August 11th, 2010 12:49am
billmarshall
The last few months have been extremely busy, with few chances for posting on either this blog or any of my others. Aside from the SEO consultancy business which is a seven day a week job at this stage, there have also been the legal intricacies of a separation agreement and the handover of my half of the old marital home to Fiona and the gradual removal of more of my possessions from there.
It feels strange going back to that house now. We bought it 28 years ago and we went through a lot there – starting with stripping out old furnishings and carpets and making improvements when we could afford it, which wasn’t often when interest rates on the mortgage were around 14% and I was managing on a bookseller’s wages. We added double glazing and central heating. Went through the trials of a council area redevelopment process that caused endless dust and considerable expense, plus a caved in kitchen ceiling that killed off our enthusiasm for a long time. Then there were the personal trials; the attempts at having a child through medical investigations and operations for Fiona sadly followed by a miscarriage.
But there were good times too, making plans for holidays in Mull and Skye and the west coast of Scotland, in Slovenia, Austria and Switzerland, always finding mountains and water and breathtaking scenery. We shared plenty of good food and wine. There are many happy memories but ultimately it all fell apart. Now, nearly at our 30th anniversary we’re finally both moving on and it’s time to look forward rather than back.
Work has changed out of all recognition too. From sound engineering and the excitement of the music business, to the apparent stability of the book trade over 22 years, the uncertainty of finding a new career, surviving a few hiccups and a year of being unemployed to a new position in a business that grew and flourished for five years then ran into trouble. Now I’m just starting my second year of being my own boss and have just taken on an assistant while building links with other businesses.
Next on the agenda is finding a new house, with all the complications involved in that. Where do I want to live, and how much will it cost? As they keep telling you at the new business forums you should have a business plan that asks “where do you want to be in 2 years time?” Looking forward I need to answer that question in both business and private spheres.
August 8th, 2010 07:42pm
billmarshall
It’s curious how the mind can become compartmentalised when you’re really busy. Earlier this week I was up in the north-east of Scotland visiting a new client near Stonehaven. Now I’ve been to most parts of the Scottish mainland but this is an area that’s had little attention; I think I’ve been to Aberdeen four or five times at most and as far as I can recall I don’t think I’ve been to the coastal section from Arbroath to Stonehaven before at all. Yet as a landscape photographer I’ve been meaning to go and photograph Dunnottar Castle for many years – it’s a spectacular sight and it’s mentioned briefly in Dorothy Dunnett’s Ringed Castle so I’d intended to add it to the places to visit feature on the Dunnett website.
Yet consciously I didn’t tie in the business trip with any thoughts of Dunnottar until after the meeting had taken place and I was thinking about heading home. And of course with my mind on business I hadn’t taken my SLR along with me, despite my subconscious hinting to me that I should. It knew that Dunnottar was nearby while my conscious brain was busy ignoring it.
It was raining heavily as I left the meeting and drove down to Stonehaven harbour but it cleared up after a short time giving a hot sun with clear blue skies and bubbling white clouds. The harbour area is picturesque and delightfully peaceful and I could have happily spent the day there. In fact under normal circumstances I would have take the 1½ mile walk from there round the coast to the castle, but being dressed for business made that inappropriate. Instead I pottered around and tried taking a few photos with my new mobile phone, a Samsung Apollo. I had no great expectations of it as I hadn’t included camera quality on the list of desirable attributes when it was chosen. In the bright sunshine I could hardly see anything on the reflective screen so the composition was pretty much guesswork, but I reckoned that at least it would be a reminder to take the real camera next time. I then drove round to Dunnottar and although again I felt overdressed for a full visit I took a quick walk down to the viewpoint and took a few more snaps.
To my surprise the pictures are much better quality that I’d expected, and while it’s never going to challenge the Nikon D80 it’s nice to know that there’s a reasonable alternative when it’s just not possible to have the big camera with me. Here’s a couple of the pics as examples – click for larger version. The originals are 2048 x 1536 which is a pretty useful size.
Stonehaven Harbour
Dunnottar Castle
July 25th, 2010 08:55pm
billmarshall
So Alex Higgins is gone. It was expected, as anyone who saw him, frail and horribly thin, at the exhibition game at Sheffield a few weeks ago would know, but it’s still a tragic end to a wonderful talent.
He was often controversial, rubbed some people the wrong way, defied authority and normal standards of decorum, but his charisma, his fierce determination to win, and the way his emotions played out so publicly in his face made the game of snooker compelling viewing and provided every player who came after him with a sport that had a prestige that would have been unimaginable before his appearance.
There are many memories.
The UK final against Steve Davies where he lost all the games in the first two sessions, phoned his wife and told her he was going to win, and proceeded to do so.
The entrance into the arena with the hat in a World final against Cliff Thorburn.
The unbelievable escape from an impossible looking snooker on the black rail by going right round a crowded table and nestling against the ball with perfect pace and judgement of angles.
The emotional beckoning of wife and child after the magnificent century to win the World final against Ray Reardon.
But the one that I’ll never forget is that break against Jimmy White when two frames and 60-odd points down and looking to be beaten in the semi-final. Every shot was a hard pot and it seemed like every position was harder and harder. And a miss on any of them would have spelled defeat. It took a very special talent, it took nerve, and it took guts. It was magnetic for audience and TV viewers alike and you had to remember to breath. Surely we thought, he had to miss one eventually, but somehow he seemed to will them into the pockets and coaxed just enough of a miracle of position to make the next one possible. Not by a long way the most fluent break, but quite definitely the best, the most creative and the most difficult I’ve ever seen.
The drinking, the smoking and the gambling took their toll but the crowds loved him because he was human and fallible and because you could read the desire, the frustration, the hope and the genius etched across his face, and because he always seemed to want to give the audience the entertainment that he was uniquely capable of giving them.
Farewell Alex, you made the world a more interesting and exciting place. I only wish it had been kinder to you as a person.
January 19th, 2010 11:21pm
billmarshall
One of Scotland’s best loved voices died today at the age of 86. It’s hard to overstate the love and respect felt by the entire rugby world for one of the finest sports commentators that Britain has ever had.
He was more than a commentator, he communicated an understanding and appreciation of a game notorious for the complexity of its laws to a much wider audience than just the fans and players. People who had never been to a rugby match listened to him and felt they understood it. He did it with an honest Borders style, a wonderful turn of phrase that included bars of soap, leaping salmon and charging giraffes, and a gentle humour. He cut through the technicalities and made you feel as if you knew the players and why they played the game. And that rarest of qualities – he was impartial. Who can forget that wonderful Scotland try that went the full length of the pitch and was scored by Alan Lawson – who just happened to be Bill’s son-in-law. Who else could have kept his emotions in check at that moment?
As a teacher he trained generations of Border children in the sportsmanship of the game, and the players loved him for his gentle encouragement. You hadn’t arrived as an internationalist till you’d been given one of his Hawick Balls. Not just the Scottish players either – all over the world people wanted to play in matches that he commentated on and wanted to meet him.
He was a legend, and he’ll go on being a legend as long as the game is played, because there simply will never be another like him.
December 23rd, 2009 02:24pm
billmarshall
… blows directly off the Atlantic. (Hey you try finding something to rhyme with Madeira!)
Back again to the island I visited this time last year, but it seems I’m not so lucky with the weather this time. Apparently it’s been raining and stormy for the previous two weeks at least, but last night was particularly bad with thunderstorms and horizontal rain pummelling the palm trees. Still, at least it’s warm if rather humid, and much better than what I left behind in Scotland.
The trip here was eventful – the initial flight from Edinburgh cancelled due to the airline going bust, valiant efforts from dad and his travel agent secured a replacement flight from Manchester. A 3.5 hour train journey turned into a 6 hour one, not helped by a distinct lack of heating, and assisted by the decision not to proceed to the advertised destination of the airport but to terminate at the main Manchester station where allegedly a train was being held for us to reach the airport. Said train was neither held not even appeared to have existed. The next one was 30 minutes late. Frozen, we eventually arrived near 10pm and were lucky to get a much needed meal. Meanwhile the airport was itself swathed in frozen snow and many flights that day had been cancelled.
Check-in the next morning was perhaps the most inefficient I have ever experienced – a single queue for all 19 Thomas Cook desks had a stream of people winding interminably back on itself round the concourse with no information or staff to assist. Had the 9.30 departure been on time I would have missed it, having not even got as far as security by the time it was due to take off. It was not on time, we were promised more information at 11.30, then 12.30 then told the plane was stuck at Stanstead. That was a lie. It transpired that our original plane had arrived from Stanstead that morning and was given to to a flight delayed from the previous day – a reasonable enough decision so why the deception? Our replacement was frozen into a hanger at Manchester and could not be pulled out until later.
We boarded it at 2pm, being exhorted by the crew to move as swiftly as possible to avoid delay. At 2.30 we were told by the captain that the luggage had not yet been put on board! We eventually took off at 3.30 and the captain told us it was a bit breezy at Madeira. As any seasoned traveller will know that is pilot-speak for blowing a gale, and so it proved. Descending though turbulence we attempted unsuccessfully to land due to strong winds and then stayed in a holding pattern for a further period until it was safe to try again. We landed successfully, to rapturous applause from a somewhat tense flock of passengers, but I suspect the engineers will have had cause to check the shock absorbers on the landing gear rather carefully afterwards.
I ventured out once yesterday, and was caught in a squall 200 yards from the hotel and soaked in moments. The sea is slate grey except nearer the rocks where the sand is being churned up. But at least the hotel is comfortable and I can unwind. The local wines are again good and the seafood excellent.
November 23rd, 2009 09:38pm
billmarshall
I was a bookseller for 21 years, and books were in my blood long before that. Yet seven years after finding myself out of the business it is hardly recognisable and I’m beginning to wonder if it will still be there in another seven.
Increasingly I don’t feel the magic when I walk into a bookshop nowadays. I scan down the shelves and see endless identikit covers that seem to contain identikit writing. The old individuality that there used to be in the publishing industry has disappeared with the takeovers and amalgamations; the days of house styles, gentleman publishers nurturing their favourite sectors, and skilled editors who carefully built authors’ talents and helped them develop unique voices have all gone as the accountants and marketers have taken over. Earlier this week I was reading a post on Lynne Connolly’s blog about the difficulties for both authors and readers in an environment that is increasingly hostile to new, interesting and individualistic writing.
With the impact of supermarket sales of best sellers, the all encompassing reach of Amazon, and the electronic copying of large numbers of books of every type, the space where small and independent booksellers used to flourish has become more and more cramped. Now it seems that the big chains whose arrival helped force the quality stockholding booksellers like James Thin of Edinburgh, John Smith of Glasgow and Heffers of Cambridge into oblivion are now themselves being threatened. The BBC report of troubles at Borders makes grim reading, particularly the suggestions that they don’t have enough cash to last until Christmas. If Borders goes then apart from Waterstones, a chain that’s never been to my taste, there isn’t much left apart from Blackwells.
And of course that’s without even mentioning ebooks and the various readers such as the Kindle. Should they take off then the future of reading may be in electronic formats that you merely lease rather than own. In the same way that the younger generations have got used to mp3s and iTunes rather than the albums and CD’s that their parents enjoyed owning, we may be seeing the owning of books, those wonderfully sensual, tactile items that we book-lovers enjoy handling and turning the pages of, becoming a specialist activity rather than the mass proliferation that has allowed the near universal education that society has enjoyed for the last 40o years. And if the control of the electronic replacement is in the hands of a few media moguls rather than the variety of publishers and writers that we’ve become used to then that is a sobering thought indeed.
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