Well, Dr Johnson, I am not tired of London

Sadly, my penultimate uncle, Vic, died last week. This was a relief both to him and to my aunt Audrey who had suffered to see him rapidly deteriorate in the past few months.

As a result, I made the journey back to London for the day for Vic’s funeral. Though we’d kept in touch by phone and, ironically we’d arranged to visit them this summer, I hadn’t seen them since I’d help them move into sheltered accommodation just before we moved up to Yorkshire. It seemed that I was the only family member to attend the funeral.

It was a delight to see Audrey; she may be incapacitated by leg problems and poor sight but she remains mentally sharp with a wicked sense of humour. The service, both in English and Hebrew, at Golders Green was conducted well and there was much support for Audrey from her wide circle of good and warm friends. And it made me realise just how much ‘Londoners’ are a sociable and cohesive tribe.

The first thing I said to Mrs R when I returned to Refugee Towers was, “I’d really like to go back to live in London”.

Unbridled sex at Refugee Towers

After a delayed arrival of our batch of swallows – probably weather-related – I‘ve made a rough body count of birds nesting happily at Refugee Towers.
In the main (Swallow) Barn, there are 3 pairs.
In the garage, there are 2 pairs.
In the shed attached to the garage, there is 1 pair.

Amidst unbridled ‘activity’ from the swallows we await to see just how many young these 6 pairs produce. Now, if anyone would provide us with closed-circuit cameras!? Oh, that may be a bit voyeuristic!

An unexpected addition to the family!

Last week, after IS’s Birthday, Mrs R decided to take the young Refugees to groovy York to the RSPCA to see if they could replace our much-loved but departed rat sisters (Crystal and Pearl) with a new pair of young rescue rats. I should have known better when I wished them, 'bon voyage and happy rat hunting'.

They returned 3 hours later leaping and squealing about a trio of 6 month-old puppy brothers – Quibble, Quarrel and Quaker - that they had fallen for. My partial enthusiasm was doused when they explained that the puppies were Chihuahua-Patterdale crosses.
Me, with a Chihuahua – no, never, EVER!

However, a week of unquenched enthusiasm saw us travel into York on Sunday and check out the vertebrates on show at the RSPCA. I must admit that it’s a choking experience seeing so many animals unwanted, abandoned or under court orders; but the staff at York are fantastic – caring, hard-working, patient and helpful. Eventually, we came to the 3 puppies....except that there was now only 1. And what a little cracker he turned out to be. Mrs R had her heart set on Quibble but she came round to liking the remaining pup, Quaker.

So we went for a lunchtime pow-wow at our favourite York bistro, Café No 8, and ruminated over Quaker. Of course, being the inveterate softie that I am, I soon found myself lobbying for the addition to our menagerie whilst Mrs R remained dubious.

After lunch we returned to the RSPCA took Quaker for a ‘trial’ walk with our hound, Poppy....and that went remarkably well. The decision was unanimously made! We had ourselves a new addition to the family....a Chatterdale.

As I filled out the paperwork and collected the RSPCA voucher for Quaker to be de-nutted, the girls started thinking of a new name – the list started with Pip, Smudge, Dex, Carlos, Archie, Rocky, Mohammed until we finally anointed him...Woody!

By Jove, it’s good to have some more testosterone at Refugee Towers. So, here is Woody the Chatterdale with his step-sisters........

The SATS scrap...or...Scrap the SATS

2 days of English testing, 2 days of Maths testing and 1 day of Science testing.
IS didn’t shed any tears – as children in her class did – and IS didn’t have any sleepless nights – as some children did: however we did have FIVE difficult months.
What’s gone on?
SATS!
SATS finished this week.
SATS are over for this year.
SATS are over forever for IS.
Phew!

It seems that a chasm has developed between this government’s education ministers – Ed Balls, Jim Knight and Beverley Hughes – and this country’s educationalists. Jim Knight proclaims, “SATs are there to give pupils an understanding of how they're doing nationally, to give parents the opportunity to see how well their child is doing and how well the school is doing, and for the public to see how well schools generally and how the school system as a whole is performing." SATs results are part of the targets that the Government expects schools to meet, and which are published, and then ranked, by the media, into "league tables". Government-speak clearly translates into the government being driven by the misguided and obsessive ‘target’ culture.

But the tide is turning.

The tests have been slammed by everyone from politicians to children’s authors such as Philip Pullman, Michael Rosen and Jacqueline Wilson.

An influential teaching body, The General Teaching Council, attacked the government's policy of rolling out national testing of children from the age of seven - it says “the stress from over-testing is tainting perceptions of education” and it is calling for all national exams to be abolished for children under 16. The council says exams not only fail to improve standards, but also leave pupils demotivated and stressed.

Leaders of the National Association of Head Teachers are calling on the Government to scrap the tests on the grounds that the pressure of league tables is forcing schools and teachers to stay at the top of league tables by routinely "drilling" pupils to pass exams and is consequently putting children off learning.

The Cambridge-based academic Professor Robin Alexander has been studying the testing regime in England's state primary schools, the most exhaustive in the Western world. He says, “People do not like ‘high stakes testing’, with its league tables in the press and all the pressure that goes with that . . . I think there is a pretty clear consensus that change is needed...the evidence is so strong . . . it points in the direction of radical reform.”
And if tests are scrapped, how will parents know how well their children are doing, or which are the best schools? “There are Ofsted school inspection reports,” says Alexander, “Parents can read those.” Alexander’s final report is due out at the end of the year.

Scotland never introduced Sats.
In Wales SATs were scrapped in 2004.
When will England follow?

Our daughters go to a terrific local state school with great teachers and support staff and a marvellous Head Teacher, GB. Yet the constraints of the system mean that IS's class has seemingly done little since January beyond preparing for these narrow tests.
Compelled to regurgitate much of the English, maths and science they have been force fed in the past three years, these little automatons musn’t let the side down; yet they will gain no marks for sharing how much they enjoyed the few books they were able to read for fun, nor their delight at discovering a germinated sunflower seed, nor the sense of achievement from learning the importance of angles in a triangle.

Let the children have a more relaxed environment to learn and enjoy their subjects and plough the cost of SATs into supporting learning and teaching and trust teachers to assess their children regularly


A couple of months ago Mrs R was standing outside school and happened to talk to Head GB about the ongoing preparation for SATS. Mrs R thought that it might be a good idea that IS went ill over the week of SATS and very symnpathetically GB replied that that was our right if we so felt.
Then Mrs R turned to GB, “, G, what do you really think of SATS?”
G thought carefully, looked Mrs R dead in the eye and lowered his strong Welsh voice, “Bollocks!"

If you feel inclined please sign this parent-led petition on the Downing Street website: PETITION

Roll up Roll up for....The Great Bickering Game Show

Last year The Refugees spent oodles of dosh and baked our winter-whitened bodies with our first visit to the Great Bickering Game and Country Show (GBGCS). As this event coincides with IS’s Birthday – 11 this year – we dipped into the Credit Crunch bank account and lathered on the sun-screen. If we excitedly expected that the GBGCS 2008 would be spectacularly different from GBGCS 2007, then we were as deluded as Gordon Brown’s fabled listening abilities.

By the time we arrived at 11 the temperature was rising gradually to the early 70°’s and the Great Bickering Showground was teeming. There are 2 activities that the young Refugees are on the lookout to do – speak to as many dogs as possible and spend money at the most interesting stalls (usually, animal- and food-related). I have never seen a Show such as this one for the amount and variety of dogs to remark about. Because of the heat, most of the dogs lounge around or sashay slowly with their owners and Poppy, our 7½ year-old Whitby Dog rescue hound, behaved impeccably. The vast majority of the dogs are labs, spaniels, terriers and lurchers as these are the dogs of choice locally but we also talked to and stroked poodles, staffies, peeks and Bedlingtons etc. Whenever we are unsure as to the breed of dog we turn to Is who has an encyclopaedic knowledge of dogs.

A great deal of my time is spent people-watching.

To the left is a Yorkshire or Geordie hog: on the hotplate is a poor pig. Hmmmm! The Refugees have forsaken piggies on our plate for the past few months.

Every home should have a pig out back and lots of piglets.

This is Alice from Doncaster. Alice is the matriarch of a gorgeous quintet of donkeys who, she told me with some wry truth, received more attention from her husband than she did.

Here is a man of some cultural rectitude.
He was lucky to escape HS shoving a Mister Whippy cone (less flake) down the back of his red neck. Ho-ho-hum!

And whilst the stalls with...50 different rifles, army fatigues from around the globe and hunting aids attracted vast numbers, this was our favourite stall – The Retired Greyhound Trust. There were 5 greyhounds selling their wares and Karen and Nick were a delight to talk with.

Please check out their website.......Retired Greyhound Trust.
Greyhounds are the most gorgeous of dogs – they have lovely faces, beautiful eyes and ideal temperaments.
I want a greyhound for Christmas!

If you haven’t visited the GBGCS then I would entreat you to make a visit – especially for those Southerners amongst you. It’s packed with a cast full of characters and animals and the odd celebrity now treads the Show’s boards – Worrall-Thompson showing off this year. It seems to be growing in ambition so 2009 promises to be even better.

Oh, and it’ll set you back a hundred quid.

Nowhere I'd rather be at 5 in the morning....

Dawn in early May in distant Balham would never have been much different from any city suburb at nay time of the year. A revving engine, a bin upturned, the odd congested sparrow but mainly a general dull hum.

But here in rural North Yorks dawn in the cool, still air of May is an auditory spectacle. We are lucky to have a bedroom that collects sounds from front - tall trees and grass verges – and back hedges, bushes and lawns – and from 4 to 5 in the morning the Dawn Chorus begins. Invariably the chorus seems to start with a blackbird or two singing out their territorial song; this will most likely be followed by a gang of hedge-sparrows and the odd discordant rook or pigeon. Occasionally I may be able to decipher a tit, finch or wren amongst the throng and as the summer rolls out the swifts rise earlier and wheel the skies screeching wildly. At its crescendo this symphony must consist of 40 or 50 musical maestros in concert.

If I’ve had sufficient sleep I’ll be serenaded for several minutes before getting up and enjoy the sounds and sights of ‘our’ birds By the time I reach my workroom at the back of the house I’ll be lucky to hear a thrush singing beautifully on a high tree or in our ‘secret garden’ cracking open a snail shell. Just about the only bird that doesn’t rise for the dawn chorus is....the swallow. The swallow tends to remain a’bed in the early morning though I often hear ours chattering in the their nests until ready for their mid-morning aerobatics.

So....would I swap one of the natural musical wonders of nature at 5o/c in North Yorks for 5o/c in London? As they say round these parts, ‘Would I ‘eck!?’

JUDY DYBLE 1949-still going strong

Whilst remembering Sandy Denny last week I feel I was remiss not to have mentioned Fairport Convention’s first singer as it was JUDY DYBLE’s voice that first hooked me into the band.

I must have bought ‘If I Had A Ribbon Bow’ shortly after it came out – I had to wait a week or so until Sticklands record shop in Hoop Lane got it in for me (my treasured copy BELOW). ‘Ribbon Bow’ remains a quirkily terrific song with beautiful lead vocals from Judy, subtle jazz guitar, some nice vibes care of Tristan Fry and a longing sigh at the end.

The first, eponymous ‘Fairport Convention’ followed a couple of months later in mid-’68 and this strikes me now as a much underrated collection. The tracks were a mixture of classic American songwriting along with embryonic writing from Fairport members. Fairport’s coverage of US writers was never less than superb and in 40 years no other artists could cover Joni Mitchell, Cohen or Dylan like Fairport.

Taken purely on merits the songs could be broken down into interesting (The Lobster, Chelsea Morning, Sun Shade, One Sure Thing) and inspired (It’s Alright Ma It’s Only Witchcraft, Decameron, If, Jack O’Diamonds, I Don’t Know Where I Stand,
Time Will Show The Wiser). What makes the
selection so good is the seamless meld of folk to jazz
to rock to psychedelia to progressive.

I always thought that Ian Matthews and Judy (and then Sandy) was the perfect male-female blend; Tyger Hutchings' bass lines were brilliant and unobtrusive; Simon Nicol’s work underscored Richard Thompson’s flights from harsh rock to fluid brilliance and Martin Lamble’s versatile drumming was as near perfect for a young man of 17-18 years old.

Listen to the album and then listen again, more carefully – there is so much to treasure. Finally, listen to the great Harvey Brooks-Jim Glover track ‘One Sure Thing’ and then seek out The Conspirators recent version of that (and buy it) which.....neatly leads back to the Conspirators guest lead singer.....Judy Dyble, voice just as lovely as ever.

Journos and fans alike judge the 1st Fairport album harshly, especially in comparison to the legendary ‘What We Did On Our Holidays’. Well.....bollocks! After playing the album a couple of times over this past weekend and with riffs worming around my brain, I still LOVE the 1st album, it compares very favourably and it takes me back to the happiest 2-3 years of my life.........

The Holly Bush, Hampstead, walking on the Heath, smelly basketball boots, cotton paisley shirts, earnestly reading Huxley and Sartre, The Everyman, Hampstead, the 102 bus snaking its way through North London, buying import albums from Old Compton Street and....innocence!

Here's a clip of Judy with Fairport from 1967:

Enough of the past. Now, blogging back to the future.

SANDY DENNY 1947-1978

Occasionally sentimental I may be but I’m not a great one for remembering anniversaries; however I was jolted by an article in The Independent yesterday......

http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/music/features/the-ballad-of-sandy-denny-return-of-the-folk-queen-811740.html

It is hard to believe that today is the 30th anniversary of the death of Sandy Denny - the finest singer-songwriter that Britain has produced - and even harder to recall that it is 40 years since I first met up with the peerless Sandy Denny........

Around the time of mid-range Beatlemania and Psychedelia I first heard fledgling Fairport Convention ‘live’ on my cheap Phillips radio, probably in late ’67 – on one of the David Symonds/John Peel BBC shows. Fairport played an eclectic mix of jug band/blues and West Coast pop which no other Brit group was playing (Butterfield, Joni Mitchell, Byrds, Love, Leonard Cohen, Jefferson Airplane) mixed in with some early self-penned songs. From my radio to my untutored ear they seemed unlike any other British group and I particularly liked their male-female lead vocals.

I remember thinking that this was…

a) they were unique and,

b) my kind of music.

What amazed me was to hear that their drummer was my ex-schoolmate, Martin Lamble.

A month or two on.....and I got a Saturday job in a pharmacy in Golders Green (North London) – and I soon became great friends with a fellow Saturday worker, Helen Cinnamon, who I soon learned was a close friend of Fairport’s. For months into early 1968 Helen kept mentioning that Fairport were appearing around London and that she was hanging out with them and that I really ought to come along to a gig: with each refusal she probably thought ‘what’s his problem?’ Now I have always said - a self-perpetuating myth - that my Mum wouldn’t allow me to go to one of these ‘wild concerts’ (again in my myth) because that could only deprave my middle-class sensibilities BUT the truth is that I was incredibly shy and I just wasn’t confident enough to go on my own.

However, in the summer of ’68, in the wake of impending (and unsuccessful) A levels, Helen started going out with Martin and invited me to a gig in Hampstead where a burgeoning Fairport was playing. By now Fairport had released a single and their first eponymous album which had permanently transplanted Beatles albums from my turntable.

So I turned up with my schoolfriends Roy and Piers to see and hear my first live gig! There couldn’t have been more than about 30 (probably all students and friends of the band) in the audience and initially we were all seated uncomfortably on a hard floor in the dark. They trooped onto a wide stage but kept close enough to one another - Martin back-centre on drums, Tyger Hutchings far left, Simon Nicol in the middle and Richard Thompson far right in the darkness, Ian Matthews front left, and then Sandy Denny front right obscuring Richard. (Sandy Denny had recently replaced the beautiful voice of Judy Dyble as lead singer and I knew nothing about the new addition)

In hindsight, I probably had no idea what to expect but what we did NOT get was any extroversion, cavorting or guitar-smashing. What happened was that I was spellbound throughout the show – I recall the set included Reno Nevada, Suzanne, Some Sweet Day, Morning Glory, Eastern Rain and Meet On The Ledge (Sandy: “Simon’s on violin tonight as they’ve repossessed our piano”) but 3 people stood out for me. Through knowing Martin I was impressed with his versatility as a drummer – moving from great rock drumming and then to imperceptible sensitivity. It was clear that Richard Thompson carried his guitar wizardry slightly under that curly fringe - Paul Ghosh once told me that he slept with his guitar.

But it was Sandy Denny who stunned me that night. She was the focus of a band that previously had no focus – Sandy supplanted Tyger’s prosaic intros with her faltering and nervous (unrehearsed) manner which was also jokey and self-deprecating. And Sandy’s stunning soprano voice lifted the band to another level – the standouts were an aching version of Who Knows Where The Time Goes and (I think Sandy said) the first live and epic performance of A Sailor’s Life.

At the end Helen got us to meet with the band in the way of the 60's when you'd stand around saying nothing much in particular and in my case nothing at all but.......
In 35+ years of watching and photographing concerts NOTHING compares to the magic of that very first concert - halcyon days.

I saw Fairport a half-dozen times in the next couple of years and each time was a thrill and a delight. After their bus crash in 1969, I went off to University, Sandy (and Tyger) left Fairport, and things were never the same again. The Fairport songs from that '67-'69 era were the most unique collection from a British band and have never been surpassed - songs written by Joni Mitchell, Jackson Frank, Dylan, Emmitt Rhodes, The Farinas, Eric Andersen, Leonard Cohen and gradually Fairport members themselves.

Looking back some 40 years now, it’s remarkable to realise……just how unique Fairport was, and considering the quality of the music, to realise just how young they were. Suffice to say that Sandy has left a wonderful body of work, which in the final analysis is the only thing that matters.

Today recalls the genius of Sandy Denny - the finest singer-songwriter that Britain has produced.

(This is a cut-down version of a chapter - on Fairport days - from a book that I’m currently writing)

Here's a clip of Sandy solo:



Here is a link to Bob Harris’s tribute on BBC Radio 2 tonight.....
http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio2/musicclub/doc_sandydenny.shtml

Returning blog....

...and returning swallow!
Our first swallow of the summer.
At 7.45a.m. I heard a swallow singing and looked around the garden to find the bird swooping and gliding around and then alighting on a neighbouring TV aerial. Having made that long journey from Europe/Africa (?) the swallow sat on the aerial for some minutes preening itself and occasionally singing. We now await the arrival of other swallows to inhabit our barn, garage and shed. However, there is one proviso - we have a number of pigeons 'take over' the barn during this past winter so the swallows won't have it their own way - but the swallows are more than capable at dealing with the lumbering intruders.

At the risk of being repetitive the viewing of the first swallow has been a happy spectacle of our time in Yorkshire; so much so that I can't recall having ever seen a swallow in our final 10 years in Balham - now, that would have been a sight!
(A few words of thanks for the Comments posting from Elisabeth from Chester County - enjoy your swallows for the summer ahead!)

On a comletely different subject.......
I've spent the winter working on a semi-autobiographical, semi-biographical book - the latter reflecting my involvement in music and latterly my 6 days managing Stephen Bishop's first live performances in the UK.

At present, I might back-burn this book and look at writing a children's book. All of which is fairly surprising as I said I would never, and could never, write a book. Well........
Our holiday last year in the Algarve – horribly over-rated – resulted in ES diving into the swimming pool and swimming around saying, "Look at me, I'm a ******" That one (asterisked) inspiring word gave me an idea for the children's book. And as Mrs R is the nearest and cheapest illustrator in the county, what serendipidity – an illustrated children’s book.

So, I intend to start the book, 'MURPHY THE ******' at the end of the summer.

Refugee Springwatch 3

"I am just going outside and may be some time."

Refugee Springwatch 2

We can’t claim to have seen hungry baby owls eating their siblings or hares copulating in fields or Bill Goodie being patronising to the lovely Kate at Refugee Towers, but……

……Our first 2 wren chicks have fledged their nest. Good luck to them. Where do they go? Probably not too far according to goodie old Bill. 2 gone, 4 to go.

……On Friday, the 4 blackbird eggs hatched to reveal 4 scrawny, featherless chicks with enormous gaping mouths and closed eyes. Unfortunately, by the time I snapped the brood this morning there were only 3 left. The mother remains attentive – keeping her brood warm when in the nest and returning regularly after feeding.

……Previously unmentioned is the vast sparrow colony living noisily in the ivy/Russian vine hedge and in a back wall in the cracks between the stones. We’ve added a bird-feeder and they have quickly adapted to feed from it, as well as making an almighty mess of the seed they drop on the ground beneath.

……It’s been difficult to discern just how many swallow chicks because we’re now not quite sure how many swallows have actually nested this year. IS and I spent an hour today checking out (and videoing) the swallows in the barn. As a result, we have to revise our swallow stats. There are 5 nests in the barn of which 3 are in use – 6 swallows fly in, out and around the inside of the barn at regular intervals. We have seen 4 chicks in one nest, 2 in another and we have heard 2 or 3 in a 3rd nest. Interestingly, the swallow chicks start to open their mouths when they hear their parents chirruping OUTSIDE the barn.
During our stay in the barn we discovered 3 chicks dead on the ground beneath one nest and 2 chicks dead on the ground beneath another nest. Once a chick falls from the 20 foot from the nest to the ground about 20+ feet below there is no way back. We were very sad to find the dead chicks and it may be that the nests were not constructed well enough or they may just have toppled out but perhaps the parents don’t seem to be unduly troubled – they still fly around happily – and they will soon produce a second summer brood.

A llama in the cowpat

The Scene: The sofa. Refugee Towers
The Time: Last night.
The Players: All the Refugees
The Event: Watching the latest edition of Springwatch

TV SCENE
The island of Isla and the presenter Simon is in a field of (gorgeous) highland cattle and choughs pecking at cowpats.

SIMON: …so here we have the symbiosis between these highland cattle and the chough. Let me just look at this cowpat (prodding the pat with a twig) and come back to me in 5 minutes.

5 MINUTES LATER

SIMON: (turning over a handful of insects in the palm of his hand) This what I’ve removed from the pat…..a beetle…a worm…a pupa…2 stag beetles…a millipede…and a larva.

ES (from the sofa): A llama!?!

Laughter from all, especially an uncontrollable Mrs R, and then…

ALL REFUGEES: (to ES) Not a llama…a larva!!!!

LOGOrrhoea of Olympic proportions

Well, blistering athletes groin! What’s all this trash talk about our illustrious Olympic logo?
Take a migraine tablet, put on your 4-d specs and throw one more glance at the logo……

Though I have a hankering for this one in remembrance of soon-to-be lamented Emperor……
















Good Lord this bloke needs a hug! Anyone?

Personally, I think he could have run this up with his Etch-a-Sketch and pocketed £399k......

And here’s one I would have been proud to design……

Cooool! Like a Roger Hilton painting.

School is IN for the second half-term

After the busy half-term Home Educating break we have resumed school (at home). IS and ES continue to happily accede to our timetable of home schooling – we start promptly at 9.30, have a break for 30 minutes around 11 and then work on until 1.30. The afternoon is taken up with cycling, sibling rivalry and of course RefugeeSpringwatch.

In the barn this week, IS has been studying The Romans under the inexpert but enthusiastic tutelage of Mrs R. Today, IS completed an ‘aged’ scroll (tea infusion and matches) of a diary of her life as a girl in Rome. Her mother stays at home whilst her father, ME, is in charge of a Roman legion. Mr Refugee as Roman role model...ha!

In the kitchen, ES has been astounding me at Maths. For a 7½ year-old who had only learnt numbers at Steiner school up until April, ES can now regularly add 3 numbers together in her head…which even her 2 older sisters have trouble with. Fancy having a Maths star in the family!?

Refugee Springwatch 1

Those damned miserable critters (TV critics) keep flogging the mantra that there’s no ‘family television’ these days. Well, guys…get your poisoned quills out and refill with cool green ink, because......

......Family Refugee have become entranced, entertained and mesmerised by Springwatch – mainly by the animals but also by the presenters..yes, even by Bill Goodie-Goodie. Our sofa is as squashed as a chough’s nest of 8 as all the refugees snuggle up to watch our hour of laughs, antics and sorrow.

Meanwhile, in the grounds of Refugee Towers, we have our very own RefugeeSpringWatch.
I’ve previously gabbled on about our glorious swallows –
4 nests in 3 locations: 2 nests in a derelict barn, 1 nest in a garage, 1 nest in a shed.
(Sorry, no pics so far as the nests are 20 foot above ground)
But yesterday, I saw a sight that I'd never seen before. A crow hovered at the window of the barn and then flew off....followed immediately by one of our swallows in demonic pursuit. The crow was clearly not prepared for a swallow (one-quarter its size) to duck and dive at the crow as it made its escape. For about 200 yards the swallow harried the crow relentlessly until it wheeled away and returned triumphantly and bravely home to its brood.

Last week the younger refugees have discovered a wren’s nest in the crack of a stone adjacent to a shed door – there are 6 young wren’s squeezed into the cosy nest. Whenever any refuge goes near the wrens there is a mass screeching for food. Meanwhile the parent wrens attend constantly with plenty of worms and grubs. and probably the odd peck on the cheek.

And a blackbird’s nest well camouflaged in a heavy rose bush beneath the wisteria – 4 eggs with a highly attentive but wary mother in Mona Lisa fashion.

Updates to follow as the action intensifies.

"It was 40 years ago today......

....that Tyger Hutchings took the band to play",
(to paraphrase Lennon-McCartney)
in Golders Green.

On this very day back in 1967 – just days before Sgt Pepper’s release and the impending summer of love – a group of fellow North Londoners played their first ‘live’ gig.

It began with friends Ashley ‘Tyger’ Hutchings and Simon Nicol collecting together Richard Thompson and Shaun Frater for everyone to.....

“Become converted!!! FAIRPORT CONVENTION happen at St Michael’s Hall,

Golders Green, opp Woolworth’s.

Adv. Tickets 5s. 01-883-2505”.

It's extraordinary to think that that unprepossessing band of North London teenagers have burgeoned into the pantheon of the British folk-rock legends. Forty years on, it looks like Fairport may well be around in another 50-100 years…somehow.

I have pulled my original posting so that I can dredge up some more thoughts and repost a lengthened
version in a week or so

Home schooling

We’re into our 3rd week of home schooling and it has been…..tiring, thought-provoking, exasperating but most of all very rewarding.

The GB HE school consists of the redoubtable Mrs R who has taken charge of English, Classics, Botany, Biology, Art and Languages (French and South London) whilst I am doing a fearsome impression of Mr Squeers, in charge of aggravated Mathematics, Cane-swishing and Toilet Duties.

In IS’s case, we tolerated far far too long her Steiner education which really began and ended with her very poor teacher. This was emphasised when started home schooling and we realised that IS had trouble with 3 times table and very simple division - not good for a 10 year-old. At Steiner, it seems that the basics were not covered well - looking back there were cursory lessons on times tables and simple division whereas there was plenty of princes, water sprites and bears swapping bags of gold around in the name of maths. Call me old-fashioned, yes I'm burdened with having been born in the 50's, but the start should be writing letters/words/numbers, spelling and times tables by rote - there, I'm labelled forever. Anyway, for the past 3 weeks, IS has looked so different from the bored, listless girl that was suffering under the Steiner yoke; she is now brighter, more responsive, taking pride in her work and having more confidence and self-esteem. Whoopee!

I did 1½hours quite basic Maths with IS and then…..
…….Some English with ES. 4 weeks ago ES, 7½, could not read more than 20 words and was just learning her numbers from 1 to 20 – though she was damn hot on knowing how much pocket money she should receive. Now, ES knows up to her 4 times table by heart and is doing simple mental addition/subtraction and number ‘games’. On top of that, she is devouring Oxford Reading Tree books and knows 2 Ant and Bee cover-to-cover.

This isn’t to blow our own foghorns but there are 2 salient points to be made here. Firstly, the Steiner system is V E R Y S L O W, which is not a particularly bad system as it works out fine in other countries, but once the child reaches 7 the Steiner system can remain pedantic….unless there is a good teacher. Secondly, for the rest of this term, our girls are getting 1-to-1 tuition which, even with fumbling amateur efforts, is better than the 1-to-20+ state system.

My only regret is that there are some many FAB blogs out there and not enough time to read them at the moment. Que sera sera sera!

Want some sweets little girl

The phone range this afternoon and it was Mrs R from her mobile from town. The gist of her call was that there was a middle-aged man hanging around the Junior school looking furtive and supposedly “offering sweets”.

I walked up the garden to where ES, 7½, was riding her bike just to check that she knew not to go ‘too far’.
Me: I just wanted to make sure you don’t ride your bike past our lane.
ES: No, I’m just around here.
Me: Errm, sweetheart, what would you do if someone, a strange man, you didn’t know came along and offered you some sweets?
ES: (Eyes alight) Sweets!? (then a moment’s thought) Well, I‘d take them….but I would give him some money for them.

The lesson this afternoon was ‘Confectionery - and how it can damage your health’.

Fair game at the Game Fair

Well into our 7th year in God’s own county – a Yorkshire quote, not mine – and we took the plunge and handed over scores of dosh for our first entry into the annual Great Bickering Game Fair.


The fair is held just on the way out of town on a vast area of green land owned by the shaven-headed Simon - GB's own Branson. Simon tends to walk determinedly and moodily around town invariably followed by a couple of acolytes with antennae twitching. Up to now I had never said more than ‘Hello’, ‘Morning’ or ‘Hi’ to him but as we pulled up at the entrance ready to pay there was the taciturn Simon barking orders at his minions to get the cars moving towards the Car park in some order. Suddenly he came over and apologised to us for the chaos and his temper…and threw us a beamer of a SMILE. This is a man I could sit down with one day and have a happyccino and chew over life in Great Bickering.

The Fair was spread over 2 enormous fields encircled with perhaps 80 or so stalls and turned out to be a great success with our refugees for a number of reasons. We had never seen such a large number of dogs in one day…mainly labs, spaniels, greyhounds and border terriers but with a smattering of Jack Daniels, Scotties and lurchers – this is clearly the Dog Social of the Year around North Yorks. The early part of the day was spent walking 10 yards and then chatting with a dog, walking a further 15 yards and stroking a pair of collies and so it went on. The girls spent time on the obligatory bouncy castle/slide complex and then on the karting track but we as the cash flowed from my pocket we averred on the offer of a chopper ride around town (at £25 a head).


The food was typical Yorkshire fayre – roast anything with chips, baps and tea. The stalls were enticing….Cantabrian Rat Catcher, The Stolen Tool Company, The British Ferret League, Wetwang Cushions, Louise’s Dog Leads, Arnold Philpott, Daughter and Grandaughters etc etc. Of course, what the Fair is about is ostensibly animals and their co-relation with Yorkshire folk but for me what was most fascinating for me was people-watching. Market Day in Great Bickering is interesting enough – retired farmers standing around in huddles talking about…well, what retired farmers talk about - but the Fair threw ALL the varied locals into this arena. One thing that Yorkshire folk do not seem to have much of a care for and that is Fashion. Come on Stella McC or Donatella – open a Fashion House up here, pet.



The last event of any mention for us was the Derwent Hunt Beagles – 3
riders in pink galloping around the arena blowing their hunting horns with the beagles eagerly following and most of audience orgiastically watching….save for our quintet – unabashed, Mrs R, HS and ES were jeering them. With my quiet sensibility I just looked embarrassed, took pics and imagined they were a rogue branch of the Balham HuntSab.....time to leave and head back to our car stickered with ‘For Fox sake – Ban the Hunt’ - all 4 tyres were in tact so it was off home.

* I have been asked, quite correctly, by Mrs R to state that Mrs R did in no way on that day in that circumstance jeer the hunters, though the lovely Mrs may well have caterwalled on other days in other circumstances....but that's a topic for another day. The record is straight-er!

Oh to be 10 again

Refugee Farm entertained a VIM – my mother – over the BH weekend; she came not to see her favourite son but because she thought her grand-daughters were on the borderline of not remembering who she was and one refugee grand-daughter was approaching a double-digit Birthday celebration. My mum’s visits are infrequent because she believes that the temperature north of Newport Pagnell rarely tops -20°C, so that limits us to the months July and August. Anyway, she chanced the weather and we switched on the heating again. Brrrrrrrrrr……

I spent one weekend morning mowing and strimming the lawns and surrounds: it’s not dissimilar in mind-numbing ability to painting walls, jogging or writing a sketch for Jimmy Cricket (the nadir of my sketch-writing days) except that I was sweaty and my forearms ached. It gave me time to reflect on our divorce from Steiner education.

I will blog a comprehensive review of not just our Steiner experience but also our schooling rollercoaster soon. Meanwhile, IS has now been home for week and she is a different girl. IS was bored with her lessons (and her teacher), she was listless (bordering on mildly depressed) and she stoically continued at school despite our suggestions that she leave. In retrospective, IS was just waiting for us to make a definitive decision. This past week IS has been livelier, more communicative, done some home-schoolwork with her sister ES and been HAPPIER.

And today IS is 10 years old. Ohh, to be 10 again – playing football with friends in Holland Park, regularly peering down Madame’s cleavage in French and listening to Bobby Vee, Brenda Lee and Adam Faith on Radio Luxembourg under the covers with the lights out. Happy Birthday, IS!