Posh Chocolates!

Getting older is quite strange. Things you thought were fantastic when you were young start to lose their appeal. There are lots of things that when I was young I would relish, but now I seem to have either have lost the taste for them, or just got bored with them.

Excluding fashion, with which I had a brief flirtation in 1973, not really a vintage year for clothing, I have pretty much liked the same things for years. Don't get me wrong, I like to be adventurous in life, and trying new things is always quite exciting and fun (some things more so than others). Really, though, the things you were introduced to as a child tend to stay with you for life, like a sort of snuggle blanket. But one thing that I have realised this week came as shock to me: I DON'T LIKE CHOCOLATE! I know that this statement will have made lots of you out there gasp with disbelief, but there, I've said it now! What is worse is that I used to love the stuff, and I must have eaten tons of it over the years. Now, I just find it too sweet for my palate. Is this because chocolate is now made with extra sugar, or is it just my taste buds that have become over-sensitive?

When I was younger, you could buy things called penny mixes. These were sweets that cost a  penny. Or fruit salads (neither a fruit nor a salad) or black jacks, which I remember as having a distinctly racist picture on the front. These sweets were four for a penny. I'm a northern working-class lad, so these were our staple sugar rush when I was a kid. But every Sunday, my father would take us all to church and buy us all chocolate on the way home. He would place the assorted bars of loveliness on the mantlepiece, which would start a feeding frenzy among his sugar-starved children, me being the second oldest, the biggest and the most vicious of his offspring, which meant that I would usually get what I believed to be the finest chocolate bar.

I suppose it depends whereabouts in the world you were brought up as to what kind of chocolate you like and remember. Here in Britain we had, and still have, Mars Bars (definitely from Earth though) and Bounty bars, which were always my first choice. We had Marathon bars, which have strangely been renamed as 'Snickers'. We had Topics, another of my favourites, and Picnic bars, which I'm not sure are still in production. Then we had things such as Aztec bars which are no longer made, and Double Deckers - don't know if you can still buy them? But the worst thing you could end up with on a Sunday night, as you settled down to watch Hawaii Five-O, was Turkish Delight, which was neither Turkish, nor a delight. If Dad had gone to a late mass and I had been out playing, I knew when I got back home that I would have missed the chocolate scramble. All that would be left alone, like a leper in a swimming pool, would be the Turkish Delight! I don't know why people like this confectionery, While on holiday in Turkey, everyone said that I must try the Delight there, as it was so different, so I did, and it wasn't! This stuff makes my teeth itch: in fact my teeth are itching while I write this. Having said all this, I always ate it, otherwise it would be another week before I would have chocolate again.

But when I was a kid, there were also posh chocolates. These came in a box, and guilty-looking fathers bought them for angry-looking mothers, who then usually gave them to the kids to eat with a look of, 'it will take more than a lousy box of chocolates before you get into my bed again!' thrown towards the wayward father. But for me the poshest chocolates were called Quality Street, the ones in the purple wrappers were so nice that they have caused vendettas between my siblings and I which are still unresolved! People disagree with me about Quality Street being posh chocolates, then they cite Ferrero Rocher as the poshest of chocolates. Wrong! They are just pretentious wannabes! Quality Street gave you a choice of caramel, truffle, chocolate, orange fondue, a white fondue which I'm not sure what it was supposed to taste of, strawberry, fudge, and the list goes on. My aunt would buy a box of these chocolates for our family each Christmas. We would open the box and gaze in wonder at the multicoloured wrappers. It was like 'Treasure Island', only this chest contained edible jewels.

If you are from Britain and you are reading this you will instantly know what I mean when I say 'the purple ones'. If you are not from Britain, you may not understand this. Firstly, if you like chocolates and have never had a purple Quality Street, then a holiday in Britain is well worth the money just to sample one. This tiny little mouthful of happiness is a hazel nut covered with smooth runny caramel and covered with chocolate. These are always the first to go in every household across Britain.In our house, if you weren't there for the opening of the box ceremony it was tough - you would be left with the green triangle thing when you got home. The children in our house were more Piranha than child and could strip a box of chocolates of its contents in seconds!

I always thought that when I grew up my cupboards would be stocked with chocolates, but I have just lost the taste for the stuff. I have a full tin of Quality Street sitting in my man-drawer right now as I type. I bought it so Harleigh could have one as an illicit treat from time to time, but her chocolate of choice is Kinder Eggs (smart kid: two treats in one). So the chocolates lie there like a Tory manifesto, something no one wants!

Maybe posh chocolates have had their day?

The Sweetest Kiss

It would be very difficult to write a blog this week without mentioning the atrocities that have taken place in Paris.

I find it very difficult to discover any logical reason behind the motives of the killers. If it was, as they say, religiously motivated, then it just doesn't stand up to scrutiny. Is their god so drunk on power that he demands unthinking total worship? Why would he do this? Is he so weak that he has to have young men and children to do his bidding? Why couldn't he wipe out the infidels for not worshipping him? Is he so weak and impotent that he feels that if his word is questioned, you the believer, and not he, should take action? Of course this is all just a nonsense. Ibby Knill, a wonderful lady, who suffered through the last round of mindless hate back in the 'forties, when the same ideology was used by the Nazis, once said to me, when asked if she would have killed another if it was her or them:

“To kill is your choice , I would not take part in someone else's ideology of murder.”

These young men are just doing the bidding of a mindless ideology that has no purpose other than hate.

They could, I suppose, use the socio-economic argument about how the third world has been held back so we in the west can benefit from this. This argument is of course partly true, when you look at some of the economies in the third world and see how fast they are growing, Ethiopia for example. This is happening because of Chinese investment in the country to help build and infrastructure. The Chinese, of course, are not doing this out of the goodness of their hearts, but because they have lots of raw materials in Ethiopia that China is lacking in.

But, having said this, lots of the middle-eastern countries that are spawning these murders are quite oil-rich. It's their political instability that is the cause of the problems. This goes back millennia and is because of the tribal nature of these countries, where sectarianism is rife. The problems again stem from juvenile religious beliefs.

Whatever they think the reason is, to be able to walk through crowded streets where people sit happily chatting and enjoying time with loved ones, and cold bloodedly shoot them takes someone that is devoid of all compassion and thought. They claim that they are soldiers, but they are not. True warriors defend the weak and the rights of freedom. True soldiers lay down their life so others may live free of tyranny and oppression. These people want tyranny and oppression! What could have turned what must have been once loving young people into such cold calculating robots that kill without thought or compassion?

We also have seen the rise in greed, when people can watch families clinging to the sides of doomed boats in an attempt to flee the ideology of these retards in the middle east, and then make comments like, 'we should let them all drown!' What is happening to human empathy? Why are we becoming so devoid of emotion and compassion? Here in Britain, we are so tied up with a government that is slowly dismantling a welfare state that was once the envy of the world. They use the greed card, 'Someone's getting something you're not!' The great unwashed scream as one 'Stop them!' and the government smiles and chisels away another chunk of the welfare safety net. They say the whole world is suffering this economic crisis, how? Who is all the money owed to if all the world is all nearly bankrupt? Can leaders of countries not get together and say, 'Er, lets call it quits and start again?'

Now I know this is a puerile and simplistic statement but the reality is that there are individuals that are manipulating the world's economy with the help of governments, this is a fact. There are currency dealers that can bring down whole countries' economies by making the currency worthless. While there are other institutions that determine the credit score of countries, again stopping them from getting much needed cash. Who is the cash coming from? Who lets individuals have so much power? The very people who we vote into power that's who!

So with all this hate and greed, it does effect they way we feel. I, for one, feel more and more alienated from people and their ideologies that they seem to have developed from reading right wing newspapers, and the thoughts of media moguls. But within all this hate and bile, I experienced a little light of love a light that was so bright so powerful that it gave me hope.

We all need to be loved, I don't care what you say, you are in denial if you claim you do not need love, or you have mental health issue. A teaspoon of love can have a more powerful effect on the human psyche than an ocean of hate. Just look at the image of the policeman carrying the body of the three year old refugee off the beach. The look of compassion and sorrow on his face along with the hopelessness of the situation changed the whole world to the plight of the refugees. Just as now the rational human parts of the world, which were repulsed by the images of Friday night in Paris, stand together with an outpouring tide of sorrow and love for the victims and their families. This outpouring of love is bringing not just people, but whole countries together in solidarity. Isis want the world to attack them so they can be seen as the defenders of Islam, but their hate is being dwarfed by the tide of love given to their victims.

The other evening, little Harleigh stayed over at our house she loves playing various games with Nonna Carol. These games involve lots of running and singing and role play so Nonna Carol is ready for a large glass of Pinot Grigio and legs up in front of the TV, come evening time. Harleigh then usually switches her allegiance to Babbo at this time. When they are running around like hamsters on acid I usually go upstairs and write and answer all the emails I should have answered a month ago. Harleigh at this time will climb up the stairs and declare that “We read books now Babbo?” So that is usually the end of my night's work, as we get her favourite books out. Nonna makes us our green tea and honey and our rounds of toast, and both Harleigh and I cuddle up in bed and read and laugh about the characters in the books. The other evening, Harleigh fell asleep as we read the books so I turned off the light and laid her back and laid with her for a while to make sure she had drifted off to wherever three year olds go when they sleep? I had my back to her as I was still trying to answer the last of my emails using my phone when I felt a little tug on the back of my shorts.

“Turn round Babbo” asked a very tired and sleepy little Harleigh. I turned and gave her a cuddle she pressed her face into mine then opened one eye and in a beautiful little sleepy voice she declared, “I do love you Babbo” I smiled hugged her tightly and whispered back, “I do love you Harleigh.”

I then shut my eyes for a moment when I felt a pair of little lips gently kiss me on the end of the nose I opened one eye and all I could see was a small contented little girl drifting off to sleep with the biggest smile you would ever see imprinted on her face. That was true love, That was the love of pure innocence, that was the sweetest kiss.

I wish all the world and its hate and greed could experience the sweetest kiss, the innocence of love at this moment in time.

You Cannot Be Serious!

This week, I was asked if I would attend a community event and just chat and mingle with some of the people who were there to voice their concerns and give opinions about their community. Because I wasn't there in any official capacity (I don't have an official capacity, or any other capacity, for that matter) it was nice just to walk around chatting to people from all walks of life.

I found myself talking to a wonderful lady who had served her community tirelessly throughout her life. She now has MS and is confined to a wheelchair, but she has still retained a very dry sense of humour and a very positive outlook on life. She eventually told me that she had enjoyed our chat but, “I'm going to sit over there looking pitiful so I can blag a lift home from that guy with a bald head. I know he's not going home but he's a sucker for my little disabled lady routine!” With that, she laughed and moved off.

As she moved away, I was aware that someone was looking directly at me. You know the feeling, the one that scares you into looking over. It was a very strange person who was looking at me intently, so I gave him a feeble grin, as I didn't want to wake up in his cellar, smelling of Dettol (he had that aura about him). He smiled back, using the smile that forewarns you that something is not as it should be with the owner of the smile. He walked over with his plastic cup of tea firmly gripped in his hand and introduced himself, adding, “I see you have met Cath?” pointing to the lady in the wheelchair who I had just been chatting to. I nodded. He then leaned over to whisper in my ear, which gave me the creeps, so I stood back, not knowing just what he was going to do.

“It's because her father was a drunkard,” he whispered.

“Sorry?” I replied, thinking I must have missed a few sentences, or maybe a whole anecdote!

“The reason she's a cripple!” I didn't like the word 'cripple' or where this conversation was going so I cautiously said, “Sorry, I don't understand what you mean?”

“Have you read the Bible? The sins of the father shall be visited on the son!”

Now, this retard was trying to tell me that this lovely lady who was suffering from a horrible insidious disease was in this predicament because her father liked to get pissed! I would like to say that I came back with a witty reply, telling him that Stephen Hawking's father must have been the mother of all drunkards. I could have told him that it is quite odd for a loving superior being to punish an innocent person for something someone else did. Although to be fair to him, he could have come back at me with the mind-numbing original sin argument. I could have told him that it would be strange of a loving God to make one of the drunkard's family suffer, while leaving the others alone. I could have told him that it's strange how God has punished so many intelligent loving good people by giving them a crippling illness while leaving low life scum-bags to run about free and healthy. I could have said all this, but I'm afraid I became so angry that my Tourettes kicked in and I found myself angrily swearing at him before telling him to move away from me before I really lost my temper and did something stupid to him. I wonder if God will punish my son for my little angry outburst?!

On a lighter note, at the same event I started talking to a lady who turned out to be an actress. I asked her if she worked full time as an actress, to which she nodded a yes. She was quite a striking looking woman. I would say that she was in her fifties, very grand and, as you would expect, very dramatic. I innocently asked if she had been in anything that I would know, and she looked at me as if I had just pissed on her chips and replied, “I doubt it, Shakespeare may be a little too subtle for you!” I wasn't aware that old 'Shakey' was subtle; he could be quite bawdy at times. But if she meant that I'm not keen on Shakespeare plays, she was, of course, quite correct in this assumption, Shakespeare doesn't read any of my stuff, so I don't read any of his. Having said this, I didn't like her assumptions, and having already upset one person at this event I couldn't see that upsetting one more person would do much harm.

“Have you ever been in Emmerdale?” I asked, knowing this would wind her up.

“I don't do soaps. I'm a serious actor,” she replied. This made me laugh.

“And what, pray tell, is so funny?” Honest, she did say that!

I asked her how she could claim to be a serious actor when an actor is someone who dresses up and pretends to be someone else! My granddaughter does that, and she's not at all serious about it! I explained to her that Ian MacKellen was a very famous Shakespearian actor who also appears in films, and has been in Coronation Street, and he does comedies on TV... because he's an actor! I think it was at this point that she muttered something about me being a grubby little man. I do take exception to this as I bathe every day and I also think with me being six foot two in height, this means I'm not little! But she had already stormed off. 

The person who had invited me to the event asked if I might like to go early?

I have decided that in future that I won't go to any more of these events, because I find it very difficult to be so serious!

Heavy Rock Stars Don't Go Bald!

The other evening I watched a brilliant documentary about Jim Marshall of Marshall amps fame. These amps were staple equipment for 'sixties and 'seventies rock stars.

On the program were lots of musicians from the 'sixties and 'seventies, with lots of stories to tell. As they spoke, I couldn't help but think that 'Spinal Tap' was actually a documentary and not a spoof. I was waiting for one of these former rockers saying, “I had an amp that went to eleven!” But on the whole, it was a very enjoyable look back at the music scene of the day.

While watching the program I couldn't help but notice that nearly all the former rock stars, who must have all been in their late sixties and seventies, had suspiciously full heads of hair! Not only that, but these luxurious mops also seemed to be a youthful dark colour, with not a grey hair to be seen. Now I'm not usually the jealous type, but I do envy the fact that this select bunch of fine drug- and drink- ravaged hard living individuals managed to keep the hairstyles they had back in the day. I know of no one else their age who has managed this!

Having said this, the real star of the program was the music. I love all music, but I have to admit to being left baffled by the disco craze, with the exception of Donna Summer's 'I Feel Love'. Disco and I never really got on. Same can be said for funk; the early James Brown stuff was OK, but the seventies space ships and silver suits were just to much for me. I even like some country and western, 'The Devil Went Down to Georgia' by Charlie Daniels band was good. The devil won, by the way. I like a bit of Johnny Cash, which is a name that sounds like change from a condom machine. I love the old Reggae, though I wasn't ever that impressed by Bob Marley. I loved songs such as 'Double Barrel' and 'Monkey Man'. I even liked some British folk, such as Ewan McColl, who was the father of the late great Kirsty. He penned two songs which were big hits for others, 'The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face' and 'Dirty Old Town', but I loved his versions. Also there was a folk singer from the 'sixties and early 'seventies who I loved, called Jake Thackeray. He died in the 'seventies and, sadly, his music is no longer played anywhere. I shall dig some out later. I love 'Indie' music, in fact this is probably my favourite genre. I also love a bit of old blues and a bit of old soul. 'Can't turn You Loose' by Otis Redding is probably one of the best riffs in music. Love classical as well, especially Debussy.

People often ask me what is my favourite song. When anyone asks you this it's quite hard to come up with a definitive. I have a radio show on Phoenixfm 96.7 which goes out every Wednesday at 2pm GMT. When I ask guests to choose a song their minds always go blank, yet later they can reel off lots of tunes that they like. I think 'Comfortably Numb' by Pink Floyd is in danger of being one of the best songs ever. While Scott Walker's, 'No Regrets' has to be the best ever break up song. For me, the most relaxing song ever is 'Walk On The Wild Side' by Lou Reed. It take me back to warm summer days as kids fishing by a small pool with a little transistor radio playing the tunes of the day. I also love the song, 'Laid' by James, as this too takes me back to happy times. So it's hard to say just what my favourite song, is as I have such an eclectic taste in music, I even love rap music. I especially love Spearhead or any Michael Franti tune. If you get chance to listen to my radio show please do tune in and request a song, I shall be more than happy to play something for you. Let me know what your favourite tune is and why, if you have one that is.

Now you know I said that it is hard to say just what my favourite tune is?.. Just kidding, 'Rock and Roll' by Led Zep is for me, from the opening drum solo to the final chord one of the finest pieces of music ever written, even better than '.Whole Lotta Love'! Actually get hold of a copy of Goldbug's version of 'Whole Lotta Love' - it is a mini master piece!

I hope to hear from you one Wednesday!