It was returns day, first an Amazon one , and then returning a tube of sealant where the contents were so thick it would move down the tube.
I stopped off at the Trowbridge Tesco to search of a custard slice. Since I’ve been back I have tried to buy some, but all the supermarkets that used to sell them, do no longer.
That made me issue a challenge to myself to track one, possibly two, before I go back to the US.
I’m not fanatical about it, but it would satisfy a craving.
I did a bit of touching up of the paint on the walls caused, I expect, by the chairs touching. You would think people would notice, and move the bloody thing.
The evening was treat, visiting Jeanine and Mark.
They made sure I knew I was back in England, and even found a bottle of Old Speckled Hen as a perfect accompaniment to the toad in the hole. The conversation spun various orbits, which I enjoy, and we didn’t even touch on the history of Georgian glass, Mark’s pet subject.
Well maybe next time.
There is a terrific warmth in their home that I absorb, and take with me, and it wasn’t the gin and tonic they gave me when I arrived, my first ever as it happens.
As I left, and walked up the path I noticed that I had left the headlights all the time I was inside, a total of nearly three hours.
I was scared that there wouldn’t be enough “juice” left in the battery to start it, and you can’t jump start an automatic. I unlocked the door, and reached in to turn the lights in a feeble attempt to save a bit.
I felt sick as I turned the key, the starter gave a groan and reluctantly started. I gave the dashboard a pat, as I moved off, the sense of relief almost hurt.
My friend from the studio days was coming over to help me discover why the right hand speaker of the stereo wasn’t working. On the face of it, it should have been a simple job, but nothing is that simple.
When the cottage was renovated, I had my electrician add audio cables from the upstairs small bedroom down to the lounge. My thoughts were my large power mac would reside there, but I wanted the audio output to feed to the amplifier downstairs. Also I wanted to hide the wire to the right hand speaker. That signal would travel upstairs in two cables,and connect with another two cables that came out on the right hand side. It may sound complicated, but in principle pretty simple.
However the electrician should have installed eight cables, because the audio from the required had to be screened. This was because he uses ordinary cables, and should used screened ones.
Anyway, Dave, came over to help me make all the connections, but the audio from upstairs didn’t work.
This is when we discovered that we were two cables short.
The basic problem was we needed to screen the audio.
This is where my brain turned to mush, and I left it to Dave to do his magic.
Anyway, he got things to work with a series of extra wires that picked up on the “earths” on the ring main. Don’t asked me to explain it anymore.
So, moving forward six years, when I arrived back, I put on a CD and that’s when I discovered the issue with the right hand speaker.
So Dave arrived with his tool bag, and we went upstairs to see what was happening to the connections.
At the time of installation there was a row of phono plug modules nice and neat on the wall, like a mini patch board, hidden by a single bed.
But over time the plastic got brittle and maybe the bed got pushed into the patch board, causing the damage.
It looked in a sorry state.
Dave sat there scratching his beard, trying to remember what he had done all those years ago.
He had marked the cables so they could be identified, so we knew where they were downstairs.
Several hours later we were no further forward.
I then made the decision to scrap the audio side and just concentrate on the speaker side, this I thought would make the situation easier.
Several more hours later we were still flummoxed.
It was time for a coffee and several sheets of paper.
Dave kept saying “it should never had worked” there was so much beard scratching I was surprised there was any stubble left.
We did a number of checks to ensure there was no fault with the amplifier and the speakers and they all worked perfectly.
I sketched out, with my simple brain, how it should be wired. We agreed to remove all the earthing wires, because just being speakers we didn’t need them.
Now we were cooking on gas, all the wiring was redone, and now came the moment of truth, would it now work?
Everything was double checked, continuity established, we were ready to go.
Music was playing, the balance swung to the right, and, nothing, still nothing.
More beard scratching.
The only thing left was the cable from the wall to the speaker.
We checked the continuity, and this it where it got really weird.
I had remembered that I had bought a long cable with phono plugs on both ends which I cut in half, and used them as the speaker cables.
The soldering of these plugs were never checked, and in the end this was the problem.
Not to go into anymore details, the way these plugs were attached, in principle nothing should have worked at all, it only did because of the “earthing” that Dave did all those years ago that anything did.
Once this was re soldered everything worked.
This was hours of intensive brain work, and we missed our lunch, and by the time we got into the town, all the cafe’s and restaurants were closed, all that was left were the famous tea rooms. However, the scones were tasty.
After recovering from my ordeal yesterday, I was planning a more quiet day.
I drove into the apocalypse town of Trowbridge searching for an electrical supply shop. I needed some new twin phono outlet for the patch bay I had in the spare room. The originals were damaged beyond repair, and as my friend Dave my electrician friend was coming over tomorrow I needed parts for him to fit.
Luckily I found the parts, I needed four units, and four they had.
Next stop was Sainsbury’s for some supplies.
As I drove away, I did something that I thought I would never do, drive on the wrong side of the road. I was shocked, I alway prided myself on being able to adapt my driving to suit the country I’m in. It was only for a few seconds, and nothing was coming, so I was safe.
I was looking forward to my Indian meal with my old Herman Miller friends. Unfortunately the numbers were a bit depleted, Bob and Ann turned up, I missed Phillip, his added sarcasm and Bob targeted humour was sadly missing, but it was a really pleasant evening anyway.
It is alway difficult to park, it usually means driving around the block a few times hoping for a space. I then did my second driving mistake of the day, driving down a one way street. Fortunately there was no traffic, so I got away again.
It was the pilgrimage to wales to see my friend Martin. I decided to take the scenic route and cross the old Severn bridge. That decision was the easy part, missing the exit was definitely not in the plan. Now I was going down the wrong road looking for a way to turn round. I drove on for miles eventually ending up at a service station I would have passed if I had gone my usual way. I was now back on the M4 heading for Newport, but I was in familiar territory.
It takes me two and a half hours to get to Whitney on Wye, then I face several hours of Martin and his dogs. I must have mentioned his two Newfoundlands before, both are the size of small horses with mouths that could easily swallow my head. These are big animals, much too large, and strong from Martin and his wife Liz to handle, but they struggle to keep them under control. Martin’s approach is to shout at them, very loudly. Of course that’s not the best way, the only thing it achieves is ringing in my ears.
I find a place to sit on a small sofa, a dog then sits next to me, it’s breath warming the side of my face. Liz then bring me a coffee, some welcome refreshments.
We cover many subjects, including the state of British politics, conflicts in the world, US Presidential election, and most other things Martin has opinions on. I have learned from post confrontations that he had fixed opinions, and to challenge them is at my peril.
Much of out conversations are repetitive, I’ve heard them many times before, most are word for word, but I am tolerant, and respond appropriately.
I was given a wonderful lunch, and the conversations continued well into the afternoon.
Talking is exhausting, and after he had smoked the fifth or sixth “herbal” cigarette, I could see he was getting tired, my cue to make my departure.
By now it was getting dark, now it was another two and a half hours for the return trip.
By the time I unlocked the door of the cottage I had enough. It had been a long day, but I had seen my friend, the purpose of my trip, so I could now relax and prepare myself for another day.
Another day on my forensic tour of the city and a bit more sadness.
I entered Urban Outfitters, a store that I have bought items from in the past, here and in the US. I was shocked to find it had become a gender less emporium. There were no differences between the men’s and women’s clothes, no separation between ether.
Most of the styles were shapeless and certainly not flattering to either sexes. Even the changing rooms were “Gender neutral “. I can’t get this Gender crap, it has gained so much media attention,and those who push kids into transgender surgery should be prosecuted for crimes against humanity and locked away. There have been lives ruined by all this bollocks.
Continuing my walk, and it coincided with rugby supporters spilling out of the pubs, getting their pre match sustenance.
I noticed that the Bath Shop has become a coffee shop, the Silcox furniture store is a coffee shop, how do their business plans work? And how sustainable are they.
There used to be a small coffee shop in Northumberland passage I used many times. That is no longer there, replaced by another that was established in HongKong. It’s not the same, they don’t even sell bits of cakes, and things that go great with the hot drink. I only went there was to kill a bit of time until I meet my friend Rob for lunch, thankfully the Indian restaurant is still there.
The trip back was a bit arduous, the timetable and the display did on match, and I ended up waiting for over an hour for the bus to arrive.
I was more successful with bus catching than I was yesterday. It arrived when the screen said it would, so I got to Bath early, and whilst I had some time I walked around town. I went into WH Smiths to look around, and it looked dead and uninspiring. It had the feel of a store closing, not how I remembered it. The greeting cards had taken up a lot of the floor area, and the magazine rack was untidy. The upstairs was not any better, most of the floor is taken up with the post office. As a kid, the store had everything, music, videos, toys and craft supplies, as well as books and magazines. It had an attraction, Smiths was THE news agent, sadly, no more.
Further on my travels I passed people sleeping under a doorway, and opposite was a shop manicuring a young girls finger nails, she was certainly under ten years of age.
The contrast could not be clearer between the haves, and the have nots.
Working my way up Milsom Street, I stopped at the small shopping arcade, a place I used to go often, it had an Alessi shop that I loved. I alway thought the conversion was done well, but that is a sad place, all the decent shops have gone, it feels unloved, and it must be hard for the places still open.
The one thing that can’t be altered is the architecture, there is a feeling of joy as I walked down Pultney Street, and cut through to Henrietta Park. I followed a number of paths through the avenue of trees. A man was giving his little dog some exercise. All he did was hit a ball with a tennis racquet, and this little blighter would set off after it, proudly bringing it back to its owner, who did the same thing again. Poor dog didn’t realise it was pointless, his owner didn’t want the ball. If the animal was smart, it would grab the ball and run in a different direction, then it would be the owner chasing after it.
I noticed there was a garden of remembrance that I didn’t know was there. I walked around reading all the name plaques attached to the wooden benches positioned around the pathway.
For me it was fitting, I was remembering what Bath was like when I was growing up, when it had a toy shop, three record shops, several art material shops, and a couple hi-fi stores.
Now my memories are as faded as those plaques on the benches.
Bath had lost all the things that stimulated children’s minds that feed their creativity.
Now the streets are lined with endless cafes and restaurants, creativity has been replaced by food, and culture has lost out to mindless social media, oh dear.
My first full day in old Blighty, and my first encounter with the local bus service.
It wasn’t good, I had arranged to meet up with my old school friend Steve in Bath.
I had taken pictures of the bus time table by the town bridge, so I was prepared. I arrived early to catch the alleged 10.50 joining an already formed group of people.
There was a lot of extra traffic due to various road closures, so I expected a bit of a delay.
I watched the display that showed bus arrivals, as the time came and went, the particular bus I wanted, disappeared from the board, no explanation, just vanished. it was replaced with another 30 minutes later, the crowd was growing restless. By the time the thing arrived I had been waiting over an hour, meaning that my precise plan had to be adjusted, fortunately there was no timing conflicts.
Steve was the friend that I had back in infant school, the only one I remembered, or could pick out in a line up. We reconnected a few years back through a mutual friend.
He has great comic timing, and his story about a tick on his arse, and his attempts to remove it had us in stitches, much to the amusement of the other customers in the coffee shop.
Afterwards, I headed for the bus station which was crawling with people. The place is poorly designed, queues waiting to board the buses block the paths of anyone wanting to get to the other end of the building. By now the place was filling with school children and students, making things even worse.
Finally the bus arrived and the mass of bodies clambered on board, I even managed to find a seat. The journey back felt long, and I was glad to get back. My feet were hurting, caused, I think by the boots I wore. I don’t think my feet were shaped right for American shoes, nothing like a pair of Russell and Bromley’s.
The long flight was uneventful, unless having the battery die in my noise cancelling headphones counted.
With two and a half hours to go, I saw I had a spare one in the case, so I fitted it, only to find it was as dead as the other. It wasn’t the end of the world, almost.
Breakfast arrived an hour before landing, actually it was an insult calling it that. They presented me with a pot of yogurt and a packet of granola and a fig biscuit. I regretted not going premium, at least the food is slightly better.
The landing was a bit heavy, the loose ceiling panel that I observed when I boarded almost dropped down. Boeing are having quality issues, but this doesn’t help their case, I was glad the doors stayed attached though.
The walk to the passport control was not as long as last time. That long walk is an endurance, if you can survive that, you deserve to be let in.
There is another long walk to the bus station, and I even managed to suss out the menu ordering system in the cafe, a result for me.
A two and a half coach journey later it pulled into the Bath bus station.
Nicola was waiting with a smiling face, it was what I wanted to see. A short walk to where Colin had the car, and we then headed for Bradford. It was the first ride in their new Hybrid vehicle, it was a smooth journey.
Nicola had already left some supplies in the fridge including lentil soup and a blackberry and apple crumble, she is a life saver.
As we walked up the steep path to the cottage I noticed some of the foliage had grown back, even though I had applied stuff to kill the roots.
In the cottage itself I was greeted with a dripping kitchen tap. I had been prepared for that, and a button had come off the Eames lounge chair seat. I think the thread that tightened the button had broke, hopefully it’s not too difficult to repair.
I was not impressed with that, so I will be moving that into the bedroom where it will get less use.
After a cup of coffee and a cake, Nicola and Colin left, and I took stock of things I had to do.
I was due to pick up the Shogun from Ryan and Louise who had invited me to dinner, another life savers.
On my way down I decided I would visit an old school friend who lives by the canal. He had dropped off Facebook: I didn’t know why.
I found his house, knocked at the door, and eventually he answered. He looked a bit dishevelled, but I remembered he alway looked that way. We chatted for a while, he told me he quit Facebook because of many unpleasant comments he received. I was relieved that he hadn’t kicked the bucked, so we made plans to meet up again.
Dinner at Ryan and Louise was fabulous, they worked together and produced a tasty chicken and rice dish.
I didn’t realise that Louise was the reader of the blog, I felt bad that I didn’t mention all the thoughtful things that they had done over the years, especially during the cottage renovation period. So now I will broaden the scope of my daily ramblings to show my appreciation.
I picked up the truck, petrol tank empty(as usual) this will be the last time I will be able to use it, as it will be sold. It’s an expensive beast to run, but it’s had its usage, so I can’t complain.
I tried to get an early night, Kelli didn’t have a good day, hopefully tomorrow will be better.
“We’ll be in the air for thirty one minutes for this flight into Chicago O’hare” the pilot announced, what he didn’t say was that there was another fifteen on the ground. It was like we were on the highway, we were overtaken by a couple of trucks and a dozen cars. Eventually we disembarked, at the end of an interesting journey. The flight attendant did not want to be there, it was showing on her face, she would have been happier on the cotton fields of the south.
I guess this was part of the inclusion policy by American Airlines to bring in anyone who isn’t really qualified to do the job as long as they belong to the Diversity, equity and inclusion culture. I have no problem with that as long as the pilot of my aircraft has been trained, and not used to driving an Uber taxi.
Why do people choose a window seat, then immediately shut the blind? That is one of my pet hates.
The guy next to me wasn’t used to sitting in a seat with a back, because he spent the whole flight leaning forward, so I couldn’t look out the window. Also when reading messages on his phone, he was mouthing the words, all this and I hadn’t even got to Chicago yet.
O’Hare airport is a hive of weirdness, there are a few who still wear masks to match their luggage, the rest are just loud.
I had a chicken sandwich served by a Rasta man, he didn’t look happy, he slinked about like a puma stalking his prey, although he was quick.
There was a few loose ends to finish before we left for the airport, including getting pictures of the coffee table, work doesn’t stop even though I’m going away, it all down to Kelli now.
Today is when I remember the passing of Michael Elliott, I don’t know why it affects me so much. I think it’s because it was someone I knew who couldn’t face life anymore. Most of us don’t make that choice, we follow a different path that will take us to the same ultimate place.
It was a day of preparation, finishing jobs that I can leave for Kelli to finish, and folding up the pool and pressing it into a storage box. Deflating the floats took longer than inflating them, but they went into another box.
We sold and delivered our latest dresser to someone on the north side of town, that came in under the wire for September leaving it a better month than I thought.
There is some talk on the alternative media about a dockworkers strike starting tomorrow.
It’s about pay, as usual, they want an extra five dollars an hour. The talk was about the knock on effect, because so much comes through the docks, could be devastating.
Kelli was worried about my travel, will I be able to get back?
This is not about me, this is about the whole bloody country, the dumb shits in this government should not let this happen, and I refuse to panic about it.
Another Lifetime to go 