Author: Seb Palmer

Noooo!!!

Another great musical legend shuffles off this mortal coil.

A Hard Road was the Mayall album that burned into my musical subconscious as a youngster. I think we only had it on cassette. I just loved it to death. The variety on the album is staggering. From boisterous uptempo rollickers, to fabulous moody numbers, like The Super-Natural, the downright spooky There’s Always Work, and this gem:

Of course, dad had a vinyl copy of The Blues Breakers. And it’s a brilliant album. But Hard Road tops it, for me.

Here are a few images of Mayall, looking damnably cool.

I’m listening to Hard Road again, thinking of the genius that was John Mayall, and digging each and every track.

I’ve been meaning to get the The First Generation 1965-1974 boxed set for aeons. But it’s always been to expensive. And now he’s dead? It’ll probably only go up!

Unfortunately St Andrew’s (above) was locked. As was St Pega’s, Peakirk (below).

Between shifts I nipped home, cooked lunch, and had a very brief snooze. Before embarking on shifts two and three.

Sutton St James, has an unusual gun and WWII/British army memorabilia shop. Sadly due to close this winter.

It gone 10 pm, now. I’m utterly exhausted. Time to sleep, methinks.

When we were in Ely yesterday, I spotted a book at Waterside Antiques, on The Great East Window of York Minster. I think it was priced around £60-80. I can’t recall exactly.

It was a terrific tome. One I’d dearly love to have acquired. But the price was way too high for my straitened circumstances. And the book is pretty old, mostly illustrated in black and white. With only a very few colour plates at the back.

So, rather as with the Painton Cowen Rose Windows books, I thought I’d see if there was a modern title on the same subject. And ‘Googling’ “The Great East Window of York Minster book” lead me to this:

Having found that there was indeed a newer book, I immediately ordered it, from Beelzebub… er, I mean Amazon. It arrived in less than 24 hours. Fab!

All of this reminds me that in actual fact we went to York Minster, many, many moons ago (and a wargaming show, whilst we were at it, I believe?), and I was struck at the time that a very large stained glass window was hidden/removed. And instead there was an enormous print version on display.

Now I realise it must’ve been the East Window. And what we saw – which was a disappointment at the time, obviously – was a result of the restoration project being in progress, which in turn gives us this incredible book.

My pics of this beautiful book aren’t great, as they’re all taken in the low light of our bedroom. But hopefully they’ll give some idea of the fabulous richness of this insanely wonderful artefact.

It starts with about 100 pages that mix numerous varied images with scholarly text. I’ve not read any of this yet. After this comes the Catalogue…

What I bought this book for are the remaining 165+ pages, that reproduce in glorious detail, beautiful colour and stunningly seductive detail, the more than 300 individual panels that comprise the truly Great genuinely awesome East Window.

The above gallery shows full panels, from the more regular square-ish lower parts of the window. The gallery below is made up of some of the details I find amazing, alluring, mesmerising, or – in (perhaps more than?) one instance – hilarious.

The more I look into old churches, cathedrals, etc, the deeper my joy in and passion for them grows. As repositories of our collective cultural heritage, in the form of stunning artistry and craftsmanship, they are nonpareil.

PS – York Minster has its own website, and they have a ‘page’ on this subject that’s worth a look.

Today, our eighth anniversary of moving in to our ‘new home’, in March – July, 2016 – we went on a riverboat ‘pleasure cruise’, ‘pon the river Ouse. Dad, Claire, Sam, Teresa and I.

I volunteered to ‘drive’ the boat. That lasted all of a few minutes. I couldn’t get the damned thing to go in anything other than circles! And with dad freaking out, I decided to bale out.

Sam took over, and did a great job. Eventually. But in the meantime dad just wouldn’t stop with the continual freak-out! We did, alas, wind up fouled in the reeds, and having to call out the marina cavalry.

They tutored Sam in the ways of nautical righteousness. And from there on in – well, with a small second dose of guidance – Sam steered us all the way to Ely and back. Well done, bro’!

Once arrived at Ely, we had to pass the waterfront by, turn around, head back, and then moor up. Dad was still incessantly stressing. But after a first attempt near-miss, Sam got us ‘parked’. He and I secured Bramble to the mooring posts.

There were several causes for our initial difficulties, in Bramble. First, we’re not seasoned or practiced boaties. Second, in a tiny light-weight boat, such as Bramble, strong winds continually blew us off course, very easily and swiftly. Third, dad was at the front on the way out. Again, the tiny-ness of the boat was unhelpful; on the way back, with dad at the rear, the engine sat lower in the water, giving more oomph.

Once moored up, Teresa and I had a picnic, on the park by the river, and decompressed from the appalling stress of the outward journey. Dad, Claire and Sam went to Teacock’s, for lunch. After a brief look around Waterside Antiques, we joined them, for tea n’ a choc’ brownie.

We ate and drank in the back garden of Peacock’s. Which Teresa and I had never been to before. Despite our many visits there.

Dad calmed down a great deal during this sojourn. But it took an awful lot of persuading to get him back on the boat, for the return journey. To his great credit he did finally capitulate. And so we headed back to the mooring.

We got back to the marina with time in hand. I think Claire wanted to go out again (and get our moneys’ worth, poss?). But the rest of us were for getting back to Terry Firmer!

I had allowed myself to get riled by dad’s continual carping on the way out. And I had told him, several times, to shut up. I felt awful about this afterwards. Even if such an admonition was justified.

But in the end, with Percy Verence, and patience and fortitude all round, we saw the cruise through, and even managed, eventually, to enjoy it. At least Teresa and I certainly did.

We ate a delish’ curry, followed by peach n’ raspberry trifle, out in the garden last night. Teresa wanted a fire, so we got the pot-bellied stove out.

Chester enjoying surveying his kingdom, from the lofty heights of the green room roof.

I’m currently working as a delivery driver for Amazon. Not a long-term solution, or plan. But working for me as a present or current stop-gap, whilst I work out what to do next.

Some memories…

The above is a screenshot of a view of our home from the Google Earth app. From the brief period when I had two MX5s.

Just watched this film. And loved it. Ok, it’s fairly heavily loaded with historical inaccuracies. But, as George MacDonald Fraser remarked, in The Hollywood History of The World, ‘The main thrust of Cromwell is true, it gets a great deal of history, and the sense of history, right.’

As our pal Pat lamented, as the credits rolled, ‘What happened to British film?’ And this is an exemplar of a style of filmmaking that Britain once did quite often, and often very well. The no expense spared historical epic.

The cast is stellar, and acquit themselves very well. Richard Harris doesn’t look like Cromwell, but he plays the role with great elan. Likewise Obe Wan Kenobi, in the role of Charles I.

For the military history buffs, seeing Edgehill and Naseby recreated is great fun. And indeed, the whole costume drama aspect of the production is superb. Marston Moor – a parliamentary victory, and the biggest battle of the ECW – is left out, however.

I won’t synopsise the plot. Suffice to say that I found the two hours twenty-odd run time epic, but not overwhelming. In fact, I read online (wiki) that the first cut of the film was three and a quarter hours long. I would love to see that version. What got left on the cutting room floor?

Like any good media, on an interesting subject, this film makes me want to learn more about the real history. And that, I reckon, marks it out as a success.

But don’t look too closely…

The bottom three horizontal slats are loose. And no matter how I tried, I could’nae get them to re-seat on the ‘staples’ they were originally affixed by.

In a variation in the ol’ jazzer’s exhortation – ‘blow, man, blow’ – I’m invoking the fecundity of nature, to clad our green room withal.

Went out to do a short afternoon shift. Got back, and fixed the duff/loose fitting slats:

So… another trellis panel and supporting vertical beam fitted.

Small but steady steps towards our garden goals make me happy! Simple pleasures.

Today I started watching By The Sword Divided, a BBC TV series from the early ‘80s that I dimly recall from childhood.

For some reason I’ve been thinking about the ECW, or English Civil War, quite a bit recently. A recurring fantasy being to sculpt wargaming figures for the conflict, or go see a Sealed knot re-enactment.

I found the entire series, currently available on YouTube. And watched the first three episodes. I love it!

It’s funny, because the music, from the theme tune to the programme to the incidental stuff, also appeals. And is very like a good deal of the David Munrow stuff I’ve been getting into.

I’m minded to delve into the earthier and folksier works of The City Waites, an early ‘musicke’ ensemble who are featured in the series.

* Some folk – our neighbour Mel, for one (she doesn’t have internet) – still do!