Friday 8th June, 2012

I think you know that I am not one to brag about my family's various talents, although I probably have allowed myself a little bit of crowing about Hen's artistry. It is not just photography, her claim to fame there being a one page spread of her photos of a 21st birthday party which appeared in Tatler a few months ago. OK....she didn't manage to complete her Foundation course at Leeds last year, but with an A* in Art A level and a few months of that course behind her she can sketch and draw pretty competently and now she tells me that she has landed a job which involves another artistic discipline. She is spending the next couple of weeks painting show jumps for the Olympics Equestrian events. Marvellous. Takes after her father that girl. In my year off I travelled round the world working on a Stolt-Neilsen chemical tanker. The intention was I would see lots of countries - or at least their ports - whereas in fact what happened was I spent three months, head down, chipping rust off and slapping paint on. I got a glowing reference which I will furnish you with in due course, but to this day I shudder at the thought of my departure from MV Stolt Osprey. I had been given the job of painting the superstructure and had been congratulated on the super job I had done as the front of the living quarters glistened with a fine coat of fresh cream. Happily I completed what was, truth be told, a rather slip shod job on the day before departure, having been quite incapable of preparing the surface as I was meant to. Alas, a heavy storm and strong winds the night before we arrived in Marseilles began to lay me bare even as I said my goodbyes and thank you for having me. Happily only I noticed the tell tale signs of peeling that signalled the whole face of the boat was going to require a second coat at the very least. And somehow I have a feeling that horses and riders at the London Olympics will not want to have too close a look at the fences and poles, at least come the second week. Back to me..... I was quite jammy eh?! Talking of which, and this is a rum one, I was at a loss for something to tell you today - as you might have gathered - so I was going to report that I have at last concluded that I am indeed a lucky boy. Twice now, in the space of just over a week, I have been given the opportunity to buy a gold ring that some Eastern European has found on the pavement just in front of me not far from our office on Knightsbridge. How fortuitous is that? The second time this happened was only an hour or so ago and I had literally just decided to tell you about this as I made my way back to my desk when I was approached by an Indian gentleman as I paused to look at the cars in the Ferrari garage next door to us who said to me " My god, you are a lucky man. You have a lucky face. Shall I tell you why your face is lucky? " Well I didn't stop to find out. It could only end in anti-climax, but I do feel better about myself, I must say. And whats more, I still have a job, I think......so that's good.

Friday 15th June, 2012

A friend of mine wrote on her Facebook page the other evening that "You know you're past middle age when your memories mean more than your dreams". Oh dear me. How depressing is that? I was about to let rip and give her a kick up the backside, but just in time I recognised the irony given how I had spent the morning that day. If you fly into Edinburgh Airport from the south west and are sitting on the right side of the plane looking out of the window, just moments before you land, you might have noticed a castle next to the Glasgow motorway, but otherwise surrounded by huge trees, a river, the Grand Union Canal and a lot of non descript shacks which, for your information, happens to be a chicken farm. The "castle" is in fact a mid 19th century baronial style building, occupied for the last 80 years or so by Clifton Hall School, my alma mater. The tower on the right, at the top of which was my dorm when I first arrived, is still apparently occupied by the ghost of the Green Lady. I caught sight of the place flying in on Easyjet at the crack of sparrows on Wednesday morning and as I had a couple of hours to kill before a hectic series of meetings I decided to go and have a look round. I had not been back since I left the school in July 1976! THIRTY SIX YEARS AGO. The mental scars of having been sent away to boarding school aged 6 and a bit obviously run deep. By the way perhaps don't mention to the powers that be what I get up to on my trips to Scotland, but in my defence I was shown round the school by a very chatty 15 year old girl who was interested Formula One so I her talked her through the proposed IPO. I had such a lovely time wandering around reliving these halcyon days of the early 1970's until the headmaster announced that they had recently stumbled across some archived records within which he might well be able to find my old Common Entrance results. Retrieve them he did together with those of my younger brother. I have a reasonably well developed ability to laugh at myself, but I was not amused in the slightest to find that Jamie's results were infinitely superior to mine and indeed that I had only just managed to scrape into Glenalmond. Here is a sample of my results and the somewhat extraordinary comments. 54% in English I - " Comprehension showed no obvious talent " 52% in Maths II - "Q6 was not done and his main weakness was in Q2 " ( that implies to me I would have been better off omitting to answer Q2 aswell ). 55% in History - "One question well answered, otherwise knowledge often inaccurate." 39% in Latin - " Very weak and should't have attempted part B " ( common theme there! ) 33% in Maths III - " Insufficient knowledge " 50% in French Oral - the comment on this one really annoyed me - " Rather like Morrison, though a bit better in Q.4 " What do they think they are doing comparing me to him? Morrison played rugby for Scotland. Started at Barings the same day as me. He couldn't speak French to save his life and when he tried his accent was horrendous. I am told I sound like Prince Charles when I speak French but I'm quite proud of that. Oh well. There is one positive aspect from roaming around in the past. It makes my own children's efforts seem quite encouraging.