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Old friends

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“Where did I learn to understand sculpture? In the woods by looking at the trees, along roads by observing the formation of clouds, in the studio by studying the model, everywhere except in the schools.”

Auguste Rodin

The second splendid day out on our recent expedition to the heat-scorched shores of our former home was again courtesy of those with whom we were visiting – and an inspired choice it was. I did not know that such things as ‘sculpture gardens’ existed, nor that there was a splendid one in Churt- in Surrey. A most magical and bonkers-ly (is that a word…? it is now!) inspirational collection of all different shades of the sculptors art – displayed (and indeed for sale) in a beautiful and peaceful garden.

Best – frankly – if I just let the pictures tell the story:

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

 

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My last post – written in the shadow of the frustrating discovery that we had not, after all, contrived to visit parts of the world in which COVID appears now to be endemic and is yet, ‘irregardless’, largely ignored by the local inhabitants – we had not contrived by our diligence and native cunning to avoid succumbing to the same! In short – we got caught!

Now – the wording of that post might perhaps have given the impression that this regrettable lapse had inevitably taken the shine off the trip. Not so! Not so! We had a wonderful time and – could we but turn the clock back – we would do very little differently.

To any sensitive readers with whom we met in the UK and who might perhaps be fearful that they may inadvertently have played a part (so to speak) in our infection, we say: “Unlikely, chum!“. We suspect that a two hour delay in the Eurostar terminal at St. Pancras – where we were reluctantly obliged to share the space for an extended period with the teeming mask-less hoards who comprised the passenger compliments of four (or more) different trains – may have proved the straw that landed the camel with a hefty physiotherapy bill.

Over the next few posts I am going to share some images and impressions of our joyous travels, but first I just want to say a little about the nature of the expedition itself, because – for all sorts of reasons – this trip was very different to that upon which we ventured back in 2019. For a start regular readers will be well aware that we were extremely nervous of traveling abroad at all, in the light of the events of the last few years. That we were eventually persuaded so to do was in part because we had had encouraging conversations with those who had already done so, but also because of the invitation that we received to a celebration of good friends that we did not want to miss. The nature of our trip was inevitably defined by both of these considerations.

We rapidly abandoned initial thoughts to tour extensively because, at the time that we would have needed to make the necessary bookings, so much was yet up in the air and we would have created too many hostages to fortune. As a result the trip that we eventually planned was good deal shorter than one that we first had in mind. The celebration itself was to take place a considerable distance away from the capital – the which would inevitably skew our physical presence throughout our stay.

As a result we had sadly to accept that we would not get to see all of the good friends that we would have liked to have seen. We are most grateful to those with whom we were able to spend a little time; to those with whom we could not – our humble apologies and we hope that you understand.

Anyway – enough with the words… Next time – photos!

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Like everyone else’s our lives changed dramatically and unexpectedly a little more than two years ago when the rapid spread of the COVID-19 pandemic required us to re-evaluate how we lived – what might yet be possible and what no longer was.

How we saw the outside world changed almost overnight and our relationship with it became suddenly completely different. Where once we would have thought little of hopping our way around the globe with the insouciance of seasoned travellers the outside world had abruptly become a dangerous place from which – once one had sallied forth – one might not return unscathed.

Entirely logical fears about exposure to infection meant that the bounds of our existence became dramatically narrowed – like the walls closing in on one. For a while we found it hard to countenance the thought of venturing outside our own neighbourhood – let alone of leaving the island. It was more than a year before we plucked up the courage to cross the Georgia Strait to the mainland for the first time. We mostly found ourselves only too happy to remain safely in our own little cocoon.

Further the thought of sitting for hours cooped up with other people in a metal tube over the Atlantic filled us with horror – not helped by the lurid reports of increased incidences of ‘air-rage’ over such trivialities as mask-wearing etiquette. We were clearly nowhere near ready to venture forth again into the great unknown…

…and yet – this year something has shifted.

In part this change came about because we had visitors from abroad – not once, but twice! In the first instance (as trailed in this post) dear friends from England called us with the news that they were coming to Victoria in February for a job interview. We were excited at the prospect of seeing them again but also of the possibility that they might eventually once again become neighbours. As it turned out that didn’t happen – the job opportunity proving not to be all that it was cracked up to be – but we did spend a very happy few days entertaining our friends and being briefed by them as to the essential aspects of international travel in a post-COVID world.

We then had another most pleasant communication from an old theatre friend of mine. I had not seen this particular thespist since he moved to the US way back in the last century, though we do still trade yearly Christmas newsletters between Victoria and New York. He and his partner (and his partner’s mother) were planning a trip to visit friends in Seattle and – having ventured so close – would have considered it a shame not to come that little bit further to visit us. We were – naturally – completely delighted and once again enjoyed a wonderful few days of sightseeing, dining, making (or re-making) acquaintance and – of course – of much reminiscing.

These two visitations did wonders at bringing us out of our shells a little bit and enabling us to contemplate actually heading back out into the wide blue yonder. An invitation to an event on the other side of the pond simply added to a growing conviction that it is – perhaps – once again time to think about travelling.

As they say – watch this space…

 

 

 

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See the lights

A rare (these days!) and most pleasant trip up-island last Saturday to Duncan to have lunch with a long-standing friend of The Girl – and more recently, of course, of us both. As is our wont we took the Mill Bay ferry in either direction to save driving over the Malahat mountain – which makes for a much more relaxed and pleasant excursion.

On the way back we waited in Mill Bay for the ferry as the light started to drain from the sky. Naturally I felt the need to take photographs. Do click on the images for the full effect:

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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Image by <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/friis-236854/?utm_source=link-attribution&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_campaign=image&amp;utm_content=333574">Philip Friis</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com/?utm_source=link-attribution&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_campaign=image&amp;utm_content=333574">Pixabay</a>Well now… I figure that I owe all good, gentle and most patient readers something like half of a story – and as I aim to be a man of my word…

No recaps! If you want to catch up click here to revisit the last post and thus glean all there is to know up to this point; I’m just going to plough straight on ahead.

So – ‘Go West’ were recording in Gary, Dave and Rod’s studio, with Gary producing and Dave doing the synth programming and keyboard work. This was the early 80s, the era of synth-pop, the which had come about because of the advent of such seminal keyboards as the Sequential Circuits Prophet 5, the Roland Jupiter 8, the Yamaha DX7, the Korg M1 (of which I still have one which sits next to me as I write) and the ground-breaking Fairlight – so Dave’s particular talents were suddenly much in demand.

Gary and Dave worked on demo versions of two ‘Go West’ tracks – “Call Me” and “We Close Our Eyes” – which so impressed the record companies to which they were submitted that there was virtually a bidding war to sign the duo. ‘Go West’ became – for a while – pretty big in Europe (if not in North America) and toured there and as far afield as Japan. Needing augmentation for touring and recording they took on Gary and Dave as ‘permanent’ members. I remember Dave sending me a postcard from Japan when they were touring there.

As with many such genres synth-pop slowly faded from musical fashionability and ‘Go West’ faded with it – though the various constituent members are still working as far as I can tell (as would seem to be the case with many 80s bands).

Now – you may ask – why do I bring this all up right now? The answer is that – as mentioned before – the pandemic and associated lock-downs has led to a certain introspection and backward-looking – a certain affectionate wallowing in nostalgia, if you like. Long story, short – having lost touch with Dave at some point in the mid-80s I recently spent some time on the InterWebNet trying to find out what happened him. As is often the way in such circumstances I discovered some things that I had not previously known.

The band that Gary, Dave and Rob had formed back in the early 80s was called ‘Radar’. At the point at which they were swept up in the whole ‘Go West’ circus they were approaching the end of recording their own first album which was to have been titled “Lost in the Atlantic“. With everything else that was happening to them at the time that work was put on the back burner – and subsequently the album was never released…

…until now! This very year – just over a month ago – it finally came out in a limited release on a specialist label – Escape Music. You can read all about it here – and should you be an enthusiast for mid-80s synth-pop you might just care to give it a listen.

On a personal note it seems to me a somewhat strange synchronicity that – having lost touch with Dave at around the time this music was being created – I should next think to track him down (virtually!) at the point that it was finally released nearly four decades later.

Funny old world – ain’t it?

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As promised in my last but one post – an anecdote with a strong element of nostalgia… for me at any rate.

Back in the day (promising start – though we need not concern ourselves as to exactly which day) I played in a variety of bands in and around London in the UK. My very first band – in which all concerned cut their teeth as musicians – stayed together for around eight years, which really is pretty good going first time out. Amongst our other achievements we became connected to a Young People’s theatre company for whom we were invited to write a musical… and then another… and another… By the end of the 70s we had played our part in the creation of three musicals – two of which had been taken to the Edinburgh Fringe.

By that time the band had reached the point at which it was clearly time to go our separate ways. As a farewell ‘tour’ we managed to land a week of gig bookings back in Edinburgh at the Fringe Club and a night Upstairs at Ronnie Scott’s in London. This was to be our swan-song.

Now, at that point there were two brothers in the band who both played keyboards, but who were – for reasons I do not now recall – unable to make the trip north. We decided to do that which bands in the UK were wont to do in such situations – we advertised in the Melody Maker for someone to fill in. The ad was answered by a keen young chap who will for the purposes of this piece go by the name ‘Dave’ (for that was his name!). He was young (about seventeen I think) and precociously talented. He was also a really nice guy.

He duly came to Edinburgh with us – played Ronnie Scott’s with us – was appropriately sad when everything came to an end and we resolved to stay in touch – the which for a while we duly did.

Now Dave had left school by this point and was looking for somewhere to work. As it happened I was a regular gawker (and occasional customer) at my local music shop in Surrey and one day I saw advertised there the position of keyboard salesman. I drew this to Dave’s attention; he applied and got the job.

The guitar salesman at the store was a chap called Gary. He was somewhat older than Dave and had ambitions in both production and to play in a band. He and Dave and a vocalist/bassist called Rod quickly started working together. They built themselves a small studio (a lot more difficult in those less technical days) and set about writing and recording. They attracted some interest and soon gained a publishing contract.

At about this time various other local bands started to avail themselves both of the studio and of Gary’s production talents. One of these outfits was a duo that went by the name ‘Go West’.

Now – this story is clearly going to make for quite a long post, so I think it best to split it here and to finish it off in what I promise will definitely be the very next post…

See you then…

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It should perhaps be unsurprising in such times as these – that is, both when the winter is yet dragging its feet and noisily denying a platform to the incipient spring – and when the pernicious pandemic, still charging ahead at pretty near full throttle, keeps us cowering, heads well down, in our cardboard castles – that our thoughts turn to other and (in our memories at least) more gentle times.

Yes – it is for such ages that nostalgia was invented. This post (and quite possibly the next) will be devoted to the subject of just such wallowage (a word which appears in abundance on the InterWebNet but which may not be located within any dictionary as far as I can see).

At this point two years ago we were excitedly preparing for our last visit to the UK and to Europe (now, of course, sadly different things!). As that was to be our first trip back since moving to Canada in 2015 it is not surprising that revisiting old haunts and re-uniting with loved ones – both family and friends – featured prominently on the agenda.

Having done so within these postings on more than one occasion I am not about to recount yet again our doings on that trip but more to dwell upon the aftermath thereof… the echoes, should one prefer. I wrote at the time of the friends and family with who we had been re-united and I also waxed extremely lyrical concerning the long-lost contacts that were remade – particularly with those with whom I had at one point been fortunate enough to have created music or theatre.

Quite delightfully many of us who re-kindled associations on that trip are still in touch by one means or another – but mostly, it should be said, courtesy of the InterWebNet. Some keep in touch by email – some follow this blog (and on occasion respond thereto) and others have formed or joined the sort of online groups that may be used to share memories of people, places and events from our shared pasts.

Quite apart from the pleasures to be enjoyed by the recollection of the treasured memories that may thus be evoked this does give me – at least (though I suspect others also) – pause to consider just how rich were the experiences that we shared and the relationships that we formed. In my view we were – and still are – lucky, lucky people…

The next post will concern one of those odd little twists of fate that perhaps all lives throw up… (or perhaps not)!

On with the nostalgia…

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Well – not boots actually – but I could not off the top of my head think of any other footwear related couplets from which I could plagiarise a post title.

When I was a  considerably younger man I really had very little time for slippers. Now that I write that it feels like an odd thing to say; I don’t suppose than anyone actually gives time to domestic footwear. What I mean is that I didn’t feel the need for/couldn’t be bother with such things. Living in residences with carpets probably probably made a difference; we have little truck with such things here on the west coast.

I suppose also that I am now guilty of re-enforcing the stereotypes concerning such cosy domestic items – that they are only for old-folks; something your father would wear in his dotage (mine did!). I guess the truth is that I have now become (am now becoming!) that old-timer myself.

Either way – when we came to Canada half a decade ago it seemed like the right (and sensible – no-one needs cold feet) thing to do to acquire said comfy accoutrements. Further – being in Canada – they should undoubtedly take the form of Moccasins. A suitable pair was duly located – purchased – fallen in love with and worn until they fell apart.

Those are they on the left. On the right is the virtually identical pair with which I have just replaced them.

Well – if it ain’t broke…

If – on the other hand – it is broke…

When I was a  considerably younger man I really had very little time for slip-on shoes. You know – the sort of thing that doesn’t have laces (Tom Allen on ‘Mock the Week’ – “Duh! Espadrilles“).  I mean – let’s face it – shoes without laces aren’t real shoes, now – are they? Not for an English gentleman anyway (they’re called ‘loafers’ for goodness sake!).

Anyway – when we came to Canada half a decade ago and acquired not only an rather splendid inside but also a quite extensive outside  – one containing a barbecue (which the gentleman abroad is expected to use year round) and continuous and copious quantities of pine needles, etc – it suddenly made perfect sense to have some footwear that could easily be slipped on an off every time one needed to rush out to attend the grill! Of course – being in Canada – they would have to take a somewhat more rugged and substantial form than most casual English shoes (one really can’t barbecue in Hunters!). Needless to say, a suitable pair was duly located – purchased – fallen in love with and worn until they fell apart.

Those are they on the left. On the right is the virtually identical pair with which I have just replaced them.

Well – you know what they say…

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