Friday 7th August, 2015

I think I’ve told you about the “Big Stick” before.   This is our annual family golf contest which is played over a round on the Old Course, for the most part in decent humour which is not to say it is not intensely competitive, but usually a fair amount of kummel is involved too.  This year, and I think it counted against me, we teed off at 9.30am.  Instead of kummel we gobbled down bacon, egg and black pudding rolls on the first tee whilst fighting off some voracious and ferocious seagulls. 

 

Despite the attention of the birds, my drive down the first was quite majestic.  But that was pretty much the extent of my challenge this year and with Bob and my brother William also failing to trouble the scorers much, my father won comfortably.  My second shot was a miserably topped eight iron from 140 yards out, which like something out of the Dambusters, hopped over the Swilken Burn, onto the green.  Failing to capitalise on my good fortune, a repeated feature of my life, I proceeded to three putt.  Now I know not all of you are golfers so I’ll stop there before I lose you.  Suffice to say it went from bad to worse.  The thing is apart from the lack of alcohol – although that was sorted by a fine lunch afterwards with a delicious white Savigny Les Beaune and a bottle of Grand-Puy-Lacoste – I was a bit distracted by the fact I had managed to forget to bring up the coveted trophy we play for each year.  A beautiful, horn handled, shepherds crook with a silver plaque onto which is engraved the winners initials.  It was in pride of place in our sitting room – where I might add it has been for several years now – and, much to my father’s disappointment, there it remains as I failed to pack it in the car when we drove up north.  What an assiam. 

 

There was one notable success whilst up in Scotland that I’d like to share with you.  I havn’t mentioned my vegetable garden much recently.  To be honest, this year we have been plagued by black flies.  You may have noticed them.  The broad beans and artichokes were ok, but my peas have been disastrous.  Potatoes, beetroot, courgettes, fennel, kale, various herbs….nothing to write home about.  Raspberries have been in abundance however and I have been making copious quantities of jam.   You really need to try it.  It’s sooooo amazing.  I got this just wonderful email from my mother to whom I gave some:

 

“Your raspberry jam would definitely win a prize at the Cortachy Show xx” 

 

Sweet.

 

Friday 30th July, 2015

If you ever doubted the professional in me let me tell you, the largest part of my summer holiday is upon me.  A day off tomorrow to drive up to Scotland and I’ll be taking Monday off too, to drive back down.  It’s time for the Big Stick, our annual family golf contest which this year will comprise my father, just one of my brothers and, whisper it ever so quietly in front of other members of the R&A, Bob.  Going to be interesting that daunting drive down the first.

 

But if my holiday is a short trip up North into what is forecast to be a cold, damp and grey Fife with even a hailstorm forecast, Hen on the other hand is chillin’ in the South of France.  It’s not exactly lifestyles of the rich and famous.  She went by bus with a girlfriend and a tent to a Reggae Festival near Orange and since that is now over, but they didn’t much feel the desire to move very far, they have apparently located themselves – I suspect totally illegally except that it’s France - on an island just up the river from Le Pont du Gard.  I found the very spot via Google Earth whilst on the phone to her the other night.  She had rung to give me the run down.  Seems they spend the day after eating a couple of peaches for breakfast messing about on the river and whiling away the hours before pate and du pain for supper washed down by a bottle of red.  Here’s the thing though.  She was able to tell me – though I know she knew it would impress me – that the wine they were drinking that evening was corked.  Atta girl.  So proud.

 

 

 

As we are on the subject of camping, though I hesitate to include this in a week when Cecil the Lion and the issue of trophy hunters has made such headlines.  Bob whilst he does have a slightly blood thirsty streak in him has a rule of eating most whatever of which he dispatches.  Including grey squirrels.  He has been up at a friend’s farm sleeping rough on the land and working on gaining control of the local vermin problem.  Confident in a limitless supply of rabbits and pigeons the only food he took with him was six tins of ratatouille.  Weird eh?  Almost as weird as this WhatsApp message/exchange I had with a friend.  It’s Art so that’s fine! 

 

 

 

And with that I’m out of here and hoping you will have forgotten this nonsense by the time I get back on Tuesday.

Friday 24th July, 2015

OK.  So my poor run of recommendations continues.  Adam Scott (@ 20:1) didn’t win the Open, but I take full responsibility.  Bob can’t be blamed.  In fact he brought good fortune to most everyone he carried the scoreboard for.  Tom Watson’s penultimate round started well enough.  The damage to his hopes of making the cut happened on the second day culminating in a shank and a three putt on the 18th.  Bob, that day, was with a little known Yorkshireman called Danny Willett who shot 66 to lead the field going into the third round and gave him an unsigned golf ball for his efforts.  And they call Scots mean?  Then on Sunday Bob was paired with Louis Oosthuizen and a young Irish amateur called Paul Dunne who played the round of his life to end up tied for the lead with Louis.  What excitement.  The Beeb was all over them.  There was a great shot of Bob’s feet at one point ( shoe laces undone we noted ) and then, my nephew managed to Snapchat us this photo, taken as they left the 18th green, of Paul Dunne, a future Open champion ( possibly ) doffing his cap to Bob ( in the white jump suit – at least I think that’s Bob ).  

 

 

No, it definitely is Bob.  Despite the fact I write this slightly hungover from an irresponsibly late Thursday night out I am by no means in the state I was last Friday morning following a session at the Railway Inn, Lower Largo.  

 

Thursday night is Quiz night in the Railway as you might be aware and I got a bit carried away after successfully answering albeit just the one question that practically no one else got which was - no conferring and see if you can recall - who was the first black footballer to play for England?  In high spirits I landed a couple of pints of Belhaven on top of several bottles of the Wine Society’s Croze Hermitage.  Well that was a mistake.  

 

So when I finally made it up to St Andrews the next day and met with a client I still wasn’t feeling my best.  We trundled out onto the course to watch a bit of golf and eventually, at the 6th tee, caught up with the Adam Scott group to which Bob had been assigned.  The tall, blond haired boy in the jump suit, barely 10 yards away from us, responded when I shouted “Bob”, but quickly hid his face behind the scoreboard he was carrying as he realised that both my friend and I were defying all the R&A protocols and taking photos of him.  And I suppose I was just a little miffed that he hadn’t shown us a nice smile when, as the group walked away, I began to have some doubts.  The walk seemed too stiff and erect.  And the hair, whilst fair, was well kempt.  No, I concluded, after way too long a deliberation, I really wasn’t certain it was Bob.  My friend Iain looked at me kindly, but bemused.  

 

I would normally be able to recognise my own son.  Really I would.  I told you I wasn’t feeling well.  It transpired that Bob had volunteered to go with an earlier group and was farther out on the course with the very Danny Willett who was having, as I mentioned, a wonderful round.  So focussed was he on his game and the tricky second shot he was standing over, that I really don’t think Danny noticed the commotion behind him, but which greeted me, the very instant I finally caught up with them only to witness Bob’s scoreboard be literally blown to bits by the howling gale and yellow numbers scattered all over the 12th fairway followed by Bob and the bunker-raker scrabbling about trying to pick them up before they ended in the Eden Estuary.

 

Hey ho.  Of course the Open was just a fairly irrelevant precursor to the key competition this summer on the Old Course …. Bring on the Big Stick, a week on Saturday.  More on that anon I suspect.

Thursday 16th July, 2015

Early one this week as I am heading up to Scotland this afternoon to hook up with a few clients at The Open in St Andrews.  If you are going to be there on Friday/Saturday or Sunday and I havn’t touched base with you already well then shame on me.  But if you are not too offended I do have the odd spare pass into the clubhouse/R&A tent so drop me a line and your mobile number and let’s try and get together.  

 

Talking of the golf, on Tuesday the professional at my local club, Royal Worlington don’t you know, sent me an email with his top tip for the Open which started of course this morning.  Adam Scott at 20/1.  He has been playing well even if he hasn’t won anything this year.  “This might be his moment” the pro tells me.  But I know something he doesn’t.  On Friday a certain Bob Sandison will be accompanying Adam Scott round the Old Course in Bob’s capacity as scoreboard carrier.  Poor Mr Scott doesn’t have a chance.  Quite apart from the fact that Bob is, like his father, mathematically challenged so who knows what score Scott will be shown to have shot, I defy anyone being able to maintain their concentration and composure with Bob in tow, in whichever capacity, on the golf course.  Incidentally today Bob is in even more august company.  He is carrying the board for a group which teed off at 8.33 this morning including Ernie Els, Brandt Snedeker and, get this, TOM WATSON!  How cool is that?!  Anyway, good fun.  

 

Oh and mentioning dodgy recommendations I have the embarrassing task below of addressing Weichai Power, one of my “In the Stock” picks and which fell 12% on Wednesday.  As I often tell you though the best ones invariably go wrong at the start.  Bob  is also showing early signs of being prepared to put his neck on the line although his picks are not the sort to mature given the benefit of time nor nearly as thoroughly researched as mine.  He found himself on a crowded train from Cambridge to Newmarket last weekend packed with  happy go lucky race-goers making their way to the last day of the July meeting.  Bob was wearing his pride and joy.  A baseball cap with “Sea the Stars”, a famous racehorse, emblazoned on the peak.  Some poor soul assumed he worked in one of the racing yards and asked him if he had any tips.  I know this doesn’t reflect well on Bob, but having randomly made a selection for the 2.05 from a cursory glance at a discarded copy of the Racing Post and emboldened by how appreciative the recipient of his advice had been, he spent the rest of the half hour train journey walking up and down proffering “investment advice” to all and sundry.  And, it turned out, he picked not a single winner.  “But everyone was having such a good time….surely that’s the point” was his ex-post justification.  It’s a worry.  Next thing he’ll be trying to tell Ernie Els how to swing more fluidly.

 

Meantime – and this is a little risky too you might think – Jimmy, having returned from the most luxurious retreat imaginable, an incredible villa in Mozambique overlooking the Indian Ocean on one of the longest unguarded beaches in the world, is away now in another sandy waste, Morocco.  Talk about from the sublime to the ridiculous.  She has gone trekking in the Atlas Mountains with a university friend, a guide and a donkey.  We have rechristened her and Henry, “Mary and Joseph”.

Friday 10th July, 2015

Possibly you didn’t notice, but I sneaked in a day’s holiday mid-week.  How indulgent was that?  Well the fact is I have been chained so religiously to my desk this last year that I felt I deserved it.  More to the point Mrs S landed me with a three line whip.  We have a French exchange staying with us at the moment.  A pleasant though quiet 14 year old - much different from the last exchange we hosted a few years back, also a 14 year old girl from Paris.  That one was a disaster.  I knew we were in for trouble when I read the letter of introduction that she had sent through the school.  “ I love to speak English and want to do it with my English teacher “ if I recall correctly were the words that flashed warning signals.  And indeed she proved a strange and troubled child.  My daughter point blank refused to get on the bus for the return leg and I didn’t blame her to be honest.  I digress.  

 

We had intended to go punting on the Cam on Wednesday, but the skies were grey and foreboding so instead, and I know this is a bit politically incorrect, we got in the car and drove an hour and a half to the Norfolk coast where we had lunch in a pretty wretched pub in the village of Burnham Thorpe, birthplace of Admiral Horatio Nelson, sitting under a clock which, I noted, commemorated the Battle of Trafalgar.  It wasn’t deliberate I promise you.  The point was really to go for a walk on Holkham Beach.  I suppose I was thinking I would show Juliette, who in a few weeks time will be hosting Lottie on the Ile de Re, that we’ve got beaches too.  We managed 10 minutes in torrential rain and I only stood on one dog poo, before we surrendered to the elements, sloshed our way back into the car and drove disconsolately home.

Friday 26th June, 2015

I am heading up North today.  An exciting jolly to my old school for my nephew’s leaving bash.

Talking of schools and stop me if I have been banging on a little too much about Bob.  It’s not even as if he has been out and about slaughtering things as far as I am aware anyway.  No, as I have highlighted with reference to his election as secretary to the Rugby School wine society, he seems to be developing some slightly more socially acceptable traits, though there is many a slip twixt cup and lip.  

He was home for the weekend and revealed that he had a part in a play which he and fellow house members will be performing before the end of term.  You have to slightly let your imagination roam at this point though I can help you with the attached photo of Rugby Schools Gothic inspired chapel.   Splendid eh?

 

 

The school chaplain is a great guy and likes to enliven the daily early morning service occasionally just to keep people on their toes.  But even he would probably concede that his suggestion to Bob and his friends, that it might be fun and original if they were to stage an abbreviated dress rehearsal of their play in the Chapel, was a little rash. 

 

As you may be aware I am an historian if that isn’t too grand a boast from someone who scraped a 2:1 in History and Economic History at Leicester University and consequently I would be fascinated to know if any other boy in the last 135 years since Rugby’s magnificent chapel was built has burst through the heavy wooden doors into a service dressed only in his boxer shorts?  If that wasn’t ridiculous enough Bob, who told me proudly that despite his state of undress he had managed to remember all his lines, delivered as he wandered down the centre aisle in front of the assembled school, admitted that he was somewhat nonplussed at the lack of kerfuffle caused by his entrance.  This was was explained afterwards by the fact that all least three pupils came up to him afterwards saying that their first reaction had been to think that he was even later than usual that day and had probably been in such a rush he had forgotten to put his trousers on.  No big deal.  Hmmm.

 

Worryingly, that chat with Bob, over the dinner table on Sunday, one of the increasingly rare occasions when all six of us were assembled – I overheard Lottie, our 14 year old, talking to her grandmother on the phone “Yes, Grannie, it was just like Christmas.  I had quite forgotten how many siblings I have” – led to talk of a long standing dare at Rugby, yet to be delivered upon.  Only Harry Potter fans will appreciate this, but the challenge is for someone to come rushing late into Chapel shouting “There are trolls in the dungeon”.  I wouldn’t put it past him.

 

Anyway back to the forgotten trousers.  The thing is there is form.  Hen, I have told you, returning to school once, forgot to pack a single item of her school uniform, so it runs in the family.  And the other day the mother of a friend of Bob’s who is at Uppingham told Sophie that she had been at athletics match at her son’s school against Rugby.  She had wondered if she might see Bob, but then overheard two Uppingham boys asking if anyone had a spare pair of size 10 running spikes that they could lend someone from the visiting school who had forgotten his.  You go to an athletics match and forget your spikes???  She said she couldn’t help asking them.  “Is he wandering around barefooted?”  They replied in the affirmative.  “Is his name Bob Sandison?” she said?  And of course you know the answer.  The Rugby School hurdles champion indeed.  You kind of know where his friends are coming from.

 

Now, I’d better dash for my plane so have a good weekend and by the way – hip hip hooray - it seems I have already lined up a few of you to come to Shanghai in September.  This is a result….come on…you know it makes sense:

 

 

“It went well.  Mr Dhanda said he’s never had a secretary so good at pouring.” 

 

Attaboy.  He’ll make a stock-broker yet.

Friday 19th June, 2015

Being the discerning sort you are, you will be aware that sometimes, all too often some of you may say, when I sit down and scribble this ludicrous email, I really have nothing to tell you.  Other weeks the problem is I don’t know where to start.  Well, it’s one of those weeks.  My, have I had a busy one and I’m quite exhausted.  Kylie Minogue at Newmarket tonight so woop woop to that.

 

First off, I’m not one for castle-creeping however I’ve been mixing with the rich and famous true enough and have got a new best friend.  Photo attached. Had lunch with him at Hawksmoor last Friday.  He wasn’t wearing a dress which was quite a relief.  For various reasons probably enough said on this subject in this forum.  

 

Then on Wednesday evening I went to a charity auction.  Remember I told you just the other day about my twitchy finger?  Well it happened again.  Why on earth did I think that buying 4 tickets to watch New Zealand play Namibia in a World Cup group match at the Olympic Stadium 8pm on a Thursday evening was a good idea?  In the end I avoided being landed with them by the skin of my teeth, but I didn’t know that when I skulked home at mid-night, feeling broke and somewhat the worse for wear from the dubious wine we had been served, muttering innocuously to Sophie that I had had a lovely evening.

 

And talking of wine, Bob, hot on the heels of his success in the hurdles, has clearly decided with a year to go, it is high time he fleshed out his somewhat patchy list of school achievements.  Catching pigeons and Canada geese bare-handed or rustling up grilled squirrel in his house kitchen don’t really wash on the CV.  So he applied for a position as secretary of the Rugby Wine Society.  The application process required a letter setting out his credentials. 

 

From: Bob Sandison  
Date: 3 June 2015 20:48:23 BST
To:  >
Subject: RE: Wine Society

Dear Mr Dhanda,

Many people have wondered why, despite being named Oliver I am referred to as Bob. The answer to this is that, for my christening I was given by some generous godparents a case of Bollinger 97 Champagne. And so my name, Olly was altered to Bolly. Bobby and Bob shortly followed but it is the Bolly that I would like to focus on!

My father is a wine enthusiast and from an early age, far before I was old enough to appreciate the subtleties of a fine wine, he encouraged me to taste and comment on the wine that he was drinking. My comments and appreciation for wine has come a long way since  ten year old me would say, tongue in cheek, “yummy” and then drink a glass of water.

I believe that I would be an appropriate candidate for a Secretary of the Wine Society because I have a real enthusiasm for wine. I would love the opportunity to be able to encourage others to enjoy and relish the delicious  andvarying qualities of wines. Furthermore, I am a sociable person and I understand the social aspect of drinking and tasting wines.  Wine Society provides a place for people with a common interest to meet and talk and enjoy new wines. It would be an utter privilege to help organise and invite people to such events. Finally I believe I would be a good secretary because, as I am interested in wine I would be very pleased to try and find guest speakers to help improve my and other members of the Society’s knowledge of wine.

I hope that you will consider me as a future Secretary and Ithank you very much for the opportunity. 

Kind Regards,

Bob/Bolly Sandison 

 

Well obviously with that background who could deny him the job.  Last night was the first meeting of the society with Bob in his new role…..a text I received this morning read:

Friday 12th June, 2015

All but four of you missed a cracker of an event in Singapore last week.  Honestly….you must come next year.  Pencil it in the diary for the 1st week of June and I will keep you in touch once dates are confirmed.  My restaurant choice was not that bad and in general I behaved much better than last year when there was an incident involving a bamboo tree in a pot on the walkway back to my hotel ( think Mt Kinabalu ) although I let myself down just once on which more later.  

 

There were 163 companies from Asia and Japan available to meet with and outside of that an eclectic series of fascinating presentations ( see attached agenda ) none of which I even came close to falling asleep in.  Furthermore the Ritz-Carlton is a great venue with none of the lift problems that you endure each year at the Grand Hyatt in HK.  Dig dig. 

 

I did have a lift trauma once though that was in my hotel, the Pan Pacific.  Bear in mind we were on high alert given newspaper headlines flashing MERS at us each morning.  Thus it was all the more disconcerting, after I had waited five minutes heading down to the hotel lobby one morning, when a lift finally arrived and the doors opened, only to find the sole occupant, a young Australian girl, clutching a tissue to her mouth, who looked at me and barked “Don’t come in.  I’m trying not to vomit”.  I thought to myself “Well that’s not very polite”, but left her to it and crossed my fingers that another lift would be along quicker than the last one.

 

I broke a long held rule of mine though.  When I first had children and went off on business trips I returned laden with gifts, but I stopped that quite quickly.  It was a pain, not to mention expensive, picking stuff up and lugging it back and anyway the children really were just delighted to have me home in one piece regardless of whether or not I had something for them.  However on this trip I found a little trinket lying around which someone appeared to have lost so I thought to myself finders keepers and popped it in my pocket.  I was later appalled when I discovered it was actually a napkin holder from one of Singapore’s top restaurants.  Oh well mum’s the word.  I can’t take it back.  My 14 year old daughter was delighted when I gave her the charming bracelet ( see attached photo ) and come to think of it I havn’t had such a warm welcome home for a long time.

 

27th wedding anniversary yesterday.  There’s commitment for you even if the only acknowledgement I got from Sophie was a cursory call on Wednesday that if I was anywhere near a card shop could I pick one up for her to give to me.

Friday 29th May, 2015

I’m soooo brown!  I’d like to come round and see you right now to show my tan off, but I’m away to Singapore at the weekend for a gruelling few days at our Asian conference so no doubt will be back to my usual pasty self by the time you next see me.  You will recall perhaps that I was in Greece on a holiday with Sophie last week.  I think I probably gave you the impression I wasn’t totally convinced about the idea, but you’ll be thrilled to hear all worked out well.  At the last minute I had persuaded Mrs S to agree to a change of destinations and so it was we ended up, very much having dropped a pin onto a map, heading to the tiny island of Meganissi, a bit further south in the Ionian Sea from Corfu.  I don’t know if you’ve ever been to Corfu.  Chelsea on Sea isn’t it?  You can’t turn a corner without bumping into someone you know.  Meganissi?  Not so much.  

 

The place was deserted.  Really the only time we talked to anyone other than each other ( of course ), a waiter in Enricco’s, the only passably good restaurant which we went to for dinner almost every day, and a barman at the reggae blasting bar on Fanari Beach, was when we bumped into a slightly scruffy trio of English people, clearly off one of the yachts anchored in the bay.  They were sitting, alongside an equally bedraggled white haired mongrel, in the said Fanaridive when we went there on our first evening.  They were hunched over the Saturday Times Jumbo Cryptic crossword puzzle, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes.  It was, as I said, only the first night of our romantic getaway and so I had no particular need to engage with them, but I’m afraid, as I waited at the bar for a couple of caipirinha cocktails to be mixed, I just couldn’t help myself when one of them read out a crossword clue they were battling with.

 

Exuberance tour boss sees in travels (14)

 

I promise you I gave them a moment to contemplate it, and another second more for good measure, but the answer, an anagram if you need me to help you too, had come in a flash and I was rather proud of myself, so I turned and told them.  What a git I can be.  

 

It backfired rather.  Far from giving me the cold shoulder I deserved, I was suddenly their new best friend and within minutes, beers and cocktails now flowing liberally, Sophie and I were invited to go sailing with them the next day.  I fancy myself as a bit of a sailor as you know and was game on, but the kicks from Sophie under the table informed me this was not a happening thing which was a pity really, but there you go.  

 

Ah well, meantime back home we had left Lottie in the tender care of Hen so that was a responsible bit of parenting.  All went remarkably smoothly in fact although Lottie, who was still having to get up at the crack of dawn to catch the train to school, complained a bit that supper was invariably not on the table till sometime approaching 10pm.  

 

Oh, and I know I am bragging a bit, but there was stunning news while we were away from Bob who won the 110 m hurdles at Rugby sports day.  Yes!  Years of careering through fields and woods, jumping over fallen trees and branches in pursuit of one wild animal or another, finally paying off.  Talking of which Sophie found a message on our answer phone yesterday afternoon from someone in the village asking whether we could come round and collect Weasel (Bob’s dog) who had brought down a muntjac in their garden. Weasel was lying in front of the Aga when she picked the message up so there seemed no reason to panic unduly and Bob hadn’t mentioned anything untoward had happened on his earlier walk.  When pressed later for an explanation he explained that, fleet footed he might be, but Weasel had managed to leave him behind as she charged up a couple of fields and a wood in hot pursuit of the deer.  Luckily the people in whose garden the chase ended were incredibly pleasant and seemed convinced as he feigned horror and shock at his dog’s indiscretion and intrusion.  You couldn’t make it up could you.  

 

Anyway, look at the trophy he picked up for his momentous victory!!  Massive eh!  If you zoom in with your eagles eye you can see the winners engravings date from 1917.  Just a few years before Georgette Lenoir did her stuff on the track.  

Friday 15th May, 2015

I’m out on a course today.  As you have no doubt come to realise I’m not one to shirk my responsibilities.  A brief selection of Nomura’s research output this week duly follows.  However, you may have to do without this email next week as I will be off on holiday.  I mentioned it in last week’s missive.  I wasn’t looking forward to it very much. My wife Sophie took it upon herself to organise a week away for the two of us and selected a self catering apartment on the Greek island of Lefkas as our destination.  Of course it is noble of her to insist that we do our bit to help the Greeks restore their economy.  But it is also fair to say that, although I am the Scot,  she is the parsimonious one between the two of us and at the very mention of self-catering and Greece my guard was up.  As I told you I found time in my busy work schedule to investigate restaurant options on Lefkas.  The best the island had to offer seemed to be a place called Penguin run by Gary and Mary.  Anyway on closer inspection I really got cold feet.  I’m no snob, but when Lefkas’s own website says it is a budget holiday makers paradise it is sending a pretty clear message.   In an uncharacteristic show of assertiveness I decided to wade in and now we’re going on to Meganissiinstead, which may not be much better, but at least you have to take a 30 minute car ferry to get to it.  

 

Talking of giving the Greek economy a helping hand, I have been going on about doing your bit for charity recently havn’tI.  I don’t want to come over as Tony Hancock in The Blood Donor, but I got slightly carried away  the other evening at a dinner and an Auction of Promises to raise money for a local worthy equestrian cause.  I say I got carried away.  What this really means is that Sophie wasn’t at the event and I was the better part of a bottle of wine the worse for wear.  With Lottie, our last child remaining in the saddle, in mind, I bid “successfully” for one of the lots, the opportunity for a group of 6 to “walk”  around the cross country course on the Thursday or Friday of the Burghley Horse Trials under the tutelage of a notable past member of the British Eventing team from whom we received the following email confirming she was up for it, as they say:

 

 

Dear Sophie,

I have never made so much money for any cause before! (DS adds…GROAN…..I got a good kicking for that choice sentence)

I have no plans at all yet..... and last year got in a real muddle as Doncaster Sales put my horse on the wrong day and then my godfather's funeral was on the Thursday.  Hopefully it will be straightforward this year.

I am pretty sure I will have a new hip by then, fairly crippled at the moment and saw the consultant yesterday. I hoped he would operate next week, but he is making me wait a month... told him I needed to be back on a horse by the beginning of August  for hunting.  He grasped the situation quite well and realised that he wouldnt be able to operate between Sept and Mar! Had said it wouldnt last another year.  Think I should have whinged sooner, cos I know all the symptoms from last year.  Anyway that's my problem.

Please bring a gang if you would like to.

Regards,

Jane

 

I think we can safely say I’m a mug.

 

Friday 8th May, 2015

If yesterday was tortuous for whatever reason spare a thought for me.  My day too was sufficiently stressful, but I then had to endure a chronic play in the Cambridge Arts Theatre, surrounded by an audience composed almost exclusively of OE’s.  The play was about a middle class father who maintained relations with his dysfunctional, public school educated, child by writing letters to him which were read out to the audience. Who would air their dirty washing in public I thought to myself?  “Dear Lupin”…I wouldn’t rush to see it if I was you.  Anyway I got home, settled down in front of the TV and, fuelled by cups of Earl Grey tea and a large bunch of grapes, sat engrossed at what was transpiring in the General Election.  Before I knew it it was 3.00am at which point I adjourned to bed for a couple of hours before the 5.00am alarm bell and the train into town.  I know I normally hide my colours quite well, but what a terrific result.  

 

Talking of politics if I’ve heard the refrain, “ nasty Tories, planning to privatise the NHS “  once, I’ve heard it a hundred times.  But it seems to me the NHS is alive and kicking.  Both Sophie and I received letters last week saying we could go to the local health centre and have a free blood test.  Well, who wouldn’t want to take advantage of that special offer. Sophie got her results first and she was delighted to tell me she had a 2% chance of dying from a heart attack in the next twenty years.  I’m a stalwart sort I suppose so it took me longer and quite a lot of nagging from Sophie to get round to ringing for my results.  But when I told her ( in jest before you get too excited ) that I had been informed I had a 25% chance of a heart attack within the next two years her response was less than sympathetic.  “Go and hike your life assurance”

 

You may have noticed from the all the above I have adopted a rather cavalier approach to life recently.  Jokes about mortality and almost managing to pull an all-nighter.  Wow.  And I havn’t even mentioned my successful completion of that cross country marathon last weekend.  Oh maybe I should.  I don’t need many of you, who perhaps had simply missed my earlier emails or it maybe it had just slipped your mind, to donate in order to get me over the £10,000 mark for the Gurkha Welfare Trust.   If you recall I decided on the spur of the moment that if I was pledged £5,000 I would head on down to Wiltshire and run in a marathon which I had grave doubts about truth told!  Surprise surprise £5,000 duly landed with disconcerting haste.  It was almost as if the opportunity to inflict pain was cheap at the price.  I knew it would be a nasty one and it was.  Much of it was cross country albeit it included 7 miles or so on a dirt track across Salisbury Plain.  The first 15 miles were also uphill and into a nasty and persistent headwind.  The ground was muddy, rugged and treacherous!  We were told we would have a lovely view of Stonehenge at the end, but that was a myth.  Didn't see it.  There were a few water points, but no other provisions.  Basically this was a run from Avebury to hell!  Nonetheless, having been left at the start by our 20 year old nephew Charlie who ran it in 3hrs 39 minutes finishing in 11th place and raising himself c. £1,500 for the GWT, my brother Will and I slogged away and got it done.  For the record I finished in 4 hours 17 minutes.  And then I crawled back into my poxy BMW 1 series ( did I tell you the Porsche has gone??) and drove two and a half hours back to Newmarket where a couple of bottles of Chasse Spleen 2009 eased the leg muscles nicely.

 

www.justgiving.com/david-sandison1

 

 

Well, truth be told, the reason for this uncharacteristic joie de vivre I’m displaying is that Soph and I are heading off the week after next for some R&R and a cheap and cheerful holiday a deux on some dodgy Greek Island.  When I say cheap and cheerful I mean it.  When I googled restaurants on Lefkos it appears it’s a choice between one called Penguin run by a couple called Gary and Mary or another, Tom’s, ( where have all the blinking Greeks gone?? ) which has this compelling review…... “We go to see Tom and order chicken and potatoes done in the oven every visit and sit next to the sea to enjoy this wonderful meal. The guys here are so friendly and Tom is a great bloke”

 

Sophie and David Sandison….lifestyles of the rich and famous.

 

Oh well, have a good weekend and spare a thought for Hen who insists she is still heading to Downing Street on Saturday to join a protest against Cameron’s “illegal” occupation of Number 10 following his “coup d’etat”.  What a numpty she can be.

Friday 1st May, 2015

Some of you will be getting this ridiculously named email for the first time as I have added a new mailing group, but don’t worry I will not repeat the intrusion unless you ask for it.   Rest assured I don’t normally swear in my Friday missive, but dammit….I forgot to wash my face in the May Day dew this morning.  So annoying!   I need all the help I can get these days even though a rather snappy haircut last Saturday has taken literally years off me, people kindly say.   Come to think of it I really havn’t changed much at all since the attached photo was taken 22 years ago.  

 

I don’t want you to think I’m badgering you, but yes, I’m re-sending the email I posted earlier in the week just in case you hadn’t seen it. Please know I have been bowled over with and am so grateful for the support the Gurkha Welfare Trust has been given by so many of you.   I appreciate that for some – well one “generous” soul in particular who rang me crowingly - it was the chance to ruin my Bank Holiday weekend, but we have burst through the £5,000 mark I said was needed to get me out of bed on Sunday morning at the crack of sparrows.  So now the only motive to donate is the noble one!  Currently we are at £6,359 plus my 21 year old nephew Charlie has also decided to run and he’s raised a stunning £805 ( actually he needs another £195 to get him over the line if you want to help….  www.justgiving.com/Charles-sandison ).

 

You know I was slightly wondering if the GWT maybe was a bit too esoteric or militaristic, but actually I am convinced this is the best way to get money to work in the most direct and efficient manner to provide immediate support, but almost as crucially to help these devastated communities regroup and move on.  Here’s a transcript from a conversation I was having from a friend, an ex-Gurkha officer, who is deeply involved in Nepal.  I say conversation.  I could hardly get a word in….I’m the one in blue!

 

 

 

It is what I’ve always thought.  And the good news is I heard directly from Major Lalit who I mentioned in my original email……he and his team are safe.

 

David,

 

Many thanks for this email and I wish you all the Best for your participation in the marathon.  I also hope that the money will be there by Sunday!  We are very busy at this moment obtaining information of our ex-servicemen and their dependants through our welfare offices.  Teams with relief material have also been deployed to the most devastated area.  We have been fortunate that none of our staff and their dependants lost lives but we are receiving informations of one confirmed death and two unconfirmed deaths of our ex-servicemen.  It is hoped that not many will come forth in the coming days.

 

Warm regards.

 

 

         Lalit

LALITBAHADUR GURUNG
Maj(Retd)
Dep Fd Dir
Ext 241

 

So, as I always insist from “Under the Bodhi Tree”, it’s all very real.  Anyway…..here goes again!

 

Give me a few moments of your time please….I want to talk to you about Nepal.

 

The epicentre of the recent earthquake is precisely where I went trekking 22 years ago.   My wife and I spent 10 days wandering about from village to village, most of them nestling precariously on the steep slopes of the foothills of the Himalayas.  Although we had porters we lived it relatively rough sleeping in the flimsiest of tents, laid out on the thinnest of mattresses, and surviving on a diet of lentils with chicken to eat only every third day.  My luxury was a box of Cohibacigars ( oh and a bottle of Baileys ) which I had managed to pick up in haste and at extortionate expense running to the Last Call for our plane departing Kai Tak Airport.   The cigars worked out at something like US$20 per piece which I had to lie about when one of our porters asked me what they cost.  I told him US$1.  That seemed more appropriate to someone who earned little more than that a day.  Sick eh. But despite the poverty the generosity and hospitality of the villagers never ceased to amaze.  

 

I went home last night and was looking through our photo album.  I’ll give you a laugh and attach a couple of snaps.  The one of me sneaking past the old boy asleep on the mountain path is quite amusing don’t you think.  Look at my face…..and my hair!

 

And then, you may remember I had to call on the Gurkhasservice last year when I had that crisis with my daughter Jimmy who had left her cash card on the back of a Kolkata taxi.  The most reliable way to get a replacement to her was through the offices of the Gurkha Welfare Trust in Pokhara.   Here….this is what I wrote -  

 

If you had to deliver a replacement Caxton currency card to your teenage daughter trekking in the foothills of the Himalayas where do you think the stumbling block might be?  Put it this way I presume you would agree with me that sending it via DHL would be the best way to proceed, but getting the card from Katmandhu to Major LalitbahardurGurung, Executive Director of the Gurkha Welfare Scheme at his office situated just off Gyan Marga road in Pokhara could be where things might go awry.  Well that’s what I at least was worried about when I wandered into WH Smith’s shop ( DHL’s service agent ) on the High Street in Newmarket last Saturday morning.  I have the shipping document stamped at 11.09am to prove it. 

 

It’s too boring a story to go into much detail.  Suffice to say it’s all WH Smith’s fault.  They sat on the package – probably dumped a pile of newspapers or a carton of Cadbury’s Cream eggs on it – but in any case they had also failed to get me to fill out the requisite custom declaration which compounded the problem.  So it was not until Wednesday afternoon, when it should have been winging into Tribhuvan International Airport, that the said card actually managed to get out of Newmarket down the road to DHL’s Cambridge depot.  If for some strange reason you are reading this email looking for a bit of investment insight you might ask yourself, why does WH Smith even exist?  If I was a shareholder I would be running for the hills. To be honest, DHL are hardly blameless in this little escapade, but at least they have refunded me the £36 courier costs and so taken were they by my tales of the penniless Jimmy’s woes in Nepal that they are sending her directly a goodwill gesture of £70!  How about that?!  She was the clot who left her card on the back seat of a Kolkata taxi because she is too vain to wear a money belt. 

 

Nevertheless she has a discerning and analytical mind and an eye for detail too this girl.  I asked her about her visit to the Gurkha Welfare Trust at the Army camp in Pokhara where, with none of the Newmarket shenanigans, she took delivery of her new card. 

 

“ Really cool….pictures of princess di and prince Charles and loads of medals and stuff on the wall that I caught glimpses of..”

 

The Gurkha’s 200 year long history of outstanding contribution to the British Army summed up in barely a sentence.  

 

So I have an abiding debt to Gurkhas but who can’t be struck by the tragedy that has unfolded there this last week?  

 

If you have been reading my drivel recently you may have spotted that I have been dilly-dallying about whether or not to run a marathon this coming Sunday.  Despite its name, The Neolithic, it’s not any old Marathon.  This is a pretty fiendish 26.2 miles cross country up and over the rolling Wiltshire Downs.  The weather forecast is dire.  Cold, wet and windy.  And I am not feeling in tip top shape.  It’s also a long drive from Newmarket to Wiltshire.  Truth be told I had pretty much resolved to myself that I would not bother.  

 

But that photo of me edging my way uncomfortably past the recumbent Nepalese gentleman sent me a message.  The old boy might have been a bit p*ssed off with me if I woken him up for a wee chat or just to say hi, but maybe that’s what I should have done.  

 

Engage.  

 

So I’ve set up a Justgiving page and if you wake me up this coming Sunday morning and I find that £5,000 has been pledged to the Gurkha Welfare Trust I will hop in my car, drive down to Avebury and run this damn thing.

 

www.justgiving.com/david-sandison1

 

Thank you for reading this!

 

 

And as I’m also feeling generous today I’ll spare you the usual deluge of research….have a lovely Bank Holiday Weekend you lucky things.