Home and other thoughts from Abroad

Iron Mam

2019-07-19T15:50:00.000+04:00

Mam with Michael at his Graduation

A week ago today, we said goodbye to my mother at Cyfarthfa Church in Merthyr Tydil. This is the Eulogy that I delivered. R.I.P. Mam.

Most, if not all, of you sitting here today will need no history lessons from me about Merthyr’s past, about the industry that was responsible for transforming a lush valley into a scarred industrial town, home to a population of locals and immigrants that went on to shape the place that many of us grew up in. Merthyr has long been a melting pot of cultures, its character defined by a fusion of those, but it’s a time before that which provided its backbone.

We haven’t always been an industrial town, there was something there before that, a spirit in the people forged by a subsistence existence that required a character more durable than anything forged in the iron and steel mills of Crawshay and Guest. It was from that background that my mother, June Kenning, came. True, she went on to work in industry, but it was the hills, the rain and the cold that gave her a steel stronger than anything that the old forges produced.

As the daughter of a man who came from Welsh hill farming stock, she had no choice but to be resilient. As one of six siblings that comprised Team Davies – Val, Philip, Wendy Gareth and Brenda being the others- she helped with all manner of tasks ranging from herding cattle, to the annual sheep gathering and shearing, to the mowing of the fields that produced the hay for the winter. A fine horsewoman, she would often be seen out and about on her horse Chess, the mother of my own horse, Trigger, a pocket rocket and equine psychopath whose sole purpose seemed to be reckless endangerment of his passengers. Unless that is, he was carrying my mother – he couldn’t get the better of her! Game over before he started.

No matter what the weather back in the day, and I am thinking of the brutal winter of 1963 in particular, the work of the farm had to be done and it bred in her an attitude to work that never altered, a set of principles that carried her through her working life and the rearing of her family.

But don’t just take my word for it, just listen to a few of these letters we found as we started the process of sorting out her affairs. Amongst all of her stuff, we found her work file, a collection of CVs and references that she clearly treasured and had hung onto past retirement. In a reference written by her Production Foreman at Panasonic, she was described as ‘reliable, hard working and trustworthy’, three descriptions that also feature in another reference from one of the bosses at Volex who also praised her ‘enthusiasm and willingness to learn.’

In her time, she also worked alongside two Dais that I had grown up with, one my cousin David who was with her in Stephens and George and the other Dav Owens who told me about how when working at Volex and there was a priority job to do, she was the first one called on, secure in the knowledge that she would get it done right. No shoddiness, no corners cut, no trip to another part of the country seen as a jolly. Reliable, trustworthy, a rock.

That word rock is often used by many to describe friends and family, but in an age where legend no longer means heroic or brave, but unexpectedly returning from the kitchen with crisps, it can be too liberally used. But for me Jamie and Suzanne, it’s exactly what she was. At the age of 31, after a few years when things hadn’t been great for her personally, she nursed my father through to his untimely death, witnessing the worst sort of suffering you can possibly imagine. After his passing, she then faced the prospect of bringing up 3 kids on her own and made that her goal. And, believe me, like any kids, especially as teenagers, we didn’t always make that easy for her.

Falling foul of Mam’s temper wasn’t always a wise move for the young Kennings. In that pre-millennial age where ‘You’ve hurt my feelings’ would have earned you a verbal or mild physical rebuff, things were very different. Schools still caned you, teachers used daps and board dusters for non-dap and non-board duster things and Mam had the speed and accuracy of an old wild west gunslinger – her slippers a weapon of choice; Sally Slipper the nickname I gave her. Don’t get me wrong, she was no Dickensian parent and the threat was often more than enough, but on those occasions where things had been pushed a bit too far, we were soon straightened up. Even when you thought you’d got away with it, just as you reached the top of the stairs, you often got caught a glancing blow by a an unholstered slipper as you scrambled to make an ignominious retreat

For me though, childhood was about the best of times: going to school in a castle, the wonderful summers on the farm, Elvis Presley sound tracking Sundays, but above all there were Christmases where we always got spoiled, always got treated. Christmas mornings with the three piles of presents in the living room -two on the settee one in the armchair- all of them earned by a single parent factory worker whose efforts we never really understood and perhaps didn’t properly appreciate- not that she ever made an issue of it.

And that generosity was something that never dwindled. With us grown up, her attention has turned to her grandchildren and making sure they got what she could afford, and it is in them she has tremendous pride as they work their ways through school and beyond. Liam and Adara are still mid-journey, but Jacob, James and Michael have all done well and were a source of ongoing pride. Her favourite day of the past few years was the short stay we had in Bath for Michael’s graduation after he got his degree in Computer Science with First Class honours. Getting her there through two train journeys and a couple of taxi rides was an adventure on its own, but worth every repeated warning about being 'on the right platform' and every observation about 'the price of taxis!'

Thrift was another of her strengths, as Cheryl, her best friend and conspirator in shenanigans could well testify. Cheryl was the CEO of Parry and Kenning, a holiday and nights-out partnership that ventured to all points Merthyr and a good few abroad. Mam had control of the finances, functioned as the Treasurer, the holder of the kitty purse and allocator of funds. Part of Cheryl’s job was to keep reminding her that there was plenty in that kitty and that it had been saved for that purpose! And what fun they had spending it!

The biggest challenge Mam faced in that role came not as a result of theft or loss of the purse, but the intervention of the Icelandic volcano that kept her and Cheryl in Las Vegas for a month instead of the booked-for 2 weeks. Between the kitty and Cheryl’s credit card they soldiered on through the hardships of a 5-star hotel and even got Richard Branson to pay it back. Had he not, I think the slippers would have been dusted down and he’d have got a visit.

And then, two weeks ago, I got the call we all dread, and I got myself home from Abu Dhabi as quickly as I could to be with her. Before I did, I posted a message on Facebook that gave out the brief facts and was overwhelmed with the messages I got, made to smile by a few of them. Chief amongst them were Dai Hughes whose shock was based on the fact that he thought my mam was ‘indestructible’. For reasons already stated, that had always seemed the case to me too – I was convinced that she’d make it to 100 and a telegram from a King but, sadly, it was not to be.

When I got back, it was basically to say goodbye and the fact that I got to do that was down to the wonderful care and attention of the staff in the ITU at Prince Charles. In a day and age where the pressures on those services is immense, the professional standards remain strong and it is for that reason that we asked for donations to the ITU instead of floral tributes.

So, finally, Mam, thank you for all that you have done, all you have sacrificed, all that you have endured. If anyone deserves a rest, it’s you. Sleep well.

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Heads in the Sand

2018-10-26T10:51:00.003+04:00

My first blog post in a while and it concerns the forthcoming release of this little pet project of mine. I have been asked what it's about by a number of people and so, here's the foreword - I think it does the job nicely. Looking back through it all again now to tidy it up a bit - not a literary masterpiece (not sure I have one of those in me) but it is writing with a definite purpose.

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FOREWORD

Dislocation is a bitch. It’s not the easiest thing to teach kids, especially those who opt for it at Advanced Level as a last resort, because they never really get to grips with why authors do it, why they choose to exaggerate and distort. For them these ‘weirdos’ are just showing off, deliberately stretching the boundaries to make things difficult. Sometimes, it’s almost as if they have done it just to mess with the life of your average 16-18-year-old.

So many students see life as plain and simple, easy to read, steady and straightforward and that’s how they like their texts, not too off the beaten path, dealing with issues that they get, things they understand. Pontificate as much as I like, the delights of Ulysses are ones that many just don’t get. God help them if they ever set Gravity’s Rainbow because then they truly would be screwed.

Part of my pontificating centres on the idea that distortions are often used to reveal truths, that they offer angles from which we can explore aspects of the human experience. Mostly though, I just tell them about my years as a teacher in the Middle East and read to them from the various diaries, notes and memoirs that I kept in that time. I can’t share them all, but what I do read often has them drop-jawed. In this, my last year of teaching, I decided to record those experiences in a more permanent form, hopeful of the fact that someone might publish it even if it is just to serve as a sort of unofficial guide to what people can expect if they live and teach in that part of the world. Is it all true? Of course not, one has to be given some latitude and I have done so here, but in equal amounts, sometimes mitigating, sometimes embellishing the truth. So, what I offer here is what you might term creative non-fiction and I hope you’ll allow the liberties that I have taken in creating it.

Setting, both historical and cultural, is what drives much of what you will read. The island of Qosour is that part of the world, a dot in the Arabian Gulf that would not matter a jot were it not for its getting embroiled in two wars alongside its bigger – and by all accounts even brasher – neighbour, Kuwait. For the rest of the time the so-called developed world ignores it, turns a blind eye to it pretty much as it does to the rest of the Middle East, shying away from its responsibilities to certain core beliefs about human rights, choosing instead to see them as tradable commodities that can be bartered in negotiations that secured the lid on the price of oil.

These were things that I was largely unaware of before I took up a teaching post on the island in the September of 2000, but they quickly became apparent as my time unfolded there. So why stay? I hear you ask? Why didn’t you just leave at the earliest possible moment? Fair questions, it has to be said, ones that were often thrown my way in the Teaching Overseas section of The Times Educational Supplement. Well, for a start I needed the job and its generous salary, I met my second wife there and I made some wonderful friends, some of whom you’ll get to meet as you read on. More important than most of that though is the fact that I wanted to tell the story of the island, its people and its problems. And I am not just talking about the local population - they are just a part of what’s wrong. It is the expatriates who follow their lead who disturbed me more, it is they who had lost all sense of where they were from and of the values that most of us hold dear when born and raised in the ‘West’, but in the UK in particular. Add to that the fact that all of the people that I am going to write about were supposed to be educators and you’ll understand my horror. I often felt like a beamed down officer from the starship Enterprise dealing with life and education, but not as I had known it.

For the teachers among you, much of this is not an exaggeration or a distortion. Most, but not all, of the schools in the region operate in this way, paying good money, but also expecting sacrifices in return. Chief amongst those expected sacrifices can be your integrity, that adherence to professional standards that have pretty much defined who you are from the moment that you set foot in a classroom. It is a sad fact that too many schools bought into the prevailing mindset, choosing to adopt local practices rather than rise above them and set the example that we felt it was their duty to do.

As in any good book, there’s also some romance, a relationship that starts off in the oddest of circumstances and then overcomes adversities. It has passion and romance and serves as a reminder of the fact that even in the shittiest of situations, even when things look as though they can’t get any worse, there remains the hope that only love can bring.

In the end, it’s all about taking the rough with the smooth, finding your feet and not treading on too many toes in the process. And if that fails, there’s always blackmail.

50 at 50 - Songs from a Life

2013-08-04T17:01:00.001+04:00

I've been mulling over something like this for a while. At such a milestone age, I wanted to do something that was both reflective and celebratory, something that will mark the day in an appropriate fashion, and for me there's no better way to do that than through music. What follows is a list of the songs that I think are signposts on the road I have taken - almost all of them will have a little story or memory attached. They are listed in time order, not order of preference! I have also limited all artists to 3 songs, even the Manics!

1. Sweets for My Sweet - The Searchers. (1963)

This was number one on Monday August 5th 1963, the day I was born. Coincidentally, my birthday this year is on a Monday too - any mathematical reason?

2. I Saw Her Standing There - The Beatles. (1963)

'Please Please Me' was the number 1 album in this week and this is probably my favourite track from it.

3. She Loves You - The Beatles. (1964)

I didn't really get into The Beatles until the late 1970s when I began listening to them with Julie Richards, my first girlfriend. Her brother Anthony had a decent record collection that included the red and blue collections. I preferred the red then, the blue now. That's age for you!

4. It's Not Unusual - Tom Jones (1965)

Mam and dad were huge Tom fans. I have hazy memories of dad coming back late from Swansea Road Club and waking me to go downstairs to watch snatches of the TV show that Tom had on in the late 60s and early 70s. Originally written for Sandie Shaw, she heard Tom sing a demo version and recommended that he release it. The rest, as they say, is history, and a Welsh superstar was born!

5. Last Train to Clarksville - The Monkees (1966)

We lived and worked in Jordan for 2009-2010 and what a year it was. Hard to explain in full but we had a brilliant night of satirical and other singing in our flat (Khalda Fest!) and this was one of the bands whose songs we played. The reason that this song appears here rather than their theme tune is Liam's love of it. Always been a favourite!

6. Delilah - Tom Jones (1968)

How could I not include this? It has now achieved anthemic status, the song that the non-Welsh will sing when they are celebrating an England rugby defeat.

7. Let it Be -The Beatles (1969)

Simply one of the greatest ever Beatles' songs.

8. Space Oddity - David Bowie (1969)
I didn't really get into Bowie until during my first marriage. Alison is a huge Bowie fan from a family of Bowie fans and so it was difficult to avoid really. So, so hard to believe that the song is this old.

9. The Boxer - Simon and Garfunkel (1969)

I spent a huge amount of time as a teenager with my uncles and aunty Brenda on their farm in Heolgerrig. Wern and Trad (the uncles) had a pretty decent set of records at one stage (if you take out Gilbert O'Sullivan) but the best thing they had was Bridge Over Troubled Water. Years later, it became a staple on rugby days or on those trips we took from Merthyr to pubs elsewhere in Wales from which we sometimes got banned. My mate, Dav Owens (more on whom later) often led the singing!

10. American Pie - Don McClean (1971)

The song came to mean something after I met Kath and her friends. It was sung at the funeral of one of her friends, Alex Minshall, and always raises a tear when she hears it.

11. Highway Star - Deep Purple (1972)

Dav Owens is one of two Merthyr lads (my cousin Paul Elliott - referred to later - is the other) who had a pretty significant impact on my musical tastes, Dav for all things rock, Paul for punk. This track features on the album Machine Head but it is the version on the live album Made in Japan that I absolutely love. Merthyr rockers Celtic Pride do a more than passable version of the track. Merthyr was split into Zeppelin v Purple factions at the time; I am still resolutely Purple!

12. Blockbuster - The Sweet (1973)

Glamtastic superstars of the early 1970s, The Sweet recorded a number of songs that stand the test of time for me. I originally had their songs on cassette and played them on a push button Philps cassette player - pictured below!

13. Ballroom Blitz - The Sweet (1973)

The song inspired by a riot at one of their concerts at the Palace Theatre and Grand Hall in Kilmarnock. The combination of seeing the band plastered in make up and playing their heavier tracks from their singles' B sides proved too much for a rowdy Scottish audience that was rewarded for its intolerance with immortality in the lyrics of this much covered song.

14. Cum On Feel the Noize - Slade (1973)

A close second to The Sweet for me, Slade had a string of hits, this being the most iconic of the ones that weren't about Christmas! It was also at the top of the charts on the day that Kath was born.

15. January - Pilot. (1975)

This one is all about my Gransher (mother's father) who surprised me and my aunty Brenda one day by joining in with this song, his head moving from side to side, no teeth in and a pipe in his hand. Precious. Ironically, it got to Number One on February 1st that year.

16. Whispering Grass - Don Estelle and Windsor Davies (1975)

OK, we all have these skeletons in the closet. This was the first single I ever bought. It seemed funny at the time! Don Estelle's voice is incredible though.

17. Play That Funky Music - Wild Cherry (1976)

Back in 2003, Kath and I went to Dubai from Kuwait for a weekend of job hunting at a recruitment fair. That night we saw The International Playboys, the UAE's finest covers band, an experience that more than made up for the abject failure of the search for other employment. Some of the songs that they played that night and then in Abu Dhabi (2009-2012) when we met up with them again have become firm favourites. The song was also a part of the soundtrack of the war year, 2003. I stayed there for that with Juan Saavedra, Dree McManus, Louise Procter and a number of others. Crazy times!

18. God Save the Queen - The Sex Pistols (1976)

They shouted, spat and swore themselves into infamy and were, for me anyway, the irresistible force that really drove the punk juggernaut down the road. Introduced to them (and so many other punk bands) by my cousin Paul, this superb piece of channelled disrespect remains a favourite, much to the disgust and disdain of a few who know me!! Paul is pictured below with boxing great, Ken Buchanan.

19. Under the Moon of Love - Showaddywaddy (1976)

Alright, I know, trust me, I do. It's not about the music but purely about the memory as any of the lads in that particular group of ours in the Sixth Form would tell you. For some reason, we adopted this lot and broke into spontaneous choruses of some of their songs in the Common Room. David Hughes, Stephen Parry, John Bullock, Andrew Morgans, Rob Pearce - yes, you all were there!

20. Mary of the Fourth Form - The Boomtown Rats (1977)

Paul is to blame for starting off this obsession in the late 70s. Their debut album was particularly strong but it was this track that stood out for me. The song is unashamedly raunchy and tells the tale of a girl that every boy in the fourth form (Year/Grade 10 these days) wanted to 'know'. Its appeal to priapic teenage boys is pretty obvious!

21. Solsbury Hill - Peter Gabriel (1977)

I have always loved this song but the exuberant version of it recorded in Rio is something that always puts a smile on my face. Gabriel's performance of the song even made Kath appreciate the great man! Took long enough, I can tell you!

22. Rat Trap - The Boomtown Rats (1978)

Beaten to the accolade for the Best UK single by the comparatively insipid Baker Street, this narrative-driven classic song spoke to those who were determined to escape the urban decay that provides the song's context. When they played the song 'live' on Top of the Pops, the band tore up pictures of Olivia Newton John and John Travolta whose You're The One That I Want they had replaced at Number One. My brother Jamie and sister Suzanne also got to share in this obsession of mine - I would often play Tonic for the Troops instead of listen to the radio before school, played it ad nauseum! Kath and I saw Geldof perform this again at the Irish Village earlier this year - he still has it!

23. Tommy Gun - The Clash (1978)

White Riot from their debut album could have easily been the choice but I can still remember Paul playing this one on the day that Give 'Em Enough Rope came out. It got to number 19 in the charts.

24. One Step Beyond - Madness (1979)

Back to the Sixth Form again for this one and manic dancing/running on the spot with Dai Hughes, Steve Parry and others at 18th birthday parties that cropped up in those fantastic two years. I would struggle to do it for one song now, never mind the 7 or 8 we used to jog through. Madness, The Beat, Selector, and The Specials got previously dance floor shy teenagers to their feet!

25. I Don't Like Mondays - The Boomtown Rats (1979)

It was a Saturday morning in early July when Peter Powell played this on the radio. I listened to it on the bus that was taking us on the annual Social Club trip to the seaside (Barry Island that year, I think) and instantly loved it. The song tells the story of a shooting in a playground in San Diego that claimed the lives of two adults and injured eight children. When asked why she had done it, the shooter, Brenda Ann Spencer, simply answered 'I don't like Mondays.'

26. Another Brick in the Wall - Pink Floyd (1979)

It was my first year in the Sixth Form when this reached number one. I remember us belting it out at the Staff and Sixth Form Christmas party (wouldn't have those now!). Oh the irony! There was I launching a Floyd backed tirade (all in good fun though) at teachers I respected and in whose footsteps I would eventually follow.

27. Hells Bells - ACDC (1980)

I wasn't actually a huge fan of ACDC at the time - I got into them in the last 10 years, choosing to avoid them at the time because I felt they were 'too metal' and 'not rock enough.' Taken from the album Back in Black (tied for 2nd best selling album of all time with Dark Side of the Moon), it begins with that resonant church bell sound that rattles the windows if you have the player cranked up enough.

28. All Night Long - Rainbow (1981)

It was around about this time that I started diversifying a bit more. I remember Dav buying the album Down to Earth and playing me a few of the tracks from it. Became a great one to headbang to, particularly at those mental Staff and Sixth Form parties.

29. Script For a Jester's Tear - Marillion (1983)

Marillion stand alongside the Rats and the Manics as one of my favourite bands. This is the beautiful title track to their debut album. The 'poor man's Genesis' tag never stuck for me because I never really liked Genesis with either Collins or Gabriel on vocals. Gabriel on his own is quite another matter.

30. Dirty Old Town - The Pogues (1985)

This song is pure Kuwait. At the end of drunken nights in Chris McKelvie or, more usually, Kev Troy's flat this song would often be belted out before we had 'one for the stairs.' Good times! It was written in 1949 about an English town but the Irish give it more resonance.

31. Welcome to the Jungle - Guns 'N' Roses (1987)

Last year, I worked at a challenging school in Dubai. In a moment of creative madness, I scripted the opening of a musical about the school. This is the show's opening song, performed (in my mind anyway) by Greg Howe, the Head of English.

32. Sit Down - James (1989)

A song from the beginning of my relationship with Kath. It had been around a while but it was new to me when we got together. Always reminds me of her telling the story about seeing James in concert at Uni and being unimpressed by his snotty aloofness. She told him what she thought of him though!

33. Metallica - Enter Sandman (1991)

Another of the songs that The International Playboys played on that night in Dubai in 2003. hard to believe that a covers band who also funked the life out of Play That Funky Music could also do this, but boy did they and with some style. Jacob and Liam love this too - have been headbanging to it since they were toddlers!

34. Shiny Happy People - REM (1991)

The late 80s and early 90s (pre-Kath) were a bad time for me musically, stuck as I was in the daily seriousness of Radio 4. This song was one that I heard at school (Amman Valley) one day, when the sun was shining and all was quite and peaceful. Always raises a smile.

35. Faster - The Manic Street Preachers (1994)

James Dean Bradfield caused a real stir when he appeared on TOTP wearing what was dubbed then an IRA mask when the Manics performed this track. This is a pure adrenaline rush, the perfect preparation for a workout or Black Friday in Merthyr.

36. Yes - The Manic Street Preachers (1994)

James Dean Bradfield has commented that he wasn't sure that he could ever pack the lyrics that Richey Edwards gave him into a song. This is Richey at his best, a savage indictment of how readily perversions can be accommodated. 'Everything's for Sale.'

37. Design For Life - The Manic Street Preachers (1996)

The first post-Richie single and the first time I had ever heard the Manics. I vividly remember standing in line in HMV to buy a CD and Everything Must Go was playing in the shop. When I got to the counter, I picked up a copy and that was that. The Manics are the best Welsh band there has ever been - more importantly than that, they are my favourite band, and by some distance.

38. Some Might Say - Oasis (1995)

Early on in my relationship with Kath, one of her grandmother's died at a hospice in Swansea. This was the song playing on the radio on the last day that she saw her alive.

39. Fake Plastic Trees - Radiohead (1995)

Another band that I have grown to love far too late really. The expression of personal fragility and worthlessness that runs through parts of this is haunting.

40. Something Changed - Pulp (1996)

Given the way that fate threw Kath and me together (a long story shared only with a few over wine), this had to be the first song at our wedding reception. It is absolutely perfect.

41. Beautiful Ones - Suede (1996)

This was the second song that Kath and I had played at our wedding. It was a tribute to our friends who had seen us through what had been a horrendous year. Mike, Kath and John, yes, it's you!

42. A Thousand Trees - Stereophonics (1997)

The Sixth Formers at Amman Valley and Kath's brother Steve got me into the 'Phonics early on. I saw them a number of times in the mid 90s when they were still in that much edgier and non-whiny stage. This song about the way that rumours spread like wildfire is an insightful appraisal of the overly close-knit community that the valleys can sometimes be.

43. Yellow - Coldplay (2000)

I simply had to include this one. Kath hates Coldplay with a passion but she does love this song. I saw the video for this for the first time on a rainy afternoon in The Black Boy pub in Killay, Swansea. Yes, there is a pub called that and their attempt to explain it by putting a child coalminer on the pub sign fools no one, especially those of us who can remember the original!

44. One Step Closer - Linkin Park

My eldest, James, introduced me to this during his visit to Kuwait in 2001. There are certain people I would love to send this to as a singing telegram.

45. Let's Get It Started - The Black Eyed Peas (2004)

We often went to Bahrain for pork and real alcohol therapy when we lived in Kuwait. Often the first port of call was The Warbler pub where the resident band was fronted by an outrageous gay Philipino singer who made a habit of trying to embarrass/pull ANY male in the bar. Our mate John verge had a wonderful night trying to escape his attentions. This was one of the songs that they performed.

46. Dakota - Stereophonics (2005)

Just when I thought my days of liking the 'Phonics were over, this comes onto my radar, courtesy again of The International Playboys. I have rocked away to this in the wee small hours on a number of occasions in Heroes.

47. Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol (2006)

Another International Playboys regular once upon a time. Often makes Kath shed a tear or two.

48. Sex on Fire - The Kings of Leon (2008)

Part of the soundtrack of our Jordan experiences, we had it blaring out on an afternoon when we all got sent home early for snow that never came. Decent enough party though!

49. Weights and Measures - Dry the River (2011)

Kath and I discovered this band in our last year in Abu Dhabi. It is simply magnificent. Impossibly fragile and tender and the purest of voices.

50. Gangnam Style - Psy (2012)

This song has been a huge part of our life in 2012/13 simply because the boys love that crazy dance so much. It was also THE song of the Dubai 7s last year and will always have a place on any list. A classic example of it not being the quality of the song but the quality of the memories. Conjures up memories of SRS staff (Paudie, Carla and Amy in particular) and Liam's star turns in the flat at Ghoroob.

Colombo (days 19 and 20)

2013-08-03T13:08:00.001+04:00

Our Colombo stay started with another change of hotel (one we paid for this time), after the one we had originally booked gave us a room that was simply too small for us all to share. Lake Lodge advertises itself as an upmarket boutique hotel; for 'boutique' read prison chique.

We were found a room at a converted colonial house (Ceilao Villa) not too far from most of the places that we wanted to visit. For a cheaper price, we had swapped our concrete cell for a much larger room with space for 2 put-up beds for the boys. Add to that our exchange of a glum-faced manager at the one for the irrepressibly confident and smiling Gladwyn at Ceilao, and we had a double win situation.

That first afternoon we rummaged around Odel's department store for an hour or so before heading off to the Galle Face hotel for dinner. It was another trip down Amnesia Lane for me and Kath, another chance to relive that former visit by eating at a hotel that we'd stayed at first time around.

The second day was all about the cricket. To my shock, it was Kath who was the driving force behind this (she has always steadfastly derided the game), so much so that she bought the lads Sri Lankan cricket tops in Galle on one of the shopping forays. So, suitably kitted out, we got a Tuk Tuk to the R. Premadasa stadium where Sri Lanka won the toss and chose to bat. South Africa were the opposition for this one day international.

Having a blonde and a ginger Sri Lankan supporter in the crowd drew a fair bit of attention from the locals, many of whom took photos of the boys as they hooted their horns and waved their flags. Inspired by their presence, the Sri Lankan batsmen took South Africa to the cleaners, racking up 307 for 4 in their allotted 50 overs. Top scorer Dilshan did mar things slightly when he threw away his wicket trying to force the single that would have given him a deserved century. More exhilarating though was Sangakarra who racked up a rapid 75 in 45 balls. So entertaining was all of this that kath even said she would go to another match!

Sadly, we had to go back to the hotel to watch the South African innings because we had to be up early for our flight the day after. Red wine and Dominos pizza were the order of the day as we watched Sri Lanka finish the job by skittling out South Africa for a measly 179.

What a break that was though, a true family holiday that brought us all back together after the rigours of a year during which I lived away in Dubai on weekdays while Kath was left to cope with being Headteacher and a mum. It should have set us all up for a great year in Ras Al Khaimah and the return to normal family life that we all need.

Unuwatuna Unwind (Days 14-18)

2013-08-03T12:17:00.000+04:00

I knew from the moment that we booked this as part of our stay that it was destined to be our chill out time after bumping and weaving our way through the Sri Lankan hill country. The journeys from Kandy to Haputale via Nuwara Eliya and from Haputale down to Tissamaharama had been hard on us all and so the prospect of being able to chill out in Unawatuna was a blessed relief after the slog.

Our original destination was the Unawatuna Beach Resort, a choice that Kath and I had made based on our last visit to Sri Lanka when she was still carrying Jacob. Back then it had looked fabulous with its easy beach access and reasonably plush looking facilities. The day before we got there our guide Richard had told us that some renovations were in process, something that didn't bother us unduly because we figured that had things been not right, we would have been warned and relocated. Wrong!

We arrived to find that the plush resort had been turned into a building site and all our hopes for the 5 days seemed to be in pieces. Kath was particularly unimpressed and all of the hotel's attempts at placatory measures simply had no effect. Instead, she called Donovan at Redddot Tours who quickly sorted out an alternative for us closer to Galle in a wonderful boutique hotel called CoCo Bay: picture postcard perfect location and outstanding accommodation! Reddot took the hit for us on this change of venue ($600 worth) but quite why they had to honour that is beyond me. UBR had told them that all renovations would be complete by the time we arrived!

Much of what we experienced over those days centred on the hotel and its private beach. Kath and I got time to read and I finally picked up John Irving's latest offering (In One Person) and got through it quickly. His best for quite a while. I know when I'm on holiday when I'm reading something that isn't related to work and i'm not devising lesson plans and focused reading tasks as I go!

We did manage two day trips into Galle for a look at the Dutch Fort and to pick up some bargains at a couple of clothes shops. I wasn't as taken with Galle this time though and found the persistence of the hawkers and cobra kidnappers pretty annoying. The lads seemed to enjoy it though, particularly the journeys there and back in the ubiquitous Tuk Tuk, a motorised 3 wheeler that is steered using handlebars and carries a family of 4 with Liam sitting on a lap. The passengers are afforded the safety and security of a metal shell that wouldn't escape undented from a bump with a cyclist, but one last-second swerve apart, we never really had any worries.

Two events stand above all else that we did: the mini Perehera festival in Unawatuna and a visit to a turtle sanctuary. The festival brought hundreds onto the street all of them united in what looked like a communal quest to buy as much brightly coloured stuff as possible. From plastic buckets and plant pots to gaudy balloons, from additive packed confectionery to possibly toxic tattoos, everyone seemed intent on buying something that would brighten up their day.

Nominally a Buddhist event, there were also Hindus participating - Buddha is regarded as an avatar of the Hindu god Vishnu - some dancing, some drumming and some marking the occasion by having large hooks gouged into their skin and attached to long ribbons held by someone following behind them. The ribbons acted almost as puppet stings as the followers tugged on them, sending those with the embedded hooks into a frenzied dance. Not all movements were prompted by the puppet masters though; it seemed that there was some kind of compulsion amongst the hooked to writhe about as much as possible, almost as if they were trying to outdo each other in a game of 'How Masochistic Are You Anyway?' It was both hideous and compelling; you didn't want to look but you couldn't stop yourself from doing so.

The visit to the turtle sanctuary was a far more tranquil and pleasant experience, affording the lads another opportunity to demonstrate their Nat Geo credentials. The place is tiny but it houses tanks in which it looks after turtles that have been maimed by fishing nets, and others in which young turtles are stored for release into the sea by tourists. The money raised is put to good use by the centre (they have to get funding from somewhere) and the $30 fee seemed like a small price to pay for the experience that it offered. The boys placed Shelley (they quickly agreed to the name) on the beach and watched intently as s/he found the way into the sea.

On the final morning, we were picked up promptly by our driver for that leg of the journey who took us back to Colombo on the recently constructed highway that runs between the outskirts of the city and the southern coast. The amount of time it has cut off that journey means that long weekend breaks in Galle and the surrounding area are now very doable from the UAE, and with prices being what they are in Sri Lanka, that is always worth bearing in mind.

Down Time (Day 13)

2013-07-25T07:15:00.001+04:00

It is 7.02 a.m. on day 14 and I am typing this into Blogger whilst listening to a massive downpour and watching Kath and the boys sleep blissfully through it. They really all could represent Wales at this; even Liam, who usually gets up at 6 ish at home, has been sleeping through until 8-8.30 here! Kath and Jacob ALWAYS struggle with mornings!

Later, we will be heading to Unuwatuna, our penultimate destination, for 5 days of slightly more luxurious living at a beach resort. Our days of culture and nature will fade into the background slightly as we seek some rays to recharge our batteries before the flight back to the UAE.

Yesterday, we hung out poolside while the kids splashed about in the water, me reading, Kath tanning. Kath also indulged herself with a neck and back massage, eventually floating back to us after 45 minutes or so. The only downer was Liam's over exposure to the sun. He is a bit too pink for our liking!

To finish the day, we went out for dinner, taking out driver Richard with us. A good time was had by all at the Tissamaharama Resort, providing a fitting way to spend our last evening with Richard who has been superb. There will surely be tears later when the boys have to say goodbye to him.

Naturally Brilliant (Day 12)

2013-07-24T08:27:00.001+04:00

After just over 2 hours, we arrived at our next destination, Hibiscus Garden Hotel, in Tissamaharama. With hours of the day left, we brought forward our plan to visit Yala National Park, opting to mark our 14th wedding anniversary with something unforgettable.

From the moment we arrived at the edge of the park, Nature seemed out to help us never forget this outpost of hers in the south east corner of Sri Lanka. Before we had even entered Yala, we were greeted in quick succession by a huge rat snake and then a startled wild boar. Then, once inside, we were ushered stupidly close to a resting crocodile who fortunately ran away from us and into the lake. Had he chosen to turn around and attempt a charge for a quick snack, we would have been in trouble. Actually, given his recently developed tendency to get in touch with all things natural, Jacob would have been the likely menu item.

Entry cost paid, we clambered back into the Jeep at the start of a bone-rattling three hour safari that kicked the living daylights out of the jaunt around Willpatu. There we had seen a crocodile or two, various birds, a monitor lizard and a mongoose in the three hours we were there; within 30 minutes we had outdone that in Yala. Add to that tally a preponderance of wild boar and water buffalo, several crocs and one of only two black necked storks in the reserve and you get a pretty clear idea of how the day went.

Once again, however, it was the elephant who reigned supreme thanks to a number of close encounters with the land leviathans. Two meetings were particularly memorable. The first was this one with a family of trunkers whose mum sneaked up on us and announced her arrival with a vigorous tree rubbing. Nothing worse than an itch you can't scratch!

Best of all though was getting within a few metres of this tusker, a teenage Mr who is known by the trackers as Gemino. Like all teenage boys he is prone to the truculently unpredictable and so we were urged to snap away by the driver who kept the engine running just in case.

As well as being a dab hand at the quickish getaway, our driver/tracker was also fiercely determined to find us a leopard and so we spent much of the last 90 minutes of our tour on a fruitless search trying to find one.

Just when all seemed lost, we bumped into a stack of jeeps parked in the road, their inhabitants pointing into the trees. They had found a leopard and were not giving up their prime viewing position. So, patience became the order of the day as we sat roadside in the hope that he might just lope by. Thankfully, we waited long enough and were rewarded with a 10 second glimpse as he strolled past the Jeep about 10 metres away. None of us got a pic though!

With the sightings of the big two secured, it was time to leave. We were famished at that point and were looking forward to the buffet and a glass or two of wine. Fortunately, the wine was good but the buffet was poor. We'll have another go at an anniversary dinner tomorrow!

The Long and Winding Road (Days 10 and 11)

2013-07-23T06:49:00.001+04:00

Day 11 was a day for R and R, a chance for our resilient boys to make noise, look for lizards, chase chipmunks and lark about in the pool. For their parents, it was a day of chilling and reading; I finally got into John Irving's latest offering, 'In One Person', and am enjoying it thoroughly.

Day 10 had been a grueling one, a 6 hour trek taking in the Ramboda Falls and a visit to the Mackwood Tea Plantation. We spent the majority of the day climbing, the minibus being put through its paces as we climbed to the clouds that touched the trees at the road's highest points. My fear of heights was again tested as we skirted past ridiculously precipitous drops, our driver Richard still insisting on overtaking Tuk Tuks at any given opportunity.

The visit to the tea plantation was interesting enough even though production has been halted for a few months by the vagaries of monsoon season. The tour culminated in a visit to the cafe and a cup of the strongest and sweetest tea that I have ever tasted. Kath was none too impressed but, in true gritty Welsh girl style, drank it anyway. The boys made do with a slice of chocolate cake each, and several attempts to relieve us of ours.

Suitably refreshed we pressed on, passing through the colonial outpost that is Nuwara Eliya on the way. Should we come back, it's a place we will stay because of its cool climate and oddly English (and I use that word advisedly) feel. It deserved a longer stopover and an entry of its own but having already driven for 4 hours, we felt it was time to move on. We passed this oddly placed Hindu shrine on the way out of town.

When we finally arrived at our destination (Melheim Resort), we let the boys run loose, while we had a cheeky beer and sampled the first delights of the Fawlty Towers experience that this place is. I'll save an account of that for a later post!

Religions, rehearsals and retailers (Day 9)

2013-07-21T11:35:00.001+04:00

No matter what your religion, there seems to be a place, or several places, for it in Kandy. Buddhist, Hindu, Muslim and Christian worshippers are all catered for here but it is all things Buddhist that dominate thanks largely to the spectacular Temple of the Tooth.

Sandwiched between a beautiful lake and an appallingly placed Pizza Hut, The Temple of the Tooth is one of Buddhism's most venerated sites, home as it is to an enshrined molar that was rescued from the ashes of Lord Buddha after his cremation.

The Tooth Relic found its way to Kandy via the most tortuous of journeys and has in its time been at the centre of struggles to secure its ownership. In true colonising style, even the 'Britishers' had custody of it for a while, before returning it to its current owners in the 19th century.

Whatever you think of the veneration of a tooth as a concept, you would be hard pressed not to be taken aback by the art work and statues that adorn the Temple. Here are some examples:

Sharing the grounds of the Temple was a set of Hindu shrines that were put there to placate the Hindu population. An act of admirable religious tolerance or political expediency? Whichever it was, their presence adds an extra dimension to the experience and is well worth a visit.

During our stroll around the grounds, we also witnessed auditions for the big Perahera festival that is to be held next month. Troupes of dancers had gathered in the courtyard to perform for two seated judges whose faces gave nothing away as the acts strutted their stuff. Some of the dancers had no doubt performed in the hour long show that we attended the night before at the Red Cross Hall. A similar show is staged next door at the Arts Centre - either (or both) are worth a visit.

Also strutting his stuff in preparationfor the Perahera was an enormous (in every sense if the word) bull elephant. His selection for the event (where he would get to carry a tooth relic replica) depends on 5 criteria: straight back, crossed tusks and 3 floor touching appendages, all of which he had thoughtfully put on display for us.

With the cultural tour completed, we headed off into Kandy for lunch and the sustenance we would need to cope with the hustle and bustle of an afternoon's shopping in the outdoor market.

Navigating your way around Kandy would be a challenge if it were just the crowds you had to cope with. When the melee of mechanised mayhem that is Kandy's traffic is thrown into the mix, along with the need to keep an eye on two small boys, the whole experience becomes a parenting version of The Krypton Factor. Liam in particular has to be watched carefully because he has no real understanding of stranger danger. On several occasions this holiday he has also been used by traders as a lever to open Kath's purse or my wallet, having been convinced that something they are selling is something that he must have.

One strength we have as a family in these situations is Kath, whose haggling skills and often venomous intolerance of hawkers make her a formidable challenge for stall holders, some of whom made the mistake of trying to follow us around, only to be sent scuttling on their way after a lash of the barbed tongue.

Shop we did though, acquiring a range of items that we actually need, before finishing the day with a few cold Lion lagers in the pub at the corner of the Queen's Hotel. Perfect Day!

Restoring Norma Relations (Day 8)

2013-07-21T09:23:00.001+04:00

A hugely motivational factor for us when we booked this trip was the opportunity it provided us to visit a dear friend, Norma, who had worked for us as Nanny to Jacob and Liam, when we lived in Kuwait. In the seven years that she was with us, she became one of the family, someone whom the boys absolutely adored. Unfortunately, when we left Kuwait for Jordan, she chose not to come with us and returned to Kandy to be with her family. We have kept in touch since (the boys still receive birthday cards) and so when we told her back in March of our holiday plans, she was thrilled.

On arriving in Kandy, Kath arranged our Friday visit and was told that we would be provided with a 'small lunch'. We both felt really awkward about this because Norma and her family are Muslims and were fasting. 'Not a problem,' she assured us.

Of course, when it arrived, 'small' it was not but it was every bit as tasty as the wonderful meals that she often cooked for us. In one of our conversations, she told us that the dinner parties we hosted, when she would cater for up to 10 people, were some of her happiest. At the end of those evenings, either Kath or I always found a way to get her to come into the dining room where she would receive a hearty round of applause and be asked for recipe secrets.

The whole afternoon was a joy. From the tearful welcome to our heartbreakingly difficult departure, we caught up on our post-Kuwait experiences, whilst Liam and Jacob spent most of the time with Norma's two grandchildren and three nieces. Liam also struck up a great relationship with Norma's parrot Chooti!!

Should we come back to this wonderful country, we are certain to visit her again. It was a promise Kath had to make before Norma released her from that final hug.

Elephantastic! (Day 7- Pinnawala)

2013-07-19T15:33:00.001+04:00

Just over an hour's drive from Kandy, Pinnawala Elephant Orphanage is a government run sanctuary, which offers refuge to pachyderms that have been orphaned, badly injured or mistreated. Some of them are the casualties of war, hapless victims of landmines deployed in the conflict between government forces and the Tamil Tigers.

For Jacob and Liam it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to get up close and personal with these amazing animals, a chance that they seized with their usual boundless enthusiasm. They even got to feed them fruit and get a coating of elephant saliva as reward for their efforts. They didn't mind one bit!

On to Kandy (Day 6)

2013-07-18T08:31:00.001+04:00

We were due to take a tour of Dambulla Rock Caves and temples but were sidetracked by a vomitus Jacob who redecorated the inside of the minibus in an interesting shade of water melon pink with a black pip pebbled dash. So, we made do with a brief stop outside the entrance and a few photos of the massive Buddha. Not too shabby though.

With doubts lingering about the stability of Jacob's stomach, we stopped again at a Spice Farm where we were given a tour and a lecture on the various medicinal and cosmetic uses of a wide range of flora and fauna. We were also treated to a head and neck massage that worked wonders, particularly for Kath, as you can see below. I wasn't sure that I'd get her back!

Inspired by promises of eternal youth and permanent weight loss, we made a rash set of purchases of all sorts of power products before setting off again.

Our next stop (unscheduled and pretty much unwanted) was at a wood carving business where we were given a hasty tour followed by the obligatory visit to the shop, where all sorts of discounts were offered. As has been the case on other occasions, the boys were used as an emotional lever and we left with two items that we didn't want but they clearly couldn't live without!

And so on to Kandy and our first stop, a climb to a vantage point above the city and the view of the lake and the Temple of the Tooth. For those of you who might not know, the Temple was built to enshrine one of the Buddha's teeth (I kid you not) that was brought to Kandy centuries ago. There'll be more on that after our visit there though. All I will say is that Kath and I went there 10 years ago and as ludicrous as the premise for its creation might sound, it really is a remarkable place.

The day was finished with a visit to The Pub for our first bland meal since we arrived- there's only so much curry anyone can eat and with Jacob still fresh from his 'Changing Bus' makeover, we considered it wise. So, sandwiches and chips all around and a couple of Lion beers for me and Kath. Talk about Brits abroad!

Of Buddhas, Elephants, Reunions and Vertigo (Days 3 - 5 in Sri Lanka)

2013-07-16T13:13:00.002+04:00

Happy Family!

That colossal rock in the background is Sigiriya the place that King Kasyapa (477-494AD) chose to build himself a city from which to govern his lands. I'd hate to have been a vertigo suffering construction worker while he was on the throne, I can tell you. Climbing the thing drew on my last reserves of will power as I overcame my 'irrational fear' (feels completely bloody normal to me) of heights to scramble to the top of it with Kath, our guide Richard and the irrepressible duo that is our two sons. The last staircase that wraps itself around the rock just doesn't look capable of holding all of the people who are making the ascent/descent at the same time - I can't work out whether it is held together by superb engineering or the power of collective prayer.

Half way up we had one of those 'It's a small world' moments when we bumped into Shanthi, one of the ladies who worked on the ancillary staff when we were at The British School of Kuwait. She was taking her 76 year old mother to the top! If my kids try anything like that when I am that age, I'll disinherit them!

Kath, Shanthi and Me.

The descent was actually less hairy than I thought apart from the moment when a Japanese woman decided to stop in front of me to take a photo of the drop. Had she lingered much longer, she'd have been taking close-up shots of a very quick descent. Never get in the way of a vertigo sufferer when he is on his way out of an altitude nightmare. It really isn't wise.

At the bottom, Jacob, Liam and Kath, lured by the patter of a snake charmer, draped a python around themselves after watching a brief and not altogether convincing appearance by a de-fanged and largely unmotivated cobra. He looked mightily hissed off.

Snake Boys!

The whole thing was a stark contrast to the experiences of yesterday, the far more civilised and sedate walk around the ruins of the ancient city of Polonnaruwa that culminated in the wonder that is the sleeping Buddha. I have to say that the boys were absolutely outstanding, putting up as they have with all of the cultural stuff that we have done and still have planned. Actually, 'putting up with' sells them short because they have both been genuinely interested in the history, and in taking photographs of all of the sites and shrines. The amount of information that they have absorbed and retained has been truly remarkable. Jacob in particular would do a half decent job of being a guide at both of the sites we visited in the last two days.

Meditating Buddha

Sleeping Buddha

But it's the natural rather than the historical that has been their main preoccupation since we got here. We have seen monkeys, monitor lizards, jackals, a whole array of exotic birds and, best of all, elephants in their natural environment. So engrossed have they become that they have appointed themselves Park Rangers at our hotel base in Kassapa. They have found monitors, iguanas, chipmunks and, best of all in my opinion, wall climbing frogs that live behind paintings and in the rafters of the open air restaurant here.

We should have guessed that Mother Nature had cooked up something special for us here when she sent out a welcoming party in the writhing shape of one extremely angry snake, which jumped at the porters carrying our luggage before setting up camp nestled between a couple of our cases in the trolley that was transporting them. Poison-less he might have been but what he lacked in ammunition, he more than made up for with attitude. He should nip off to Sigiriya and give some lessons to that pathetic cobra!

Wild Nelly

So, it'll be goodbye to Kassapa tonight before the journey south to Kandy and a reunion with Norma, the lady who was the boys' Nanny for 7 years. It's going to be emotional!

Nature Boys (Day 2)

2013-07-14T11:30:00.001+04:00

Day 2 was all about wildlife and the constant commentary of our two budding Nat Geo Wild presenters who were keen to photograph anything and everything that moved, during our day visit to Willpattu Nature Reserve.

Lured by the potential of being able to see leopards and elephants, we undertook the 4 hour round trip that sandwiched the 3 and a half hour safari, but had to make do with a couple of crocs, two monitor lizards, painted storks, razorbill birds, and some monkeys. When he uploads it, I'll link this page to Jacob's blog (he's keeping a diary of the trip) because he says it all so well and, like Liam and Kath, was a lot more excited about it!

Currently, we are on the road to Dambulla from where we will head later today to Lion's Rock in Sigiriya. A firm grip on Liam required for that one!

Sri Lanka Trip - (Day 1)

2013-07-12T14:29:00.001+04:00

DUBAI AIRPORT

It was probably the 3.00 in the morning start coupled with the giddy excitement of the holiday that did it but here's Liam at 5.50 in the morning, spark out at Terminal 3 at Dubai Airport. We have a 4 hour flight into a Sri Lanka that is (so we were told) at the tail end of monsoon season - we'll see.

The aim is to keep this series of entries going for most of the next 3 weeks so that we have a permanent reminder of all that we did. We have historical sites, cultural festivals, national parks and stunning beaches ahead of us. We are all pretty excited but there is also a bit of trepidation for all of us - Liam wins on that score though because he is worried about being eaten by leopards. I took the edge off things with an early Heineken in their special lounge for which I'll get a slap when Kath reads this!

ARRIVAL AND JOURNEY TO KALPITIYA

The road north was as bumpy as I remember the one south being when we were here 10 years ago. That didn't detract from the quality of the journey, a kind of pogo pilgrimage past Buddhist temples, Hindu shrines and Christian churches (all with effigies of various sizes outside them) and then through the lush countryside that is sustained not only by the rains, but by the rivers that are lapping over their banks at this the tail end of monsoon season. Oh, and as the pic above shows, there's plenty of fruit on sale to keep the car sickness at bay. The rambutans were delicious!

KHOMBA HOUSE - KALPITYA

Situated within a stone's throw of the beach, Khomba House offers good accommodation for 4 in a more traditional, rustic style, all of which is polite speak for saying there's no air conditioning, just large ceiling fans; no electricity until 6.30 (but that gets shut off at 12) and no hot running water. Glad to say that was more of an issue for me than it was for the Kath and the boys who have been far more adaptable, taking everthing as it comes. Their enthusiasm has stifled the touch of the Meldrews I had last night.

Equally effective but more humbling has been the hospitality of the family that services the villa, all of whom are irrepressibly polite and simply can't do enough for you. Headed by the super-amiable Sisira, the family cooks and serves the meals - with Sisira's wife Indriani acting as Head Chef - and generally takes care of your every need.

It is so easy to forget how crucial visitors like us are for the well-being of families like this and we were largely ignorant of it until we read the visitors book- we are the first customers they have had since April, the last pre-monsoon month.

The only real downer (and cause of more grumbletonian antics) was the lousy sleep I had last night courtesy of 3 mosquitoes who had somehow breached net-curtained security measures, moved in for the night and treated me as their drop-in blood bank for 12 hours. Sisira has since dealt with their impudence - they are now three red blobs on the meshed ceiling of the 4 post bed. I should sleep easier tonight.

Gary McKinnon and Google Censorship

2012-06-16T12:32:00.001+04:00

Interesting that this story about Gary McKinnon has disappeared from Google news search. Now how in the world could that happen?

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2159035/Time-fulfil-McKinnon-pledge-end-decade-suffering-Cameron-told.html

The fight goes on and all who are concerned for Gary are hopeful of a positive decision soon.

This story is also worth following. Gary ought to have been treated in the same way. Why the difference, Home Ofice? http://t.co/kEbBhdBq

Tragedy and Travesty

2012-05-30T09:31:00.000+04:00

In the aftermath of the horrific fire at the Villagio Mall in Doha, it is right, fitting and proper that the thoughts of us all are primarily with the bereaved, particularly those New Zealand and Spanish families who each lost 3 children on that awful day. Quite how a parent ever recovers from the loss of one child is beyond me; recovering from the loss of three would be unbearable.

The terrible loss of life alone was bad enough, but what has also upset me is the way in which the news was so obviously suppressed by the Qatari authorities. The fire happened at around 11 a.m. local time but we heard nothing about it until 9 p.m. The gap would have been understandable had the fire happened in a remote region well away from established lines of communication, but the fact that it happened in the capital of one of the world's fastest developing nations is a real concern. Even when I tuned into Qatar's own Al Jazeera news channel, they were running what looked like a pre-recorded programme rather than offering the type of ongoing coverage that news networks like Sky or CNN would have provided in such circumstances.

Yes, there are times when such coverage goes over the top, when it pores continuously and painfully over the details surrounding a tragic event such as this. Surely though, there was a duty for the Qataris to fulfil, one that required them to report on such a horrendous loss of life as soon as was practicable. The fact that they did not had me asking questions on Twitter yesterday, ones that the major news channels seemed reluctant to ask.

All of which brings me to a first hand account from a colleague here in Abu Dhabi, whose daughter lives in Qatar and was in the Mall at the time of the fire. Fortunately she managed to get to safety but what she has had to say highlights the appalling lack of basic safety provisions in Villagio Mall, and probably explains the desperation of the Qataris to quell any reporting of the events. Her account is one of failed sprinkler systems, no obvious signs of an evacuation procedure, customers left to their own devices in changing rooms and spas, and the abandonment of the children and their teachers in the Gympanzee play area after a set of stairs collapsed. Most shocking of all though is the fact that it took until 1.20 p.m. local time for what was, by all accounts, a shambolic rescue attempt to get under way.

In blocking out the reporting of these events for the best part of ten hours, the Qatari authorities seem to have engaged in an attempt to manipulate the reporting of what happened. An explanation of this might just lie in the fact that amongst those arrested is the owner of Gympanzee, Ms. Iman Al Kuwari: Ms Al Kuwari is the daughter of Qatar's Minister of Culture, Arts and Heritage. It will be interesting to see what becomes of her and the four other Mall employees who were arrested in connection with the fire yesterday. That is, of course, if the proceedings are ever reported.

The Day Trip

2012-05-28T09:16:00.001+04:00

Next year I get to teach a Language and Literature course at A/S Level. This little story is a response to one of the questions on this year’s Composition paper. The students are required to produce something between 600-900 words. This one is exactly 900.

The instruction was:

Write a short story called The Day Trip. In your writing create two contrasting characters who have different reasons for being on the same outing.

He counted them all on, barked instructions at the usual suspects monkeying around at the back, and recited the usual speech, the one that he had given for over 25 years, before turning to the coach driver and saying, ‘Okay, that’s them sorted, let’s get going.’

The same journey, the same destination, the same routines. Little had changed for Mike Davies in all of that time except that the kids had got cheekier, far more truculent and ready to challenge. Even someone like him – long established and with the reputation for being a hard-nosed, no-nonsense kind of guy – struggled at times.’ The little bastards are getting worse by the minute,’ he was often heard to say.

Back when he started, still fresh out of college, it had been so different. Then he had drive, purpose and ambition but now, after years of failed bids for better jobs, he was just going through the motions, fulfilling contractual duties, doing none of it for the pleasure. Teaching gave him the means of paying the bills and financing his weekly trips to Ospreys home and away games, beer-soaked afternoons of bliss far away from the conflicts at the chalkface. Leaning forward he tapped the driver on the shoulder and said, ‘Get us there as quickly as possible. It’ll save a load of hassle.’

Dimitri didn’t really understand what had been said to him. He had only been going to classes for a couple of months and even though he had learned a lot, he still found it difficult to work out what had been said when someone spoke as quickly as this teacher had. He had though taken in enough to get the job and this was his first day, the beginning of a new life far away from the constant death threats, the screaming and the slaughter that had torn his life apart four years ago.

So, this morning was a joy, the beginning of a journey into an exciting future of endless possibilities, a chance to start afresh. Barely able to sleep, he had been up since 4 a.m. thrilled at the prospect of his first day at ‘Hughes and Sons.’ It was one of those sons who had taken him out to where his bus had been parked and said, ‘Right Dimitri, you’ve completed all the training, impressed your instructor and passed all of the tests. This is your bus, here are the keys, and you’ve already been given your route details. Good luck!’

It quickly turned into one of the worst outward journeys of Davies’s career. Not content with the hair-pulling and crude sexual innuendos of the past, the current crop of morons had opted for more grotesque forms of buffoonery, the zenith of which was a choral dropping of trousers in time to ‘Blue Moon’ at the bus loads of pensioners that they passed on the way. Lost in the sports pages of ‘The Daily Mirror’, Davies chose to ignore it, much to the increasing annoyance of Dimitri who had become increasingly fretful about what was happening at the back of his coach.

‘Bleaze, Mr. Davies,’ he implored. ‘Bleaze stop student – Speak to dem, bleaze. Dis my new job.’

‘Not from around here are you son?’ Davies said dismissively. ‘Bet it’s no better where you’re from. Where ARE you from by the way?’

Dimitri was still searching for the words he needed to answer that question, when he heard the wail of the siren and saw the flashing blue lights in his wing mirror. Petrified, he slowly applied the brakes and pulled into the next lay-by, his hands shaking on the steering wheel as the police car pulled up in front of him.

Two stern looking policemen stepped briskly out of the car and headed towards the bus, gesturing for Dimitri to open the door. As it did so, Davies barged his way in front of Dimitri and met them at the foot of the steps. ‘Yes officers, how can I help you?’ he asked.

‘You can start by getting this bus under control. We’ve had several complaints from members of the public about some of your students’ ‘displays’ at the back of your bus. I’d like to have a word with them.’

Davies stood shamefaced as the officer lay into the students, berating their immaturity and threatening arrests should he receive any other complaints that day. His job done the officer turned, looked at Davies and whispered, ‘Of course, sir, if you had been doing your job properly, this wouldn’t have happened.’

With the policeman safely off the bus, Davies turned on his charges, some of whom had been sniggering to themselves when the officer had chastised their teacher. ‘Never in my life have I been so humiliated,’ he thundered. ‘I have taken some of your parents on this trip in the past and I know for a FACT that they will be appalled. How dare you …’

A sudden jolt in his chest brought him to a halt, forcing him bent-double towards the floor as the heart attack took hold. Taking him in his arms, Dimitri dragged him quickly off the bus and barked at the student nearest the door, ‘Quick, get bolice before they leave.’

Turning to the wide-eyed teacher, Dimitri put his hands to his chest and began to administer CPR, whispering reassuringly as he did, ‘Bleaze don’t worry. In my country, I was doctor.’

New School

2012-05-22T10:41:00.001+04:00

I have an idle 10 minutes or so and thought I'd quickly try out the Blogger App on iPhone.

The picture is of the grounds at the front of my new school. Cyfarthfa it isn't but it is attractive nevertheless. I think I will be happy here. It's certainly going to be a challenge.

Bain Evil

2012-05-17T08:49:00.001+04:00

Sometimes, the written word is unnecessary when the spoken words of others does the job for you. After watching this, it is not so much Romney the vulture capitalist that I am thinking about, it is Romney the Vampire Capitalist, the bloodsucking embodiment of evil who destroyed the lives of the workers at this steel mill in Kansas City.

America, seriously, I mean, come on, seriously....

Reckless

2012-05-01T11:47:00.001+04:00

A required part of the English Curriculum in Abu Dhabi is that students are educated about topical issues that have an impact on their everyday lives. As in other Gulf states, dangerous driving is endemic here. Every day there are reports of fatal accidents and this has inspired the government to work hard at educating drivers about the dangers of reckless driving. Doing so could have dramatic socio-economic benefits- currently, road accidents cost hundreds of lives and over 17 billion dirhams (close to 3 billion pounds) annually. To help bring it home to the students, I wrote this simple short piece as the starter for a unit of work on the subject.

He had always liked driving fast, always enjoyed putting his foot to the floor and seeing what he could get out of every car he owned. Money had never been a problem and so whenever any car got damaged from the wear and tear of constantly being driven at speeds close to 200km/h, he simply sold it and went to the showrooms to get a new one.

The police had warned him several times, fined him heavily on a few occasions and had even banned him from driving for over a year. None of this mattered though, it couldn’t stop him. Nothing that they or any of his family said to him made a difference, he just couldn’t help himself, couldn’t resist the urge to find that open road and burn up the highway in front of him.

How he had never had a major accident bewildered his family and the police. ‘I am meant to go fast,’ he would arrogantly tell them. ‘I am a great driver and I was not born to crash.’

Even after getting married just after his 21^st birthday, he didn’t change his ways and neither did he after the birth of his children, the twin sons that he and his wife were blessed with after two years of being together. It had taken all of his wife’s pleading to get him to agree to strap the babies into car seats and to at least slow down to speeds within the 20% allowed over the stated limits. Whenever the children were not with him though, he would drive as he pleased, ignore the limits and test to the full the abilities of his car.

Then, on one unusually wet morning, everything changed.

He had left home for a meeting in Dubai at 6.00 in the morning, quickly got onto the Eastern Corniche and headed for the Sheikh Zayed Bridge, quickly picking up speed, spraying water over the cars on his inside as he pushed the dial past 160 km/h, causing other drivers serious problems as their wipers struggled with the deluge that washed over them.

In no time he was past Shahama and on the open highway, hurtling towards his destination with the music thumping through the speakers. Just before the Ghantoot exit, it happened. As skilful as he might have been in other circumstances, he was not used to driving in such conditions, and so he was left helpless when the car hit a huge pool of surface water and aquaplaned, taking all control away from him and sending him into a spin that threw him across the carriage ways towards the central reservation. His life would have probably been extinguished there against the barriers had it not been for the two cars on his inside that cushioned his collision, and killed their drivers.

The pile up that he caused was the worst one in the history of the Emirates. Not only did he shunt the four cars inside him onto the barriers, he also made it impossible for the stream of traffic behind him to slow down and a total of 135 vehicles became caught up in the chaos, ending the lives of 42 people and seriously injuring another 67, 18 of whom died later in hospital.

He was not one of them. Miraculously, he had been spared because his car was thrown clear of the pile up and the carnage he had created. He even managed to climb out and look back at the mess behind him, his bloodied face lit by the flames from burning wrecks.

As he walked along the line of vehicles, he looked in at the victims of his stupidity, tears streaming down his face as the enormity of what he had done began to sink in. ‘What have I done?’ he said at last. ‘What have I done?’

It was then that he saw them in the back of a partially crushed Camry. Screaming in terror, three small children looked at him pleadingly, desperately looking to him for help. Their parents had been unable to do so because they were slumped lifeless in the driver and passenger seats, their airbags having proved useless against the forces that their car had been subjected to.

Without thinking, he pulled at the door of their car, frantically calling for other assistance as he did so. Reaching in through the smashed passenger window, he managed to flip the door lock and began dragging the children out one by one, passing them into the arms of others who had gathered around to help.

With all three eventually safe, he set about doing the same for others, rescuing a total of 9 people before the rescue services arrived and dragged him away to a waiting ambulance where his wounds were dressed.

As he sat on the steps of an ambulance reliving the terror of the ordeal in his mind, he began to shut down, to lose any sense of what was going on around him. It was then that the policemen arrived, both of them approaching him with serious looks on their faces.

‘I’m sorry,’ he began to say. ‘It was my fault, I…. I…. I…’

‘You, sir are a hero,’ one of the policemen said. ‘Eyewitnesses have told us about what you have done here. We just need to know one thing. Which car were you driving this morning?

Breathless

2012-04-24T09:36:00.000+04:00

The Hilton Beach Resort Ras Al Khaimah

Looks idyllic, doesn't it? Well, in many ways it is, given that it's situated at the northernmost tip of the Emirates close to the Jais mountains, and next to the crystal clear waters of the Arabian Gulf. Taking the picture was a form of catharsis, an attempt to purge myself of the rawest emotions after a weekend that I will never forget.

We hadn't originally intended to go there and had booked a two night stay at the Hilton in Al Ain to celebrate Liam's birthday in what has become something of a tradition, a family break together in relative luxury away from the hustle and bustle of Abu Dhabi. Fate changed those plans when Kath was selected for an interview for a Headteacher's job in Ras Al Khaimah (RAK), a development that meant that she would not be around for Liam's birthday. Faced with that awful prospect, we cancelled the original booking and opted to go to RAK with Kath so that she could at least see Liam at some stage on his big day, which just happened to be the first of her two day interview.

On the first night we were there, we spent some time with a former colleague of ours, Jo, who prepared for the visit by evicting her cats and thoroughly cleaning the place so that Kath's allergy to their hair didn't kick off. Jacob also has that allergy but it has been inconsistent, causing wheezing and coughing sometimes but barely bothering him on others. This was the day when it all changed.

On that first night, he began to feel uncomfortable and his eyes itched a bit and so we gave him an anti-histamine to stop that, a measure that usually works. As the night wore on though, I realised that it wasn't getting any better and I took the precaution of booking us into a hotel on the second night to avoid all forms of contact with the cats. Kath in the meantime had checked into the hotel that the school had booked for her so that she could prepare for the interview and focus her attention on the mammoth task ahead.

All seemed OK the morning after. I gave Jacob another anti-histamine and we all set off for the pool for a day of swimming and general splashy fun. Within about 20 minutes, I could see that things weren't right. Try as he might, Jacob couldn't keep up with Liam and Jo's daughter Ellie whom I had taken along for the day with us. It was clearly hurting to not get manically involved with hyper-charged Liam on his birthday, but there was nothing he could do. He had to be piggy backed around the pool and could only watch as I threw Liam around for a while, fighting against what I was soon to learn was a growing sense of panic.

During lunch he cracked. Head down on the table, he began to draw deeper and deeper breaths before engaging me with one of those looks, a look that said, 'Help me Dad, I'm in trouble.' It was from this moment that the Hilton staff kicked in and offered incredible support, doing all that they could to help me in what was obviously becoming an increasingly desperate situation.

With the room not ready, they booked us into a villa apartment, arranged a sitter for Ellie and Liam and got me and Jacob in a taxi and packed off to RAK Hospital as quickly as possible. By this stage, he was gulping for air, holding on to me tightly, the panic having given way to sheer terror. He never said it, never even hinted at it, but it was a look that said, 'Help me Dad, help me. I think I am going to...' It's not something I can write either.

When we got there, he was quickly treated while I was put through a whole other trauma about medical insurance. I didn't have his medical card and so I rang Kath so that she could get it sent on. I had tried to shield her from most of it in earlier conversations so as not to distract her from the interview she had to go through, but at this stage I had to tell her a little more. Jacob had settled by this point though and so I could offer the reassurance of a recovery underway. An hour later, he was breathing much more easily and we returned to the hotel so that we could continue Liam's birthday celebrations.

That evening, after Kath had completed the professional rigours of the day, we all went for a birthday meal at the Italian restaurant in the hotel. By this stage, Jacob seemed a lot better but it was a lull in the storm, not the end of it, as I found out at 2 in the morning when he woke up again gasping for air and in obvious need of treatment. I called Kath who made the short taxi journey across town to stay with Liam while I took Jacob back to the hospital.

On this occasion, the treatment was more aggressive. Not only was he nebulized, he was also turned into a human pin cushion as they first tried to give him an intravenous steroid injection before opting for the intramuscular version instead. His screams as they tried to inject into a vein were enough to make me want to punch one of them, but it looked more likely that he would as he balled his free hand into a twitching tight fist. That ordeal over, he was left to combat the excruciating pain of the intramuscular version, chastising the bewildered nurses for not having the decency to 'knock him out' first. It was tantamount to saying, 'Have you people never heard of anaesthetic'?

We finally got back to the hotel at about 4.30 and he managed a quick cuddle with his mum before she returned to her hotel to get some sleep before day two of the interview. He went to sleep pretty quickly after that but I just stayed up for a good while afterwards watching him sleep, listening for any signs that it had all started again, wiping away tears of relief before finally nodding off myself.

The morning after, he was much better, a racking cough being the only aftermath of the two attacks that he had endured. He managed a reasonable breakfast and enjoyed eating it in the open air, looking out over the waters of the Arabian Gulf. He was also entertained by Liam who tucked into a heady breakfast mix of sugar bread, sausages, fried eggs, yoghurt and a sickly looking marshmallow concoction.

His gastronomic oddities aside, Liam had managed to keep a level head throughout most of what happened - no mean feat for a boy who could test the patience of the Patron Saint of Patience - and was incredibly supportive of the brother he spends so much time winding-up under ordinary circumstances. Fortunately, he loved his presents and, as you can see below, the cake that was delivered to his table by the staff at the restaurant.

The birthday boy!

As for Kath, she completed the two day ordeal and is now awaiting a verdict. Her story during those two days is worth telling on its own, but it's one we'll keep to ourselves for now, I think. After enduring all that she did on a personal front, it's amazing that she got through the process at all. Had I not been so selective with what I was telling her, I know she would have withdrawn and we would have gone home. If there is any justice, she will get that positive e-mail and we can experience a different kind of breathlessness: that of unbridled joy. We certainly deserve it.

GRAND SLAM

2012-03-18T11:40:00.001+04:00

I have the hangover from hell but it really doesn't matter at all. Three Grand Slams in eight years is a fantastic achievement and due reward for a side that has been the best in the tournament. Warren Gatland should be given the freedom of Wales after all that he has done for this side and for the country. Consider yourself adopted, Warren!

Flip Flopney - Throwing the catfish amongst the pigeons?

2012-03-13T08:51:00.000+04:00

It might not be the greatest example of Mitt Romney's predilection for changing his mind, but it certainly one of the funniest. Yesterday, in another desperate attempt to court the favours of the latest target group of voters, Romney adopted a southern drawl, claimed he breakfasted on cheesy grits and insisted that he was developing a taste for catfish, just months after telling a South Carolina restaurant owner that he was 'not a catfish man'. “I’m learning to say ‘y’all’ and I like grits. Strange things are happening to me,” he joked while campaigning in Pascagoula, Mississippi, at the weekend.

OK, it's hardly the most significant change of position that a candidate could make and was meant light-heartedly, but it does demonstrate just how far Romney will go to court the favour of voters. On this occasion it seems to have backfired somewhat. Even one of his supporters, Chris Brown, a former executive director of the Alabama Republican Party said, 'Does he think we're all rednecks?' Another commentator quipped' 'It's almost as if he's on safari in his own country!'

No, not one of the most significant positional changes but symptomatic nonetheless of Romney's approach to campaigning, indicative of his desperation to say anything that will earn him the nomination. Suffering from a political multi-personality disorder, he has flip flopped on many issues, leaving many wondering what it is that he actually believes in, what it is that he represents.

In the words of Eminem, 'Will the real Mitt Romney please stand up, please stand up?'

Merthyr Memories - Coal Fires

2011-11-30T08:08:00.001+04:00

In the past few weeks, I have taken to paying regular visits to the 'You know you're from Merthyr' page that has been set up on Facebook. Originally designed as a way of defining the characteristics of Merthyr men and women, it has taken on a life of its own and become a vehicle for telling jokes, swapping stories, indulging in reminiscence and generally having a bloody good time.

One of its regulars, the irrepressible Elwyn Morgan, is the source of a large number of the postings. Fond of a joke - mostly at the expense of the hapless Gurnos boy, Yunto - Elwyn is and always has been a larger than life figure. On his own FB page, he lists a number of things that he has done, but for me he will always be the man who lived with his 'sister' across the road from my nan in the early to mid 70s, possibly the first man to ever park a Jaguar on those streets.

One of the things that he describes himself as being is a former coal merchant and it is in that role that I best remember him. Like my grandfather Harry, Elwyn was one of the dust-caked rogues who made their living by selling coal on the streets of the estate in the days when gas fires and central heating were well outside the means of most families. I say rogues not in any derogatory way but almost with a sense of reverence because what they did is no longer done, and even if it were, it certainly would never be done now in the way that it was then.

Standing atop their sacks of coal, these men would belt out at the top of their voices 'COOOAAAAALLLL' as their lorry moved slowly down the street in the hope that someone would come out to buy a bag or two. There were also other calls though, ones reserved for those moments when groups of women were congregated on the street, sharing in the latest gossip and putting the world to rights. 'Coal for hole' and 'bag a shag' were the two most oft used and then, far away from these days of mind-numbing political correctness, the response tended to be, 'Oh, listen to 'im! He's an 'ell of a boy mun, 'ell of a boy!'

Coal really was the lifeblood of communities back then, providing most of their heat and, as was the case for so many, their means of making a living. My father Jimmy was one of them, a miner from the age of 16 who worked in Merthyr Vale, the pit next door to the ill-fated village of Aberfan.

Coal bound many of us in a series of daily rituals that started with the lighting of the fire in the morning. First, you had to clean out the coke and ashes fro the day before, sifting the coke (that has such a different meaning these days!) to retain the larger lumps for the starter fire. That done, you would then use a layer of newspaper, top that with thin strips of firewood (or firelighters if you were posh!) and then the retained coke from the previous day's fire.

If you were lucky, the firewood would catch and burn long and fiercely enough to get the coke going and then the lumps of coal could be put on top. Quite often though, you had to resort to other measures to get things moving like blocking the fire with a metal sheet and then covering that with sheets of newspaper so that it could be 'drawn' into life.

Tending the fire was a day-long job. The coal had to be topped up regularly, sometimes with larger lumps, but more often with 'small coal', a collection of fragments and dust that you would bind together with water before placing it on the intense heat of a well-established fire.

On cold winter mornings, it was an awful job, carried out in the bitter cold by whoever was first out of bed. On many a weekend morning, I would get up, deliver my papers and get back in time to light the fire before my mother, brother and sister got up - it pretty much became my job after my father died. On weekdays, however, we simply froze because with all of us out for the day, there was no need to light one until we got back after school, or mam got home from work.

Once lit and roaring that fire gave the room a focal point that the gas fires we later had could never match. At the time, the installation of those gas fires made us very happy indeed, particularly because we no longer had to put up with a freezing cold living room on winter school days. One turn of the dial followed by a click of the ignition switch and, hey presto, you had heat!

Of course, what we didn't realise at the time was that when the flames of our last coal fire died, a major part of the lives we had led died with them.