Fairwell Peter Freyne

There are some mornings, it just doesn't pay to look at the news. A visit to Vermont Business Magazine's website brought the sad news that Peter Freyne has passed away.

Others will write about Freyne's place as a Vermont journalist, but I will also remember Peter as a friend. I got a chance to act opposite him in Green Candle Theatre's production of "The Probable Pirandello's Wife" and was grateful for the chance to get to know the man behind the the reporter- at least a little bit. Since I played his alterego, I was lucky enough to wear the guy's trade-mark Irish Tweed coat in the production.

Burlington being the size it is, I often saw Peter on his bike, in the park, and, occassionally, working his beat. I always felt privilaged to be able to say "Hello Peter!" and get a "Hey, Alex!" in responce.

Fairwell, Mr. Freyne...you will be missed.

Meerkats and a Glider

Last Saturday, Bobbi and I visited the Whipsnade Zoo....if you ever have a chance- you should go. For some reason, Bobbi and I both enjoy zoos, but this is, by far, the best one I've ever been too. The animals are all in large paddocks or enclosures, and yet, for all the variety in their paddocks, they are still easy to be seen.

We visited on a beautiful day, and there must be a Glider School somewhere near by, for, as we roamed the park, gliders soared overhead for most of the day.

The meerkats, of course, kept a close eye on them- wondering, perhaps: "Hawk? Or Not-Hawk?"

Living History- World War Two in London

Poor Blog-
It's been a very busy month and a half. I found myself in the United States for most of May- work was fun, but non-stop. Now my friend John is visiting the UK.

"It's funny," he said, "At home, World War 2 seems like history, I guess I never realized what a deep effect it had on London. Everywhere you go, there's a monument to the war."

His words were truer than he knew, because Yesterday, our travel through the city was punctuated by announcements that the District Line would be closed from 9:30 pm on as the Metropolitan Police dealt with yet another reminder of World War 2....

...an unexploded Nazi bomb.

which started ticking again when it was uncovered.


That's the kind of living history exhibit I could do without.


The Full Story is here.

Happy Birthday: Big Ben!

Here's a neat story- Big Ben, the bell inside Parliament's Saint Stephen's Tower, turns 150 this week!

I first remembering hearing the sound of Big Ben on an old Edward R. Murrow record, I Can Hear It Now, as it chimed on VE day in World War Two.

I had no idea, until I read this article, that Big Ben and the Liberty Bell were close cousins...but it seems appropriate, huh?

Happy Birthday, Old Friend.

Return From Paris

Bobbi and I went to Paris over the weekend...I'll blog about the trip soon, but in the meantime, Bobbi has turned our former wedding blog into a site for pictures of the trip.

You can find it at: http://bobbi-n-alex.blogspot.com/

bonne chance.

The Year of the Rat

Bobbi and I had a good time last Saturday. We met up with some of her friends from School, and went to watch the Chinese New Year's Parade in Central London.

Steve and Kate's Christmas Visit: Dunnottar, Part 2

After making our detour to see the war memorial, we returned to the path leading to Dunnottar. I hadn't meant to wear my Inverness raincoat, and felt just a little bit too much like some kind of Scottish Groupie, but it was the only raincoat I'd brought, and, as always, I was impressed the design of the garment- and I kind of wish I could get away with wearing more often. (Bobbi thought my thermal head band made the look particularly fetching.)

Kate remarked that it was just not possible to take a bad picture as the sun rose over the cliffs and the ruins of the castle-
so we began to compete for the best "BBC shot" (Kate's term)- this is standard shot of a narrator standing in the kind of impossibly verdant craggy landscape that only public television can provide to Americans. I think Steve and Kate probably won this round. Meanwhile, Bobbi found a passage under the castle, and of course, our little spelunker had to go and check it out. By the time we got down there, Bobbi had passed under the foot of the mountain and come out on the other side...but I did get a pretty good shot of her standing in the mouth of the cave.
Emerging from the other side, we were also treated to some great "attacker" angle views of the castle- looking up at the battlements from the slope, it was quite easy to see why this fortress had withstood the assaults of Danish Vikings, Medieval Knights, and the Armies of Cromwell's English Republic during the English Civil war. I would not have wanted the job of scaling cliffs and walls, only to find a stronghold of angry Scots waiting at the top.
For the price of four pounds each, about eight bucks, we were able to spend as much time as we liked crawling around the ruins of this great keep. We took, of course, a ton of pictures. It was hard not to romanticize about the vanished occupants of the buildings, but at the same time- being there on a cold winter's day, it was sobering to think of what conditions might have been like here, surrounded by cold stone by the blustering sea. For the common people employed here, in particular, it must have been little better than living in a cave. We spent hours crawling around the castle- each of us going our own way, and exploring our own nooks and crawl spaces...happy when we met up with each other,exchanging observations and sharing what we'd seen, separating again to follow our own paths. Really, hard to find better vacation companions.

After about 3 hours, we finally posed for the obligatory group picture and then set out down the hill again...headed for the Ship's Inn- for a pint of stout, a plate of Steak and Guinness pie, and some of the best damn sticky toffee pudding the world has ever known.

Life is good.

Steve and Kate's Christmas Visit: Dunnottar, Part 1

Steve and Kate ( of Gourmet Knitting Disaster) and Bobbi and I have been waiting for their visit to the United Kingdom for almost a year- ever since we knew that Bobbi would be sent to London this year.

The visit has come and gone. We had a great time, but it's always a bit of a let down when something you've been waiting for a long time finally comes to pass. First it's imminent, then it's happing, and then, all too soon, it's over. Their trip was like that.

After they arrived, we boarded a train at King's Cross and began a day long trek to the Highlands of Scotland. With his family connection to Clan Keith, Steve had a hankering to see Castle Dunnottar. This magnificent ruined fortress played a role in William Wallace's revolt and withstood a siege by Republican forces in the English Civil War. The Castle was bombarded, but the Hounours of Scotland, that is to say, the crown jewels, were smuggled away from English hands.

The train trip was, in itself, a really amazing journey. Using his new Christmas camera, Steve experimented shooting photos of the English country side as we zipped through. (In fact, many of the photos in this post are his.) As we reached the north, the railway ran right along the shore line, leading to some really impressive views.


We spent the night at a wonderful little bed and breakfast, Beachgate House, in the seaside village of Stonehaven.

The grand thing about visiting Scotland just after Christmas is that, because it is so far north, getting up with the sun is not a difficult thing to do. It doesn't rise until after 8:00 am, even Bobbi and I can manage that. And so, just as the sun crested over the North Sea, we were already breakfasted and heading up the beach.
Gosh- it felt good. (And all before 10am!)


Our host treated us to a very robust breakfast of porridge, eggs, bacon, grilled tomatoes, fried mushrooms, toast, jam, coffee, juice and black pudding after which, we set out for the castle- just two miles up the coast.

Nothing really prepared me for Scotland's beauty- as Steve remarked, he had never really known what it meant to have one's breath taken away until he found he could not breath after saying: "wow", "wow", "wow", "wow" over and over.

The hike to the Castle runs along the high cliffs overlooking the rocky shores, and a little winter mud makes it interesting and slippery enough up there to feel as if you really are doing something slightly brave. Despite the fact that we were in the depths of winter, the grass was still quite green, and the hill sides were populated by rabbits.

About halfway to the Castle, we passed the town's memorial to the dead of the Great War. This amazing structure sits on the top of a rise overlooking the sea, and is visitable for quite some distance in every direction. It's setting and design evokes a vision of the mythical kingdoms of old. I am sure that this was done both as to effort to lend glory to the horrifying struggle and, perhaps, an effort to consign the recent pain to the realm of the past...how could they suspect, when they erected the memorial, that they would have to live through such a conflagration AGAIN in just a generation?


Perhaps it's just overly sentimental, but I found the experience of visiting Scotland to be an odd combination of the familiar and the exotic....the high areas reminded me of New England, the Cliffs over looking the North Sea were like nothing I'd ever seen before. But the odd thing is, it feels a little like home.

Next post: we reach the castle, and Alex continues to fall back upon hackneyed phrases and cliches in attempt to capture an amazing experience.

What do you do with Bad Video Footage?

My friend Steve, on a recent visit to London, looked at some of the video footage my camera takes (15 second long silent movies) and suggested that I should convert it to black and white in the style of an old newsreel.

Not a bad suggestion. Of course, the resulting film is only of passing interest to friends and family, but what the heck...I don't have anything to say about politics right now anyway.

Carols by Candlelight at the Royal Albert Hall

Bobbi (assisted by Uncle Fred's wedding present) treated us to a wonderful Christmas gift on Sunday evening. The Mozart Festival Orchestra and Chorus presented "Carols by Candlelight"- a perfect mixture of 18th Century Classical Christmas Music and more traditional Christmas Carols.

We felt quite posh as we took our seats IN A BOX on one of the Grand Tiers...and throughly enjoyed the sprightly antics of Ian Clarke as he capered around the stage, leading the orchestra, told Christmas stories and spent the evening doing everything but standing still.

We are far away from friends and family this Christmas, but this was a great way to get into the seasonal mood!

Fun At the Office OR Bad Bush, Bad.

I love those times when I get to combine business with pleasure. Each year, my firm produces a piece of audio holiday fun and ships it to our clients. Hey, it's less fattening than cookies. In the past, we've stayed away from anything even remotely political - instead producing some fun, but innocuous material.

I don't know what got into our owner and chief writer this year, maybe after seven Christmases of this Crap- he just rebelled against the old dictum of not mixing business with politics- and wrote the following piece of Holiday Revenge.

Enjoy the results as George W. Bush gets a call from "The Department of Naughty and Nice"...


Happy Holidays!

PS- If the clip won't play from this page, go to
http://www.shadowprod.com/it_xmas07.html

Joys of the season

One of the first things Bobbi did when we arrived in London was to find a magazine which listed the best places to buy Christmas trees. We've been waiting eagerly until the time came (we didn't want all the good trees to be gone, but we'd like our tree to last past New Years so that it will be still be here for Christmas when Steve and Kate arrive.)

Bobbi finished with exams last week, and today she judged that the day had finally arrived. So off we set to the Christmas Forest on Goldhawk Road which is about 12 blocks down the street.

Well, frankly, our eyes were a little bigger than my shoulders....we purchased an nine foot monster and hoisted it up over my shoulder. I made it about a block before having to set it down. I wasn't particularly worried, BUT I did reconcile myself to the fact that it was going to take about three hours to travel the next 11 blocks.

"Ken I hep youu wit dat?" I heard a soft Scottish accent ask from behind the tree.

"Oh, no, no. I can get it. No problem", I turned see a pleasant looking fellow looking at me like I was nuts.

He finally took "no" for an answer, and I went another block, well, half a block and set the evergreen bundle down again.

"Are ye sure ya dinna wan a hand wi dat?" he asked me again.

Oh for heaven sake, I thought. Why can't people just mind their own business, what does this fellow want? I thought. A tip, just to help, or a chance to scope out my house and rob it?
It's odd that we look for danger or trouble where there probably isn't any, but that just seems to be the way we are wired.

"No, No. Really, I'm fine."

"Well, I gotta frebaraogarchurlgle, you know frebaraogarchurlgle?"

Honestly, I had no idea what he was saying but I realized that this man had lost his bid to remain an island, so I said "Sure".

"Right, well I'll jest go fetch et."

"Well, only if you let me buy you a drink after." I said.

And he went off to fetch the frebaraogarchurlgle, whatever it was, and I found myself wondering again what he would want...money, or worse yet, a never ending conversation about God knows what. Crazy thoughts went through my head...maybe he'll want a damn invitation to Christmas dinner.

The Scot returned with the frebaraogarchurlgle, which turned out to be the very perfect thing: a two wheeled hand truck. Together, we hoisted the tree up on to truck and pushed it back across the remaining ten blocks to home.

We had a great conversation about New Year's in Edinburgh, and our helper marveled at the fact that most American's seemed to be so keen on Scotland. I speculated that this was probably because so many American's had Scottish roots. We talked about the tree in Trafalgar Square, donated each year by the Norwegian people as a gift of thanks for British help against the Nazis.
He expressed a gratitude that the Americans jumped in when they did and I expressed a debt of thanks that the British were able to keep the Germans at Bay long enough for us to get our heads screwed on straight and learn where our duty lay.

Together we navigated down through the Christmas Shoppers and finally arrived at our house. He helped us get the tree to our door.

"Will you come in for something hot," asked Bobbi.

"Oh no, but thanks anyway".

"Well, here, anyway, please," I said, "please, let me at least buy you a drink. We couldn't have got this tree home without your help."
"Yes," laughed Bobbi, "it's a lot bigger than I think we thought!"

"Well, it' certainly a great beautiful tree," he said.

I passed him a few coins. "Please," I said, "I really want to buy you a drink in return for your help."

He seemed pleased to hear the coins jingle into his hands (I really didn't want to offend him, but I also wanted to say thank you, and so I was glad.)

He started off down the walk and I called "Thanks" one more time. "Oh, ye're welcome." he said.
Somehow, I felt reluctant to let him go, feeling that, despite the money, there was something left undone.

And then I took the step I had been so afraid of at the start. "I'm Alex, by the way." He didn't quite hear me. "Wha?" "Alex," I said, "That's my name."

"Oh," he said,taking the hand I offered. "I'm John".

"Thank you John," I said, "Merry Christmas."

"And to you too." he said. He gave me a smile and turned off down the walk bushing the frebaraogarchurlgle back into traffic and out of sight.

People,and especially me, I thought, sure are funny. And then I went into the house where my wife was decorating our gigantic British Christmas tree.

Everything Old is New Again

I sometimes feel that I missed the very best days of the internet...back when it was a free for all for information and fun stuff...before it became just another venue for commerce. I became computer literate just at the time all that cool stuff was, well, not disappearing, because it's still there, but getting harder for the Average Joe like me to find under the clutter of optimized commercial sites.

Do a search for an old piece of music, for example, and you'll land on I-Tunes or Amazon, who are more than willing to take your dollar.

But today, I stumbled on a completely neat, wonderful site completely devoid of any practical value, but a lot of fun....Internet Archives.

My Grandfather used to entertain his children, Grandchildren, wife and extended family, by singing the song of Anne Boleyn- with "Her 'head tucked underneath her arm"- and asked me, since I was in London to find a copy of the recording. I had no luck in the stores, but a trip to the internet took me to the Internet Archives.

What a great site. Internet Archives is host to the famous Wayback Machine (an archive of web pages from (gosh) decades (can you believe - decades?) past- but I never knew it was crammed full of so much other neat stuff!

A group of several collections of material, all of it in the public domain is housed there...

Not only did I find an MP3 version of the old British Novelty Record, but I also found a recording from the early 1900s of "The Wreck of the Old 97" a song my dad used to play on his guitar to sing me to sleep as a child.

You want to hear FDR's fireside chats, and download them...there they are....right alongside all the bootleg concert tapes that the Grateful Dead always allowed in the public domain....

At any rate, a great trip if you into collecting virtual junk...have fun.

'Tis the Season but The Food Shelves are Bare

The view from across the pond is interesting. There is a lot about America that, of course, needs fixing. At the same time, there is a lot about our society which, while there is miles of room for improvement, makes me think twice (for instance, a few weeks ago, there was an article about Brits pulling out their own teeth rather than trust the National Health Dentists...Health Care in the U.S. is going to require careful engineering as we try to fix it.)

But there are a few things which I find completely intolerable and an article which ran in Saturday's Washington Post is one of the ultimate cases in point:

Cupboards Are Bare at Food Banks

Drops in Donations and Farm Surplus Cause Area Charities to Run Short

Area food banks are experiencing a critical shortage of supplies as donations drop dramatically and as demand for free and discounted food continues to soar.

A combination of strong farm sales overseas, consolidation and tightening of supply chains by supermarkets, and a decline in Government assistance have created a perfect storm which has lead to the shortage of help for those who need it most.

Many of these families, according to sources quoted in the Post article, are the working poor...meaning that they have jobs and are doing their level best to keep their heads above water...but it's not working.

And, according to the Post, condiditions are getting worse:

At the same time, economic factors have conspired to force many more people toward the brink of hunger. Calls to the food bank's Hunger Lifeline are up about 37 percent from last year...

"Good, working people are having a harder time making ends meet," said Kerrie Wilson, executive director of Reston Interfaith. "So far, we've not had to turn folks away, but we have limited the number of times we'll help someone. . . . You do less for more."

It is important, of course, that we work hard to ensure that leadership in this country is changed, but at the same time, it's not a bad idea to think about taking a page from the Republican play book ( in one respect, at least, WE can practice what THEY preach ) charity begins at home- and a gift of money or food to the local food bank would be a great way to celebrate the season.

Okay, I'm climbing off my soapbox now, and, just to keep ME honest, next time you see me, don't forget to ask if I have practiced what I was preaching.

Turkey Time In London

Of course, there is no Thanksgiving Day in London. That is only for the Puritans who went to Massachusetts. The Puritans who stayed home had a civil war with their King and chopped his head off- but it turned out that, in the long run, nobody was very thankful, and so eventually they invited the King's son to come home and be King and everybody did their best to try and forget that the whole thing ever happened.

So, no Thanksgiving for the British...just a good early start on Christmas.

Still, as Patriotic Americans- hell, NEW ENGLANDERS at that, we had to do something. So Bobbi, god bless her, found a barbecue place called Bodeans.

There is nothing to replace a home cooked Thanksgiving dinner, surrounded by friends and family... and maybe I had to learn that. The BBQ Brits did a good job, all in all, but here's what I found out is absolutely indispensable in a Thanksgiving dinner:

• The Turkey- it must come in hunks, not in wafer thin slices. Both light and dark meat MUST be available.


• Cranberry Sauce- duh!


• Pie- More than one kind!


• Lots of Friends and/or family

and most importantly....


• SECONDS!

But it was fun to be out with Bobbi and we had a good time... in the meantime, both Heather and Kate at GKD and Russell at NYCStories have great Thanksgiving entries....Kate gets the prize for best photo...Russell gets the prize for best turkey platter.

Cheers

Time to Read

The last few days, I've been coming down with nasty cold. The bright side is that it has kept me in bed, and allowed me to catch up on a lot of reading.

I'm not a big reader of fiction...not because I don't enjoy it but because there is so much history that I don't know, or don't know well enough (and when I've O.D.'d on history, then there are contemporary politics to try to keep track of)... but I was fortunate the other day to find a series of books by British Historical Novelist, Bernard Cornwell.

Alfred, a Saxon who ruled the Kingdom of Wessex (now southern England), is fighting for the life of the Island against the Danes who come across the sea in wave after wave to take the land from the Anglo-Saxons. It is against this background that Cornwell sets the story of Uthred, a young Saxon who was raised by Danes, but who fights for Alfred the Great, whom he both admires and despises.

It's been a fun book, and seems to be well researched. There are two keys, I think, to good historical fiction- one is that the author stays true to the spirit of the events- for many histro-phobic readers, this will, after all, be their first exposure to the events- the second is that, when the author changes history, that he acknowledges it somewhere in the book. Cornwell does both.

Not only is it a good story, in the sense that you always want to know what is going to happen next, but it also raises the curtain on a second conflict, that between Christianity and Paganism.

The books don't become overwhelming- they are, after all, adventure stories- but it is interesting to contrast the pragmatic Paganism of the Norsemen- fight, die with your sword in hand, go to Valhalla- with the often sickly and rickety examples of the Christian Saxons- we watch as time and time again, the forces of the Saxons choose the wrong course because they are following the advice of their Christian priests.

...and yet, it was Christianity that won out as a belief system...makes you wonder what social forces where at work - what was it about Chritianity that, in the end, triumphed over paganism?
I don't think we'll get any answers from Cornwell, he's just out to tell a ripping good yarn...but it does raise the question.

London Journey: Interlude

October 27, 2007 Notes On Everyday Life


While London is an exciting city, it is also, for the time being, home to Bobbi, Izzy and me…and so, alongside the historical, the international, and the artistic beauties, we exist, going through the mundane chores and routines that compose daily life.


We take the tube around the city. While many complain that this system is antiquated, out of date, expensive and inconvenient…I must say that, coming from a land where we have bungled public transportation (everywhere, perhaps, but Boston and New York), the existence of the tube trains is something we are quite thankful for.
While we love British life, and try to steer clear of too much American culture, there are a few imports which are QUITE welcome…


...yes, that IS a Krispy Kream Donut Shop!

When we are not visiting some historical site, or medical shop of horrors, we often find fun simply walking the streets.


These, of course, are full of their own attractions…


which, if we ARE in a hurry, can prove damned obtrusive! At least, to some of us.



Last weekend, we visited that great British Institution….Harrod’s Department store.



Outside of Harrods you will find another great institution….the animal rights protestors. Good thing I already HAVE a nice furry Russian Hat.



Many people have inquired about Izzy the cat- wondering how she has settled in and if she misses her fellow felines: Buffy and Fluffy. The answer is that she is settling in just fine, thank you very much, and no, she doesn’t much give a damn that there are no other cats here. In fact, I think she is quite happy to be an only cat again. She has a big bathtub to sit in (empty, of course) and windows to look out…there are other cats in the neighborhood, to whom Izzy directs a transatlantic sneer.



The other question we are often asked by friends and relatives at home in the States is: Did you ever solve your coffee problem? Readers of this blog will note that in the land that gave us Jersey cows- cream for coffee is not to be had anywhere. Much MORE unfortunately, the most common way to drink coffee here is to prepare a cup of instant.

It is possible, of course, to get coffee drinks that are quite good- lattés, espressos, etc…but a real, honest to god cup of coffee is a rare find. The British call this “filter coffee” and they make it very badly.

So…what’s a couple o Yanks’ to do?

We tried instant- too sour.

We tried going out for lattes- too expensive.

So finally we came upon the perfect solution…..


Well, really, it was the ONLY thing to do….



And THAT, my friends, is how Britannia continues, despite her somewhat reduced circumstances, to have her way with the world...because she offers freedom and choice, and yet does so in such a fashion that it becomes inevitable that you shall come 'round to her way of thinking in the end.

Cheers.