea to distribute frozen meals generously donated by COOK Clapham? 10 deliveries for this one rather than last week’s five. Of course we could, but we all agreed that this larger job would be better done as a Ged & Daisy two-hander.
Three hander if we count Dumbo, the Suzuki Jimny.
Armed with a very smart Circuit for Teams app for routing, delivery instructions and confirming “jobs done”, plus a letter from FoodCycle confirming that we were doing essential work and not out for a drive on a sunny day, off we set.
Anyway, Dumbo needn’t have worried; we saw quite a few cop cars out and about but didn’t get stopped.
We certainly knew where we were going in the matter of getting to COOK Clapham, as it is just across the road from 33 Abbeville Road, formerly Newton’s, where Ged & Daisy had previous:
The COOK Clapham team were lovely and handed us bag upon bag upon bag of food:
After we had loaded all eight bags into the back of Dumbo (but mercifully before we set off), my lightening computational mind worked out that we must have the food for the other pair who were doing the distribution as well as the supplies for our own round.
The others turned up at more or less the same moment as we were getting out of the car to check the details with the COOK team, so that matter was easily put right.
Ged helps Dumbo to shed his load
Doing this type of delivery round is a strange mixture of easy and difficult. Easy to get to the place where the sat. nav. tells you to stop (especially for me around Clapham/Battersea where I know the area well), but sometimes difficult to get the meals to the actual door for the actual person/people who need them.
The most comedic example of the difficulties was on one Battersea estate, where the recipient had asked us to phone on arrival, which I did, to which she said she’d be down in a minute or two. Janie took the goods to the front door of the large block of flats where she waited and waited. Meanwhile, I started to feel a little bit nervous of a man with a van, who had turned up next to me, who was rummaging in his van and talking on his mobile phone, but I sensed was also eying me up.
Eventually I phoned the woman again, who seemed aghast that her husband hadn’t yet found us; he’d gone down to get something from his van and collect the food.
So I asked the gentleman with the phone if he was collecting food for the guest in question, to which he answered “yes”. It hadn’t occurred to him that we might be the people delivering the food. The sharpest knives in the draw must have all been used to produce those yummy-looking COOK meals.
Daisy and I resisted the temptation to try one of the meals ourselves, even though COOK had generously provided more than the required number of orders. We felt honour bound to distribute the additional dishes to those who said “yes please” when we told them that we had a few extras. Ged and Daisy’s halos will remain available for all to see for quite some time.
Driving around that area was a bit of a memory lane trip for me of course, especially when our route took us past dad’s shop on St John’s Hill:
Janie wondered whether I wanted to stop and take a picture of the location as it now looks, a rock bar named Project Orange, but I assured her there would be no need to try stopping on such a busy road just for a picture:
Borrowed from and linked to Zomato’s listing
On one occasion we did need to try and stop on a busy road, as we had one delivery to do on the Queenstown Road itself. As I indicated and slowed down to try and find a suitable & safe place to stop, a group of young cyclists took a dislike to what we were doing, to such an extent that the young woman of the pack shouted at me…
…what the hell are you doing?…
…I wanted to shout back…
…I’m delivering lunches to the needy for charity, while you lot are out having a fun bike ride on a sunny day. What the hell are YOU doing to help?…
…but I didn’t do that, I kept my wise words to myself, or rather I chose to share them solely with Daisy…and now with you, dear reader.
Returning the empties to COOK for next time
There’s nothing glamorous about this type of volunteering gig; it is pretty hard work. While repetition and experience might reduce the time and effort factors a little, it will remain time consuming hard work. But we both got a buzz from the gratitude we heard and saw from most of the recipients.
And we felt an enormous sense of satisfaction when we completed our round of deliveries and headed home.
…and the surreal nature of some conversations continues unabated.
During the week most of my VCs are business ones, but we have implemented a programme of short “water-cooler” type gatherings for the Z/Yen team; one or two a day at the moment, to help people punctuate their working days with a bit of social interaction if they wish.
One topic which dominated the conversation last week was lentils. Linda, who has been laid low with suspected Covid-19, mentioned that she had made herself a pan-full of lentil soup for sustenance.
Janie picked up on this idea mid-week – her research suggested that lentil soup was almost certainly both a vaccine and a cure for Covid-19 (and many other ailments). So Janie promptly gathered together the necessary ingredients and made a large consignment of concentrated lentil gloopiness, good for many portions of soup and/or savoury breakfast mush with yoghurt.
I mentioned Janie’s research at the Z/Yen gathering on Thursday.
On Friday, presumably not wanting to risk being out-lentiled, Michael Mainelli showed us a 5kg sack of red lentils, which he had just procured during his “one-a-day” walk; on this occasion down Brick Lane.
Other brands of red lentil are available.
Given the quantity of nutritional lentilly substances that Janie managed to conjure up with just 250g of lentils, I should imagine that a 5kg bag will keep the Mainelli family going, as it were, for quite some time.
I suggested that London might replace Chicago as the “Windy City” if we carry on escalating pulse purchases at this rate.
But these Z/Yen virtual-breaks are not all talk about legumes. Oh no. I mentioned my early music playing hobby the other day, only to learn that Juliet enjoyed seeing Joglaresa recently and wondered whether I knew the medieval song about the killer rabbit.
In my opinion, the animated pork chop is more miraculous than the non-fatal rabbit bone one, but my opinion on Santa Maria miracles is really neither here nor there.
Anyway, all this talk of rabbits brings us neatly back to BBYO youth club virtual gatherings, as we regrouped on Sunday.
Mark was able to join us on this occasion, whereas Ivor was not; nor was Wendy. Nine of us, there were. Martin ran two sessions for part of the meeting for some reason, but that doesn’t count as two people.
We learnt that no rabbit has been spayed since we last gathered but that the pair were being kept socially distant for their own sakes. This felt to me like a societal metaphor in these days of lockdown.
We then had a macabre conversation about furry mammal morbidity, with several inappropriate suggestions about carnivorous possibilities, tales of burying various furry mammals at various stages of rigor mortis, Fatal Attraction style possibilities…
…I mean, really. Shouldn’t we all have grown out of this sort of thing by now?
No.
We’re going to gather again next week. One of the more disciplined among us really should draw up an agenda and some etiquette guidelines…I’m not volunteering, just suggesting that somebody ought to…
This time around, 2019, the programme looked like this:
Unfortunately, my magnum opus for 2019, which marks Sir Thomas Gresham’s 500th birthday, hence The Sir Thomas Gresham 500th Anniversary Song And Dance, was accidentally misnamed as the Sir Richard Gresham themed performance I gave in 2017. But I was able to put people right on that point pretty easily.
But before all of that, Michael Mainelli made a brief appearance to leave soiréeistas in no doubt that the show was about to begin, when he blasted our lug-holes with the sound of his bagpipes.
Michael Mainelli on bagpipes? Well I’ll be blowed!
Mercifully, Part 1 of the soirée was a highly professional and entertaining set by David Jones and Sian Millett, which gave us all plenty of time to recover from the lug-hole blasting and listen to the superb talents of this pair, who are very much becoming Gresham Society soirée favourites.
David & Sian as seen in 2017
David demonstrated his vocal versality with material ranging from lieder to Lehrer. David’s rendering of Hochländisches Wiegenlied by Robert Schumann was a particular delight, not least David’s rendering of the non-Germanic word, “Carlisle” mid song, as was David’s perennial Tom Lehrer favourite The Elements Song, which David can peform better than anyone else I have ever seen attempt it.
Sian’s talents range from grand opera to musicals. Her rendition of Mon Coeur S’ouvre A Ta Voix, with David accompanying on piano rather than the more traditional orchestra backing, brought out the beauty of the melody and the words to my ears, enabling me to enjoy hearing that aria afresh. No recording of Sian and David’s performance, sadly, but those who want now to hear the aria might enjoy the 1961 Callas recording below.
Returning to Sian’s performances, her flirty rendition of I Cain’t Say No was great fun and went down very well with the audience.
Sitting in front of me was Bobbie Scully, with whom I had, in 1984, suffered an unfortunate fit of the giggles, when we accidentally attended a stilted Rodgers and Hammerstein recital, learn more by clicking here or the block below.
For the avoidance of doubt, Sian Millett’s soirée performance was absolutely nothing like the stilted recital of the mid 1980s; the audience laughter during Sian’s I Cain’t Say No was very much WITH Sian rather than AT Sian.
The tone changes for Part 2 of the soirée, which brings amateur talent and enthusiasm from within the Gresham Society to the fore. As if to lull us all into a false sense of security, the first couple of items – Robin Wilson on the recorder, followed by a recitation from Under Milk Wood by Martin Perkins – were suitably talent-filled and dignified.
Then it was my turn.
Actually, despite appearances, a fair bit of scholarship went into my piece. I discovered, quite by chance, while researching “Ding Dong Merrily On High” last year for the Z/Yen seasonal function, that Jehan Tabourot, aka Thoinot Arbeau, was a contemporary of Sir Thomas Gresham, the former being listed as either 1519 or 1520 in all sources I could find. Tabourot (under the pseudonym Arbeau) wrote, in the late 16th century, a book, Orchésographie, comprising dance tunes and dance moves he recalled from his youth.
Branle de L’Official, the tune that subsequently was used for Ding Dong Merrily On High, is one such dance from Arbeau’s Orchésographie.
The really strange coincidence about this, is that when I discovered the temporal connection between “Arbeau” and Sir Thomas Gresham, my Googling led me immediately to Ian Pittaway’s website and this superb article:
Ian is my early music teacher. We had been talking in late 2017 about me possibly using Coventry Carol for the 2019 Gresham Society bash, but the Arbeau song and dance possibilities seemed to good an idea to miss.
…and just over a year later I inflicted same on the Gresham Society – except this time I had tailored the words to suit Thomas Gresham’s 500th birthday.
It would probably be to the benefit of all mankind if the Gresham Society soirée performance of this piece were lost in the mists of time, but unfortunately Basil Bezuidenhout had an accident with his mobile phone and inadvertently video recorded the darned thing.
I must say, the singing from the assembled throng sounds rather good, which is more than can be said for my singing that evening.
For the dance, I ever so slightly simplified the dance moves from this actual facsimile of the 1589 book:
Again, Basil had a mishap with his phone and the dance is recorded for all posterity:
Not much can go wrong in a dance like that, although I notice a couple of us ended up the wrong way round with our partners at the end of the first movement. Many thanks to David Jones for accompanying us on “virginals” and to Sian Millett for her delightful rendering of my silly words while we danced.
Anthony Hodson and David Jones then briefly brought a sense of decorum back to the proceedings with a rendition of the Elgar Romance for Bassoon & Piano, but then Robin Wilson and Tim Connell led the soirée past the point of no return in the matter of decorum. Song sheets that cover some of the residual malarky can be seen by clicking this link.
No such nonsense as the above 2017 rendition of Tinniat Tintinnabulum, dear me no. This year, instead, Robin Wilson lead us in a more ballad-like latin canticle, Reno Erat Rudolphus Nasum Rubrum Habebat
After all that, the assembled Gresham Society stalwarts needed reviving with a great deal of food and wine…
…so it was just as well that there were indeed plentiful supplies of both, enabling the remainder of the evening to become a highly convivial party. There was eating, drinking, chatting, laughing and general merriment, without, by that stage, the fear of imminent music, song or dance from over-enthusiastic soiréeistas.
As ever in the company of Gresham Society folk, a thoroughly warm-hearted and enjoyable time was had by all.
We thought it would be a good idea to have a meal together after the Trustees meeting this time. We have been gathering now since 2017 planning non-turf pitch and net facilities for London’s parks, without ever breaking bread together…until this evening.
The Three Cranes location in the City worked well for me, giving me the opportunity to clear some work at the office (yes, believe it or not I did also do some work in this event-filled week) before the Trustees meeting at the Three Cranes, which was followed by the joyous meal and libations.
This evening was an excellent opportunity to all get to know each other a bit better. Not just we Trustees, but also the England and Wales Cricket Board (ECB) people who have been working tirelessly on our intiiative (and participation cricket more generally), plus Ed Griffiths and his team who have been doing so much wonderful pro bono work on behalf of the LCT over the years.
One of many good thoughts that emerged from the evening is that we still haven’t actually watched any professional cricket together; we’re hoping to put that right during the 2020 season.
A very enjoyable evening.
Ivan Shakespeare Memorial Dinner & Trophy Match, Spaghetti House Holborn, Thursday 12 December 2019
One NewsRevue alum who, sadly, only just made it a few months beyond the 20th anniverary of that show was Ivan Shakespeare. We “Class Of ’92” types who were NewsRevue contemporaries of Ivan meet on an irregular occasional basis, three or four times a year, to keep in touch with each other, eat, trade jokes, share bizarre quizzes and also to remember Ivan. We’ve been doing that since mid 2000, a few months after Ivan died.
In the seasonal version of our gathering, the stakes increase markedly and we play one of the quizzes for The Ivan Shakespeare Memorial Trophy. I am proud to be the donor of the original Memorial Trophy, which was first contested in 2002, about 18 months after the dinners started.
It’s a bit like The Ashes, but for comedy writers rather than for cricketers.
Much like The Ashes, the trophy is a thing of exquisite gimcrackness; it’s absence of taste simply has to be seen to be believed:
Observant readers will see that I won that trophy once; in 2004Some real names from the world of quizzing on there: Hugh Ryecroft for one, Barry Grossman being another.
The problem is, unlike The Ashes, the trophy is inscribed with the winner’s name each year…
…and the original trophy is running out of sensible places for the embazoning of the winner’s name…
…OK, there never were sensible places for the emblazoning, but now we are even running out of silly places to inscribe.
The solution: a new trophy. Acquired through the sort of tenacity that only Graham Robertson could possibly deploy – an eBay purchase which he needed to make twice because the first eBay vendor of tasteless out-of-date royal gimcrack merchandise took Graham’s money and did a runner.
The assembled alums at our new spiritual venue, The Spaghetti House in Holborn, decreed that Mark Keegan, who won the original trophy three times, should become “steward-for-life” of the original trophy.
Mark Keegan, delighted with his original trophy. Graham Robertson looks on, enviously.Barry Grossman shows off the new trophy……then wears one for the team by winning the new trophy this year
As usual I came quite close but no cigar for me in the trophy stakes since 2004. Barry Grossman scooped the glittering prize this year – with sincere commiserations to Barry – he could have been an also-ran, but instead…
It wasn’t all quizzes and trophies; oh no, no, no, no, no, no no. There was plenty of time for eating, drinking, topical humour and some sense-of-irony-sapping politics on what was, after all, an election night.
Moving swiftly on from the will-to-live-depleting topics back to the humour section, John Random produced another set of personalised Christmas crackers this year, based on the BBC Radio 4 programme In Our Time with Melvyn Bragg.
My cracker contained a note posing the intriguing question:
What do you call a deer with no eyes?
Frankly, I had no idea and would gladly have said, “no idea”, but for the answer provided, which instead said, in Braggian tones:
With me to discuss what you call a deer with no eyes, I have Ian Harris, Professor of Mammalian Opthalmology at Gresham College and author of In Darkness Let me Dwell – and Professor Jonny Hurst from the University of Manchester, author of Champagne Super Over: Oasis In Popular Culture.
There is sort-of a tradition in recent years for at least one person’s order to go horribly wrong at the festive dinner. This year it Barry Grossman who suffered the indignity of being brought his main at starter time and a starter-sized portion of his chosen main at main course time. The nice waiter did his best to sort things out.
Ironically, Barry went on to win the quiz, as did Jonny Hurst in 2017 when it was his turn to be the brunt of the ritual service humiliation – in those days at Cafe Rogues in Holborn not far from the scene of this year’s crime. That year, 2017, John Random’s personalised crackers had been based on the Moral Maze. He likes his thinky-Radio-4 programmes, does our John.
Anyway, the night of 12 December 2019 will surely be remembered as a great night for NewsRevue alums…and Tories…ironically.
Z/Yen Seasonal Lunch, The Old Bailey, Friday 13 December 2019
Z/Yen team gathered in the Alderman & Sheriff’s apartment
In the world of crime fiction, criminals have a regular, unfortunate tendancy; returning to the scene of the crime. Whether that is true in the real world or not I have no idea. Nor do I have the faintest idea what that point might have to do with this section of this piece.
Anyway, just three days after the Z/Yen Alumni function at The Old Bailey, the current Z/Yen team regrouped in that astonishing building for the staff seasonal lunch.
On this occasion we found ourselves in the smaller function room, used daily for the judges pre-luncheon drinks, after enjoying our pre-lunch drinks in Michael and Elisabeth’s apartment. Once again Sean, their footman, proved his skills as a photographer – thanks Sean.
The meal was a very good one; smoked trout fillet, followed by a posh duck dish, followed by an apple tart-like desert.
The wines tasted suspiciously like those excellent wines we’d enjoyed earlier in the week and seemed suspiciously well food-matched for the lunch, thanks to the combined skills of Gordon Clunie and (in all modesty) me.
Linda produced one of her fiendish seasonal quizzes – let’s not even talk about how badly Simon Mills and I did as a so-called team on that one.
Secret Santa visited (I got some baritone ukulele strings) and Santa also brought everyone a small box of super posh chocolates.
Then the traditional Z/Yen seasonal sing song. Being exceptionally woke for a boomer, I again recycled a previous effort this year, cunningly adding a topical reference ensuring that no-one would realise that it was recycled…
…unless they looked at the copyright years and/or version numbers and/or read this piece. Here is the 2019 version of The 12 Days Of Z/Yen Training. Excellent, was the performance, especially the “Five Forces” motif, which brought tears to my eyes each time around.
It is a fascinating musical phenomenon that this particular song works in so many different keys: C, C#, B, D, D#, A, E, G#, G, F & F#…all at the same time…at least, it did that afternoon.
After the formalities, plenty of informalities with some additional quizzing, singing, chatting and libations until it was chucking out time at The Old Bailey.
Chucking out time at The Old Bailey on a Friday afternoon works remarkably quickly and effectively:
You are welcome to stay on downstairs if you wish…but no-one will be here with the keys to your cell until Monday morning…
…everyone scarpers sharpish at that juncture.
Some ventured on for more libations at a local hostelry, but after five events in five days, all I could think about was getting home and lying down for a good few hours.
