Al Kirtley - and another thing...

Al's not-so-secret blog

Activity on the site has reached fever-pitch, as since the last blog three (yes,folks, three, and from different people) submissions have come in. First was a comment posted by my old school chum Duncan Hume, who used to keep me in stitches at school. He too recalls the Freddy Frinton sketch, so it wasn't a figment of my imagination brought on by alco-withdrawal. Dunc's comment was posted within two hours of the blog being added, so he's obviously got some v. sophisticated NSA-type monitoring software. (Wonder if I've now been "red-flagged" by Fort Meade...don't care, I like the attention.) 

Next, email from Rod Hogarth, who, though a lot younger than me (like most people I know who are still breathing), has had an uncannily similar life to me - ex-Bournemouth muso, lived in County Durham for a bit, now into genealogy, etc... We could have written each other's emails.

And finally email from Jake Jacobs, guitarist-extraordinaire and the wild man of the Swanage Festival, who was part of our drunken tour of France with Cadillac all those years ago. (Q.1 How do you get a rock guitarist to turn down?  A. Put some dots in front of him. Q.2 How do you get him to turn off?  A. Ask him to play them.) NB. I've promised Jake not to reveal that his first name's really Iain, as that would mean he'd never get another gig.

Speaking of names, I bet everyone's gagging to know why Zoot Money is known (to me) as Gert. It's really quite prosaic (look it up). At my 50th birthday bash ZM and I had a piano battle without the rest of the band, swopping phrases around a 12-bar. (I cheated and won by using a Charlie Parker sequence that Andy Summers had shown me years ago.) We've done it a couple of times since and ZM took to referring to us as Gert and Daisy, two characters played on the wireless by Elsie and Doris Waters (look them up too). And that's all there is to it...

As usual, not much happening, so will resort to vicarious blog. (look up that...no, never mind). Our good friends Kev and Teri have bought an estate. Not a new car, but a bloody great house not far from us with lots of acres, a big lake, separate cottage, gymn and studio etc. The kitchen is big enough to hold an orchestra and you could still get a table not too close to the band. So now we know posher people than you, at least until they have to sell it to the National Trust. Wonder how many post codes they've got?

TTFN

Al

p.s. Will whoever borrowed my copy of Machiavelli's The Prince please return it as I want to know what Lord Mandelson will do next.

Al's Nearly Secret Blog

Uh oh, last post has been spotted by Jen from Bournemouth, who signs herself "groupie". (I think she worked for a casino, so that might be spellchecker trying to cope with "croupier".) Anyway, I'll obviously have to be on my best blogging behaviour. Average daily viewings of blog are 2.71 so obviously me looking at it accounts for only 2.70 per day.

So what's been happening? Not much, obviously, though surprise brief visit from No. 1 daughter, Emma and husband yesterday, down from Chester for school reunion. She's coming up to 41 but looks almost as young as her father. Lovely to see them.

Still spending c. 40 hrs. p.w. on www.theblacketts.com, which is now part of the Web Archiving Programme of The British Library, as they consider it as of "scholarly and cultural importance"! (little do they know I'm an ex-washboard player.)

Had two (!) trips to London before Christmas - very rare, as it makes the local press if I go down to the village shop. First was to see new movie of St. Trinians, as my elder granddaughter, Holly, was an extra in it. (Blink and you missed her, just like her dad's early TV appearances.)

Then up to Bull's Head at Barnes to see Gert (aka Zoot Money). Great band with usual supects (Paul MacCallum on bass, Ronny Johnson on gtr. etc) and Nick Newell - brilliant ex-B'mouth tenor player - hadn't seen him for 40 years. Was invited up, but declined as I didn't think steam piano would add anything to it. (NB. John "Jet" Berryman, erstwhile bassplayer with Dave Anthony and the Ravers, met up with us there.) 

Haven't got much further with new album (which will be called "And Another Thing"). 9 tracks from old cassette tapes now on CD, but I need to re-record 3 more - theme from Mash (see last blog), Taxi, and I Wish I Knew (theme music to Barry Norman 's film programme.) Will try to teach bass parts to Rig when she's sober(ish) and ask Mick to do drums.

Still amending/correcting a few Wikipedia articles. Despite being "of scholarly and cultural importance" (see above) still feels like I'm writing graffiti on a wall, but no complaints from Wikipedians so far. Next one will be article on Freddy Frinton, British comic, whose sketch "Dinner for One" (he plays the butler for a senile old lady who keeps toasting her friends at the dinner table - they're not there as they're all long dead, so the butler has to drink each one, and gets more and more pissed) is shown every Christmas on German and Norwegian TV. Every Freddy Frinton site says this was never shown on British TV, but when I first saw it in Norway I remembered it. I think it was on the Arthur Haynes Show, or something similar. None of my mates can recall it, except Rog Collis, but he lives in Thailand so's probably smoking funny substances (lucky him). CAN ANYONE OUT THERE HELP ME ON THIS? if not, I may be forced to invent a ficitious person to corroborate my recollection.

Still not drinking, but haven't yet cut out the fags.

Will reveal in next blog why Zoot is called Gert.

TTFN, Al

Al's Secret Blog

I've had thousands of requests from one or two people to revive the blog, but have desisted as I thought they were just being polite.  However, a few weeks ago a nice lady from Bournemouth called Jenny wrote in who'd obviously been reading it, and it turns out that not only did she start working for Lloyds Bank the same year as me (1961) but she actually remembers the shirts that we wore in the Tennessee Tramps skiffle group in 1957! (They were black, with red fringes, the shirts that is.) I also had a nice message from Lol Duffin, late of Bournemouth, now of Australia, who unfortunately gave me the wrong email address so I couldn't reply to him. [Yes, Lol, I did play at your leaving party and Spud Martin was there - whatever happened to him?]

On top of that, this year's Christmas cards from two of my old chums and colleagues in Lloyds Bank Executor & Trustee Dept./Trust Division, Dave Rule and John Glanville, each alluded to the site blog, so I've decided to do some more blogging on an occasional basis. I'm not telling anyone, however, and it's been so long since the last blog that nobody will be looking, hence the "secret" blog. 

So what's happened? Well the biggest thing is that last July my years of heroic drinking finally caught up with me and, to paraphrase the Duke of Wellington, it was a damn close-run thing. I did at least get to ride in an ambulance but it was pretty scarey and I promised The Big Guy Up There that if I got through it I'd never have another drink, and I haven't. It's been easier than I thought, thanks to alco-free wine, and I feel and look 10 years younger (therefore only about 75) and have stopped falling over. The only downside is that the old sleep pattern's a bit mucked up. But, I've got lots more energy and even found the nerve to shave off my beard - still got the moustache, though, which I first grew in Silver Jubilee year (1977).

A few muso-type developments: I've at last added conga drums (by Des James, the Colin Powell lookalike) to some of the tracks on the album, and I hope that the webmaster, James Wood, (Rig's son-in-law, who's now the proud father of three kids, Oskar, Tomas and Charlotte) will shortly put the new version on the site download page. (James, if you're reading this it's tracks 2,3,5,6,7 & 8). I'm also trying to put together a 2nd album, mostly comprising extracts from tapes of live gigs over the years. Hope to get that done next Friday at my son's studio, but I want to do one live track, "Suicide is Painless" (the theme from MASH), and I need to practise one section in B natural (5 sharps!), as well as working up my chops, which have decayed badly since I stopped gigging.

I've just realised that this is all a bit bland and is boring the entire readership (i.e. me), so I'll defer the other snippets till the next blog, whenever that may be.

TTFN,

Al

  

P.S.

Dear Diary,

Tuesday 17 February

Have had thousands of requests from one or two people to continue blog, but am now too busy boozing again. (Yes, I gave in.)

Got blood test results today - brilliant! Gamma GTs down to 50 (max. was 302) so liver's recovered yet again - worthy of Lazarus. Vit. B12 592 - highest ever, so no wonder have got all that energy. And.... cholesterol down from 9.2 to 6.7 - not ideal, but pretty good result. Have got to see Sister next week, presumably as she wants to check that it's really me.

In unlikely event that I do something interesting may do more blogs, particularly as being read in New York (by my old mate John Penhale), but until then ttfn.

St. Al the Healthy

The diary of Al Kirtley, expectant alcoholic, aged 42 days.

Dear Diary,

 

Thursday 12 February

 

42 down, bugger all to go.

 

4.56 p.m. This is my ... once a beer day!!!! Will be down pub by 6.00.

 

Just time for a little ditty, as usual suitably sombre for such august occasions. It's "My Way", with apologies to Frank Sinatra, (and Paul Anka, who wrote it.)

 

 

1  And now, the end is near,

It’s been six weeks since I’ve been boozing,

My feet can both appear,

Through all the weight that I’ve been losing.

I’ve lived a life of booze,

All through the week, not just on Friday,

God knows, my liver shows,

I drank it my way.

 

2 Red wines, I’ve had a few,

And there’s the scotch that I don’t mention,

But now my liver’s cured,

It’s up for sale, that’s my intention.

To think I drank all that,

And may I say, not in a dry way,

Oh no, oh no not me,

I drank it my way.

 

(Chorus) For what is a drunk, what has he got?

A liver that’s, not worth a lot,

The NHS won’t pay my price,

They didn’t want my sacrifice,

If they won’t buy, then I’ll still try...

...There’s always e-bay.

 

St. Al, signing off.

The diary of Al Kirtley, ex-alcoholic, aged 41 days.

Dear Diary,

 

Wednesday 11 February

 

41 down, 24 hours to go.

 

4.52 p.m. Up early and went for blood test. Was v. brave, and didn't faint. Instead, counted curtain rings on rail in surgery (there were 14). Results due Tuesday p.m. unless lab. decide to re-check record low gamma GT reading.

 

Emma phoned and had nice long chat. Pretended that she didn't pay much attention to blog, then guard slipped and asked question about it. Gotcha!

 

Balance sheet on last full day of abstinence:-

 

+           - no wobbles

             - now just fat and not obese

             - more energy, despite no exercise

             - saved lots of dosh

             - can remember plot of "24"

 

-            - bad sleep

             - missed fun of having drinks

 

Will decide whether or not to drink wine when get back from pub tomorrow. Tomorrow's blog will have early deadline in view of pub.

 

GOB'S CORNER

 

Scientists now say that boiled eggs not bad for cholesterol - only saturated fats. (Egg consumption's slumped since scare began and Egg Marketing Board were forced to pull 1970s-type ad "Go to work on an egg" on elf'n'safety grounds.) Another stupid scare to add to list.

 

Eric Daniels, Lloyds Chief Executive, asked by Select Committee whether he was "leaned upon" to take over HBOS. Didn't answer question. (His boss, Sir Victor Blank, is good friend of Our Beloved Leader.) Draw your own conclusions...

 

St. Al

The diary fo Al Kirtley, ex-alcoholic, aged 40 days.

Dear Diary,

 

Tuesday 10 February

 

40 down, 2 to go.

 

3.52 p.m. Am having quick fag break from trying to clear up salt in kitchen. Went to refill salt cellar, thinking it was empty, and it wasn't. Some of it went on chicken slices (so there goes blood pressure reading tomorrow), but most on worktop. Have tried to scoop up and put back in salt cellar via funnel, but bloody funnel doesn't fit. (Thought we had weavils in salt, but turned out to be grains of rice.) Don't want to waste any, as may be able to sell to Surrey Heath for de-icing roads. Will resume chronological account shortly, but must sort this before Super-Rig gets home.

 

4.07 p.m. Phew, done it! Had to be careful, as cleaners came today, but no trace of spillage. Back on track for sainthood!

 

Good night's kip last night. Watched "24" - blimey, it just keeps getting better! Blood test tomorrow, so no Coke Zero etc. after 10.00 p.m.

 

Peered out of window c. 2.00 p.m. and saw 2 cars pull up. Wondered if it was press pack, having got wind of imminent end to wagon, but it was just the cleaners. Snow's just about gone, but apparently bad flooding in parts of Chobham.

 

Am still unsure of drinking habits to adopt after Thursday. Have lost > stone in weight (with virtually no exercise), and am now reacquainted with feet. Will decide after a few pints, when all best decisions made. Kristin and John may pop down pub.

 

GOB'S CORNER

 

Watched Obama's press conference last night. V. confident performance, but when asked question about causes of over-heating of sub-prime housing market, body language changed. (Watched that twice.) Looked like small boy caught with hand in cookie jar. Obviously knows he bears some of blame for that, but can't lie as well as Clinton. Maybe that's a good thing....

 

How did this pathetic habit arise of getting senior people to apologise to public when they've screwed up? What f***ing good does it do? Is it supposed to make us feel better? "Thanks for your apology, Sir Fred Goodwin. Because of you I may have lost my business and my house, but I feel so much better now." Never used to happen. Culprits were effectively banned from any public office for life and shunned by great and good. (Now they'd probably end up on Government benches in the Lords.) Anyway, Our Beloved Leader never apologises, perhaps because he's never put a foot wrong while saving the world. 

 

St. Al

The diary of Al Kirtley, ex-alcoholic, aged 39 days.

Dear Diary,

 

Monday 9 February

 

39 down, 3 to go. (This is getting so exciting!)

 

3.34 p.m. Bad night again and sinus pains real, not imaginary. Should get good kip on Thursday after pub, though.

Heavy mailbag re. anti-PC crusade. Nice one from No Longer Much Maligned Kev re. use of "Paki" by Prince Harry. (More alert readers may remember that first toast down pub will be to HRH.) Also comment on blog from James, who also sent winning entry from Texas A & M University's contest for most appropriate definition of a contemporary term:-

 

"Political Correctness is a doctrine fostered by a delusional, illogical minority, and rabidly promoted by an unscrupulous mainstream media, which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the clean end." Bravo!

 

Not all quite so good, though. Sent last Diary to wrong Linda. This one was Blackett correspondent in Victoria, Australia (to which fires have now spread from NSW). Prob. means cooling off of a beautiful e-friendship. Doh!

 

GOB'S CORNER

 

BBC again. Sammy Wilson, Northern Ireland Environment Minister, in "hot" (no pun intended) water, over pulling govt. TV ad. exhorting population not to leave TVs on standby, to "combat global warming." No interview with him (surprise, suprise), but one with largely incoherent "Green" member of assembly, calling for Wilson's resignation as he suffers from "warming denial". (Does wearing socks in bed count as that?) "Green" person spluttering so much that seemed in danger of shorting out mike, but did make out that switching off standby "saves 20% electricity". Have just checked specs. on own TVs. Old  (ex-green) one - full power consumption 90W max. - standby 0.54W. (New one 40W - <1W.) Even allowing for poss. greater time spent on standby than with TV on, if earth's climate so finely balanced, probably no hope anyway.  

 

Sunspot/warming thingy v. complicated, but "nous travailleron en l'esperance" (Blackett family motto on Coat of Arms - "We labour in hope.") 

 

St. Al 

 

The diary of Al Kirtley, ex-alcoholic, aged 38 days.

Dear Diary,

 

Sunday 8  February

 

38 down, 4 to go.

 

6.36 p.m. Usual iffy night. Awake for what seemed hours with sinus pains. Haven't had those in years, so might have dreamed it. Woke up too late to go yomping round Virginia Water with Pete & Co. Damn!!!

 

Watched dvd of "On Golden Pond" last night. Still haven't quite mastered technique of dvd player, so continuity in first part left something to be desired, but Super-Rig then took over and all was fine. (She's obviously been staying up late studying instuctions.) Cried floods of Coke Zero tears.

 

Still haven't decided what to do after Thursday, (wagon's end). Will definitely go down pub Thursday, hopefully to meet Kev & Tel, (and Pete & Tanja?) and will decide when get home whether to carry on with wine. Got blood test Wed. a.m. (tee,hee,hee!)

 

Chestnut Tree Cottage no longer green! TV in lounge now working fine, so plans for aquarium substitute now shelved. May have been hallucinating after all, due to excess Coke Zero, and Josh was just humouring his aged grandpa. Will leave TV on for a bit, to see if it behaves.

 

GOB'S CORNER

 

Sky TV reported French aircraft carrier, Clemenceau, entering Teesside to be scrapped, "containing hazardous material", (i.e. asbestos). Usual scaremongering over threat to local population, etc. Hmm... If it's blue or brown asbestos (which is deadly dangerous) would be illegal to import it into UK. Ergo must be white asbestos, which is harmless. Here we go again...

 

Great global warming investigation by yrs truly may take less time than thought. Turns out that there's broad agreement (Incl. International Panel on Climate Change) over correlation between sunspot activity and warming until last 5-10 years. Search therefore narrowed considerably. Will report back shortly.

 

Soon to be no longer St. Al

The diary of Al Kirtley, ex-alcoholic, aged 37 days.

Dear Diary,

 

Saturday 7 February

 

37 down, 5 to go.

 

6.12 p.m. Got 11 hours kip last night. Avge for past two days therefore 6.5 hours. Not too bad, but must not forget tale of actuary who drowned in river with avge depth of 3 feet.

 

Great news asset-wise! Lloyds shares closed at £1.05. Price now only down 90% from peak (as Kev will remember - we were in Portugal.) Should break out champers but will make do with Coke Zero.

 

Success with cd-recording last night. Heard Super-Rig playing piano downstairs and immediately (i.e. after 2 failed attempts) started recording. Got down 2 Norwegian folk songs, one with vocals. Unable to release them to readership yet, as need to edit out barrage of bloodcurdling oaths when she went wrong. (Easier said than done, as suspect some of them could be in Norwegian, though could be part of lyrics.)

 

Boob in yesterday's blog. "Benny" was in Crossroads, not Emmerdale. No reaction from readership - poss. reasons (a) only watch superior progs on Discovery Channel or (b) no-one now bothering to read diary. (2nd more likely.)

 

Looks like coldest night for years coming tonight.

 

GOB'S CORNER

 

Have nearly finished Christopher Booker/Richard North book on baseless scares of past few decades. Brilliant, and v. well researched. Covers range of scares, e.g. mad cow disease, salmonella in eggs, AIDs risk to non-haemophyliac European heterosexuals, passive smoking, white asbestos, lead in petrol (which was new to yrs truly), etc, and am now on biggest of them all, global warming. Intend to fully research (when not splitting infinitives) link or otherwise to sun spot activity, as am not bigot, and don't want to dismiss whole case merely on basis of Al Gore's pathetic film. (Temperature also went up slightly on Mars in 20th century, but, as John Redwood put it, they're still looking for the 4x4s that caused it.) 

 

Q. If "toxic bank" set up, can we deposit England cricket team in it? Discuss.

 

St. Al