Thursday, 26 May 2011
31st July, 2009
The one reason I might be prepared to relive my life would be to have the chance go to Pony Club camp. I am ashamed to admit that I was just a touch bitter and resentful as I packed various of my children off there this last weekend. My mood has not been helped by subsequent shenanigans on the Monday evening that went on under the cover of my beautiful Bedouin tent which I had laboriously erected after much pleading by my daughter Jimmy. She shared this tent with three girl friends of hers armed, it transpires, with several Evian bottles filled with vodka, ouzo and Bacardi rather than Still Spring Water. Hen is beginning to be put in the shade. I don't whether I am becoming inured to this sort of thing, but to be honest I was mainly just relieved that my tent has survived unscathed which was a huge result I can tell you considering the widespread carnage caused by the alcoholic binge.
3rd July, 2009
Timing is everything in life so I am feeling pretty good about myself this week having spent two days of it working from home in enforced quarantine following Hen's swine flu alert ( the more I think about the circumstances behind this episode the more suspicious I am that we have been played by her). Anyway, working from home has its advantages and given that the government have now given up any pretence of trying to contain the pandemic I somehow doubt I will be sectioned next time round.
Transpires that our youngest daughter Lottie is a bit of a chip off her brother's block. No respecter of history. You may recall the story I told you late last year when Bob had almost managed to burn down Higham Church, which has stood since the Domesday Book, during a Christmas Eve Candle service... The other day Lottie and her mother were walking past the south side of the Kings College Chapel in Cambridge which is clad with scaffolding at the moment. Sophie pondered out loud what they might be doing to the building. Kings College Chapel as you can see from the pictures below is magnificent. It was completed in 1547, having taken over 100 years and the patronage of five kings to construct. Henry VI, aged only 19, laid the first stone on Passion Sunday, 1441 and Henry VIII just managed to complete the job - the window glazing, the screen and much of the woodwork - by the time he died. It is a history that is all but lost on Lottie whose response to her mothers musing was.... "I think they are probably building a new one, Mummy. It is very old you know."
Talking of history, for reasons too tedious to elaborate on I have become fixated by the 800 metres race. I have measured out an 800 metres track on the roads outside our house. I ran it the other day and almost died, but felt I had done rather well actually. Being a modest sort I initially had no presumption at all on world record times, nevertheless I looked them up to see what standard I ought to be aspiring to. And so I have set myself a challenge. Georgette Lenoir, a French lady, held the world record.......in August 1922 when she set a time of 2 mins 30 seconds at the Paris Olympic Games. At the moment I am at least 10 seconds off her pace, but I am as determined as I am modest and will keep you in touch as you will no doubt be riveted by this.
Transpires that our youngest daughter Lottie is a bit of a chip off her brother's block. No respecter of history. You may recall the story I told you late last year when Bob had almost managed to burn down Higham Church, which has stood since the Domesday Book, during a Christmas Eve Candle service... The other day Lottie and her mother were walking past the south side of the Kings College Chapel in Cambridge which is clad with scaffolding at the moment. Sophie pondered out loud what they might be doing to the building. Kings College Chapel as you can see from the pictures below is magnificent. It was completed in 1547, having taken over 100 years and the patronage of five kings to construct. Henry VI, aged only 19, laid the first stone on Passion Sunday, 1441 and Henry VIII just managed to complete the job - the window glazing, the screen and much of the woodwork - by the time he died. It is a history that is all but lost on Lottie whose response to her mothers musing was.... "I think they are probably building a new one, Mummy. It is very old you know."
Talking of history, for reasons too tedious to elaborate on I have become fixated by the 800 metres race. I have measured out an 800 metres track on the roads outside our house. I ran it the other day and almost died, but felt I had done rather well actually. Being a modest sort I initially had no presumption at all on world record times, nevertheless I looked them up to see what standard I ought to be aspiring to. And so I have set myself a challenge. Georgette Lenoir, a French lady, held the world record.......in August 1922 when she set a time of 2 mins 30 seconds at the Paris Olympic Games. At the moment I am at least 10 seconds off her pace, but I am as determined as I am modest and will keep you in touch as you will no doubt be riveted by this.
26th June, 2009
Believe it or not, there's a swine flu alert at the Sandison household and I have been ordered to stay well away from the office. Not one to shirk the idea of a few days working from home I have got mixed emotions about this one though. It's a strange thing being considered as an outcast. We had a delivery arrive yesterday, a lorry driver from Crewe who had rung my office number to get final directions to the house and been told I was in quarantine. Thanks May! Very perturbed look on his face as he handed over boxes of plates, cutlery and 3,000 paper napkins for an Argentinian assado party we are holding in a couple of weeks time. The irony of the situation we find ourselves in is that our daughter Jimmy was very quick, when swine flu was first being discussed, to recognise the possibilities that the outbreak presented for skiving off school and has spent the last couple of months tracking down people who have recently returned from Mexico and canvassing to go on holiday there, but to no avail. Surprise surprise it is Hen who has managed to find yet another way to be sent home from school. Her housemistress must have thought Sophie a very cold and heartless parent indeed, when she rang us to deliver the news that Hen was in the sanatorium with suspected swine flu and had to be collected by us and brought home that very evening, given the palpable sense of relief she would have picked up. Phone calls from Mrs Naylor are normally to relay much more serious developments!
Truth be told I am at a low ebb as I write this. I discovered Turnip, the original miracle chick, dead in the run this morning. And yesterday two other chicks died. Forget swine flu. Bird flu is back with a vengeance. So depressing. Plus, there are wheat lice crawling all over my lap top and a fox-hound that a shepherd uses to round up his sheep barking manically and repeatedly in a nearby field. Hate them all. I'm out of here.
Truth be told I am at a low ebb as I write this. I discovered Turnip, the original miracle chick, dead in the run this morning. And yesterday two other chicks died. Forget swine flu. Bird flu is back with a vengeance. So depressing. Plus, there are wheat lice crawling all over my lap top and a fox-hound that a shepherd uses to round up his sheep barking manically and repeatedly in a nearby field. Hate them all. I'm out of here.
19th June, 2009
As Hen's phone bills continue to flood in shockingly there was a stark example of the difference between boys and girls this week. We have furnished 11 year old Bob with a pay as you go phone enabling him to get in touch when he gets back from an away match and needs collected from school. These children can't win really. We berate Hen for spending hours on the phone and sending copious text messages, but Bob, although a chatty sort fact to face, is chastised for his brevity. His last text home read "Cancelled". From which Sophie was supposedly meant to infer that cricket had been rained off and so get her backside down to school immediately! This she did but with a warning for him that if this was as communicative as he was going to get when away from home then she would be thinking twice before sending him off to boarding school. Hen may have her exasperating moments but a text from her in similar circumstances would have been a lot more entertaining and read, I imagine: "Hi mom....gr8 news....match cancelled (not that she was ever in a team) so Ive gone into town on a shopping trip ( and for a quiet cigarette I have no doubt ). Can you pick me up in a couple of hours time. Love u loads xxxxxxxxxx" Warning to Bob was water off a ducks back though. He went away this week on a PGL outing departing with insisting to Sophie that she shouldn't even begin to think that he might consider calling in from the wilds of Shropshire.
He is coming back to a rather different household from the one he left first thing Monday morning though and has missed all sorts of excitement. The bad news for him is that the hare skin which he had carefully and bloodily skinned off one of Twiggy the lurcher's victims, pinned to a square of wood and covered copiously with salt and left in a wood shed stinking to high heaven and attracting a horde of flies, has been eaten (thankfully) by said lurcher. As much as I am relieved by its disappearance he is going to be livid. On the other hand, huge news is that one of his chickens has made a miraculous reappearance with five tiny chicks in tow! So sweet. Two yellow, two blackish ones and a tiger stripe. Names to follow in the next scintillating episode.
He is coming back to a rather different household from the one he left first thing Monday morning though and has missed all sorts of excitement. The bad news for him is that the hare skin which he had carefully and bloodily skinned off one of Twiggy the lurcher's victims, pinned to a square of wood and covered copiously with salt and left in a wood shed stinking to high heaven and attracting a horde of flies, has been eaten (thankfully) by said lurcher. As much as I am relieved by its disappearance he is going to be livid. On the other hand, huge news is that one of his chickens has made a miraculous reappearance with five tiny chicks in tow! So sweet. Two yellow, two blackish ones and a tiger stripe. Names to follow in the next scintillating episode.
22nd May, 2009
There's a lot of it about......births I'm talking about. I've had three conversations with nervously expectant Dad's this week, and I share their sense of anticipation. Good luck boys. If all goes well, by the end of the Bank Holiday weekend I will be the proud "father" of a clutch of Russian Orloffs. So exciting.
Albeit hens are not on the top of my joy list just now. I alluded to the bill I received from Vodafone earlier in the week and truth be told I still havnft quite recovered from that. Nevertheless, indirectly, I have got my own back on her and it would appear she senses my disapproval. What follows is slightly convoluted, but if you concentrate should be worth the read. I received this email from her:
if i wasnt in trouble id have your guts for garters! xxxxxxxxx
The story, if you are interested stems from an earlier discussion I had had with her about the quality of the wine served at various social functions at her school. She had told me it was really disgusting stuff. Frankly I expected better of Rugby. Even 16 year olds should appreciate life is too short to drink cr*p wine and Ifm proud of Hen in this regard it should be said. So yours truly took it upon himself to raise the matter with the relevant authorities at the school. Being the parent of Henrietta Sandison this is called sailing close to the wind though drinking illegally is one of the few misdemeanors Hen has yet to be caught doing. Anyway I asked what the wine was they were giving the teenagers and also offered my services to the school's Wine Society should they want someone to come up and give a talk to them on the subject. You can imagine that Hen might be mortified by this. So here is the response from the Head Porter. Interestingly, it appears he knows all about Hen.
----- Original Message -----
From: Ian Peet < >
To: David Sandison, CLSA
Cc: Sarah Rusk < >
Sent: Wed May 20 02:02:18 2009
Subject: wine quality in junior social center
Dear Mr Sandison
Thank you very much for your feedback on the wine we serve in bar,in no way do we think you are a busybody in fact we appreciate your time.
As Mrs Rusk has said the wine we serve in bar is generally Stowells of Chelsea wine boxes for the red and white and Ernst Julio Gallo Grenache for the rose.
This year has been a bit of an experiment with social events other than bar were drinks have been served in houses rather than the social centre every week,on these occasions we normally deliver from memory has been :- Hardys,Ernst Julio Gallo,Jacobs Creek and Kumala and although not perfect are slightly better than the wine boxes.
The problem we have is that to keep costs down we have to purchase our drinks Cider, Lager, Bitter as well as wine from one supplier, it is a shame Henrietta does not like bitter as we stock a great range of real ales :-Black sheep,Bishops finger(a favourite or Rev Horners) and Pedigree to name a few.
I will speak to Mr Beaumont to see if we can arrange a wine tasting session next term with wine available from our suppliers and that way the the XX and LXX can choose the wines they like.
Hope this helps
Many thanks Ian Peet
Head porter
See.....I knew it. Wine Boxes.....It's a disgrace. I am going to have to work on this. Mr. Peet's email having been forwarded to Hen, her reaction was priceless. Fortunately she is not doing English A level....oh dear, actually I've just remembered...she is........
oh my goodeness!!! he knows my name!? your a nightmare, i thought you were joking!!
FYI; the junior social centre is what jimmy goes to, so i expect the wine they are all used to drinking is bought from some dingy co-op on the out skirts of town and drunk whilst sitting in their warderobes.
the social 'event' in which drinking is allowed is for the LXX and XX and is called 'Bar'
BIG L DAVE xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
*** Talking of English A levels
My brother, based in the US, had been surfing The Scotsman on line in an attempt to keep in touch with major news developments. Sent me this:
Found a small article on Susan Boyle, with usual list of comments in the "Chat" bit below. This one jumped out at me:
"susns goat the vise of an anjel n the fase of a angle and is use dinny lyk it use can lump it shes gonny win n shes gony sell her ane lyne of breakfast products lyke susn boil toste n susn boile coafy n susn boil egs n susn boile myusli n aw that n shes gony be rich n yus r oll goni b jelus ha ha she cn sing betr thn pavroti betr n alane page betr n anione. so bes of luck susn n dinny lisn ta the detracters n the jelus"
I must say there's nothing that makes me prouder to be Scottish than when I see my compatriots defending one of our own......and with such command of the English language.
Albeit hens are not on the top of my joy list just now. I alluded to the bill I received from Vodafone earlier in the week and truth be told I still havnft quite recovered from that. Nevertheless, indirectly, I have got my own back on her and it would appear she senses my disapproval. What follows is slightly convoluted, but if you concentrate should be worth the read. I received this email from her:
if i wasnt in trouble id have your guts for garters! xxxxxxxxx
The story, if you are interested stems from an earlier discussion I had had with her about the quality of the wine served at various social functions at her school. She had told me it was really disgusting stuff. Frankly I expected better of Rugby. Even 16 year olds should appreciate life is too short to drink cr*p wine and Ifm proud of Hen in this regard it should be said. So yours truly took it upon himself to raise the matter with the relevant authorities at the school. Being the parent of Henrietta Sandison this is called sailing close to the wind though drinking illegally is one of the few misdemeanors Hen has yet to be caught doing. Anyway I asked what the wine was they were giving the teenagers and also offered my services to the school's Wine Society should they want someone to come up and give a talk to them on the subject. You can imagine that Hen might be mortified by this. So here is the response from the Head Porter. Interestingly, it appears he knows all about Hen.
----- Original Message -----
From: Ian Peet < >
To: David Sandison, CLSA
Cc: Sarah Rusk < >
Sent: Wed May 20 02:02:18 2009
Subject: wine quality in junior social center
Dear Mr Sandison
Thank you very much for your feedback on the wine we serve in bar,in no way do we think you are a busybody in fact we appreciate your time.
As Mrs Rusk has said the wine we serve in bar is generally Stowells of Chelsea wine boxes for the red and white and Ernst Julio Gallo Grenache for the rose.
This year has been a bit of an experiment with social events other than bar were drinks have been served in houses rather than the social centre every week,on these occasions we normally deliver from memory has been :- Hardys,Ernst Julio Gallo,Jacobs Creek and Kumala and although not perfect are slightly better than the wine boxes.
The problem we have is that to keep costs down we have to purchase our drinks Cider, Lager, Bitter as well as wine from one supplier, it is a shame Henrietta does not like bitter as we stock a great range of real ales :-Black sheep,Bishops finger(a favourite or Rev Horners) and Pedigree to name a few.
I will speak to Mr Beaumont to see if we can arrange a wine tasting session next term with wine available from our suppliers and that way the the XX and LXX can choose the wines they like.
Hope this helps
Many thanks Ian Peet
Head porter
See.....I knew it. Wine Boxes.....It's a disgrace. I am going to have to work on this. Mr. Peet's email having been forwarded to Hen, her reaction was priceless. Fortunately she is not doing English A level....oh dear, actually I've just remembered...she is........
oh my goodeness!!! he knows my name!? your a nightmare, i thought you were joking!!
FYI; the junior social centre is what jimmy goes to, so i expect the wine they are all used to drinking is bought from some dingy co-op on the out skirts of town and drunk whilst sitting in their warderobes.
the social 'event' in which drinking is allowed is for the LXX and XX and is called 'Bar'
BIG L DAVE xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
*** Talking of English A levels
My brother, based in the US, had been surfing The Scotsman on line in an attempt to keep in touch with major news developments. Sent me this:
Found a small article on Susan Boyle, with usual list of comments in the "Chat" bit below. This one jumped out at me:
"susns goat the vise of an anjel n the fase of a angle and is use dinny lyk it use can lump it shes gonny win n shes gony sell her ane lyne of breakfast products lyke susn boil toste n susn boile coafy n susn boil egs n susn boile myusli n aw that n shes gony be rich n yus r oll goni b jelus ha ha she cn sing betr thn pavroti betr n alane page betr n anione. so bes of luck susn n dinny lisn ta the detracters n the jelus"
I must say there's nothing that makes me prouder to be Scottish than when I see my compatriots defending one of our own......and with such command of the English language.
1st May, 2009
The world does seem a very different place. Three weeks ago Chateau Latour released its 2008 vintage en primeur at E110 per bottle or £1,595 per case into a very gloomy market place. The offer price represented a 50% cut on the 2007 release in Euros or 36% in £ terms. OK so I "managed" to secure one case. That was the first sign that I was not the only person to have it in mind that such a savage price fall represented, if not great value, then a punt worth taking, particularly given that signs are that it is a much better year than 2007 in terms of quality. Furthermore, wouldn't you agree that the Chinese are likely to get quite excited by the lucky proposition of the 2008 vintage? On such spurious pretexts are the best investment decisions often made. In the intervening period I understand that the broking price of Latour has gone up to £2,500 and Lafite, with which the Chinese have a particular affinity, is on offer en primeur to a limited number of J&B's customers at £2,500 and is already changing hands on the broking market at £3,500. Stunning really.
How long this will last...who knows. It may just be a reaction to the solid advice I heard earlier in the week issued at the time of Spanish Influenza epidemic of 1919 to drink a bottle of wine a day as a means of warding off the bug. But undeniably horns have come out from under shells and they are not just Chinese ones.
So its off into a Bank Holiday and after all the excitement of the week I have been perturbed by what a seemingly dull time I have ahead of me if I listen to myself explaining what I'm getting up to when various people have asked. For example, Saturday morning I face the choice between a drive up to Rugby to discuss GCSE options or an Inter-school show-jumping competition in Manningtree for goodness sake. Its not that Newmarket doesn't have excitements on offer. I was talking to a friend of Jemima's the other day, a precocious little guy aged 13, who was round for dinner before heading off with a troupe of young to the Dodgem Ball, a local teenage party. I asked him how the Dodgem ranked in the overall scheme of things and to his response that it should be a pretty good one I expressed , flippantly, my surprise, saying that I thought of him more as a De Niro's sort of a guy. De Niro's is a nightclub in Newmarket and, apparently, people come from miles around to party there. Sometimes even from London. It is not a place for 13 year olds and, unsurprisingly, being the boring f*rt I am, I have never been there. The boy grinned at me and, quick as a flash, retorted.... "No, I'm more a Heaven sort of guy". I had to Google that one. Heavenawaits.com is their website. The cheek of it.
How long this will last...who knows. It may just be a reaction to the solid advice I heard earlier in the week issued at the time of Spanish Influenza epidemic of 1919 to drink a bottle of wine a day as a means of warding off the bug. But undeniably horns have come out from under shells and they are not just Chinese ones.
So its off into a Bank Holiday and after all the excitement of the week I have been perturbed by what a seemingly dull time I have ahead of me if I listen to myself explaining what I'm getting up to when various people have asked. For example, Saturday morning I face the choice between a drive up to Rugby to discuss GCSE options or an Inter-school show-jumping competition in Manningtree for goodness sake. Its not that Newmarket doesn't have excitements on offer. I was talking to a friend of Jemima's the other day, a precocious little guy aged 13, who was round for dinner before heading off with a troupe of young to the Dodgem Ball, a local teenage party. I asked him how the Dodgem ranked in the overall scheme of things and to his response that it should be a pretty good one I expressed , flippantly, my surprise, saying that I thought of him more as a De Niro's sort of a guy. De Niro's is a nightclub in Newmarket and, apparently, people come from miles around to party there. Sometimes even from London. It is not a place for 13 year olds and, unsurprisingly, being the boring f*rt I am, I have never been there. The boy grinned at me and, quick as a flash, retorted.... "No, I'm more a Heaven sort of guy". I had to Google that one. Heavenawaits.com is their website. The cheek of it.
17th April, 2009
I know that most of you presumed you would not be hearing from me again as I headed off to the Caribbean for my sailing holiday a couple of weeks ago with little more than a cursory glance at a sailing manual before taking my first command of a yacht, a 43 foot catamaran. If you send this on to my yacht charter company I will deny every word, but it just might be that we did have one small incident involving a dead coral reef. Important to stress that it was dead coral because it seemed to me that the only concerns my crew had, as we grounded and bounced up and down on the reef, were environmental. I was very unlucky actually. Noone could have expected such a sudden shallowing at least twenty yards from a lovely white beach I was trying to nestle up to for the afternoon. I asked Sophie to jump into the sea for a moment or two whilst I sorted matters out, plunged the two throttles hard into reverse and with the help of a large wave which just happened to coincide with Sophiefs departure, off we bobbed with not a scratch. Interesting sequel actually. I was ribbed mercilessly by my brother and another friend who was sailing alongside, so my defence I ventured the opinion that you couldn't count yourself a real seaman until you had been on a reef. Indeed I bet my brother that he would have to down two large Painkillers if a guy we were meeting up with for a drink at lunch the following day, who has sailed around the world and crossed the Atlantic on numerous occasions, admitted to having run aground at least once in his long sailing career. My brother, who really doesnft handle his drink particularly well as Martin Currie folk reading this will attest to, took the bet. And so the next day over a couple of beers with my new yachtie friend, after having confessed my own crass error, I got straight to the point. Joy of joys. This delightful man, who I was meeting for the first time, as I have said, a massively experienced navigator and yachtsmen, although slightly bemused by my presumptuousness, admitted to having grounded his boat not once but twice - albeit under slightly more strenuous and testing circumstances than mine (details of which I will share on request with those aficionados amongst you). So it was that our three boats set sail later that afternoon on the short trip from Sopers Hole to Joost Van Dyke, with me, confidence renewed, leading the way and my brother, heavily under the influence of Pusser's Dark Rum, jibbering rubbish over Channel 20A on our VHF radio's.
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