Torbay weblog davecathy

I don't know if I am unusual, but my bedtime memories stretch back to snuggling down in my cot with a warm bottle of milk, and of waking up one morning in my cot, and banging the empty bottle so hard on the rail of the cot that it smashed, and my mother rushing in and picking me up before I cut myself on all the broken glass.
Later, I remember being put to bed by the next door neighbour, while my parents were at work, with instructions to bang on the wall if I needed anything. I did knock on the wall once, and she came rushing around, only for me to ask for a glass of water. She gave it to me, but I never knocked again for some reason. I used to lie in bed looking at the shadows cast on the ceiling by the landing light. To me, the shape was a tiny Chinese soldier, crouching, with a sword in his hand, and if I moved or made a sound, he would come in and get me.
Even later, when I was maybe 7 or 8, sitting in the living room waitng for my mother to come home from work at midnight. The door would be shut, and I would sit very still, with my back to the open coal fire for hours on end, which made me sick, because outside, in the hall was Billy Biggs, the bogeyman, and if he heard me, he also would come and get me.
I don't know where I got the ideas from. My parents would have been horrified if they knew, but hey, there was a war on, and they had little choice.
When they said 'You will be alright by yourself' I never complained. I would now.
If ever I get round to writing the story of my life, it will be titled 'You will be alright by yourself', because I have been.

Ah me! Show business in not what it used to be. You see all these teenagers, mostly without a jot of talent between them, queuing up to be spotted; desperate to be pop stars and overnight successes, convinced that they have a right to achieve world –wide fame and a vast fortune. If only they knew! Life is not like that. Seems to me that people today will sell more than their souls just to get on television, as if TV was the be all and end all of show business. Believe me, the casting couch is alive and well, and often, a willingness to oblige in that department is more useful than any performing ability.

 

OK, once in a while, a spotty faced youth with an endearing stutter or a sexy way of swivelling his hips catches the fancy of the judges, and is given a record contract, makes a record that goes to No. 1, makes a million quid, which is then quickly devoured by the professional scavengers, and is never heard of again. The rest never rise above cabaret night at their local, forever convinced that they just need a lucky break.

 

We did things the hard way. We started at the bottom, and worked our way up; years of hard graft, and have earned with sweat every bit of our success. By we, I mean Peter and I. We are a comedy double act on the variety (vaudeville) circuit. Peter does all the script writing; I have no talent in that direction, but am better at delivering jokes, so he plays the part of the straight man; which is just as well, because while I have kept my looks and my hair over the years, Peter has aged visibly. My weight has remained constant, and I have exactly the same measurements I did when we formed the act, but Peter’s hairline has receded while his waist measurement has expanded, but I never gloat about it to him. I suppose it all has a lot to do with our differing lifestyles. Peter smokes, drinks, and has been know to womanise on occasion, to put it about a bit, while I on the other hand, am a bit of a home-bird, and content to stay put in my digs when on tour. The annoying thing is that Peter considers himself to be the heart and soul of our act, but in fact, he would be lost without me by his side, whether the old git realises it or not. He says my acting is a bit wooden, while I come back with the line that the jokes he supplies me with are a bit predictable, old hat and far from funny

 

Because neither of us is married, and we spend a huge amount of time together when working, many people presume that we are an item. However, in truth, there is no love lost between us; we are not even friends in the conventional sense; we are just professional partners, and have little to say to each other off stage, a bit of a love hate relationship really. Yes, we share a room in the succession of grotty theatrical digs when on tour, and because show business wages are not high, I live with him in his modest little flat in Maida Vale, but I do have my own room, which he rarely enters.

 

I said that show business is not what it used to be, but neither is it all it is cracked up to be. Certainly it is not the glamorous lifestyle people imagine. Living in and out of a suitcase for months on end, forever at the mercy of dragon landladies who think hot water is a great luxury, the dubious delights of one night shows in Heckmonwhite, Honiton or Havafordwest, followed by long lonely overnight trips to the next venue, is anything but glamorous, You end up with no social life whatsoever; the only people you associate with are other theatricals, and that is a surprisingly small, closed world of large egos and even bigger tantrums, of bitchiness and gossip, where everyone is ‘darling’, all thrown together in dingy dressing rooms the size of a wardrobe last spring cleaned for the Queens Coronation.

 

OK, so we are not top of the bill, but we were household names once upon a time, believe it or not. We even had our own weekly radio show for many years, which is quite amazing when you think about it. For a while, we transferred to television, but strangely, it did not take off, despite the fact that we were more of a visual act. Sure, we were no Little and Large, and not as funny as Morecombe and Wise, but we had our moments.

 

Personally, I blame Peter. Appearing on television just once gives you a bigger audience than you will ever reach on stage, but that one appearance destroys your act, an act which you have spent years perfecting. The next week, you have to come up with something totally new, and that was the trouble, and it wasn’t my fault. Frankly, Peter was just not up to it; he couldn’t adapt his patter quickly enough, couldn’t cope with new jokes and fresh routines every week, so down the rating we went, and our first series was our only series. Though some of the second raters we worked with have gone on to higher things, we have returned to the supporting act role where we first started, older but wiser.

 

You may have heard of us if you are not of the younger generation. I am Archie Andrew, and my sidekick is Peter Brough. Remember our tune, ‘Educating Archie’?

It is arguable which one of us is the puppet. 

 

 Fossil fuels are a finite resource, and can only become more scarce, expensive, and unreliable in the long term future. They are also making our world uninhabitable through the greenhouse gases they produce.

Despite this, world demand for such fuels is expected to double by 2050 largely due to the emerging economies of China and India. Surely this is a recipe for disaster.

On the positive side, Sweden aims to be oil free within 15 years, and Brazil is already using bio fuels for 80% of its needs.

 

Britain presently consumes 2% of fossil fuel production, and produces an equivalent amount of greenhouse gases. Even if we do nothing, this will reduce to about 1% eventually, but that is no reason not to take radical action before it is too late, when, through war or shortage, the electricity is turned off, or places like London and Torbay are underwater.

 

OIL AND GAS will become increasingly scarce, expensive, and unreliable.

NUCLEAR ENERGY is highly expensive and potentially dangerous, especially prone to terrorist attack, the consequences of which are unimaginable.

RENEWABLE ENERGY (Sun, wind, wave and tidal power) is very expensive, and can never totally fill the need. For instance, it is estimated that we would need at least 250,000 windmills to generate our electricity, but they are productive for only one third of the time.

 

I suggest that we must continue to use all means of obtaining energy, but from as wide a variety of sources as possible, not to put all our eggs in one basket. But above all, there should be a push to reduce our need for energy consumption drastically. The government believe this to be possible, and have an aspiration to cut our energy use by 60% by the year 2050.

They have plans to implement this in industry and commerce, via a policy of CARBON TRADING, but as yet, no politician has come up with a way of reducing private and individual consumption of energy, it being deemed too unacceptable to the voters. If nothing is done, energy, in the form of petrol, diesel, gas, and electricity will gradually just become evermore expensive, meaning that driving will become a rich mans preserve, and the poor may go cold, which is totally unacceptable in a modern society. On the other hand Germany has begun a programme whereby all buildings will be upgraded over the next 20 years to modern energy conservation standards.

 

At the present moment, the great British public are irresponsibly feckless and profligate in their use of energy though nowhere near as much as Americans (who use 3.5 times as much per head), and if the problem is to be tackled fairly and successfully, habits must be changed not just by the stick and compulsion, but by the use of the carrot as well; give people an incentive to save energy, make it worth their while, and the reduction in energy use would be huge. I believe such a scheme would be effective, popular, and relatively easily implemented.

 

I propose

 

 A substantial CARBON TAX on all forms of energy, to include air travel, together with an annual issue of CARBON COUPONS to all individuals, whereby efficient use of those coupons would fully offset the tax, but overuse of energy would become highly expensive. There would develop a market price for those who lived within their allowance and had coupons to spare, thus providing the poor with a small supplementary (earned) income. It was possible for an effective coupon system to work during World War 2, so it should be just as easy to implement now.

 

 

 

 

LETTER TO A SON

 

                                                                                                             The Vicarage

                                                                                                              Home Farm Lane

                                                                                                              21^st March

 

 

 

Dear Jonathon,

No doubt you will be very surprised that I am writing to you. It is a letter that should have been written long ago, but while there has always been sadness and regret about our falling out, words and apologies do not come easily to either of us. Nevertheless, we are family, and blood is thicker than water, and we have been apart for too long.

 

I had hoped with all my heart that your Mother’s death in January would have been an opportunity for us to be reconciled, and I had great need of you at that time, but when you did not turn up for the funeral, or even send flowers, I felt more deeply hurt than you can ever imagine, and rather disgusted. I can only put it down to your wife’s influence, as you were not brought up to behave in such an unfeeling way.  

 

As you know, your Mother was a wonderful and dutiful wife and Mother, and I loved and cared for her from the day we met to the day she died, and I don’t think I shall ever get over her untimely death. She was, and still is, my whole life, and now I am completely alone and have to fend for myself totally.

 

As our only child, you were much loved, and I did my very best for you throughout those years. Perhaps I was not very good at playing football and such with you, but I was always there in the background, looking out for you, making sacrifices to give you a good Christian upbringing. I made sure, with discipline, to instil in you a decent moral code, so that you always knew right from wrong. When you were young, it was easy to curb your wild independent streak, thus I managed to ensure that you had a very good education and did not go off the rails. You were groomed for university, with the hope of going into the Church or medicine, and you had a very bright future ahead of you.

 

However, once at Oxford, your stubborn streak came to the fore, inherited I believe from your Mother’s side of the family. When you brought that woman home with you, I knew at once that she was highly unsuitable for you, and would wreck your life. It gives me no pleasure to say that I was right all along, and because of her you are now merely a shopkeeper. You have made your bed and must lie on it.

 

However, I am still your Father, and as such, deserve a little consideration in the evening of my life. Even in this day and age, most sons are only too happy to look after their old Father, make his life a little easier by doing a bit of shopping, checking that he is well, etc.

 

Time to put our differences behind us son. You know you will always be welcome in my house, so please come round anytime for a chat.

 

My Regards to little Julie and to John,

                                                                   Father

 

LETTER TO A FATHER

                                                                                                          Bella Vista

                                                                                                         

Woolton Heights

                                                                                                        

 Ist April

 

Dear Dad,

I am sorry for the delay in replying to your letter, which came as a great shock. I had no idea that Mum had died, and I am having difficulty coming to terms with it. Why did you not let me know? Was it sudden, because if she was ill, it is inexcusable that you did not tell me so that I could come to see her before it was too late? I cannot understand why you left me to find out from the local paper. I sell them but do not have time to read them.

 

You speak of the rift between us, but let me remind you that the rift was between you and I, Mum had nothing to do with it, and I know for sure that your refusal to let her come and see us and her grandchildren hurt her very much, and made us all sad.

 

Dad, I have always tried to be a good and obedient son, and would be willing to bury the hatchet tomorrow, but it appears to me that you have not softened in your attitude to Sophie one little bit, and in your letter, you refer to her only as ‘that woman’. Sophie is my wife, and we have been happily married for 10 years now, and you must get used to it. We come as a package, all 4 of us, and had your invitation to visit you been made to all of us, we would be there like a shot, but I am not willing to allow you to separate us or treat us as if the last 10 years had not happened; Sophie and I  are a pair.

 

You speak of making sacrifices to give me a good upbringing. It was Mum who made all the sacrifices; trying to satisfy your impossible standards, yet show me a little love and understanding on the quiet. If by a disciplined moral teaching you mean calling me a sinner for every childish act, shoving the Bible in my face twice daily, constantly threatening that I would go to hell in a basket, well, I suppose you succeeded. Even to this day, I have a guilt complex every time I buy a packet of crisps or have a pint of beer. But you also succeeded in turning me against the Church. Christianity is supposed to be about love, but I never saw any from you, just selfish righteousness, and Mother was a saint and a martyr to put up with you all those years.

 

From the tone of your letter, it seems to me that you are feeling lonely now that Mother has gone, and have nobody to mollycoddle you like she used to, and are looking around for somebody to run around after you: Well, I am sorry. But I am willing to give you due respect as a Father, and to help where strictly necessary, but no more than that.

 

I am no prodigal son who turned his back on the family. You said that I had made my own bed and I must lie on it, which I do, happily, but likewise, you too have made your own bed and must lie on it. If you are now a lonely old man, it is because you disowned my intended wife and I, and cut us out of your will. Welcome Sophie into your life, and you will welcome me. A bit of Christian understanding is all we require of you. It is up to you.

 

                                                          Jonathon