April 26th, 2008 04:00pm
billmarshall
Not much of a birthday present. Not only have I still not recovered from a virus that’s sent me to bed for the last four days, but I woke up to the news of the death of Humphrey Lyttelton.
“Humph” was one of the best-loved personalities on Britain; in some ways he was part of what made Britain the curious country that it is. Irreverent and hilarious but never ever offensive, despite some very close-to-the-bone material, his radio and live audiences on I’m Sorry I haven’t a Clue adored him. As did his fellow performers on the show. Most comics would have given their right arms for his sense of timing and ability to hold an crowd in rapt attention. I listened often, and always cursed the times I’d missed it.
Yet that was his sideline. As a jazz trumpeter and bandleader he was one of the very best, at 86 still gigging up till a few days before he died. He was doing what he enjoyed most - may we all go out in such a way. It must have been great fun working with him.
As a jazz broadcaster he must have drawn many thousands of people to appreciate his favourite music just because he was the one telling them about it, such was the respect in which he was held. Many were inspired to follow his example into the music profession and he seems to have been generous in his support of them.
Britain is a bit less British today. But we still have his recordings, both jazz and comedy, and our memories of a unique man. I hope the BBC have kept copies of every minute he ever broadcast because it’s more precious than gold.
I’ll raise a birthday glass to your memory Humph, we’ll miss you.
April 4th, 2008 07:49pm
billmarshall
We’ve now got CCTV cameras in Dalry Road, on tall heavy poles. More surveillance. It’s getting to the point you’ll need to live in St Kilda to avoid the damn things. Did we vote for them? Did we agree to them? No we didn’t. The British people regularly support politicians who promise to increase the number of police on the beat, yet other than football matches and at railway stations I can’t remember when I last saw a policeman on the street. No, instead of more police we just get more cameras, more attempts to foist ID cards on us (and make us pay for the privilege!), and ever more hysterical terror stories to try to justify them. Is it any surprise that people are leaving Britain in droves, sick to death of a state that appears to want total control over their lives?
I’ve always loved Scotland, but if I’d known the direction the UK was heading when I was 20 I’d probably have emigrated. The personal freedoms my father and grandfathers fought world wars for are vanishing rapidly. I can only hope that Scotland finally gets independence and moves in a different direction to England.
In the middle ages it was the church that sought to control the people by keeping them illiterate and putting the fear of god into them. Now we’re tagged, satellite tracked and videoed. If you use a loyalty card your spending patterns are compiled, your mobile phone calls are recorded and your movements followed. Now the police are pushing for everyone’s DNA to be permanently stored. Maybe the politicians have responded negatively to that one, or maybe it was a stalking horse; a device to see what reaction there’d be so they could see how much they could get away with while appearing to be the guardians of our freedoms. Were this proposal to go through we’d all be suspects.
Funny how if you go out with a camera and take pictures in the street you’re “acting suspiciously”, and god help you if you’re anywhere near a school when you’re doing it. Yet “the authorities” seem to think they can take whatever pictures they like. Meanwhile we are encouraged to report “suspicious behaviour” that is so vague that everyone could be included - apparently if you have more than one mobile phone it’s a sign you may be a terrorist!? Remember the poor guy who was shot by an armed response unit while walking home with a table leg in a plastic bag because someone thought his Scottish accent was Irish and the table leg was a shotgun. That’s what happens when fear takes hold and everyone turns informer.
People used to come to this country to escape exactly this sort of repressive society! Britain was seen as a bastion of freedom. It’s time we made it plain that we want to get back to that situation.
February 7th, 2008 02:14pm
billmarshall
So now everyone’s queueing up to criticise Andy Murray for not playing in the Davis Cup. He really can’t win can he? If he plays and aggravates an injury then they’ll slag him off for being injury prone. If he protects the injury then he’s lacking national pride. Good grief!
A few months ago before the wrist injury which put him out of Wimbledon I listened with disbelief as a Radio 5 tennis correspondent wrote off his chances of being a great player because he wasn’t as physically developed as Nadal. Nadal, as plenty of teenage girls will doubtless affirm, is not only a great player but has a musculature way ahead of his age. This criticism was at a time when Murray was winning tournaments, rising steadily in the rankings towards a top ten place and clearly developing as a player and a person.
As usual there were plenty of people quick to complain when he was knocked out of the recent Australian Open in the first round. Strangely enough no-one retracted that when his conqueror went on to reach the final with a series of inspired displays. No wonder Tim Henman retired early. Britain doesn’t deserve good tennis players if this is how we treat them.
January 25th, 2008 02:33pm
billmarshall
Mike Briggs and I have recently started a new blog about malt whisky called Discover Whisky. We’ll be looking at both standard releases and special bottlings as well as looking at news from the whisky world. Do come and join in the fun and give us an excuse to do more tastings!
January 9th, 2008 09:27pm
billmarshall
Travelling to Malta over Xmas I was reminded of the astonishing stupidity that seems to overtake humans when they’re in groups.
Firstly I took the train to Glasgow. The train was packed with pre-xmas shoppers (though why anyone would go to Edinburgh to shop escapes me - the shops are awful) and this must have been obvious to those waiting on the platform. Yet they insisted on gathering close to the doors and stared gormlessly when heavily loaded passengers tried to disembark and had to push past them. Did it not occur to them that they can’t get on until the incoming people have got off? Had the train been quieter and the people waiting been fewer then the chances are that everyone would have acted more sensibly, moving aside for each other, yet in large groups such common sense seems to be absent.
An equally brainless scenario can be regularly seen with air travel. What is the point of people leaping to their feet as soon as the aircraft has landed only to have to stand crushed together until the doors are opened and the staircase is in place. It doesn’t matter who gets off first - we all have to wait for the baggage to be offloaded anyway.
Which of course leads to the other scene of idiocy - the baggage carousel. We’ve all seen it, a planeload of passengers all crowding round as close to the moving belt as they can get, all craning to see past each other to see if the luggage coming down the belt is theirs or not. The predictable result is that no-one can see except the person at the furthest up the line and there is a mad scramble to grab luggage seen at the last moment through a pile of struggling bodies. All of it completely unneccesary. If everyone would simply stand back by even three or four feet then the lines of sight would open up and everyone would be able to see, the lucky first recipients would be able to easily retrieve their cases without fuss and with room to manoevre, and no-one would have to battle. It doesn’t need an Einstein to work this out so why does everyone insist on subjecting themselves to the crowded scramble?
Next time you find yourself in a crowd, watch carefully. But most important, think for yourself!
January 3rd, 2008 02:04pm
billmarshall
From Xmas Eve onwards I spent a week on the island of Malta. It was place I was interested in seeing due to its Dunnett connections and there was the hope of some midwinter warmth and light to dispel the gloom and cold of a Scottish winter.
The week started promisingly enough, a morning flight from Glasgow was smooth and uneventful and landed us amid pleasant sunshine and 18 degree temperatures. It was busy on the transfer ride, but the view from the hotel’s roof terrace over to Valletta was spectacular and the light as the sun went down was pleasing. As I started to relax I realised that only force of will had been keeping me going for the previous few weeks and I felt curiously detached, like a sailor finding his sea-legs, and found it easy to take occasional naps. Xmas day was quieter, and I took a longish walk in the pleasant sunshine, round the various marinas and almost to Valletta itself. Had I realised what was to come I’d have continued up the hill and taken more pictures, but feeling tired and having an equal walk back I retraced my steps. Once back at the hotel I astonished myself by falling asleep in the bath for the only time in my life.
Boxing day dawned to a squally wind and no sun; it was not to return for the rest of the week. Walking north to St Julian was, as we say on the east coast of the UK, bracing. Through binoculars I watched what became the final harbour tour boat of the week swing out of the Grand Harbour and into Sliema Creek where I was staying. I was glad not to be aboard as it pitched and rolled alarmingly while turning side on to the waves. For the rest of the week not even the ferry which runs from Sliema to Valletta, never leaving the sheltered harbour, ran at all, such was the swell.
The next day I took a bus to Valletta, there being little point in going further afield in the gloomy conditions. The buses are mostly ancient British Leylands and Bedfords which are, by some engineering and administrative miracle, still deemed roadworthy. Mine appeared to be missing at least two gears and hand signals seemed to be the order of the day. With no seat padding and little legroom I would not like to inflict a long journey in one on my long limbed frame.
Valletta was packed with people and to my horror had speakers on the lamposts blaring out hollywood xmas songs. (One more chorus of Frosty the Snowman and I swear I’d have raided the nearest armoury and set about demolishing lamposts). I escaped into the Archaeology Museum for some peace and quiet and some understanding of the ancient history of the islands. It took some time to find a quiet cafe down one of the many side streets, but the food was excellent and plentiful. Nearby was the Carmelite Church whose massive dome dominates the skyline and once again the silence was welcome while admiring the architecture. Apparently the dome was constructed without internal scaffolding, which is an amazing feat of building skill.
Sadly there is little else worth writing about. The weather turned worse, waves throwing spray high up the Valletta sea wall, and culminated in a massive thunderstorm on the Saturday which flooded the road outside the hotel. My plans to venture further afield, particularly to the walled city of Mdina were shelved.
Maybe I’ll get another chance, maybe not. While I didn’t see it in its best light, it has to be said that I didn’t fall in love with Malta the way some people do. For one thing it is too crowded and busy for my taste. For another, strange as it may seem, it is too British. While it has no doubt reasserted its own identity since becoming independent in the 1960s, it retains some of the old British ways that to me sit uneasily with a Mediterranean population. And it seems to be becoming a retirement home for brits. I’m not sure that’s healthy in such a small island.
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