On Sunday evening at 11.00, the final broadcast by David Jacobs was aired on Radio 2. This coincides with the recent trend of parting company with those deemed too old to have a role in the media. His first broadcast was in 1944 as an 18 year old for the BBC General Forces Programme Navy Mixture. At 87, he has now bucked the recent trend and decided to retire from broadcasting mainly due to ill health. Since 1998, his programme "The David Jacobs Collection" championed the music from Hollywood, Broadway and Tin Pan Alley. It is no coincidence that these songs have been covered within an inch of their life in recent years as artists have come to realise their timeless worth. His delivery was smooth and peerless. Many of the stars singing the songs he played were personal friends so he was able to give that unique insight in to their true personas.
This now leaves Desmond Carrington as the sole octogenarian in mainstream broadcasting. His show champions music from all eras. His format is both simple and effective. By adopting a common theme, he is able to take us for a journey through music from before the Great War to the present day. His collection and knowledge are mind blowing and with due respect, it would take a young man years to even get close to such expertise.
Up until quite recently, Sunday evenings were the last bastion of the experienced broadcasters and to listen to them was an education. The death in 2003 of Alan Keith brought to an end the longest running classical music programme in radio. "Your Hundred Best Tunes" was a brilliant show. Like Jacobs and Carrington, Alan Keith had an encyclopaedic knowledge of the music he played and his sombre tones belied his passio for it. The original hundred pieces were chosen by himself but periodic listener polls updated them. I suspect that for many people, Alan Keith provided the perfect introduction in to the sometimes stifled world of classical music. Of course, Classic FM has since come to dominate that genre in this country but its commercial format renders it a poor second to the masterful Keith.
On those Sunday night bills twenty years ago, another former TV broadcaster hosted a very popular long running show. Richard Baker had been a newsreader and had actually presented the first BBC TV news in 1954. His light music programme "Baker's Dozen" was a regular on Sunday evenings for a long time which was enjoyed by the millions who tuned in. He also became the voice of the "Last Night of the Proms" for many years. There was no better choice to take over "Your Hundred Best Tunes" following the death of Alan Keith in 2003 and the gentle delivery of that programme is still sorely missed by many because Sunday night is the time to be winding down in readiness for the week ahead.
The decision to dispense with Baker and many others makes little sense really when you consider that we have an ever increasing army of the elderly in our society. Although I don't agree with the decision to dispense with faces deemed too old to be seen on the TV, there is no such excuse for radio. You can't buy experience like that and their audiences are testament to their popularity.
I gather that radio audiences are in the ascendency while TV audiences continue to drop. It seems as though the huge growth in the number of TV programmes has had a diluting effect. This seems to give credence to the old adage "less is more". For me, the TV license is a price I resent paying every year because I watch so little of it. The radio on the other hand is an essential part of my life. Although the death of radio has been predicted many times in recent years, I don't see any evidence just yet and don't think I will because for millions of people like me, it is a priceless resource.
Tuesday, 6 August 2013
Monday, 5 August 2013
Second on the left...
The unusual scenario which today unfolded at the ancestral home of rain seemed to throw in to question the way in which a win can be achieved. The trouble is that nobody should be surprised. Compared to the excited proclamation by Brian Johnston in 1953 when Dennis Compton scored the winning runs at the Oval, today was marked by a virtual anti-climax.
Jokes about the certainty of rain in Manchester are as old as the hills but are not without substance. The first test of the 1961 rubber was brought to a standstill by rain at 2.40pm on the first day. This event meant that since the second world war ended in 1945, no less than 103 hours of cricket had been lost to the rain at Manchester test matches. It only begs the question why England persist with its use as a Test match venue. For a start, our record there against the Australians isn't exactly talismanic!
Of course in those days rain and bad light were dealt with rather more sensibly than now. Bad light was always offered to the batsmen such that they could decline to carry on batting or elect to carry on as they saw fit - but it was their prerogative. To any rational human being, this seems a perfectly reasonable way to handle it. After all, it's their look out if they choose to carry on batting. Clearly, if it was bad light and Michael Holding was bowling at one end with Andy Roberts at the other, only somebody of limited mental capacity would elect to carry on - if the bad light was offered to the batsmen. In 1976 at Old Trafford it wasn't and the old guard of Brian Close and John Edrich had to face just such a barrage of hostility. In those days of course, there were no helmets, thigh guards or arm guards. Having said that, the redoubtable Close probably wouldn't have worn them anyway. In this the latest test at Manchester though, the Australians would clearly have carried on batting whomsoever was bowling because they were well set and carried the momentum. For one thing, there is not one current England bowler who could petrify a batsmen as those two West Indians could - and did.
The bowling feat of Jim Laker in 1956 was helped enormously by a wet Manchester wicket. Without it, he might not have taken the mind boggling 19 wickets that he did. The wettest of them all though was arguably the Manchester Ashes test of 1953. It was so bad that only 13 hours and 50 minutes play were possible in the entire match. Suffice it to say that the spinners did alright. As the match petered out to another boring draw, the Yorkshire slow left armer Johnny Wardle put the cat among the pigeons with a spell of 4 wickets for 7 runs in 5 overs. Then as now, the rain saved the day for England because they would have been lambs to the slaughter against the leg breaks of the Australian Jack Hill.
The first Old Trafford test since the war against the old enemy was drawn. It was not without incident and marked the England debut of the Gloucestershire batsman Jack Crapp. A famous story always does the rounds about Crapp. In the early years after the war, rationing was still in full swing so any ways to save fuel were encouraged. As such, after the Surrey versus Gloucestershire match one year, the Surrey bowler Alec Bedser and Jack Crapp travelled to the test match together in a car. While Alec Bedser parked the car, Jack Crapp went to check in at reception. Seeing him approach the reception desk, the receptionist asked, "bed sir?" to which he replied, "no, Crapp". She replied, "second on the left"!
Jokes about the certainty of rain in Manchester are as old as the hills but are not without substance. The first test of the 1961 rubber was brought to a standstill by rain at 2.40pm on the first day. This event meant that since the second world war ended in 1945, no less than 103 hours of cricket had been lost to the rain at Manchester test matches. It only begs the question why England persist with its use as a Test match venue. For a start, our record there against the Australians isn't exactly talismanic!
Of course in those days rain and bad light were dealt with rather more sensibly than now. Bad light was always offered to the batsmen such that they could decline to carry on batting or elect to carry on as they saw fit - but it was their prerogative. To any rational human being, this seems a perfectly reasonable way to handle it. After all, it's their look out if they choose to carry on batting. Clearly, if it was bad light and Michael Holding was bowling at one end with Andy Roberts at the other, only somebody of limited mental capacity would elect to carry on - if the bad light was offered to the batsmen. In 1976 at Old Trafford it wasn't and the old guard of Brian Close and John Edrich had to face just such a barrage of hostility. In those days of course, there were no helmets, thigh guards or arm guards. Having said that, the redoubtable Close probably wouldn't have worn them anyway. In this the latest test at Manchester though, the Australians would clearly have carried on batting whomsoever was bowling because they were well set and carried the momentum. For one thing, there is not one current England bowler who could petrify a batsmen as those two West Indians could - and did.
The bowling feat of Jim Laker in 1956 was helped enormously by a wet Manchester wicket. Without it, he might not have taken the mind boggling 19 wickets that he did. The wettest of them all though was arguably the Manchester Ashes test of 1953. It was so bad that only 13 hours and 50 minutes play were possible in the entire match. Suffice it to say that the spinners did alright. As the match petered out to another boring draw, the Yorkshire slow left armer Johnny Wardle put the cat among the pigeons with a spell of 4 wickets for 7 runs in 5 overs. Then as now, the rain saved the day for England because they would have been lambs to the slaughter against the leg breaks of the Australian Jack Hill.
The first Old Trafford test since the war against the old enemy was drawn. It was not without incident and marked the England debut of the Gloucestershire batsman Jack Crapp. A famous story always does the rounds about Crapp. In the early years after the war, rationing was still in full swing so any ways to save fuel were encouraged. As such, after the Surrey versus Gloucestershire match one year, the Surrey bowler Alec Bedser and Jack Crapp travelled to the test match together in a car. While Alec Bedser parked the car, Jack Crapp went to check in at reception. Seeing him approach the reception desk, the receptionist asked, "bed sir?" to which he replied, "no, Crapp". She replied, "second on the left"!
Down in the dumps..
In a recent article, Mark Easton wrote about the growing dependence on anti-depressants. Perhaps one of the more surprising findings of his report was that the areas with the highest reported numbers are not in the cities but in the North. I would have thought that working in London with its high pressure and high speed of life would have taken its toll but apparently not. I spent three years there a number of years ago and frankly, wild horses wouldn't persuade me to go back. That said, each to his own and all that. In his report, he revealed statistics from the Health and Social Care Information Centre. The results show that one in six adults are now being prescribed regular anti-depressants in towns and cities including Barnsley, Redcar, Durham, Middlesborough, Salford, Sunderland and Blackpool. Of course, many of these once boasted thriving mining communities whose end came in the 1980s in the aftermath of the bitter miners' strike. Blackpool though does not fall in to that category. The report estimates that fifty million prescriptions were issued last year for anti-depressants. I don't seek to judge that figure in any way. What I am interested in is the current NICE guidance. The guidance is quite clear. Those with mild to moderate depression should be first be treated with psychological therapies. This is now done well. Last year in Hillingdon (West London), just 2% of those with minor or moderate depression were referred to psychological therapy. Swindon achieved a figure of 25% which is still well short of the mark. By their own admission, the GP leaders in Hillingdon recognise the efficacy of psychological therapy when used so that at least is a step in the right direction - provided the funding is being available to access it. In North Wales where I live, funding for counselling services has only recently been made available at a time when the need has seldom been greater. London is the area with the lowest precribing rates for anti-depressants. Might it be that with so many working, the need for anti-depressants is less?
I was shocked this morning to see that a "think tank" has found that declining seaside towns are stuck in a cycle of poverty. This is shocking because to many people living in North Wales like I do, this did not merit the attention of a "think tank". This is common knowledge and has been for at least 30 years. On its website, the BBC features a picture of the sea front at Rhyl. This seems as good as a place as any to start. Rhyl has been in decline for a number of years for a variety of reasons. For one thing, all British seaside towns have been in decline for at least a generation because of higher levels of disposable income and the advent of the package holiday to Spain. Many of these towns were already in the early stages of decline when the decision was taken to relocate families on long term social security to these seaside towns. It would be very easy to jump on the band wagon and label them as scroungers who don't want to work. This would rather churlish tough. I say this because there are two major points to consider. The first is that when people grow up in social security it is not always easy to break the cycle when you know no different. The second point is that the job market in these towns wasn't great in the first place. Taking these two points in to account, it is little wonder that such towns have fared so badly in recent times.
The "think tank" to which I refer is the Centre for Social Justice (CSJ) set up by Iain Duncan Smith. While I scorn the time taken to recognise what is already obvious to many people anyway, I at least applaud the fact that the ball might actually be rolling. This is the prerequisite for the next step - doing something about it. This problem is not insoluble but will need a watertight strategy. The recent changes to social security implemented by Iain Duncan Smith mean that a lifetime spent on social security will no longer pay. As such, the reward for staying on social security will not seem so attractive in the future. Provided the help is in place to assist people in seeking employment, this can only be a good thing. The CSJ looked at the fortunes of five seaside towns: Rhyl, Margate, Clacton, Blackpool and Great Yarmouth. The report estimates that the cost of working age benefits for the populations of these towns is about £2 billion per annum - the human cost of which is much bigger.
Norman Tebbit recently reminded his interviewer of the words of the great Labour politician Beveridge "the period of time for which a man may draw unemployment benefit should be limited lest men become habituated to idleness". Beveridge of course was responsible for the welfare state in the aftermath of the second world war. It seems therefore that the ideology of Iain Duncan Smith is far more Labour than Conservative judging by these words. Rhyl, Blackpool and the like are all towns deserving of our attention. The easy option is to help them get back on their feet. The hard option is to perpetuate the approach of the last few decades and let them continue their decline. Many people assume a "doom and gloom" attitude when it comes to towns like Rhyl pointing to the recent spate of prominent retailers who have left the town. I see this as an opportunity for the town to re-invent itself and become more cohesive. That social deprivation is there is beyond question but these are still real people. Given the opportunity and the chance, anything is possible. Looking back on the last few weeks of fantastic weather, the demise of Rhyl is all the more sad because it ought to have been bursting at the seams with holidaymakers. That could still happen in the years to come if there is a sufficient will at a community level. Government investment alone is not the answer. As the saying goes "Give a man a fish and feed him for a day - Teach a man to fish and feed him for life".
Sunday, 4 August 2013
Another medical school?
The UK currently boasts 31 undergraduate medical schools from Aberdeen in the North of Scotland to Brighton on the south coast of England. It may therefore seem strange to learn that calls have been made this week to add to that number. The proposed site for this new medical school is in the normally forgotten bit of Wales in the North.
As I approach the final year of my medical degree, it would be just my luck if the proposal became a reality. I have been arguing for years about this issue just because the whole thing seems to obvious. When Wales decided to go it alone in terms of their NHS, the need for a medical school in North Wales became undeniable. As it stands, students in the existing Welsh medical schools in the favoured south are expected to travel the 175 odd miles to one of the three general hospitals in the North. Because of the appalling road system in Wales, such a comparatively short journey takes a minimum of four hours.The point here is that few medical students in the south have a desire to come North. Granted, some of them will originate from North Wales but the vast majority don't. Before the advent of the Welsh Assembly in 1998, the system was one based on sensible logic. At that time students from the medical schools in Liverpool and Manchester travelled the short distance along the A55 to do their junior doctor training in North Wales. The distance was a fraction of the miles and hours currently expected of students in Swansea and Cardiff.
While pockets of North Wales still house predominantly welsh speaking communities, the majority are not. This renders as rather flimsy prevailing arguments which point to the importance of being able to speak Welsh. Yes, it is helpful but it is not the end of the world if you can't because there are precious few people in Wales who just can't speak any English.
The whole geography underpinning the quest for a separate Welsh NHS presents a mass of contradiction. There are plenty who live on the English side of the border who collect their prescriptions free on the Welsh side. As yet, there is no passport control between England and Wales - if that changes the current queues of English tourists which block the North Wales coastal road for most of the year will get even longer. The forgotten bit of Wales in the middle continues to be serviced by Shrewsbury which was in England the last time I looked. You have to agree, all this makes for a nonsense because either you run your own independent healthcare system or you don't. If the current policy to resist students from England coming to North Wales is to persist, the need for a new medical school in North Wales is stronger than ever.
It has rightly been pointed out that many students such as myself who come from North Wales go to English medical schools and then stay there after graduating. There is nothing wrong with this as such. The obvious downfall is that many of these students will have received a grounding in Welsh due to the current education policy in Wales. This seems to make a mockery of this policy because there won't be much demand for welsh speakers in English hospitals! If such a policy is to reap any benefits, it would surely make more sense to try and keep those students in North Wales. Unless I've overlooked something, the only way to achieve this is to have a medical school in North Wales. Naturally, it would have to be a satellite of Cardiff and Swansea to retain the existing power base but at least it would add a little credibility to current national policy.
I can't speak for other students but my carbon foot print to get to where I am today is absurd. There is no reasonable justification to continue with this daft system. A little common sense here would go a long way..
As I approach the final year of my medical degree, it would be just my luck if the proposal became a reality. I have been arguing for years about this issue just because the whole thing seems to obvious. When Wales decided to go it alone in terms of their NHS, the need for a medical school in North Wales became undeniable. As it stands, students in the existing Welsh medical schools in the favoured south are expected to travel the 175 odd miles to one of the three general hospitals in the North. Because of the appalling road system in Wales, such a comparatively short journey takes a minimum of four hours.The point here is that few medical students in the south have a desire to come North. Granted, some of them will originate from North Wales but the vast majority don't. Before the advent of the Welsh Assembly in 1998, the system was one based on sensible logic. At that time students from the medical schools in Liverpool and Manchester travelled the short distance along the A55 to do their junior doctor training in North Wales. The distance was a fraction of the miles and hours currently expected of students in Swansea and Cardiff.
While pockets of North Wales still house predominantly welsh speaking communities, the majority are not. This renders as rather flimsy prevailing arguments which point to the importance of being able to speak Welsh. Yes, it is helpful but it is not the end of the world if you can't because there are precious few people in Wales who just can't speak any English.
The whole geography underpinning the quest for a separate Welsh NHS presents a mass of contradiction. There are plenty who live on the English side of the border who collect their prescriptions free on the Welsh side. As yet, there is no passport control between England and Wales - if that changes the current queues of English tourists which block the North Wales coastal road for most of the year will get even longer. The forgotten bit of Wales in the middle continues to be serviced by Shrewsbury which was in England the last time I looked. You have to agree, all this makes for a nonsense because either you run your own independent healthcare system or you don't. If the current policy to resist students from England coming to North Wales is to persist, the need for a new medical school in North Wales is stronger than ever.
It has rightly been pointed out that many students such as myself who come from North Wales go to English medical schools and then stay there after graduating. There is nothing wrong with this as such. The obvious downfall is that many of these students will have received a grounding in Welsh due to the current education policy in Wales. This seems to make a mockery of this policy because there won't be much demand for welsh speakers in English hospitals! If such a policy is to reap any benefits, it would surely make more sense to try and keep those students in North Wales. Unless I've overlooked something, the only way to achieve this is to have a medical school in North Wales. Naturally, it would have to be a satellite of Cardiff and Swansea to retain the existing power base but at least it would add a little credibility to current national policy.
I can't speak for other students but my carbon foot print to get to where I am today is absurd. There is no reasonable justification to continue with this daft system. A little common sense here would go a long way..
Friday, 2 August 2013
Speaking too soon..
The current Ashes series was widely predicted to be an England white wash with the Australians being the worst side ever sent to these shores. Just two days ago, no less a bowler than Wasim Akram was hailing James Anderson as the best bowler in the world.
After two days of the Old Trafford test, the test is firmly in the hands of the Australians. The best England can hope for is a draw with the Australians having batted the game out of sight. Put simply, England can't win. Australia can and England must now seek to prevent them. The Australians batted beautifully having been ably led by their captain Michael Clarke with another big hundred to add to his already burgeoning collection. The last two days have exposed the folly of going in to any test match with just four front line bowlers - unless all four are genuine world class, it is a very risky ploy. On his day Anderson shows glimpses of world class as does Swann but the same could not be claimed for Broad and Bresnan.
Yet again, England have pursued this silly tactic of sending in a nightwatchman to "protect" their batsmen. If the top order were good enough, they wouldn't need protecting and especially not from a bowling attack which has thus far performed at a little over county level. That the nightwatchman was summarily dismissed is just desserts. They now face a Herculean task tomorrow to try and stay in the match. If Cook departs during the morning, it is not easy to see who will stick around and put up a fight. The Australians appear to be gaining momentum as England lose theirs. Their bowling attack appears to show more variety than ours and their batsmen seem to be on a mission.
Given the endless renditions of "Jerusalem", "God Save The Queen" and the like, I am only surprised that they haven't added "There'll always be an England " to the jingoistic guff. Time was when two batsmen walked down the steps just before eleven o clock ready to bat. In our media dominated age though, we must first have all this patriotic nonsense just to try and glean some form of advantage. Far better to just let your cricket do the talking.
The decision to schedule back to back Ashes series means that an Australian win is almost necessary now to avoid diluting one of the oldest contests in the whole of sport. The England captain assured the journalists before the match that there was no talk of a whitewash in his dressing room. Their performance thus far would appear to suggest otherwise..
It was Mark Twain who famously proclaimed that "rumours of my death are somewhat premature" upon reading his obituary in a newspaper. I rather think there exists the spirit of Twain in the Australian camp tonight!
After two days of the Old Trafford test, the test is firmly in the hands of the Australians. The best England can hope for is a draw with the Australians having batted the game out of sight. Put simply, England can't win. Australia can and England must now seek to prevent them. The Australians batted beautifully having been ably led by their captain Michael Clarke with another big hundred to add to his already burgeoning collection. The last two days have exposed the folly of going in to any test match with just four front line bowlers - unless all four are genuine world class, it is a very risky ploy. On his day Anderson shows glimpses of world class as does Swann but the same could not be claimed for Broad and Bresnan.
Yet again, England have pursued this silly tactic of sending in a nightwatchman to "protect" their batsmen. If the top order were good enough, they wouldn't need protecting and especially not from a bowling attack which has thus far performed at a little over county level. That the nightwatchman was summarily dismissed is just desserts. They now face a Herculean task tomorrow to try and stay in the match. If Cook departs during the morning, it is not easy to see who will stick around and put up a fight. The Australians appear to be gaining momentum as England lose theirs. Their bowling attack appears to show more variety than ours and their batsmen seem to be on a mission.
Given the endless renditions of "Jerusalem", "God Save The Queen" and the like, I am only surprised that they haven't added "There'll always be an England " to the jingoistic guff. Time was when two batsmen walked down the steps just before eleven o clock ready to bat. In our media dominated age though, we must first have all this patriotic nonsense just to try and glean some form of advantage. Far better to just let your cricket do the talking.
The decision to schedule back to back Ashes series means that an Australian win is almost necessary now to avoid diluting one of the oldest contests in the whole of sport. The England captain assured the journalists before the match that there was no talk of a whitewash in his dressing room. Their performance thus far would appear to suggest otherwise..
It was Mark Twain who famously proclaimed that "rumours of my death are somewhat premature" upon reading his obituary in a newspaper. I rather think there exists the spirit of Twain in the Australian camp tonight!
Thursday, 1 August 2013
Keeping Up Appearances
The way our parents reacted when visitors would arrive unannounced is always amusing to look back on. Unless they constituted that small minority who keep a house fit for a feature in "Home and Garden" magazine, such an occasion probably gave rise to a mad flurry of frenzied activity trying desperately hard to conceal any potential sources of social embarrassment. Newspapers stuffed under settees and dirty mugs hurriedly rushed in to the already cluttered kitchen - it always made for great comedy.
In spite of me being one of four siblings, my mother always seemed to achieve the impossible of always being prepared in the event of visitors suddenly descending upon us. I have also been in several houses where chaos reigned supreme. Up until the moment a respectable visitor arrived, nobody in that house could care less how the house looked. It always seems funny to me that some people seem more concerned about what other people might think rather than just being comfortable with their own choice of existence.
As I write, the National Eisteddfod is due to come to my home town of Denbigh next week. As I know these posts are often read more in Russia and the US than over here, I must try and convey the cultural importance attached to this. Dating back to the time of Rhys ap Gruffydd of Deheubarth, the first documented Eisteddfod was said to have taken place in 1176. The Eisteddfod is a Welsh festival of literature, music and performance to which huge cultural prestige is attached. The closest English translation for the word Eisteddfod is "session" with the word being an amalgamation of the words eistedd (to sit) and bod (be).
The modern National Eisteddfod as we know it was reborn in a year of great political relevance. While the French Revolution was storming the Bastille in 1789, Corwen admitted the general public for the first time and the thus the current format was born. Prior to that, the events were largely private affairs for the chosen few. The true format of the existing National Eisteddfod is actually an amalgamation of the Gorsedd of Bards and the National Eisteddfod Council. The first such instance of the latter took place, appropriately, in my home town of Denbigh in1860. Next week it returns and locals have been surpassing themselves in being ready for the many guests expected to descend on the town next week.
For fear of what the visitors might think, the local council has been frantically trying to cover up all the local eye-sores. While their intentions might be well meaning, the end result is bordering on comical. There is a disused cinema which has slowly been crumbling away for a number of years now. Although it has been an accident waiting to happen with masonry falling down from a great height within, the council has taken a rather more cosmetic approach. They have painted it black. On Vale Street which is the main arterial route through the town, a rundown cottage has been - guess what? Boarded up and painted black! I find it comical because while the rest of the town is festooned in a mass of colour and bunting, these black fronted buildings have now become that bit more prominent than they already were. The comedy aside though, it is almost as though the council feels they have something to hide. Well, in a way they have. The town hall will be a focal point during the Eisteddfod week. Unfortunately, the Crown Hotel next door is empty and has been for a number of years now. It would less than the truth to claim it as being pretty to look at. En route to the town hall, the Crown Hotel is bordered by a former Indian takeaway which lies empty - and has been for several months now. I could go on but my point is made. The town is as it is so why seek to present it otherwise. It is difficult to imagine that the Eisteddfod will attract a mass of people gullible enough to be taken in by the black paint. They will just see it as it is. It is a market town in decline. As a suggestion, the council might seek to take the rather more radical step of exploring why the town is in decline rather than trying to paper over the cracks?
Paint It Black is of course also the name of the famous chart topper from the Rolling Stones which, in 1966, became the first no.1 single to feature the sitar. Predictably played by the irreplacabe multi-talented Brian Jones, the sitar would, for a short while, become a much sought after sound among the musical elite of the late sixties. George Harrison played it on "Within you, Without you" on "Sergeant Pepper" a year later to prove its burgeoning worth at that time. The Yardbirds were the first big act to use the effect of a sitar on their single "Heart full of soul" in 1965. This was achieved by Jeff Beck playing a fuzz box on his guitar. Traffic famously achieved success twice with it. "Hole in my shoe" and the majestic "paper sun" both benefit from its Eastern scales. For the definitive song featuring sitar though, it has to be song which came to define the Summer of Love in 1967 by Scott Mckenzie.
Back to Traffic though. Their song "Hole in my shoe" featured lyrics in the middle of the song by the then 6 year old Francine Heimann. She was subsequently married for a time to Dr Charles Levinson who in 1989 set up the UK's largest private doctor visiting service in London. He is also an expert on flu pandemics and has been an early exponent of communication methods now incorporated in healthcare delivery. It would be difficult to analyse the lyrics of "Hole in my shoe" and conclude them to be inspired by anything other than drugs. But don't just take my word for it!
In spite of me being one of four siblings, my mother always seemed to achieve the impossible of always being prepared in the event of visitors suddenly descending upon us. I have also been in several houses where chaos reigned supreme. Up until the moment a respectable visitor arrived, nobody in that house could care less how the house looked. It always seems funny to me that some people seem more concerned about what other people might think rather than just being comfortable with their own choice of existence.
As I write, the National Eisteddfod is due to come to my home town of Denbigh next week. As I know these posts are often read more in Russia and the US than over here, I must try and convey the cultural importance attached to this. Dating back to the time of Rhys ap Gruffydd of Deheubarth, the first documented Eisteddfod was said to have taken place in 1176. The Eisteddfod is a Welsh festival of literature, music and performance to which huge cultural prestige is attached. The closest English translation for the word Eisteddfod is "session" with the word being an amalgamation of the words eistedd (to sit) and bod (be).
The modern National Eisteddfod as we know it was reborn in a year of great political relevance. While the French Revolution was storming the Bastille in 1789, Corwen admitted the general public for the first time and the thus the current format was born. Prior to that, the events were largely private affairs for the chosen few. The true format of the existing National Eisteddfod is actually an amalgamation of the Gorsedd of Bards and the National Eisteddfod Council. The first such instance of the latter took place, appropriately, in my home town of Denbigh in1860. Next week it returns and locals have been surpassing themselves in being ready for the many guests expected to descend on the town next week.
For fear of what the visitors might think, the local council has been frantically trying to cover up all the local eye-sores. While their intentions might be well meaning, the end result is bordering on comical. There is a disused cinema which has slowly been crumbling away for a number of years now. Although it has been an accident waiting to happen with masonry falling down from a great height within, the council has taken a rather more cosmetic approach. They have painted it black. On Vale Street which is the main arterial route through the town, a rundown cottage has been - guess what? Boarded up and painted black! I find it comical because while the rest of the town is festooned in a mass of colour and bunting, these black fronted buildings have now become that bit more prominent than they already were. The comedy aside though, it is almost as though the council feels they have something to hide. Well, in a way they have. The town hall will be a focal point during the Eisteddfod week. Unfortunately, the Crown Hotel next door is empty and has been for a number of years now. It would less than the truth to claim it as being pretty to look at. En route to the town hall, the Crown Hotel is bordered by a former Indian takeaway which lies empty - and has been for several months now. I could go on but my point is made. The town is as it is so why seek to present it otherwise. It is difficult to imagine that the Eisteddfod will attract a mass of people gullible enough to be taken in by the black paint. They will just see it as it is. It is a market town in decline. As a suggestion, the council might seek to take the rather more radical step of exploring why the town is in decline rather than trying to paper over the cracks?
Paint It Black is of course also the name of the famous chart topper from the Rolling Stones which, in 1966, became the first no.1 single to feature the sitar. Predictably played by the irreplacabe multi-talented Brian Jones, the sitar would, for a short while, become a much sought after sound among the musical elite of the late sixties. George Harrison played it on "Within you, Without you" on "Sergeant Pepper" a year later to prove its burgeoning worth at that time. The Yardbirds were the first big act to use the effect of a sitar on their single "Heart full of soul" in 1965. This was achieved by Jeff Beck playing a fuzz box on his guitar. Traffic famously achieved success twice with it. "Hole in my shoe" and the majestic "paper sun" both benefit from its Eastern scales. For the definitive song featuring sitar though, it has to be song which came to define the Summer of Love in 1967 by Scott Mckenzie.
Back to Traffic though. Their song "Hole in my shoe" featured lyrics in the middle of the song by the then 6 year old Francine Heimann. She was subsequently married for a time to Dr Charles Levinson who in 1989 set up the UK's largest private doctor visiting service in London. He is also an expert on flu pandemics and has been an early exponent of communication methods now incorporated in healthcare delivery. It would be difficult to analyse the lyrics of "Hole in my shoe" and conclude them to be inspired by anything other than drugs. But don't just take my word for it!
Cricket in the hands of the technocrats
The decision today to dismiss the Australian batsman Khawaja is further evidence of the demise of the great game. Even with the mighty technology, the decision arrived at today was far from convincing and thus poses more questions than it answers.
When I was young and became involved in cricket, we either listened to it on the radio or watched on the television. Back in the eighties, the only technology employed was that for run outs where the margin was too fine to call or the umpire simply had his view obscured by a fielder being in the way. It worked very well and I honestly can't recall any contentious decisions because all they did in those days was to freeze the frames of film to see whether the bat had grounded in the crease first or whether the ball had broken the stumps first.
The problem is that people are never satisfied. We now have the game interrupted constantly by appeals and super slow motion and snickometers and anything else which the geeks can come up with the procure an advantage. The appeal today illustrated the danger of this approach. The job of the deciding referee was to ascertain whether there was a reasonable chance that the batsman was not out. Whether he felt unduly pressured I'm not sure but he really did get that decision badly wrong. The problem is that as you begin to lean more heavily on a greater variety of technology to help in the decision making process, you are more likely to be disappointed by them.
Disappointment with the decisions of umpires is part and parcel of the game at any level. Test cricket is no different. One of the problems now is that Test Cricket is in danger of become too truncated by this endless procession of appeals. They clearly can't go back to the old method now - and more's the pity - but they do face the very real danger of many spectators being put off watching.
The standards of the Australians up until day have been pretty poor by any standards so the game doesn't need anything else to lower its appeal for the spectator. I know it's not very fashionable, but how would England feel if they won a test match without once having had to resort to technology for a bit of help along the way? I know the answer because I've played enough sport to know that victory is always a lot sweeter when it is beyond dispute. England may well go on to win this series by a large margin but I hope they don't do so having overly relied on their snickometer friend. In their shoes, I would feel a lot better at the end of the series if we'd won it fair and square. The current approach reflects well on nobody.
When I was young and became involved in cricket, we either listened to it on the radio or watched on the television. Back in the eighties, the only technology employed was that for run outs where the margin was too fine to call or the umpire simply had his view obscured by a fielder being in the way. It worked very well and I honestly can't recall any contentious decisions because all they did in those days was to freeze the frames of film to see whether the bat had grounded in the crease first or whether the ball had broken the stumps first.
The problem is that people are never satisfied. We now have the game interrupted constantly by appeals and super slow motion and snickometers and anything else which the geeks can come up with the procure an advantage. The appeal today illustrated the danger of this approach. The job of the deciding referee was to ascertain whether there was a reasonable chance that the batsman was not out. Whether he felt unduly pressured I'm not sure but he really did get that decision badly wrong. The problem is that as you begin to lean more heavily on a greater variety of technology to help in the decision making process, you are more likely to be disappointed by them.
Disappointment with the decisions of umpires is part and parcel of the game at any level. Test cricket is no different. One of the problems now is that Test Cricket is in danger of become too truncated by this endless procession of appeals. They clearly can't go back to the old method now - and more's the pity - but they do face the very real danger of many spectators being put off watching.
The standards of the Australians up until day have been pretty poor by any standards so the game doesn't need anything else to lower its appeal for the spectator. I know it's not very fashionable, but how would England feel if they won a test match without once having had to resort to technology for a bit of help along the way? I know the answer because I've played enough sport to know that victory is always a lot sweeter when it is beyond dispute. England may well go on to win this series by a large margin but I hope they don't do so having overly relied on their snickometer friend. In their shoes, I would feel a lot better at the end of the series if we'd won it fair and square. The current approach reflects well on nobody.
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