Tall Stories

50 years living in the same house.

Quite an achievement.

Some may say that given the average period of occupancy between house moves at 7 years, or as it used to be perceived before the current recession and market downturn, this may be seen by some as an indication of a lack of aspiration or upward mobility.

Others may regard it as financial foolhardiness in not selling up and reinvesting with the regularity that the likes of Spencer, Alsop and Beeney advocate in order to surf that wave of equity in property.

However, if a house purchased in 1963 was seen as that much alluded to "forever" home and could meet easily all of the requirements of a family at its different stages of development then why bother to even contemplate a move elsewhere?.

That was the case with the property that I visited today.

It fronts a very busy main road corridor which carries a good few thousand vehicles in any cycle of daily activity to and from a large City.

It is exceptional and remarkable in that it is built over 5 original floors and the block formed by two others in the terrace is the only surviving example of its type of the wartime bombing, Town Planning and Redevelopment that has ravaged this particular urban environment.

Built in 1890 the property will have at that time been on the very edge of city. It now has that feeling of being more centrally located with extensive rooftop views from the top floor and not an open field or tract of land in sight.

The first occupants, when new, were evidently affluent Professional types with all that went with that lifestyle including live-in servants, a lower ground floor kitchen, scullery, pantry and laundry and a coach house in the rear garden.

The current and longstanding owners were selling up because the size and running costs were just too great for them in their retirement years.

In between the wars the property was carved up into 6 flats and letting rooms and this was how the property was taken on in the early 1960's. As well as providing ample space for a young and growing family it appears that the room layout was retained and provided a good source of income. The experience of being landlords under the same roof does not seem to have been too traumatic and with only two out of multiple tenants over half a century being troublesome.

There are indications of the original grandeur.

The fireplaces include tremendous marble edifices which could as easily form a headstone or epitaph monument. Covings are just about hanging in there against the force of gravity and its debilitating effect on old and weak horsehair bonded plasterwork. The extent of partitioning of the largest rooms, originally billiard table or small ballroom sized, can be seen from the interruption of the deep plaster cornices above lightweight and flimsy walls.

In the surface water flooding of late June 2007 the lower ground floor was inundated but was left to dry out in the natural process with no bothering of the insurance company. It has recovered well with none of the high tide marks, fungus or fustiness that inevitably accompany a period of a building being under water.

The owners were adamant that it was not a basement because it had full height windows and a level ground point of entry.

The ground or upper ground level was approached by once grand dressed stone steps with an ornate vine leaf motif wrought iron handrail. These features had seen better days with a bit of a list to starboard and a fine suspension of corroded metal in the eddying airflow around the front elevation.

Staircases and high vaulted lightwells permeated the centre of the house. The bannisters had a deep lustre to the woodwork where palms and fingers had grasped on ascending and descending over the last 122 years.

Over their period of ownership the now elderly couple had moved about between the floors and suites of rooms as their demands changed. They now resided on the first floor but only because it had the best staircasing on which to fix the runners for the chairlift.

In its heyday the posh occupiers had mainly lived on the first floor, above the densest smog zone and well away from the rising damp which was prevalent but generally disguised by fancy wall hangings and distemper.

The two top floors were singularly lacking in quality and style but then again they were purposely the accommodation for those in domestic service who did not expect any favours, airs or graces. Ceilings were lower, no decorative fireplaces and with smaller windows giving a restricted outlook.

Chauffeur, cook, housekeeper and skivvy would occupy these quarters and be grateful for it.

I was thrown in my thoughts temporarily by the sight of two artificial Christmas trees ready assembled in a corner. There existed a perpetual festive season in a part of the house now rarely visited and this had a certain attraction. A permanent Santa's Grotto.

At the top of the house, nestled tightly under the roof pitch there were indications of  leaks to the slate covering, stains on the redundant chimney breasts and an air of abandonment. The pigeons had prized a way in around a broken skylight claiming the space for their own.

I was glad that I has been accompanied on the tour by the more agile one of the couple as by now I was a bit disorientated as to where and on what floor I was.

At five storeys up the view was broad with the Whiting Works of the nearest town just discernible at some 9 miles distance and the safety lights of the suspension bridge, at similar distance, blinking meekly in the low cloud. I could feel that first uneasiness of vertigo usually reserved for trips up a church bell tower or peering over a cliff edge.

The couple had obviously been very happy in that cavernous property but reluctantly they accepted that they were no longer able to cope. A small bungalow in the suburbs was their destination if the sale progressed.

As for the future of the house?

It would imminently be ripped apart, renovated and refurbished as essential preparation for the next century of occupation and use. Call it progress.

Yorkshire Riviera

Would you believe it!

I took this photograph in Robin Hood's Bay, North Yorkshire, UK,  just today.

Could as easily be somewhere in the Mediterranean or California. It was a small window of opportunity as the blue skies lasted a mere few seconds after the picture was taken. That's more
like the Yorkshire Coast that we all know and love.......

 

Mid afternoon at the Oasis

And Ziggy played guitar.......

Before my brain becomes addled and confused with age I felt it appropriate to list the live music gigs that I have been to.

In true listomania fashion I have broken these down into decades and where remembered the venue and name of the promotional tour. Here goes;

1970's
The Jam. Setting Sons tour at Brid Spa. Got Paul Wellers autograph on my tee-shirt. I was under the misapprehension that I was a mod in one of my Dad's suits.
The Police. Regatta de Blanc tour at Brid Spa. My sister got backstage with the band but no-one had a pen. She also panicked when her bra strap was undone whilst she was in a prime spot near the front.

1980's

Wham! The tour with the large lettered T shirts. Leicester de Montfort. Mate got his car broken into and everything stolen. Not sure if it was George or that other one who did it.
Thompson Twins. Into the Gap tour. Nottingham. Big hair and big hats.
The Simple Minds. New Gold Dream tour. Sheffield.
U2. War Tour. Derby. Bono climbing all over the speaker stacks but before people were interested enough to go through his bins.
David Bowie. Serious Moonlight Tour. NEC Birmingham. A real arena gig. Bad traffic jams.
The Stranglers. Rock City, Nottingham. Mate slept through the gig after eating some fungus.
Wishbone Ash. Got on a bus from Lincoln but more like a mystery tour.
Barclay James Harvest. Look them up if you've never heard of them before.
Spear of Destiny. Hull City Hall. Turns out he was Boy George's beau for some time.
Elkie Brooks. Nottingham. Just good music
The Dubliners. Sober first half, oblivious the other. St Patrick's Day, possibly

1990's

Paul Weller. Hull. He did not really need the other two from 1979.
Texas. Hull. The Hush- Lush.
Bernard Butler. Hull Blagged these last two through my brother who had done BB's album graphics.
Ocean Colour Scene. Hull. Best edge of britpop band.
Craig David. Sheffield. Went with daughter for first gig. Me and 15,000 females.
Beautiful South, Brid Spa. Fantastic live band
Lindisfarne. Beamish. Stumbled across them whilst looking for the musuem gift shop.


2000's

REM. KC Arena. Poured with rain but great gig.
The Beautiful South. Out in the forest clearing and my bald patch on the DVD.
Roland Gift, Soloing away from Fine Young Cannibals.
Tom Jones. Dalby Forest. One to see before he pops his welsh clogs.
Hem. Dalby Forest. Chilled out.
The Zutons. KC Arena. Before they were well known, Valerie.
Florence and the Machine. Will's first gig
Nitin Sawhney. Acoustic set on 5-Live Broadcast
James Taylor. Birmingham. What a great musician, performer and showman.
Joe Bonamassa. Brid Spa. Best guitarist in the world and just getting started.
Kiss. Sheffield. Wow.
Black Country Communion. Leeds. More Wow
Michael Schenker Group. Leeds. Rock and Roll
Martin Turners Wishbone Ash. Local town hall. You never lose it.
The Scorpions at Munich Olympiahalle a week before Christmas.
Walter Trout in a basement in York
John Cooper Clarke at the Opera House, York. F****** Brilliant
Joe Bonamassa in Sheffield. Bigger and better
Neil Young and Crazy Horse in Newcastle. Still going strong
Joe Satriani in Steel City. Awesome.

Sad thing is, nothing in the diary for the rest of 2013- yet

Thank you , goodnight.

The Moon is made of Cheese

I like to see a public opinion poll. I enjoy participating sometimes in an on line survey and do my utmost to be truthful, honest and decent in my responses so as not to distort the result in case it is actually of any significance in shaping such things as Government policy or how we are allowed to lead our lives. A sampling of any proportion of the population can have interesting connotaions in terms of outcome. I remember a survey in a school magazine in which, curiously, the best single of the year also won the category of worst single of the year and with the same phenomena being recorded for best male artist and top group. The following very extensive list and in chronological order is a very recent offering from a poll taken amongst the subscribers of The Gadget Show. Having just seen the list myself does appear to imply that this particular group has exceeded itself in not just overall geek points but also in the display of a remarkable breadth and depth of general knowledge, social and economic development and history. Really a very clever and astute bunch of, predominantly I contest, single males. It is therefore to be applauded as a unique opinion. Many may not agree with a number of the entries and some are indeed just plain freakish. My own lifetime of gadget appreciation and use began in the late 1960's and early 1970's but many of the post war inventions were to be found in the house in which I grew up in. There are no cheap and nasty items. All, bar none, are examples of inspirational and durable engineering, product design and marketing, yes even the slinky.

See what you think...........................

1913 The zip

1914 Motorised movie cameras

1915 Pyrex

1916 Electric power drill

1917 Radio tuners

1918 The superheterodyne radio circuit

1919 The pop up toaster

1920 The hairdryer

1921 The modern lie detector

1922 Electric kettle

1923 Self-winding watch

1924 Loudspeaker

1925 Modern day can opener

1926 Tevelox robot

1927 Aerosol can

1928 Baird Television Department Company television

1929 Car radio

1930 Jet engine

1931 Electric razor

1932 Electric can opener

1933 The Teasmade

1934 Zippo lighter

1935 Radar

1936 First voice recognition machine

1937 Dirt Devil

1938 The biro

1939 Helicopter

1940 Modern colour television

1941 Artificial heart

1942 The turboprop engine

1943 The Slinky

1944 Kidney dialysis machine

1945 Clock radio

1946 Disposable nappy

1947 Kenwood food mixer

1948 First pager

1949 Photo-Pac disposable camera

1950 Alkaline batteries

1951 Power steering

1952 SAGE modem

1953 Black box flight recorder

1954 Regency pocket radio

1955 Breathalyser

1956 Behind the air hearing aid

1957 Casio digital watch

1958 Pacemaker

1959 Black and Decker cordless drill

1960 Stereos/hi-fis

1961 Kodak Instamatic

1962 LED

1963 The Telefunken 'mouse'

1964 Plasma television – University of Illinois

1965 Y. Hatano’s pedmoter

1966 El-Gi 1:12 Ferrari radio controlled car

1967 Polaroid

1968 Smoke detector

1969 The Internet

1970 Digital thermometer

1971 Busicom LE-120A Handy pocket calculator

1972 Multi socket power plug

1973 The Ethernet

1974 Breville sandwich maker

1975 Kodak digital camera

1976 Lithium batteries

1977 Mattel Electronic Football

1978 Victor HR-3300REK - first UK VHS video recorder

1979 Texas Instruments Speak and Spell

1980 Sony Walkman

1981 Epson HX-20 - the world's first laptop

1982 Sony Watchman - CD player

1983 Commodore 64

1984 Sony Discman

1985 The Leatherman

1986 Bose noise cancelling headphones

1987 Sony super VHS camcorder

1988 Digital mobile phones

1989 World Wide Web

1990 Nintendo Game Boy

1991 Nintendo SNES

1992 Palm Pilot

1993 Dyson vacuum cleaner

1994 Digital cordless telephone /Mega Drive

1995 PlayStation 1

1996 Audio Highway - world's first MP3 player

1997 Motorola StarTac

1998 Panasonic portable DVD player

1999 DVR by TiVo

2000 The Trek Tech/IBM - flash drive

2001 Apple iPod

2002 PlayStation 2

2003 Blackberry 6210

2004 Samsung OLED TV

2005 Xbox 360

2006 ScanDisk Micro SD

2007 Apple iPhone

2008 Beats by Dre

2009 Twitter

2010 Apple iPad

2011 Kindle Fire

2012 Nexus 7

2013 PlayStation 4

A Solution Solution.

Never had one before with a house;

A water meter.

I am a bit nervous about it to be honest.

Not sure what to expect in terms of the first demand for monies from Yorkshire Water and so have introduced a regime of water austerity measures to try to establish what useage represents, say the basic unit of £1.

I have of course heard both good and bad things about a metered supply.

Households with low occupancy appear to be at an advantage on a meter when compared to the levy of a standing order under the old water rates. Large family units have found, in direct contrast, a big hike in costs for this particular utility, but then again what's new in terms of outgoings for any of the utilities today.

My introduction to this new experience was on my hands and knees out on the pedestrian pavement on the day of the handover of the house from its former owners. In some sort of informal ceremony I was charged with the easing up of the stiff hinged metal hatch , prising out of the polystyrene dust cover and brushing aside the accumulated cobwebs and insect bodies in order to take the readings which would form the opening balance under our occupancy.

From thereon in, and every time a tap was turned or a pump in water bearing appliance switched on, I swear that I could hear a whirring away of the dials on the meter even though this was a practical impossibilty at such a distance and from my position behind the double glazing.

We had got into a bit of a deficit on power bills at the old, solid walled and draughty house and I did not want to have the same worries and anxieties that a drop into so called "fuel poverty" had caused at that time.

The period up until receipt of the first bill for water would therefore be on a trial and error basis.

Pipework connections in the new place for the dishwasher that we had lugged across the city boundary with us were found to be faulty. Perhaps a blessing in disguise given the significant volumes of water that cascade through dirty crockery from this labour saving type of appliance. Hand washing of plates, cups and cutlery does give a very real perception of how much water is being used but again I have no basis of information on which to guage the cost of a sink full of soapy water.

In the pursuit of water saving a wonderful invention has taken pride of place in the kitchen.

It is a bright red, rather peanut shaped piece of equipment known as a single cup water boiler. Rather than mess around with a kettle and potentially over fill or have to top up and re-heat the Morphy Richards branded thing can be accurately loaded up with the contents of the cup to be used and within 30 seconds a fierce geyser of boiling hot water is pumped out with a satisfying slurp.

That just really leaves for monitoring the daily requirements for personal washing and flushing of the loo.

In times of national drought and shortages there are regular initiatives to conserve water in the home. I remember from my childhood the insertion into the toilet cistern of an inflatable bag or other measures provided by the water companybut nothing could cut down water consumption as effectively as a good old brick. Most of the latest designs of WC's have a dual flushing button system for short or long functions but our inherited toilet does not.

Again, I hesitate to place an estimate on cost per flush but "pay-to-poo" makes me determined to get value for money by a prolonged occupancy in the lavatory with a book, magazine or the leftover sunday papers.

As for washing and bathing, well, me and the missus share the bath water, not at the same time in slushy romantic style with fragrant candles and a glass of wine, but on a purely functional basis. It is a case of a quick splash one after the other, before we both head off for work in the morning.

Life governed by a metered water supply will certainly be interesting and have its challenges after so many years of wastefulness, complacency and downright extravagance in the pursuit of cleanliness and hygiene.

The local swimming pool may soon notice a new phenomena of a ring of soapy scum around the ceramic tiling in the shallow end when I start my winter programme of regular water based activity. At £3.25 per swim session payable to the City Council Leisure Services I still think that I should be quids in on keeping my home water costs at a manageable level. That's what I call a good solution.

Tomasz "celebrity" zewksi.

I was only just 10 years old at the time but some memories just persist in your mind throughout your whole life.

I am not talking about any life or death situation, abuse by a celebrity or neglect.

It is something far more important to a 10 year old than those, still traumatic scenarios.

It was when England, the football team ,failed to qualify for the 1974 World Cup tournament in Germany by only managing a one all draw with Poland at the old Wembley Stadium.

That result meant that the visitors progressed to the summer competition and the England players, although themselves dejected would no doubt find themselves as 'johnny no mates' on some beach in Spain or Portugal having to watch the games on a grainy, poorly tuned in TV and with commentary in the native language.

There can be no greater disappointment to a professional player than to have to sit out what is often cited as the greatest show on earth. It is the ultimate showcase of talent and athleticism. If represented by, say Selfridges or Harrods then the England squad would have found themselves sitting in their own deckchairs on the pavement outside Radio Rentals or Woolworths.

My own and no lesser feelings of despair, distress and frustrated anger from that particular failure by the National Team have been brought again to the fore with the impending match this week between England and Poland.

There are mitigating circumstances this time around.

In 1973 the match was the decider in the qualifying Group. Our lads just had to win. Poland just needed a solitary point.

This time around, although there have been other matches in the ensuing 40 years, Poland have nothing to play for but their pride having performed poorly in the round of matches in a tough group including Ukraine, Montenegro, Moldova and the making up the numbers team of part timers from San Marino (wherever that actually is in Europe or near Mexico from the sound of it).

England have to equal or better their main threat of automatic ticket booking for Brazil 2014, Ukraine who probably expect a goal fest against San Marino, already having leaked 46 goals with one single return themselves.

I have been immersed in footie from an early age so forgive my vagueness if I say that I think that I actually did watch the match live on the TV rather than imagining it or picking it up as a You Tube archive in my later adult life.

A live broadcast was very rare in the 1970's with a few important Internationals, the Home International series and the FA Cup Final.

I definitely must have watched it because of the dejected feelings that I so well remember. I did have a bit of a bad loser streak. Some three years earlier in 1971 I had attempted a head down charge on a friend of my big sister after she had expressed support for Arsenal who had just beaten my then team Liverpool in the FA Cup Final. The girl must have been a ballet dancer in the way that she sidestepped my bad tempered assault and left me a little bit stunned following a cranial impact on the kitchen sink unit.

I had a set procedure and ritual for a live evening TV game. Parentally imposed.

Homework, Tea, Wash, Pyjamas and dressing gown. The house occupants had learnt the hard way to be absolutely silent in the background. Younger brother, aged 4 would be in bed and my two sisters then 9 and 12 would be doing some activity out of sight and earshot.

In the Tv coverage there were of course the boring bits of introduction, recap of games to date,the all important table standings and the jabbering on of the guest pundits. Brian Clough was in controversial mood, obviously coveting a go at being England Manager if the night did not go as was widely expected in an England victory party. I liked him a lot for his individuality but mainly his downright rudeness and outspokeness. We all practiced his voice in the playground but no where as good as many performers of variety programmes such as Mike Yarwood.

The atmosphere in my parents' through lounge was tense. I was a bag of nerves, sweaty nose and fidgety legs sat on the pouffe as close as possible to the black and white television I could get without being told off.

I cannot remember who scored first but at one-one the game was finely poised for England to turn on the pace and style.

Brian Clough referred to the Polish goalkeeper as a clown for his antics and unpredicatability in a tight situation. He, Jan Tomaszewski, or as I called him Tommy Sheff Ski was expected to leak goals and throw the game to the better team in the second half.

I was already planning where the 1974 World Cup Planner from Shoot Magazine would have pride of place in my bedroom (shared with my brother). In the following 45 or so minutes of the match Mr Tommo Chef Sky ( I was inventive even at age 10) performed out of his skin in a dazzling display of reflex saves, parry's and just getting his body between the ball and the back of the net. If that was the act of a Clown then I would be queueing up to see Charlie Caroli at the earliest opportunity at Butlins Camp, Skegness (which I did actually do the following year). Brian Clough did make a tactical error that night in his premature dismissal of Tomma Zoo She and by doing so I believe that he made sure that he never did acheive his dream of managing the National side.

At the final whistle and the acceptance than Germany would not be calling I could see grown men crying in the Wembley terracing. Sir Alf's 1966 exploit was easily forgotten in the vitriol of the press and his critics. I was upset and probably went to bed without my drinking chocolate and custard creams as they would taste too bitter.

I am not sure what to expect this week with the Poland match. The odds and current form favour England but on an October night, under the floodlights and in front of a nervy crowd and my 50 year old self anything clownlike can happen.

Holiday Plans 2018.

It was an unusual "WANTED" Notice that caught my eye in some glossy journal that I was browsing on the well worn faux leather sofa in my local takeaway whilst awaiting on the preparation of my Chicken Jalfrezi and portion of chips.

It was by mere chance that I had selected that particular publication as the choice on offer was typically broad and tempting from National Geographic to Top Gear, 'Which' Consumer Guide on PC's and Classic Ford Monthly.

In fact it was not too much of a dilemna.

Being a thursday regular in the place meant that I had pretty much digested all of the waiting area literature and possessed, as a consequence, a laymans knowledge of the anxieties of the Cappuchtuk Indians in their homeland territories where besieged by off road mountain bikers, best value for money in the city car sector, how to switch on and off a desktop monitor and how to eke out a few more horsepower from a Mark 1 Escort using nothing more than a ladies pop sock and a potato.

The scientific themed magazine that caught my eye with a cover photo of a view back down to earth from the Stratosphere acheived by a man from Leeds with a meteorological balloon and some gadgets from Maplins was a new addition to the Jolsha reference library.

Quietly rustling through the pages I saw that other features were on sustainable subterranean living in your own back garden, fuelling a motor car from used deep fat fryer oil, where to site a wind turbine without decapitating local children and growing cash crops on the vast acres of greenspace amongst some of the largest traffic islands in our national motorway network.

It was, I speculated, a fairly niche-appeal magazine. The smallprint next to the Editorial did not have any mention of circulation figures, perhaps too small to mention without embarassment.

The article capturing my attention related to a planned spaceflight for 2018.

It seems that everyone now is planning a spaceflight from Branson to Lynx Deodorant although with my laymans understanding these were just rich tourist forays into the upper atmosphere. The balloon man from Leeds was already there in his own way.

This scheduled endeavour was a proper pioneering effort.

The terminology was a manned "Flyby" of the planet Mars.

I could do nothing but read on, hoping that my Indian Takeaway was well down the cooking order in the flame reddened and fragrant back kitchen just a few yards away.

Mars!

An intriguing proposition. The most interesting in my mind of the planets in our solar system.

I was brought up to both fantasise about and fear the Red Planet in regular alternation. The family stereo blasted out Holsts Bringer of War on a regular basis and we could legitimately run around the through lounge and jump on the settee in joyous rapture (Aged 6). The broadcasting of 'War of the Worlds' on our black and white TV had the opposite effect as we cowered behind the same piece of battered but bulky furniture.

I was as a geeky teenager fascinated by the pictures of Mars from orbiting probes and much later by the actual landing on the surface by the Rover vehicle. Ray Bradbury's Chronicles of Mars remain amongst my favourite sci-fi works.

A "flyby" did at first sound a bit of a compromise. A bit of a fake spacetrip. A look-e-likey experience as is the trend in modern lives if you have no prospect of the real and authentic thing.

Nevertheless the plan was startlingly ambitious and especially as nothing was really yet in place in terms of infrastructure, and, oh yes, a spaceship.

It was the all encompassing obsession of some zillionaire guy but a bit of hype and column inches could do no harm in generating further interest and investors to ease the cash drain of the venture.

The idea of a manned flight to Mars was broached by Wernher von Braun in the early years of the space race in the late 50's and early 60's. It may have seemed a huge step up, even then, from the Moon landings , in themselves a pinnacle acheivement for humankind but the next logical progression.

The scale of the new "Mission to, but not touching down on, Mars" was difficult to comprehend but centred on dual aspects of the mode of transport and the resilience of the crew.

Rockets is rockets is rockets as far as I am concerned. They go up in a bang, light up the sky a lot and then cruise about in the endless cold silence of space before coming down on a parachute (Source; Look and Learn 1969).

The technology already exists for delivery but the potential weak spot in the whole operation would be the personnel.

An indicated round trip of 501 days in a cramped capsule in a hostile environment of nothingness would be a challenge never before faced by our species.

The article had a profile of the perfect crew for such a challenge. I was expecting, at minimum, an All-American duo of former Navy Seals or other square headed military types, but no.

The appeal was out for a middle aged couple, ideally husband and wife to front the expedition.

I would put forward myself and my better half for such an extended working type vacation with the following credentials.

We mostly get on together.

We like a different experience, for example we stayed 'off resort' once in Corfu and managed to fend for ourselves although the pool pump was a bit dodgy.

We could do with a bit of a change in direction, up and out to Mars being as much of a change as possible in our minds.

We both have driving licences and my three points should be expunged by now (thank you- not, Strathclyde Police and Procurator Fiscal).

We were both brought up on Vesta Curries and other dried and dehydrated foods and know how to stock and manage a deep freeze.

Caravanning does not seem too claustrophobic and so confinement in a capsule would be tolerable.

Wearing just one set of underwear for a year and a half suits me but may be a sticking point for the wife.

I am sure that we could handle the monotony of the interstellar travel. We have always had a long list of novels and autobiographies that we have been meaning to read but have been thwarted on annual holidays by baggage restrictions. I expect that the payload of a rocket is capable of taking a few hundred paperbacks.

The final stipulation, on which we would insist, would be a Travel Scrabble set specifically designed so that the tiles would not float about in the cabin.

Imagine losing a key piece into the electrical equipment on which a pivotal game in the 501 day series could depend.


nb.I attach a stamped self addressed envelope in anticipation of receiving an application form.