Monthly Archives: May 2015

The Vintage Cycle Event – A Classic

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Today wasn’t perhaps the perfect day for dressing up as a St. Trinian’s girl in white summer shirt and shorts, and going on two cycle rides. You see, that old Arctic wind (which has been an almost constant feature since my return to England four weeks ago) was still blowing and the sun was too wimpy to pierce through the clouds for more than a few minutes at a time but at least the rain kept off. Now normally Chris and I are fair weather cyclists and our friend Caroline isn’t an any weather cyclist at all (she hasn’t been on a bike for a year) but we three, wearing our summer term uniforms (of sorts), were prepared to brave the elements; not simply for the fun of doing so but also because my brother Robert, who organised the event, had asked us to take part. In truth, the sun was out when we decided upon our theme of dress on the basis of fun factor (not sun factor – no need of that today) and comfort, and everyone knows you can rarely trust the weather forecast.

Over thirty cyclists registered for the event. Only fourteen stalwarts turned up, but what a wonderful sample of vintage and classic sartorial elegance (well, most of them – just not our trio) was to thrill our little seaside town of Dawlish. There were plenty of gentlemen in authentic tweed jackets, plus fours* and flat caps; a midwife (in real life, a doctor and ready to answer the call) in sensible long cape and boots; an English rose wearing a polka dot dress and no cardigan (must have frozen); and then there was Chris, Caroline and me – Chris hoped people wouldn’t think he, too, was a St.Trinian’s girl! Maybe that’s why he wore his ‘Dennis the Menace’ jumper.

The number of stalwarts had reduced to nearly half for the second, and longer ride, to Cockwood and back; and two of us nipped home en route to pick up essentials – a sheepskin coat for Caroline and a big black jumper for me. We arrived back to rapturous applause from thirty or forty people who had been waiting for us on the green in the ever colder wind. Ten minutes or so later, when the juggler on a unicycle had finished and the three piece band had begun to play again, the green was almost deserted; David, our compere with a boater and cane, did an impromptu dance (no doubt to warm himself up). He thanked us all for taking part and we left him to his hosting and dancing, and we went home for a nice cup of tea.

 

[*Wikipedia Plus–fours are breeches or trousers that extend 4 inches (10 cm) below the knee (and thus four inches longer than traditional knickerbockers, hence the name).]

 

Want to See my New Bike Painted up for the Vintage & Classic Cycle Event?

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As you may recall I’ve had my new bike for only a week but it wasn’t a brand new one; nevertheless, it isn’t old – perhaps a year or two – so it’s hardly vintage and tomorrow we will attend the Vintage & Classic Cycle Event, part of the Dawlish Heritage Day Celebrations (funny how I’ve been here all these years and never heard of this special day before!). Chris and I have to go because, owing to my brother Robert’s interest in bicycles, he was collared into organising this event and you have to support your family.

In any case I enjoy dressing up and joining in with fun things; Chris, who is more staid than me (as exemplified by his original choice for dressing as an Edwardian gentleman), was less keen about being a part of the Heritage Day entertainment for all the tourists and visitors. But to give Chris his due, when he realised that he couldn’t get out of going, he got into the spirit of it; in fact he has spent the last ten minutes affixing a wicker basket  to the carrier at the rear of my bike. (Funny how that nasty film – ‘The Wicker Man’ – came into my mind.)

“Is that too close to the saddle?” Chris asked. “Will it annoy you?”

I thought he was worried that my bottom was so big that it would hang over the end of the saddle and hit against the basket as I rode along. Unsure if indeed my bottom had such vast proportions I sat on the saddle to find out. Only when I had ascertained that my bottom didn’t stick out beyond the saddle did I dare speak up for myself.

“My bottom isn’t that huge – what a cheek!” I said in a huff, but secretly I was pleased to be able to say that for I had suspected that Chris’s query had some foundation (as did I – just not as much as I thought!).

At present Chris is putting a basket on his bike. Half and hour ago he disappeared upstairs and I heard him return with the old-fashioned horn – it has come out of seclusion, having been sentenced to a solitary life a long time ago after a stonking, honkingly noisy visit from our young nephews who loved that old horn. Perhaps we can love it again now that it is fulfilling it’s original purpose for being… on Chris’s bike.

I have a feeling that it will be a lot of fun tomorrow, provided it doesn’t rain all day (rain in the morning is forecast) and if you care to come along all the cyclists shall be forgathering at the Brunswick (not wicker – ugh!) Arms at 9.30 am. Chris said that if it’s really cold he will revert to his Edwardian costume but I’m going as a St. Trinian’s Belle no matter what!

 

Learner Doctors

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“A funny thing happened to me this morning,” said my nephew Robert from his hospital bed.

We – the circle of family members around his bedside – couldn’t fail to notice that he could hardly contain his laughter at the memory (luckily Robert was well enough to be amused).

“What happened?” someone asked (it might have been me) as we all waited with anticipation for him to continue.

“Well, a couple of young student doctors asked if I would mind them using me as a guinea pig. All I had to do was answer some questions and be examined. I didn’t mind…” Robert said.

“No, of course not,” said my sister, “I always agree to such requests.”

There was much nodding and noises of agreement around the circle and then we all looked back at my nephew to give him our full attention.

“They stood at the end of my bed and started giggling,” he continued.

“Giggling?” five pairs of eyes looked amazed.

“I know, I, too, thought it was an odd thing. Maybe I was their first patient – I don’t even know why they chose me,” Rob said.

All eyes scanned the ward and Liz said the obvious:

“Probably because you’re the youngest man by far on the ward!”

“By about forty years,” added Katie.

“Anyway, one of the student doctors was the time-keeper and the other asked the questions – for ten minutes exactly. I knew what they wanted to know so I gave full answers that sometimes saved the student doctor from having to ask the next two or three questions on the list. It was a bit of fun for me and they remarked how helpful I was. Then the questioner asked if I minded being examined…”

“Were you naked?” I asked.

“No,” said Robert and he lift his shirt to show his stomach, “just like this.”

We nodded approval.

“Now on to the funny bit,” Rob grinned. “At first I wondered what was happening as the student doctor knelt down on the floor beside my bed and reached up over the side to examine me.”

The patient made humourous gesticulations and his audience laughed riotously around the bedside. Then some of us looked guiltily about the ward at the old men who were not in on the joke. One not quite so old man caught my eye and and smiled.

” Anyway, I asked ‘Why are you doing that from down there?’ and the student doctor told me that they weren’t allowed to hover over patients in case they fell on them and hurt them. I didn’t like to say that the consultant always raises the bed rather than fall to the floor,” said Robert.

“How was the examination?” one of us inquired.

“Did it hurt?” someone else asked.

“Not at all,” Rob beamed, “she had nice soft hands and she was really quite attractive!”

 

Incidentally, the patient is back home and in his own bed tonight. Thankfully, he is expected to make a full recovery. Sadly for my nephew, who is a gifted singer and song-writer, he had to cancel his concert in Exeter tonight.

What Shall We Be?

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My brother Robert says we must dress up in vintage clothes (1920s, ’30s, ’40s or ’50s) for the Vintage Cycle Event to be held in Dawlish next Sunday so Chris bought a £2.60 boater, a 99p moustache set and a £2.99 cravat with matching handkerchief over the Internet – he wanted to be an Edwardian gentleman (Lord only knows why!) whilst I thought I would wear a black dress, pearls and big white hat for my Italian film star look. When Chris’s boater arrived a few days ago I tried it on and felt rather envious – I reckoned it suited me and it struck me it would be more fun to go as a naughty St.Trinians schoolgirl. Chris agreed and we decided to go as a pair of unruly escapees from school.

At first Robert thought our idea was more “carnival” than “vintage” but he’s glad that we’re coming at all and he softened. Here are some shots of the try-outs…

Missing

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Missing_edited-1

A cartoon inspired by another joke from Roland. And while I’m on the subject of dogs…

 

Did you hear about the black Labrador that swallowed a five cent coin, a twenty cent coin and a fifty cent piece (ouch!)? It happened in the early evening and the dog was admitted immediately at his local veterinary surgery. The next morning the vet was doing his rounds and stopped by the bed of the sleeping Labrador.

“How has he been overnight?” the vet asked the nurse.

“Not so good,” the nurse shook her head sadly, “still no change!”

 

 

“I Went to see This Psychiatrist….”

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No, not me. I’m not mad (at least I don’t think so!), this title refers to a couple of funny psychiatrist jokes that Roland sent me the other day. Well I think they are funny but I’m not so sure if you’ll be crazy about them.

 

A Psychiatrist Joke

I went to see this psychiatrist who wanted me to lie down on his couch.

“I’d rather not lie down, if you don’t mind,” I said.

“Why not?” asked the psychiatrist, who raised his eyebrows with interest.

“Because every time I lie down I see Micky Mouse, Minnie Mouse and Pluto. Honestly, Doc, I’ve had enough of it. It’s bad enough when I’m walking along and see Donald Duck, Daffy Duck and Goofy…” I told him.

“Oh dear,” the psychiatrist said sympathetically before adding, “and how long have you been having these Disney spells?”

 

Do Tell All

A young man felt he had to come clean with his girlfriend about the fact that he been to see a shrink.

“There’s something I haven’t been telling you,” he began, “I feel ashamed and I want to tell you the truth – I… I.. I’ve been seeing a psychiatrist!”

“That’s weird,” the girlfriend said, “I’ve been seeing one too, and a plumber and two barmen!”

 

Life Cycle

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The sun was shining and the air was fresh – the perfect day for cycling – but my two-year old grand touring bike (weighing half a ton) was out of action. It had been threatening to seize up for months and Chris had replaced the back inner tube four times, yet it still went flat. Big and beautiful as it was, the old fashioned bike really wasn’t made to survive living in the open air by the seaside, and some time while I was away during the winter the blue “Viking” gave up the ghost and slumped against our railings like a defunct rusty great hulk.

“Let’s go for a drive with the top down,” I suggested.

“Why don’t we go to that bicycle place at Kenn and see what they have?” Chris asked.

We have both been worrying about the Vintage Cycle Event that my brother Robert has organised for Dawlish Heritage Day on Sunday – Chris has been worrying about what he could wear (fancy dress – heritage style) whilst I’ve been concerned about having no bike to ride.

I wasn’t expecting us to drive back home with a new bicycle sticking out of my back seat. Well, actually, it isn’t brand new, which is just as well because I shall be taking it to the Vintage event. I very nearly plumped for the smooth American “comfort” bike (pure quality with a luxurious saddle, slick paintwork and shock absorbers all round) – wonderful to ride but on the heavy side. Instead, remembering our fifty-one steps up to the road, I opted for the silver, step-over, Dawes model – not a stunner but light as a feather.

We weren’t expecting to meet a huge green tractor coming towards us on the narrow country lane… he had no qualms in showing off his prowess at reversing for quarter of a mile and I blew him a kiss at the passing point.

As it turned out, it was a perfect day for cycling; I rode my silver bike home from the car park and managed it easily on my own down to the bottom of the steps. I took a photo of my new acquisition and noticed that the flower pots, neglected since the end of summer, were brimming with new life. The jasmine and clematis needed guiding up the trellis; the weeds had to come out, also the skeletons of dead annuals; the marguerite that hadn’t done so well last year was nearly falling over with the weight of its blooms and needed to be thinned, and the thinned branches just had to be given a chance to survive on their own. It was also a perfect day for spending a couple of hours gardening.

I think I might paint some flowers on my new bike in time for Sunday.

 

 

 

Pretty as a Picture

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My little Nokia prefers to take photographs in the great outdoors and makes quite a good job of it in the right weather conditions (preferably sunshine), which is why I always cross my fingers when I take indoor shots as I did yesterday at my sister’s place. True to form, most of the photographs were rather disappointing but there were a few gems, especially the ones of my niece Katie holding sleeping baby Rosie on her lap; the lack of absolute clarity seems to add to the charm and picturesqueness of the scene. The fact that my subjects were young and beautiful, and so familiar as to be unaware of me, also helped.

A Family Resemblance?

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Last Night

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Last night really was our last night in Southern Spain and it was our last opportunity to take a walk on the mountain roads in the vicinity of our cortijo, which (I may have told you before) is situated in the rustic surrounds of Frigiliana. We set out rather late, when the sun was already disappearing behind one of the higher mountains and misty grey clouds were hovering over the top of the range; and yet, the sun still shone on the coast below making the town of Nerja a gleaming white array of tiny squares jumbled together in the distance.

We figured that if we walked up and around our big mountain for some way, then turned off on a different road from our usual route, it would lead us out and down (not to be confused with ‘down and out’) away from the shade and into the sunlight. Of course, night was falling whilst we walked but, occasionally, the clouds thinned and patches of light appeared on the landscape as if to highlight the prettiness of a particular house and olive grove. Somehow even the shadows and mists had dramatic effect…

Fernando, the big white hound dog who had befriended me on previous walks (and loves raw eggs and Spanish bacon), was unable to come out with us – his owner had shut the gates for the night – so I waved, called out my goodbyes and blew him a kiss.

After a three in the morning start, now we’re home in Devon and ready for bed. I wonder if Fernando misses me… Chris says the friendly dog will be missing his eggs and bacon (and that “he knew which side his bread was buttered”). Chris can be so cynical.