Storm Over A Sperm Donation
This article in the Daily Mail reminds me of one of C’s cases.
She was doing the divorce of a rather nice man, whose ex-wife was an absolute meadow-lady. A meadow-lady was a term from my mother-in-law, which should be self-explanatory.
The ex-wife was ranting and raving about what happened to her ex-husband’s redundancy. So she asked her client and he said that he’d spent it on a reverse-vasectomy. He’d originally had the operation on his wife’s orders, as she didn’t want any kids.
His new wife, who like her husband was rather sensible was now pregnant and in court, you’d have needed a chain saw to cut the atmosphere.
It was certainly a story that C repeated many times.
I Didn’t Believe My Eyes
As I walked past the cafe on the way to supper tonight, I caught in the corner of my eyes, a very distinctive picture. A lady of about thirty or so, was standing by the counter and everything about her looked familiar from her height, the type of summer dress she was wearing, her shoulders, her well-toned arms and her dark blonde hair cut short in a modern version of the classic sixties style.
It could have been C standing there! Except that looking at a picture of her now, her hair always had the odd natural curl, that just wouldn’t stay in place. And of course, the lady in the cafe was about thirty years younger.
So I just pulled myself together and walked on.
A Woman’s Touch Is Needed
That’s not meant to be sexist, but I do lack a certain amount of female help and guidance.
Take this morning, I woke up and thought, I’d got a splinter in my foot. If I had, it’s probably my own fault as I’m always bare footed around the house. But there was no-one with the supreme experience of a mother to have a look and possibly a dig. So in the end, I went to Upper Street and asked in Shuropody. As it happened, an Australian from Brisbane, by the name of Gabby was free and gave my feet a quick service. The problem was a small corn, which was expertly dealt with.
So this small problem was solved, but then others have not been so simple to deal with, if I had a woman nearby, to ask for help.
A question though I must ask, is why do most of the Australians I meet seem to come from Brisbane? And why do most of them seem to know a coeliac or two?
The Death Of A Friend
I lost a friend yesterday.
I was once told in all seriousness by an old horse coper, that if you think you’ve got a good horse, could you have charged tanks with him, if the Nazis had invaded.
Vague Shot was such a horse! Although, his most notable success, in the Royal Hunt Cup at Ascot in 1987 under top weight and in heavy going, was before C and I bought him, he brought us a lot of pleasure. He would have been thirty on the first of January next year, but sadly he had to be put down yesterday, because of that killer of many horses; colic.
I think it is true to say, I’ve never seen a racehorse, who was treated with so much affection by those who owned, rode and cared for him. And he always repaid their affection with kindness! I remember once, where the great Steve Cauthen, who’d incidentally ridden him to victory in the Royal Hunt Cup riding for us in the Newbury Spring Cup. Most jockeys have a short chat with the owners and trainers and then they get quickly mounted. But not Steve that day, as he had to have a chat with the horse as well. But then there are jockeys, great jockeys and Steve Cauthen!
I am not the greatest of riders and certainly aren’t now, but one of my strongest memories of riding, was exercising Vague Shot, or Cyril as everyone called him, around the lanes when we lived at Debach. Remember, he was an entire horse, but when I did this, I would have a pony mare called Sally, with an eight-year-old girl aboard, on a lead reign. She would make eyes at him, but he knew his manners and just made sure she was tucked in behind, where she couldn’t taunt him.
In one instance, we met a large grain lorry on a lane with no space to pass. It rather noisily screeched to a halt.
A horse’s standard defence mechanism is to side-step and run away. I just sat tight, making sure the pony was secure, anticipating being dragged sideways through a rather thick hedge.
But Cyril did something, I’ve never seen before or since on a horse. He turned deliberately left towards the hedge, putting himself between the truck and pony. When he was sure that the truck had stopped moving, he deliberately picked his way along the side, leaving just enough space for the pony to his left. He did point his head at the driver as we passed, but I think, he’d already got the message.
I said he was my friend and he was. In times of stress, I would often go out in the dark and find him to tell him my troubles. But I suspect, I wasn’t the only person who did that, as he always listened. This picture was taken a few years ago.
Vague Shot on a Crisp February Day
There are those that criticise thoroughbreds, but there can’t have been many horses, who could be judged on a human scale, as highly as Vague Shot. He will be sadly missed by all of his friends. And especially, by one person, who looked after him for over three-quarters of his life.
When To Have Children!
I was 21 when we married and my wife was a year younger and at Liverpool University, which I’d just left.
By our mid-twenties, we had three small children, I’d started a successful programming business and my wife was on her second first degree in law at University College London.
By our early forties, she was a very successful barrister and I was a partner in a company that changed the way large projects were handled throughout the world.
In the last five years, my late wife and our youngest son have died from cancer and I’ve had a serious stroke.
So life has been a roller coaster and like all good London mongrels, I’ll win the fight in the end. But neither of us ever regretted having our children early.
Somebody Has to Come Into the Nursery to Make Some Rules
This was said by Lord Justice Thorpe, when he trying to sort out a divorce between a warring husband and wife.
C always despaired that divorces like this that ended up in the papers with large fees all round never came her way. I think in some ways, when they first met her, she gave it to them straight and they decided that hatchet burying was the best thing to do.
A Title For Your Civil Partner?
The Sunday Times is saying that the civil partners of those with titles, like Sir Elton John’s partner, David Furnish, will be given courtesy titles.
I have no view one way or the other, but I doubt there will be any objection, as the article states the courtesy title will apply to everyone who is in a legal partnership or marriage, no matter what their sexuality.
I do have a vaguely interesting story. A couple of years before she died, C did a very big child case, where she was led by a QC. It turned out that he was married to a lady who had been given a peerage and sat in the House of Lords. On one holiday in this very smart Italian hotel, he started to get fed up with the staff, who kept referring to him as Count. They just coulddn’t get it round their minds, that he was just Mister and the title was his wife’s.
What’s Wrong With Society
Helen Wright, headmistress of an independent girls’ boarding school in Wiltshire has her view on this and says it is all summed up by covergirls in underwear.
Her views are published in full in this report in the Daily Mail. Here’s an extract.
Kim Kardashian is the poster girl for ‘almost everything that is wrong with Western society’, according to a leading headmistress.
The reality TV star is part of a culture that glorifies women’s physical appearances over their character, claims Dr Helen Wright, head of a private girls’ boarding school.
In a speech tomorrow, Dr Wright will show Miss Kardashian posing in her underwear on the cover of men’s magazine Zoo.
The headline, from an edition last month, praises Miss Kardashian as ‘the hottest woman in the world’.
‘It is not too strong a statement, I venture to suggest, to say that almost everything that is wrong with Western society today can be summed up in that one symbolic photo of Miss Kim Kardashian on the front of Zoo magazine,’ Dr Wright will say.
‘The descent of Western civilisation can practically be read into every curve, of which, you will note, there are in-deed many.
In the 1960s, girls like Miss Kardashian, were generally labelled by that wonderfully complimentary term, scrubbers.
But then it has always been thus. At present, I’m watching Royal Ascot and a Royal historian has said that it was the place where George IV went to show off his mistresses.
There has always been a class of woman, who felt the quickest way to the top, was lying on their back, with their legs in the air and their knickers, if any, around their ankles.
Father and Son Footballers
They were talking about these on Radio 5 last night.
Perhaps I have a better memory, but the two pairs I know, weren’t mentioned.
Les Allen, who was in Spurs double-winning side of 1960-61, is the father of Clive and Bradley Allen, both of whom, had reasonably successful careers.
Roy Bailey, who was the goalkeeper in Ipswich’s First Division winning side of 1961-62, was the father of Manchester United’s goalkeeper, Gary Bailey.
Topical Valentine Poems
We all know the poems that start Roses are red, violets are blue etc.
Richard Bacon on BBC Radio 5 Live proposed a topical one and listeners added a few more.
Roses are red, violets are blue, I’d like to be under permanent house arrest with you.
Roses are red, violets are blue, I think I’ll form a coalition with you.
The Anonymous Widower 