Matt enjoys a finish line beer.

Team.

In recent years I have taken to writing about my adventures. I do this because some people like to share my experiences but in truth I do it for myself. One day when my body has finally given out I hope to be able to recapture the experiences I have had and the challenges I have faced. I hope above all I will be able to recall the special people I have shared my adventures with.

This episode of ‘View from the Back’ is about a ride ACE took on on Sunday the 15th of July 2018. It was stage 10 of the Tour de France.

Last summer marked the end of my triathlon experiences. A visit to a knee surgeon confirmed what I already knew-‘knackered’. Liz saw the same bloke and she got the good news too. Apparently new knees, although an option, needed to be weighed up against the highly likely event that the recuperation period would prevent us from ever regaining our relative fitness level. The alternative was cycling along with doses of vitamin I. (Ibuprofen). So it was we decided to form ACE.

Now having run a triathlon club for a number of years we knew one thing, get the right sort of like minded people together and sport can be a wonderful thing as it links together people from different backgrounds and at its best creates deep bonds.

ACE is for us about all the good things in life Adventure, Camaraderie and Style (Elegenzia). Now before anyone says anything I know I have no style, a good friend once told me you either have it or you don’t but I, like most of you love stylish people,I can dream.

It was easy to find friends who wanted to be involved in the club, the ‘get it gang’ and soon we were making plans as to what we might do. Liz had our kit designed and Matt Collins came up with the super idea we might link our club to various charitable causes. In truth over time we intend to do this in a small low key way via putting a quid or so in a tin when we ride together just to remind us all how lucky we are. However news of the challenge a former Tri Club members daughter had been dealt encouraged us to make an effort to support her and of course the charity that has been by her side, The Teenage Cancer Trust. The number ‘4’ has become one of our club logos as it signals our desire to do things 4 others. So far we have we have had 3 friends do ‘Ironman races 4 Ellie’ we now have our ‘Ride4Ellie’ and hopefully later in the summer a ‘Swim4Ellie’.

As most will know Liz and I have a flat in France and soon ‘herself’ was plotting a challenge. As it happens this years Tour De France stage 10 took place in the mountains near where we are. No excuses- lets do this. The route from Annecy to Le Grand Bornand. 105 miles and 15000 feet of climbing in old money. I will use kms from here on.

Fast forward to late June this year and Liz and I were making final plans and training hard. We were in France working out logistics. Unfortunately Liz had fallen over in our garden before we left watering my potato patch confirming the idea that most accidents happen at home. She seemed fine if somewhat sore and she easily beat me up a number of the Cols we trained on. Two days later she was in intensive care and from where I stood proper poorly. Clearly she could not partake in the ride but typical of Liz she decided to support others and she became determined to be on hand and drive one of the vans. In truth it was a good thing we had a second support vehicle given just how tough the day was.

We had driven down to France with Lisa Braunton and soon she found out just how tough the Alps can be. Lisa loved the mountains and their spectacular vistas. However much you tell people it is just impossible to appreciate the scale of the Alps and the challenge the various Cols present. Lisa rode the Plateau des Glieres with me in training. It is an absolute beast of a climb a mere 6 km at an average of 11.2% with some horrible steeper sections. It is narrow and unforgiving with a 1500 meter gravel section at the top. Lisa knew immediately she would not be able to complete the whole course given its severity and very sensibly elected to ride part of the course on the day and support others. On the day of the ride this beast of a climb ‘did’ for another of our team.

The rest of the team arrived in France. First of all Nigel looking fit and well trained. We plotted our approach. Then after a drive through the night came Mat and Barry. Things started happening as the duo found ‘problems’ to solve. Soon Rob arrived too, a fascinating man and a typical ACE type. It is he who owns Brighton’s top eatery and he is loaded with interesting observations on life. Like his life long buddy Matt he is genuinely interested in others. Both are great people to be around. The anticipation mounted. Lucy le Coq is always game for a challenge and she was supported by Harry who was not only a god send on the day in his support role but proved to be source of wit and delight wherever he went.

Fred Matysek drove up from his base on the Cote D’Azur. Only two weeks previously Fred had completed Ironman Nice raising funds for the Teenage Cancer trust. Fred is the most excellent of men. One of our team confided in me that if there was one man in the world he would like to be like it would be Fred. Upbeat, cheerful, polite and considerate. If I could buy shares in ‘Matysek enterprises’ I would personally fill my boots.

Finally the ‘London 4’ arrived. As a group they increased our ‘cred rating’ as two of them race for teams and are cat 2 cyclists. The other two are also fine athletes and all of them ‘look good’. Their own relationship is an entertaining mix of banter and bicker. They are all however delightful people and I am pleased to say that Rupert is also my bike technology expert. Tom Elliott proved to be Captain Sensible and briefed us all on the ride and likely eventualities.

So to the day of the ride and we lined up for pics by Lake Annecy. Almost on time too. Our two vans looking splendid in their matching logos. We rolled out alongside the beautiful blue lake. There were the odd late night reveller to watch us go as well as a number of early morning riders and runners exercising before the heat of the day.

The tension began to be released and our team chatted as we formed a Peloton along the cycle path. After 10 km or so London 4 and Fred moved away. Rob gave advice on many matters and made us all wonder why we did not have similar cycle shoes to his. On to the road as we reached the top of the lake. The pace built up and soon we were on the first hill that led us away from the lake. This particular hill was perhaps 3 km long, it did not even merit a mention on the official course guide. I am not sure what thoughts it provoked in others but it certainly reminded me of what was to come. A lovely cool section now of 5km or so before turning on to the Col de Bluffy. This first official climb was 2.2km with an average slope of 6.73 percent with a nasty kicker of 13.7%. We were all moving well now and we made light work of it. Downhill now for 10km and the first incident occurred Nige had a puncture. Matt and Rob were on hand to help. A USA cycle team car came by in close proximity to a twenty man peloton obviously on the route like us. We saw them later coming back not the full course for them.

Next came the relentless Col de Croix Fry. At the bottom our vans were waiting. Barry fussed around us all offering support. Harry quipped some one liners and we all laughed. Off we went. 11.3 km with an average of 7%. On an on it went with an added cruelty of a steepening in its later stages. Matt and Rob disappeared into the distance. Lucy’s sister had kindly set up an extra feed stop half way up the col. (she was holidaying in the region. However due to inevitable confusions, (Lucille?),most missed the opportunity to refuel. The compensation was Barry was able to find the spot and his van carried extra excellent supplies for later in the day. Sorry Anna and Tom and many thanks. After a hiatus of confusion we were reunited and set off on our first proper decent down in to the ski resort of La Clusaz. Riding a bike down hill for 15 km or so quickly takes a lot of concentration. For me it is a mix of elation set against a constant voice of anxiety in my head, I think they call it fear.

We got lost for a moment but Rupert’s technology input saved us as the message ‘off course’ blinked on my computer. Another rendezvous with our support at the bottom of the ‘killing machine’ The Plateau de Glieres. We fed and we had a delightful conversation with a couple from Vancouver who took pictures and wished us well. The ability to monitor team members progress via telephone positioning gave us good news London 4 and Fred were at the top.

Lisa took to the van and Nigel Lucy and I set off. The Col itself is narrow and it never gives up for one second its demanding angle. Nigel had trained hard for the event after a very demanding year. He is no quitter by any means but the 30 plus temperatures began to bite. Lucy cajoled and encouraged. Nigel changed colour and looked distressed. Lucy suggested a rest. Nigel took to the ground breathing heavily. Humour was not far away as he agreed to a pic of ‘man down’. Four fingers were raised in defiance from the prone figure. The four fingers, ‘4’, our club salute. Somehow Nigel got his body up the last cruel 2km which included the merciless final ramp. Next came the gravel section, an extra slap. We later learned that Rob and Mat had staged a detour at the summit to enhance their challenge. Another long decent and the blissful sight of Liz and Lisa and our van. Nigel made the wisest of decisions based on the fact that his now badly cramping legs would not manage the rest of the course. He was loathe to slow the rest of us up. Instead of moping he took on hugely positive attitude and became Liz’s right hand man. Nothing too much trouble and words of encouragement as from now on the ‘Liz van’ would accompany us as we went. Lisa rejoined Lucy and I and we were off again. This was my low point. Nigel had been so supportive in the days before the ride and he was not there to share worries and plot tactics. I felt awful physically. I was dehydrated but pouring liquid down my neck did nothing except bloat my stomach. It was very hot and I did not know how I was going to finish the ride. The Col des Fleuries 5.6 km at 4.52% is not tough by normal standards but on this day it was endless. We reached the valley bottom and we set off along its length. We passed the Macdonalds where others had taken refuge. I was possessed by a desire to get a move on. I had no idea how I would make the final climbs but I needed to confront their challenge and instead of cruising along I drove on. I became bad tempered and irrational too, sorry Lisa. At last the bottom of The Col De Romme 8.8 km at 9%. Good news too as news of the front runners nearing the final summit came down from the ether.

Sometimes in life when all is a dark things happen that change everything. As Lucy and I set off to climb it started to rain. In fact it absolutely poured down. We were instantly cooled and we took temporary shelter in a road-side power station. I took to the floor and sluiced down another gel. Amazingly the handful of crisps Nigel had given me and that old remedy for chronic fatigue, Coca Cola, began to do their work. A good friend of mine who had a distinguished career in the Royal Marines once told me this. When you take on an extreme endurance challenge at some point things will get very bad and you will doubt your capability to continue. If you eat and drink wisely however it will get no worse and despite your doubts you will be able to continue. ‘Right then Lucy lets go’. Slowly slowly we crept up the Col. Sometimes me in the front then Lucy as our energy levels ebbed and flowed. There were many camper vans positioned for the race proper. Most ignored us as they were glued to TV screens watching The World Cup Final. Some did greet us in a myriad of languages. I exchanged hellos and greetings in French of course, but also German,Dutch and Spanish. It was fun and suddenly as if I had taken an ‘additive’ my legs began to work. Lucy just kept pounding it out. Typically she had even made it more difficult for herself because her gearing might be appropriate for The Cheddar Gorge but not the high mountains. She would often repeat her commitment to the cause. ‘Nothing is going to stop me she would announce’, she was awesome. At long last we reached the top where a curious sight presented itself. Like many squares all over France a crowd were gathered around a large TV. We were ignored but as we left the village and started to descend a roar announced good news for Les Bleues.

Lucy does not like descending, maybe because like her gearing her brakes are not all they might be. She followed me down the steep slope into the village of Le Repesoir. The van was waiting Nigel offering supplies. Awaiting us the final climb The Col de la Colombiere 7.5 KLM’s long at a gradient of 7.5%average.

We had some great news London 4 were in a bar celebrating with a beer and Matt Rob and Fred were close to finishing. Off we went. The first 500 meters of climbing takes place out of the village via a road that zigzags too and fro. From below it is almost terrifying. Up we went tap tap tap. Soon the village was below and we pressed on around several bends and finally, perhaps 3 km away, we saw the summit of the climb that would bring relief from our agony. Somehow we stopped too and fro-ing and Lucy and I set up side by side across the road. There was one final twist with a kilometre to go a sort of adrenaline rush came over me. We were going to do this but we still had that last dreaded distance to cover. I became dizzy left the road and crashed into a camper van. Not sure what was going on inside the van as the curtains were closed but the anxious face that suddenly appeared at the window signalled extreme alarm. Rather than explain I got back on my bike and, urged on by Lucy, we finally reached the top. I have taken on many challenges in my life and I have many memories of the final moments of bliss as the finish line is reached. Suffice it to say that the moment Lucy and I reached our final summit will sit with the best of memories. I have to say as I saw the waiting van and Liz I shed a tear of emotion as I knew how much it would have meant to her to be with me.

Lucy and I crest the final summit.

15 km of descent to the finish. New worries, would we make the dinner, what should I eat? definitely chips I resolved. The feeling was pure bliss as the super fast descent in the failing light took on a surreal sort of feeling. At last the finish. A huge crowd, not for us but to celebrate France’s victory. They were all quite mad with joy and we were jostled. I shouted at some youths to let me through. Poor Lucy was knocked to the ground but rescued by a kindly French woman who chided the revellers. I was all for a more violent response but Nigel calmed me down. We had done it!
The dinner was most enjoyable beer and chips and loads of other stuff. Tee shirts were given out and Irish Tom, who we now learned was in fact a professional cyclist, yes honest, was awarded his King of the Mountain jersey. The ‘professional’ (his obvious new nickname) offered some words of thanks to our support crew and finally we all stood and offered a toast to our club and our achievements. Finally we raised our glasses to Ellie and sent our love. Our challenge was a chosen one hers was not.

What will happen next I cannot say. Liz plans to ride the course before the summer is out and I will be there to support her. There was talk of the ‘next adventure’ and I am sure something will happen.

My final words are those of thanks to all involved. Especially our support crew Barry, Harry and of course Liz. There are those who watch and those who do. The greater the challenge the greater the sense of achievement and all that… What I do know is a mountain stage of the Tour de France is a ‘proper challenge’, salute to all those pro riders who do the things daily. Personally I am left with a sense of contentment. It all worked out. I have met some great people and I am sure there will be a ‘future’ with many of them. Our club is up and running and it has already established some excellent benchmarks. Finally having seen the beauty of the mountains I am sure we have all formed a better perspective on life. We also know how lucky we are to be able to do the things we do. ‘Ellie stay Strong’!

Over the last 18 months or so I have been on a rather special journey. I thought I would record just some of my experiences at this stage. This is before they blended into the mists of time.

Covid was a bad thing for me personally as it messed with my mind. A whole load of adventures were postponed. It now seems they were postponed indefinitely.

My own children decided to have a feud! I tried to share my mood with my friends but only Liz understood.. This proved to me the phrase ‘It’s good to talk’ is utter rubbish. Instead of providing me reassurance or support, so called good mates would scoff at me. They would inform me how well their confinement was going or similar. Through all of this I somehow alighted on the website of The Samaritans. I didn’t want to call them. I wanted to see what they said about providing support to others in difficult time.

Before long, two people interviewed me in a small room in a house in Exeter. They presumably were trying to establish if my own personality was suited to being a Samaritan Listener. I obviously passed the test as shortly afterwards I was enrolled on a training scheme. Pages of information and regulation were duly tested online. Once every week, I would join a zoom chatroom. I did this to learn more and gain insight into what happens in the real world of a ‘Samaritan’. Much of it was tough going. It faced head on the subject of suicide, self harm and a series of other subjects. These matters would become the subject matter of my later telephone calls.

After 3 months, I duly passed the introductory course. I arrived back at Samaritan’s Centre in Exeter one Tuesday morning to meet my mentor. I was there to experience my first shift. Being totally honest and mentioning no names my relationship with this person was not good. I am happy to take blame. Maybe my age, my bearing, and my lack of familiarity with Microsoft products all combined to form the wrong message. One of the core aspirations of all Samaritans is to avoid ‘unconscious bias.’ This person probably needs a ‘refresher’ on this particular subject I would suggest.

I sat nervously alongside them listening in, my heart pounding. The phone is allowed to ring 3 times. The caller can come from anywhere in the UK and sometimes overseas too. ‘Samaritans can I help you?’. always the same. What happens next, I came to learn, would be a journey of a conversation that culminated in many endings. Abuse to humour. Joy to unbearable sadness. The realisation of a new possibility forming in a callers mind can quickly turn to overwhelming sadness.

Active suicides are everyone’s dread I either listened into or was on shift with another Samaritan on 9 occasions when someone was in the act of taking their own life. Silence on the end of the phone confirms your worst nightmare. The person you have been talking to for the last hour or so in the most difficult circumstances had achieved their goal. They ended their own life.

Each shift lasts 3 hours and usually maybe 5 or 6 calls will make up the time. Each call content is then recorded. Not with information about the caller personally. It is about the call’s nature so that statistics can be compiled and presented to the funding authorities of the organisation-mainly The Government. I think it was the fourth call on my first shift that I took the lead. The call itself was straightforward. Having someone listening in and proffering advice via long hand messaging on a pad of paper was very difficult. What ever somehow I survived and after perhaps a month I was let loose on my own and went solo. After a further 3 months, I had been on shift at least once a week. My progress was appraised. I was declared a fully fledged ‘Samaritan.’ They gave me a mug with my name on it.

There are two people in adjacent booths on each shift. At the end of each shift, each Samaritan ‘offloads’ to a leader who is there to support. Normally, support is provided from the Leaders home in times when advice or support is needed. The ‘Offloading’ process is supposed to be supportive to the listener. It should allow them to let go of any trauma the process causes them. All I will say is it did not work for me. That may be because I ignored the instructions to keep business of the organisation to myself. Instead, I talked my concerns out with Liz. I am sure others do the same. Still others state that ‘offloading’ with a leader allows them to leave their worries at the door. If I knew the person and felt comfortable with them fine but sometimes revealing exactly what I was thinking was not something I could do.

My fellow Samaritans included some truly amazing caring people and looking back I was very lucky to meet them. There were also some people who seemed capable of providing support to callers. However, they lacked the interpersonal skills that I thought came with the territory. This misconception was repeated in other ways during my time with the organisation. I felt some people were putting themselves ahead of the caller.

I am not sure I signed any paper. All my calls were anonymous. Whilst on occasion first names were exchanged, I can see little to no possibility of anyone recognising a break in confidence. So as to be sure I will be careful to avoid any detail that might lead to identification.

So what did I learn? The world is a far more difficult place for so many than you would ever imagine. Mental Health services in this country are inadequate. They are even dangerous. There are a whole load of people out there who are suffering because of it. Most alarming amongst those are individuals who have been fed mind-bending drugs for decades based upon faulty diagnoses.

The National Health is worse for people with mental health than you can ever imagine. Often, people visiting A and E suffering with mental trauma are treated very badly. Some stories I heard were horrific.

I learned about nearly every sort of mental illness. Often people just want to be listened to. Asking someone what it is like to be autistic can release a torrent of emotion. This really helps the caller. Each call will be different. I have spoken in depth to people with Bipolar conditions. I have also talked to those with depression in many manifestations and those in active states of psychosis. Countless people suffering with acute anxiety and those in deep state of grief. “tell me what it is like to have …” I would then listen as people poured out wave after wave of emotion often leaving them tranquil and calm.

I have learned about the prison system. I have seen just how awful it is. I have now decided to become actively involved in supporting ex-prisoners. One call really caused me to think in a different way. A man told me he was a convicted pedophile. He told me as a boy he had been sent by his Mum to see the priest as things were not good at home. The priest took advantage of the then boy who became sensitised to sex. Absolutely no view here I am simply reporting what he said, it may be true it may not. This man told me he was disgusted with his feelings and had declared himself a pedophile to the police. Unfortunately and again no judgement this is what he told me. He was wrongly accused of a crime and his name was plastered all over the local papers. His time in prison was absolute hell.I don’t condone sexual activity with minors in any way but listening to this man was thought provoking in the extreme.

I have learned about the different hierarchies in different cultures in our country. I have also learned how women are oppressed across the board.

Sadly I have learned what it is like to suffer racial abuse and just how this abuse can ruin life.

I have learned how self harm serves to appease deep feelings in those who do it. It can also be a warning sign of worse to come.

Worst of all, this proves the role of the Samaritans to be so necessary in our society. I have listened in to 9 active suicides. Sadly, in four cases, I am afraid it is likely the caller carried out their wish. One of the consequences of being anonymous is sometimes you never know. After perhaps half an hour of silence, the only decision you can take is to hang up. You will never know for sure.

I have learned that anger is the source of much discontent and if people internalise that anger it can corrode. Anger is often a completely reasonable response to an event. However, many people do not recognise this fact. They wrestle with the feelings it generates. I often had people say “oh my goodness I have suddenly realised I am very angry”

I have learned the human mind cannot deal with uncertainty. It cannot handle uncertainty however it presents itself. Maybe the biggest mistake we all make in life is trying to ‘make sense of nonsense’.

If a call goes well there is a an almost mystical process whereby connection takes place and in doing so the caller finds some relief. this can often result in waves of gratitude. A very humbling experience.

If I were to present a list of my most memorable experiences, I do so for because I learned so much and I don’t want to forget. The lessons I learned from some calls allowed me to understand topics and subjects through others’ pain. It seems reasonable to me to record these facts. This is a way to respect those whom ignorance conspires to ignore and isolate. Here goes.

A muslim woman who told me 3 times, (because she wanted to ‘tell a man’ and ‘each time she told me it felt more powerful to her’) that never again would she allow her husband to rape her.

I talked to a very intelligent well-educated man with an excellent CV. His credentials qualified him for any prospective job. However, when attending an interview, his western name conveyed one message via the written word. However in person, it did not compensate for his skin colour. Apparently, no judgment here, middle-aged white women are the most racially prejudiced in our society.

I spoke at length to a prisoner who was incarcerated in a hell hole surrounded by severely mentally ill people. He was at his wits’ end. Despite a clear direction of his suitability for release, the system held him. The remand process was 9 months behind. He had the uncertainty of not knowing when his case would be heard. The same man sang to me in a beautiful baritone voice at the end of our chat. He did this to show me his gratitude. Just wow!

I think just maybe I did save some people attempting to take their own lives, if only for a short time. For those I did not, I will carry the feelings with me forever.

I was abused by some callers sometimes I was offered sexual favours. The procedure for ending these calls is well rehearsed. Sometimes the ravings of a furious caller can turn into tears. If you overlook the standard guidelines a bit, meaningful conversations take place. I did as result tend to give any caller a good chance to speak about important things. A warning first!

I learned of the complications of many people’s sex lifestyles. I learned things that genuinely amazed me, especially from gay callers. Such calls are clearly very sensitive and guidelines are in place to protect The Listener of they need it.

I know of the loneliness of many students and the elderly alike and the comfort a pet can bring. Never ever ignore just how much animals form a part in many peoples lives.

But if I had to list just one call that made a world of difference to me, it would be this one. This call has, for the time being, suspended my involvement with the organisation. It was in the early hours of the morning. I had just spent an hour talking to a young man who had gone to Beachy Head to end his life. He was autistic and nobody seemed to care how he felt or dealt with life. I asked him to tell me all about his feelings. ‘Tell me what it is like to be autistic’. Samaritans never direct (well sometimes they do but you are not supposed to). I explored every element of emotion of how this young man felt. At the end of the call, a tearful caller thanked me. He told me he was going home. He left me with the words that I was the only person who had ever listened to him. Wow.

I was emotionally elated by this experience I have to confess. I decided to take one more call. I am so glad I did. Normally, given the time of night, I would not take such a call. I would instead finish formalities before handing over to the next shift. This call was to be truly special.

The man who called had a terminal illness but he did not want to talk about it. Instead he confessed to calling The Samaritans often in the middle of the night. He did this to have someone to talk to as waves of panic washed over him. This happened when he considered his frailty. As ‘luck’ would have it, this man had worked in the same industry as I had. He had worked, as I did, around the world earning large amounts of money. He witnessed the excesses and behaviours that are part of big money and power. Samaritans never divulge anything about themselves. They only ask open questions. This allows the caller to express the way they feel. Hopefully, in doing so, they reorganise their thoughts or something like that. Anyway, I was able to ask him all the right questions. Soon he was relaying to me all the lessons he had learned in a lifestyle I understood. As a man who was approaching his end, he shared the thoughts he had now. We seemed to try connect. He gave me a simple message and it was this.

When we die people will consider us and what our life was about.. How we were and how we behaved to them. Alas, we will never know what people really think. That is why we all wonder when we go to other’s funerals what our own will be like. His central conclusion is we all have a choice. If we approach our end knowing that the energy we have given out will be reflected in others, then that is the best aspiration we can have. It is the best thing we can all aspire to. He called it ‘good energy’. Give it out and in time you just might get some back. He recommended the writings of Mitch Albom to me and after about 40 memorable minutes we said goodnight. I did not know his name. He did not know mine but somehow our souls became connected and his thanks to me was most fulsome. He simply said ‘there are many people in The Samaritans who give out Good Energy but tonight has been special’. When I put the phone down I cried. The man I was on duty with was concerned for me. He was expecting a tragic tale. But when I told him about ‘good energy’, he too seemed touched. I somehow saw life differently as if all my strivings to be accepted and liked did not matter any more- all I can and will do is my very best.

Samaritans give out good energy 24 hours a day 7 days a week to people who need it most. As an organisation they channel ‘ordinary people to do amazing things’. I am very proud to have been a Samaritans Listener. I am determined in my life ahead to be someone who recognises the force of ‘Good Energy’. In every way, I will strive to be a Samaritan in real life.the best Samaritan I can be. I don’t need to sit in a booth to be one. I can create my own support for others just as easily in the way I lead my own life.

For the record, I completed 71 individual shifts. This accounted for a total of 213 hours and 48 minutes in my time on the phone. The Samaritans is a wonderful organisation and I have enjoyed one of if not the greatest privilege of my life. I also worked in the local Samaritans shop for an amazing woman called Lucy-the best of samaritans. On occasion a shopper would whisper a word or two of gratitude for the help others had received or on occasion in dark times in their life. I have to confess it often caused a tear.

The very idea of ‘uphill skiing’ is difficult to comprehend. Essentially you fix, by glue, a sort of nylon carpet strip to the bottom of some special skis. The ‘pile’ on the carpet causes the skies to grip the snow such that it is possible to climb up almost any slope.

Now some will promptly assert that even contemplating such effort when mechanical chairlifts are omni present at all resorts seems mad. Well let me tell you it is not. A beautiful day in the mountains can be elevated to the ethereal if you have the courage and a decent level of fitness.

Imagine standing at the bottom of a ski resort looking upward to the highest point in the surrounding landscape. Instead of buying a lift pass and joining ‘the rest’ you take another course.

Your ski boots differ from the norm as do your skis and their bindings. The skis are lightweight and the binding and boots articulate so you can push each leg forward in turn, grip the snow, and make progress in an uphill direction.

Liz and I had often watched some super fit people taking part in this activity and coinciding with a period of our own relative personal fitness we bought ‘the gear’.

On a beautiful cold sunny day in St Gervais we set off from the main ski station, Bettex, heading upward some 2400 feet to the summit of Mont Jolie. As soon as we started our lungs gasped for air, our heart rates became elevated and very quickly started to sweat. Slowly but surely a rhythm developed and the sound of our skis caressing the snow had an almost hypnotic effect. Down hill skiers passed us by as we hugged the side of the piste. ‘Bon courage’ was uttered on many occasions by passing families and upward we progressed. Water packs in our backpacks were sucked upon and the every now and again we would stop for minute or so more to contemplate the beauty of the scene than to recover because once started recovery would only mean something if the task were to be fully achieved.

After around two and half hours of extreme effort we arrived at our goal. Back packs removed we quickly added layers to our now wet bodies to ensure we did not freeze. Thick mittens, jackets and bobble hats all combining to create a ‘toasty bliss’. The ‘skins’ were stripped from our skis and the bindings set to downhill so our skis themselves were now tightly fixed to our bindings and skis themselves. A look around at one of the most beautiful vistas we have ever seen overlooked by the mighty Mont Blanc and we set off. Each turn so hard worked for was bliss. A sort of sensual experience as the skis carved through the crisp snow. The effort that had drained our muscles of strength somehow released all our tension such that we felt as one with our environment. Down, down we went not quickly but not slowly either a rhythmic swinging flow. I don’t think we stopped in fact as the joy we experienced was new and so profound we wanted it to continue for ever.

At the bottom of the mountain we found a small rustic restaurant secured a place by the fire, ordered omelettes and chips and we sipped a glass of red wine. Not much was said as Liz and I had shared a very special experience and we had tasted a sort of ecstasy.

Do try up-hill skiing I think you might enjoy it.

This post is intended to inform, give some high quality advice based upon experience.

Essentially the subject is regarding precautions you should take when staying overnight in a hotel-especially if you have been drinking.

Chanpagne is amazing stuff. The most overpriced concoction known to man. People queue up to confirm their ridiculous behaviour in paying a fortune for a glass of sparkling white wine. All I have to say if anyone can consistently identify the ‘real thing’ from a a glass of ‘Cremant’ (a quarter the price) in a blind tasting then I will buy you a crate of your preferred brew. Now before we go on I used to drink quite a lot of champers. One day one of those women in Harrods that spray you with perfume informed me that ‘every gentleman’ should have have his own perfume that others will recognise. You walk in the room and people ‘smell’ your arrival, Wiered a bit I know but I am guilty of always having a bottle of ‘Encre Noir’ on hand. Also he, this theoretical gentleman must be able to identify his ‘favourite champagne’ and at every possibility buy a bottle when in company. Announcing to guests the fact that you do in fact have a ‘favourite’ apparently confers a certain style/ je ne sais quoi- you get the drift. Well I tried all sorts but never actually found ‘my champagne’ which in some ways I regret.

Anyway the point of this post is geared to offering advice, in this case when you have drunk an awful lot of champagne. When you read this you will realise why it is I refer to the occasion as ‘the last time’ I drank champagne. I was in the City of London one evening long after I had stopped formal work having a drink with a friend -Veuve Cliquot- I seem to remember. The conversation was animated as the bubbles flowed and of course the second bottle soon appeared. Tattinger ‘non vintage’ which was for a while my named ‘favourite’. This was probably because the ‘non vintage’ label which I would explain was way better in its “finish’ than the ‘vintage version’ offered the idea that I must know something about Champagne if I chose one that had to be explained. Most actually bought this bullshit. The reason I did not fully confirm ‘my favourite status’ was in fact because it was difficult to find so I would loose any kudos I might create by being told it was not available.

Anyway. The second bottle went down and my friend announced he was off home. My phone rang. It was a good friend of mine at the time who lived in the USA and was in London for a meeting the following day. Did I fancy a glass? Well Champagne is a funny because until you go over the top ‘in terms of quantity’ your mind seems to embrace all sorts of positive opportunities. So half an hour later I was in somewhere near Buckinham Palace I seem to remember embarking on the third bottle with someone who is enthusiatic when any alchohol is involved. Down it went. I started telling my friend all sorts of things he probably did not want to know. I actually considered leaving but on returning from the Gents guess what? The fourth was open. I have no idea nor did I have any interest at all in what it was. I managed to get my share down my neck but by this time I was talking ‘joined up.’ I told my friend I loved him, well you do don’t you, and refused his kind offer to share his room. Don’t worry here folks you have not missed anything James D (my friend) and yours truly are not gay. We had on many occasions actually ‘slept together’ as in the same room and always because we had overcooked it on the alchohol stakes.

Any way some how I found my way to a small Hilton hotel and amazingly managed to book a room. I rang Liz and some how managed to convince her I was just a bit tipsy and ‘best to stay in town’. Now here is where the advice kicks in. What ever you do do not when in a condition of extreme drunkenness choose to sleep naked. If you do it could be that you awake in the night and you feel the need to have a pee. In doing so, especially as you are in a small room you just might confuse the room door for the bathroom door. You might open it thinking you are entering the bathroom let the door go and find that its strong spring closes the thing and you are standing in the corridor -naked! You will probably still be drunk but you will have the capacity to panic. You will find the pictures are screwed to the wall and the potplants are cemented to the ground. In the end you will have no alternative other than to take the lift to the lobby, cover your shame so to speak, and declare your plight. Apparently it happens often. However do be prepared for how you feel in the morning when you have to leave. ‘Awful’, courtesy of the champagne of course but reporting to the desk to pay is beyond anything, on the embarrassing scale, you can ever imagine. The night man, who gave you a spare key, is still there and the other members of the front desk team will be fully informed as to what had gone on and they will collectively smirk and look at you. The hangover panic kicks in the hands shake and sweat. Just avoid it at all costs.

Some years earlier I had been staying a t a small boutique hotel on the South Bank of the Thames. It was around 4 Am when the alarms went off. There was no smoke but in time all residents congregated in the lobby and hotel staff donned various pieces of officialdom uniform and took role calls. The lift doors pared and standing here was a man who had clearly had a ‘good night out’. He had glazed eyes and he emerged from the lift to be confronted by around 100 people. Most had pulled on day clothes and I daresay at first glance he drew comfort from the odd pair of pyjamas and a woman in a frilly night dress. The thing was he was wearing a very skimpy pair of trunks. They were a sort of cream colour and revealed that this man was no Atlas. It was very unattractive really but I found it funny and I struggled to supress my laughter. Help arrived for me in the shape of the local brigade who came charging in hoses ready and all wearing full uniform. The first man in surveyed the scene and told us all to remain calm. Unfortunately for the man concerned his eyes alighted on ‘MR Underpants’ and after a moments reflection he burst out laughing. Soon all his mates were in a state of mirth which was made worse by the poor unfortunate man’s attempt to conceal his crotch. It was just priceless.

Like me I suspect this man learned a lesson that night if subtly different from mine but aligned in many ways. He was to make a further mistake as he elected to enter the buffet style breakfast room the following morning. He was by this stage fully dressed but all fellow breakfasters recognised him instantly and rose to applaud him. He went so red and blundered around before electing to take an early exit as clearly any sort of dialogue was not an option.

So there you have it. Don’t drink champagne , very expensive and ever so dangerous, and always consider your night attire when staying in a small hotel if you have been on the sauce!!

I suppose most men are interested in the military. I am. I once interviewed the ex head man of the SAS for a job. I did and if you don’t believe me I have loads of evidence to prove it including Christmas cards from him and the like. I won’t mention his name but he had been to school with a friend of mine. After years of service, at a relatively young age for we mortals his military career was over. He was interested in the City and he came to have a chat. I think we got on well. Someone told me in advance ‘this man will not want opinion he will want data” So data he got loads of it.

I wanted to give him job but my superiors at Invesco, like all the rest, were so intimidated by him they said no and like many ex SAS people he ended up managing the security of some large corporate. Whilst I am sure he is wonderful at it and I hope he is happy I would have loved to have ‘let him loose’ so to speak, in a corporate environment. Just tell me what client would not love to meet him. That man at the top of an organisation that relies on consensus when planning missions would not make an excellent leader of anything. That if Life and death itself is the consequence of your daily decisions tell me that pressure based upon workaday challenges would be a problem. I could go on. It is too late now.

Chris Carpmael was the first marine I met. The ex Head boy of Marlborough I seem to remember, he was an impressive figure. Tall square of jaw and shoulders he never wore an overcoat and ignored such things as cold weather. He would encourage all in my team to ‘invest in the health bank’ via lunch time gym sessions. His theory was plausible, 15 minutes ‘beasting’ equals a pint of beer. Invest in the bank reap the benefits. He was respectful, funny, up for literally anything and the women loved him. Oh how they loved him. He would in a cheeky tone refer to ‘Big ED”. All knew what he meant but somehow he never cause offence.

What he did not know about Investment he made up for by being wonderful company. Single handedly he changed the moral of the division I worked in. Woe betide anyone caught moaning. ‘We may not be the best yet’ he would say ‘but soon we will be but not if people like you moan and undermine’. Soon all business surveys atested to Chris’s contribution as BZW started to top the industry performance charts.

There were times however when business and ‘other things’ overlapped. I was with him in Edinburgh walking along the Royal Mile. Both of us in suits both carrying brief cases. The battered face of a drunk confronted us. ‘You Basta’ the man said through blackened teeth focusing on me. ‘Hoo dae ye thin ye ar?’ ‘You basta’. he closed in. I hoped Chris would help me in someway and I was alarmed when Chris gave an order. “Run Boss Run” Off we went down the Royal Mile chased by someone with a can of Tennants Full Strength in his mitts. ‘Ye BAstas’ he roared, shoppers turned to look. After 400 yards he was still with us and we stopped. Chris bent over and drew the lapel of his jacket across his throat. ‘Well done mate’ he said ‘ you have caught us here is a fiver get your self a drink’. The man was delighted and told Chris ‘ye are good man so u r”. As he headed for the nearby bar he turned his parting quip was ‘u’ he said, looking at me ‘u r a right basta”. Chris told me never ever argue with a drunk and the best way to deal with one is buy him a drink and then make yourself scarce. The collar move by the way was in case the man had a knife. It was to protect his throat!

For some reason we got the overnight sleeper back after a dinner with clients. It was Chris’s idea as he said we should not miss second of business on the following day. He meant it too. We had a few drinks in the bar and as it was getting late we decided to head for bed. The fun side of Chris was about to come out. We entered the passageway of the sleeper compartment. In a dramatic way Chris signalled that due to the low lighting he would scout ahead to ensure everything was ‘OK’. I joined in the theatre giggling. Half way done the carriage Chris broke in to a trot banging on the doors and shouting ‘Tickets Please’ Startled heads appeared at each door but Chris was by now at the end of the carriage and I had to face the music. We were in the third carriage so there was a repeat in the second.

He suggested I learn to ride a motorbike. We went to Wimbledon dog track where courses were run from. Three days later in Croydon we were both declared fully capable of driving any motor bike on the road. I had already bought my helmet but no bike . That was too change. Chris bought a Honda Fireblade. On the front of a motor bike mag of the day was a picture of a Honda VFR. It had two square headlights. The advert read ‘Look me in the eyes and tell me that you love me” I was smitten. I mentioned my intention to Liz secretly hoping she would talk me out of it. I rang my dear departed Mum who was excited and announced she would ride on the pillion. “it will remind me of my youth’ she said.

I found myself ordering one of the bikes from a shop in Watford. It was the local main dealer. It was about ten days later I rolled up at the shop. Crash helmet under my arm. I went to the counter and introduced my self. The man barely looked up but shouted across the shop to a man who was tall with a white tee shirt with some logo or other on it. He had a pony tail large muscled arms and he had several tattoos. ‘Dave’ ‘this is Dennis” he said nodding in my direction. ‘He is here for the VFR’. The shop was pretty full of bikers I remember checking out the bikes and the kit. Dave told me he would be about 20 minutes getting the bike ready. I told him I had things to do and I went up stairs to the clothing department. I had no leathers you see. I bought a jacket with loads of reinforcement and almost square padded shoulders. A pair of leather pants and of course the boots with reinforced toecaps. Oh and the gauntlets. I paid for the goods but when the assistant asked me if I wanted them in one or two bags I imagine he was a little surprised when I said ” I will wear then out thankyou”.

I puled as many labels off as I could see. I did not managed them all by any means as I found out when I finally got home. I came down the stairs a man in his late forties dressed from head to toe in new ,leathers with the tags still on in many cases. Err!! Just a little teeny bit uncomfortable I was.

Dave espied me and greeted me loudly. ‘Hi Den’. He then summoned the crowd of bikers in the shop. ‘hey boys” he shouted, this is Den and he is picking up the VFR. As he did so he pointed to the front of the shop and standing outside the open door was a thing of beauty, my bike. Self consciously I shuffled forward. The ‘boys’ gathered round and ‘ooed and aaghed’ at my bike. It was then that Dve asked me the fateful question. ‘Lovely bike Den’ he said ‘what did you have before this then’? My mind went blank I looked around for inspiration but could think of none. ” I sheepishly replied ‘ err this is my first bike I only passed my test two weeks ago” There was silence for a moment then Dave replied. “You mean to tell me that you only passed your test two weeks ago and this, a VFR, is your first bike, -Fuckin Cool” he high fives me as did the assembled throng who sort of cheered. I got on it, started it and somehow road off down the road. The route home included the M1. I loved that bike. Thanks Chris.

John Lynch is probably one of the best looking men I have ever met. He was a ‘mountain leader’ in the marines which makes him an elite in the elite. I watched him racing Ironman races on some of the toughest course in the world. he never ever showed any concern related to his efforts he never even looked as if he was trying. But wherever he went the ladies would just stare open mouthed at this superb physical specimen. A delight of man personally he lives with his lovely wife and beautiful daughter building a new life outside the marines. Before any female admirers gets any ideas John’s wife is beautiful too and also is in superb shape and just so you know was once a winner of Britains strongest woman!!

I have a long list of these guys I could write about. All I will say is this if you get the chance to include one of them in your organisation do. Don’t worry what they will do you will find something and the pay back you will get will be enormous. I met a woman recently who was a board member of a public company and she too had discovered the secret.

If you believe you can overcome any challenge, if you have proven you can succeed under the most enormous pressure when utterly exhausted and you can still register a smile you are a special man or woman indeed and having someone like that on your team will change things it really will. You will be amazed,

I first came across meditation in the mid 1980s. My good friend Len Epand (hope you don’t mind me writing this Len as you are on my list) was the top man at Polygram records and he knew ‘everyone’ in the popular music business. Pictures with Len and the Beatles were one of many in his lovely kitchen in Old Greenwich Connecticut where we lived close by. Len and Joan and their 3 kids shared a ski condo with us and another family and we got to know them really well. We are still in contact with the Epand gang on many levels.

Anyway, perhaps not surprisingly given the Beatles and many others had become enlightened by the Maharishi Len too had taken a course and was a regular practitioner. To be honest there was a mental ‘scoff’ when Len told me what he did but I soon became aware of a man who exuded calm.

Around the year 2000 I found my self in Chelsea outside the London headquarters house of the Maharishi movement that had swept around the world in the past two decades. Sadly a fallout with Bush related politics mean that they no longer have a presence in the UK and the wonderful schools they set up where children’s minds were calmed and encouraged by meditating are no more.

A friend had set up a one week evening course for the two of us but guess what. He was a no show! My teacher was a kindly man who first of all asked all sorts of questions about me. He went on to explain that over time the human mind is constantly shocked by events that occur in daily life. Of course the science in all this is flimsy but read on as the point of the exercise is actually remarkably successful. Stress builds up in the mind and this stress is reflected in the body. Shots of adrenaline sensitise the mind such that when a daily event, a commute say, arises the body responds by pumping out adrenaline and doubtless other hormones and a feeling of agitation ensues.

The thing is that seldom if ever do people recognise this stress and seldom if ever do they address letting it go. To meditate properly involves commitment and some time and if anything these two points were the most important message from my course. Now then I am also an advance clinical hypnotherapist and yes there is all sorts of stuff regarding this activity that people rightfully sniff at not least the commercialisation of the practice via dodgy stage shows. In its defence there are several countries in the word where it is embraced and in these countries meditation or hypnotic style practice lowers health premiums and the like. In Belgium I think it is pre anaesthetic expect to be ‘relaxed’ by a hypnotist, expect your child to be born when you have been similarly relaxed and expect the same thing at the dentist.

Now in my experience things like meditation and hypnotherapy overlap and the ‘state of trance’ or better deep relaxation that can be either induced by a third parts (hypnosis) or by your own acitivty are to all intents and purposes the same thing. In hypnosis the direction thought will be directed whilst relaxed, in meditation one allows ones own mind to take the lead.

Anyway enough of this the question is how to do it and how does it work. Well first of all the bulk of what our own super computer does is sub conscious. Only a small part takes place in the conscious mind. We may think we are reasoning things through but unreality the cogs are whirring away and the actual formation of ideas and reactions to events takes place deep in our minds. I can demonstrate lots of ways to prove this but next time you loose something try this. Sit your self down and slowly relax your self. Breathe deeply and as soon a you feel relaxed start asking your own mind where your cuff link is, if that is what you have lost. Try and remember where you last had it or saw it and think of anything that you can ‘tag’ the thing with. Colur, shape smell what ever. Ask your mind repeatedly and after a while you will find the question slowly peters out. Go about your business but do not be surprised if in three or four days you awake with a clear inkling of where the cufflink might be. Your computer will have ‘searched its data bank among the 3 billion images it absorbs every day and armed with the ‘tags’ you have provided bingo up comes the result. I have done this so many times successfully that I am happy it works.

Anyway in that subconscious mind of yours is parked tons of stress. Put away over time into a series of data banks. You may consider it forgotten but in truth it is not it is merely saved in some cell of inner consciousness. Releasing some of the more stressful episodes of ones life can be extremely rewarding or just visiting a period of your life that was complicated and is now apparently forgotten will allow you to reframe your current status quo. It is perhaps the most relaxing thing you can ever do if it goes right and some claim that twenty minutes of meditation is the equivalent of 6 hours sleep.

Now cutting to the chase how do you do it. First of all you will need a mantra. I have mine and because it was given to me in a ceremony and I was told it was my secret for life I will keep it to myself. But you can get a mantra from Mr Google.

So find chair and sit down and relax. Amazingly once you have mastered the art you can do it anywhere. On a plane, on a train, in noisy room it does not matter. Sit upright and relax your arms and neck. Begin to breathe slowly and in a controlled way. Become aware of your breath entering and leaving your body. Maybe ‘feel around your body in your mind and note the stress that is in your shoulder arms or wherever’.

As soon as the breathing has become rhythmical introduce the mantra. Ring, ring, ring, ring repeat it regularly and reasonably quickly. Focus on the word and soon you will feel a sort of rhythm building. Ring, ring, ring keep going and as you do the outside world will recede. You won’t notice this happening as you will be focusing on your mantra but whent you look back you will realise the outside ‘noise of life was reduced or even banished. Now what happens next varies according to your mental state and all sorts fo other things but typically thought bubbles will arise. Some may be about your job or maybe something you have to pick up on the way home from work. Do not try and get rid of these thoughts but gently try and refocus on the mantra ring, ring, ring. Maybe to begin with this is all that happens but even if that is the case you will be amazed how quickly 20 minutes goes by when meditating. You need to find time for two sessions a day morning or evening but you can do it in all sorts of places as long as you can ensure your own space and avoid interruption.

Sometimes a whole new experience surfaces. Maybe a distant memory will surface, A school day say. Almost alarmingly you will have a clearest of clear picture of you in a different time and space in your life. You will see things long forgotten and experience emotions that are strangely familiar and yet as from a different time. Sometimes difficult thoughts will arrive about past experience. The technique is not to fight these thoughts but when you are ready and only when you ar ready return to your mantra and soon the thought will be gone. I was guided through my first meditations but I have met many who are self taught so do give it a go. What I will promise you is that in time you will learn to love it as it will offer you a calm and perspective on life that nothing else does.

The sessions will vary but a good one will leave you feeling utterly marvellous and it will give you an insight as to your own psyche and how to deal with it. As I said the key is twice a day 20 minutes. If you do not do it regularly it just won’t work and if you dip in and out it will irritate you as you will keep blaming your self for not doing it properly. I used to visit churches in the City before a business dinner. The train journey in and home were absolutely perfect as long as some friend did not turn up. In fact the journey to and from work became the best time of my day as I was giving myself calm and perspective and on occasions I was able to understand my failings etc. There is one big health warning with this subject and I am going to tell you now so if you decide to try the experience be warned. You cannot lie to yourself and some times themes, obvious questions, will rise and challenge you. I stopped working formerly at the age 0f 50 because in a wonderful meditation my mind confirmed what I already knew. I was not only unhappy but I knew why and also I knew what I could do about it. Making the decision to change that had obviously been troubling my sub conscious mind and stressing me out was so easy it was ridiculous as I had been honest with myself and the truth was out. It was blessed relief and release let me tell you. All the stress went ping and gone in a moment. If you do try it good luck and if you have any questions then do contact me I will be happy to help. I have just returned to this practice after many years away and I am loving it.

Big question. As a young teenage boy I used to listen to pop songs and hear the plaintive words of a lost love or the sting that rejection generates. The words depicting true love and its associated joy. I wondered what it was all about. Would I find out? How does the whole thing work?

I am writing here about my personal experiences with a very special person. The person I have shared the majority of my life with. The person who has shared my greatest joys and witnessed my deepest lows has shared in wonderful adventures and created environments where true happiness as been touched. I hope she might read it and realise, if indeed she does not already, just how much she means to me.

If you meet someone for the first time, before a word is spoken, in those few seconds of time an impression is formed-the first sight thing. Your brain takes a series of pictures, millions probably, and your on-board computer whirs away and produces a result-sometimes a very powerful one.

When I met Liz I now realise that those pictures taken in my mind carried with them a number of messages. Her hair was immaculately cut and full of style. Her figure, whilst slim was toned and well muscled, the details of her appearance were considered with a simple but stylish necklace, a cool watch and a single simple gold band on her wrist. Her smile instinctive and open. The all round package was very cool and very very pretty.(a word not used so much now but in this case totally appropriate). Her voice was soft without a discernible accent and our first conversation revealed a sharp wit-mildly self deprecating.

Goodness knows what she thought of me at the time but there on a beach on a beautiful Greek Isle all my senses had received a jolt, a very good one.

Later that day Liz appeared in her finery. In this case a sort of flowing loose fitting turquoise dress. Long in the skirt with a strange pointed hem. Her nails painted, simple makeup and all the add ons somehow just right. I danced with her in an open air disco and the warm summer wind caused her dress to fill like a sail, her particular dance steps unique and captivating. She whirled around creating a spell.

By now you will realise that in a very short period of time I had been utterly captivated by this young woman. As life has gone on those early messages my brain received have been confirmed in everything she is. I have also discovered a woman who is very bright and when called upon to do so can forensically examine any question or research any task as befits her academic achievement. One thing few might suspect but not know is she has the most delightful sense of humour. Not a joke teller or a prankster but an ability to wryly summon up anyone or any situation if it diverts from the expected.

All the qualities she possesses have forged a person who has the highest of standards. She treasures possessions and cares for them. Kitchen utensils or sofas or fine clothes stay that way because she respects the effort and thought that have caused them to be part of our lot. The food she prepares is considered and healthy. If it is time for fun it is she who will lead the charge.

I suppose if you meet someone who captivates you it is inevitable you try harder your self and in doing so a relationship develops whereby both partners will strive to please each other. All I do know is Liz and I have made a large number of homes together and our industry has paid us back through experience and yes financially.

Having someone alongside who has shared my drive to seek adventure is perhaps the icing on the cake. We have cycled miles, raced in marathons, swam long distances side by side and even ‘failed’ together in the same Ironman Triathlon race. I have watched her win races stand on podiums and carry the GB vest around race courses in far away places. If I could somehow package that sense of pride and admiration I have felt watching her I would be a very wealthy man indeed.It is she who encourages me, it is she who sets the standards in our training and it is she who has sat with me often late in the night celebrating any particular achievement. We have sailed Ocean going yachts in storms together flown in small planes around the Eiffel Tower and The Grand Canyon we have grinned at each other across the table of some of the finest restaurants in the world. Our shared book of adventures meets the very best of my childhood expectation and then some. All of this from a chance meeting on a beach.

Whilst I hope Liz knows how grateful I am to her I reckon it is appropriate to register my thanks here. Have you felt the power of love? Yes I have, for many years and if anything it is now stronger than ever.

I reckon there is not one single tooth in my mouth that does not have a filling, a cap, or even an implant. I have visited many dentists some good, some awful and looking back collectively they form a thread through my life. I cant think why it is but I have several tales to tell that I think some might find amusing so here goes.

Back in the 1970s I worked on the floor of The London Stock Exchange as a ‘Jobber’. This was easily the most demanding and stressful job I ever had. Making high value transactions with counterparties often involved conversations whereby close up contact was warranted so that prying ears could not ascertain the nature of any given deal. If someone had eaten garlic for lunch or had smoked a cigar say these conversations could be unpleasant, for obvious reasons. I am not sure just how the practice came about but on every ‘pitch’ on the ‘floor of the house’ several tins of ‘deltoid mints’ would be placed. Closed at the start of the day in time their contents would be consumed as those who were sensitive to the nature of their breath took advantage of the things. Who put the tins out I don’t know but every day they were there and over time I became addicted. Of course I was sensitive about my breath but they also offered a reward when stress was high. Soon I was eating the bloody things almost non stop.

So far so good at least I had sweet breath but a routine visit to the dentist revealed that tiny shards of the mints lodge in ones teeth and over time corrode the enamel and as a result cavities, lots of them. The twelve or so fillings I had, rendered my mouth a mess of amalgam so much so that perhaps 15 years later when the subject of the dangers of mercury and tooth fillings first arose the dentist I was visiting suggested I replace my existing fillings with wait for it, Gold ones. Thank good ness I am one of those people who does not show his teeth even when smiling. This turned out to be a good thing as the subsequent work i had done might have rendered me a target if some unscrupulous sort had ever witnessed the ‘Alladins cave’ that my mouth became. On occasion I would approach the mirror open wide and consider a sort of dental Fort Knox. For the record over time all but one of the gold fillings has gone. When I see lower left 4 or is it 5 a whole glut of memories are provoked.

It was two days before Christmas probably 1986 and as I ate my lunch somewhat dramatically a rear molar encountered a foreign body in my sandwich and the thing sort of snapped off leaving a painful hole. The hole hurt some what too I had a very bad feeling that many will recognise. What to do?

At the time i was working for UBS in New York trying to make sense, and failing, of all things Swiss. I ran a department and I actually had a high rank of which you can read about the absurdities linked to it elsewhere. I had a magnificent glass office overlooking The Waldorf Astoria as my rank demanded. I almost never went in it though as my job was on the trading floor I supervised. The local HR department was run by possibly the most intimidating woman I have ever met-more later. She was of course Swiss and whilst I cant remember her name it was definitely of German roots and slightly menacing-Elsa come to mind. This woman had told me in no uncertain terms of my duties and ‘privileges’ of being a First Vice President when I first met her. Yes I ‘had’ to fly first class and stay in only the best hotels. I had a budget for artworks in our area of the office and I must have a ‘secretary’! I use secretary because that is what people called ‘assistants’ or what ever back in the day. My monthly reports were short, I seldom staged formal meetings and I almost never had the need to write letters. All central travel arrangements etc. were made by a discreet department. My objections fell on deaf ears and one day I was asked to interview a short list of three women. The woman I chose was Italian American. She was very stylish in her appearance and the HR department told me she was excellent at her job. I am sure she was but I had nothing for her to do. Occasionally I would have a a chat with her and she told me about her father who was a marble mason. He would only speak his native tongue in the house as would all the family. He cooked all the meals and was given to singing opera as he concocted his families daily feasts. Everyone who visited my office either from overseas or locally seemingly appeared to envy my choice and some how I have to admit it did increase my cred. But as I said I had nothing for her to do but a twist in the tale was to come.

Donna Musolini was recommended to me by a senior member of a rival US Investment Bank. She had apparently formed all sorts of unofficial committees and discussion groups for both buy and sell side in the booming Global equity markets North America in the 1980s. She knew all the clients all the players. Not thinking the thing through and in my busy life failing to do due diligence I gave her a job. She did know everyone, they knew her. However no one seemed to want to do business with her and she was a toxic force in our office as she offered opinions and demonstrated a clear lack of understanding of the nature of the business on a daily basis. I have to report she even got into a fist fight with a fellow worker which delighted those who attended the evening ‘bar debrief’ squad but was an utter nightmare to me as I had to ‘separate them and sit them as far apart as possible. It was not all bad news however because one day she asked to se me in my office. I was pleased to use the thing so I sat down and asked how I could help. I want to produce a daily news paper about foreign markets she announced. I was tempted to remark that Reuters probably had that particular base covered but I agreed to let her have a trial run. One of the benefits of the whole idea was the fact that my delightful secretary would have something to do. The daily document was almost farcical. One of my Swiss team decided to make a regular contribution although his content rivalled the absurdities of some of Donna’s observations. The trading team found the whole thing highly entertaining and corralled trading desks all over the USA to go on the daily list of recipients of the faxes sent out. To give an example it would say things like, “In the GB market Shell Oil have gone up 2 pence which represents 0.2 % of the value of the company. No more no less pages of the stuff. Apparently people would actually read it not to be informed but to have a laugh!! The production line took on new proportions. We ordered two new Fax machines and normal by 2pm!! The daily newsletter would hit the wires. Long after all the European markets had closed. I realised once and for all just how useless the thing was when the ‘esteemed’ President of the bank asked to be added to the circulation list. Once Donna had finished her work she would head off to lunch at some expensive restaurant in order to arrange some conference or other which few would attend. Om my days!

What happened next could have been my undoing. I can honestly say that all my working life I was a supporter of women in the workplace. I am sure I was given to making the odd comment that today would be unacceptable but I never did so willingly. There I was, somehow persuaded by Donna to attend a conference in Los Angeles where I would be par of s ‘panel’ who answered questions on the Global Investing scene. At 33000ft on very tired Pan American 747, in First Class of call with Donna enjoying the privilage of accompanying her ‘boss’ in luxury. Even here Donna managed to irritate cabin crew and with a glass or two of Californian white down my neck i questioned Donna as to her future. Not quite sure what I said but i did inform her that what she was doing in my team was not as intended and I probably asked questions as to her intentions regarding he private life that was out of order. You know something like ‘would you ever want to go back to Milwaukie (where she came from) and start a family’. bang out of order I know but honestly it was well intended.

Thankfully we returned to New York separately. She was not in the office on The Monday morning which no one really noticed and on the Tuesday that I was summoned to the fearsome woman in the HR department. ‘Sit Down Mr Elliott’ she ordered. Elsa was dressed in thigh length leather boots over black pants as were a fashion of the day. She had a leather waistcoat on and her hair was scraped back in a bob. I knew something was up as she summoned a colleague who appeared with a note pad and proceeded to scribble away in short hand as we spoke.

‘Donna Mussolini’ has reported you for making ‘inappropriate remarks’ she announced. ‘What ever you do if any one asks you about the conversation deny it took place ,is that clear”? Yes” i mumbled. She then informed me that ‘my file’ would have a comment placed on it that reflected the fact that she, Elsa, and I had had a conversation but the subject matter would not be recorded.-How very Swiss!!.

As I stood to leave she added a further bombshell. Donna will not be coming back. No reason no more information. I never heard of the woman again perhaps the Swiss had paid her off. What ever I was in truth overjoyed but as a result my delightful secretary was back on the unemployed list again.

With this as a back drop when my tooth fell out I asked her to tray and get me an appointment. I knew it would be tough but my tooth was hurting by now. About a half an hour later she literally ran up to my desk clutching a piece of paper with an address in the most upmarket street in the City overlooking Central Park not 3 blocks from where John Lennon was killed. The Dentists surgery was amazing. Life size pictures of celebrities adorned the walls and ‘the man himself’ with a perfect smile was in pride of place behind the receptionist desk. I later found out he was the dentist to the stars and he even had a regular TV show which was a mix of the best in dental cometic surgery linked to celebrity of the day.

Two hours later I emerged from the chair with a new crown, that I think I still have. I now need to tell you the bad news the cost (ingrained in my mind) was $2,200! My secretary was desperate to know if I was pleased with her arrangements. Of course I said yes.

Only last month I was in the chair of my local dentist. He is a Sri Lankan by birth, trained a Guys, so very good and he has every single gadget and piece of equipment known to man. He is as a result very expensive. I was having my annual inspection when he asked me how many units of alcohol I drank a week. A question i hate because a,I drink far too much B, I never count units and c, why does no-one ever ask ‘how many units of exercise do you take’?-surely relevant.

My repost was to ask the dental nurse as to how much a unit was and how much did she drink, just for reference. She revealed that Thursday and Friday were ‘girls night out’. ‘I usually drink a bottle of wine before I go out, sometimes Prosecco’. ‘I meet up with my friends and have a couple of gins and according to what happens a number of shots.’ ‘Sometimes a lot of shots’ Saturday was a different pattern with alcohol staring at lunchtime and often going into the early hours, lots of it. Sunday, a day of recovery, would often involve a pub lunch or a glass of wine in the evening with a friend. I have no idea exactly what this amounts to in terms of units but she accepted a number of 70 plus almost with a look of triumph. My dentist was either embarrassed at what he had heard or he felt left out as he ‘confessed to a large whisky every evening to help him relax. AT the weekend he would take his wife out to dinner or else drink both whisky and wine at home. he seemed happy when I estimated a number of 40 plus for him. The atmosphere was electric as he repeated to me is request for information from me. I cant believe I did this but with a straight face I announced 14!

Peter looking happy

Appearances can be deceptive I was just knackered!

Most people are aware of the great three week cycle races. The Tour de France, the Giro d’Italia and the Vueltata a Espana. Along side these races the cycling calendar is punctuated by a number of one day races. The best of these are called ‘The Classics’ and for many at the very top of this list is a race called ‘La Classissima’. Milan-San Remo is the longest one day race on the professional racing calendar it is a shade over 185 miles long.

In the summer of 2018 Liz and I found ourselves in a magnificent apartment. We were some 6 floors up on the side of a hill overlooking the sea in the town of San Remo. We had arrived there by chance. We were in fact in the general region as we had entered a famous sea swim in Nice. We both have the tee shirts for this event but in the end we decided not to take part for a variety of reasons. Very hot, bad race organisation and also a desire to get out of Nice which was somewhat overpowering in high summer.

San Remo came up on an Air BandB search and thanks to a cancellation we secured a wonderful place to stay. Riding our bikes along a very pleasant, if somewhat chaotic cycle way along the towns seafront we entered an old railway tunnel which for a mile or so not only allowed cyclists to navigate a difficult part of the coastline but it also served as a museum to the history of the ‘Milan San Remo’ cycle race. The walls and ceiling carried pictures, mementoes (cycle jerseys etc) and loads of written information regarding the race that once a year, in early Spring, finishes in the town.

Liz and I instantly recalled watching the event on TV. The first 70 miles or so of the race are across the fertile plain that leads from Milan to the coast. The next 20 miles involve climbing and then descending the mountain range that defends the coast from the interior. The final 90 miles are undulating along the coast in and out of various resorts. Similar in appearance yet very different in character. The final 20 miles are punctuated by two detours up two climbs whose names are well known to all in the cycling community. The Cypressa and The Poggio.

We found the two climbs and we marvelled at the fact that after 170 miles of climbing the racers took on these challenges which, while not precipitous, were certainly not easy. Perhaps the most remarkable feature of both climbs was the hair-raising descents back to the coast road around hairpin bends.

Through our cycling club, ACE, we had decided to identify and take on a number of The Classics via the independent races that take place along the same routes as the professionals. Milan San Remo came up on a search although to be absolutely honest we forgot about how far it was. Before long our entry for the race was accompanied to some fellow members Matt Collins, Rob Allen-both young and proper cyclists, Phil Bayliss And Phil Rees (Ironman of the parish) and finally Liz’s younger brother Pete who is around 11 years younger than his sis. Pete got a bad rugby injury as a young man so his athletic achievements have been limited which is a great pity given his talent. For someone who normally exercised twice a week in a spinning group the very idea of entering this race was somewhat precocious but as it turned out Pete trained hard and took on a number of challenges in the UK that meant he was reasonably well prepared for the event.

The wonderful Phil Bayliss sadly no longer with us.

Back ground done. We arrived in the outskirts of Milan in the middle of a housing estate. It was horrible but not as horrible as the hotel we were to stay at. At some point in its history there must have been some grown up plans for the area as the hotel which sat at the centre of the community was a circle some six stories high with hundred of balconied bedrooms. The decor was late seventies maybe eighties. We deiced not to look too closely as we feared in might be non too clean. The car park was a litter of old cars and broken glass and we were glad to move our valuable bikes to the security of our rooms. Liz and my room had a very noisy air conditioner in it. Many of our team members were to sweat. The noise of the unit was, it turns out a benefit as local wedding reception meant that few of the are participants enjoyed a good nights rest. We went out for a pre race carbo loading session and being Italy we felt sure that pasta would be but a few yards away from the hotel. In fact we could only find a desperate pizzeria that served up some utter rubbish such that by the time we got to bed our collective moral was low.

There were 5 waves starting the race each with its own motorbike escorts. We had already ascertained we had completely ‘over clubbed’ as most participants were young stick thin and obviously ‘proper cyclists’. Bobby Allen and matt Collins were both able to keep up with their various groups who covers the fish 80 miles of the race at and average speed over 20 miles an hour. Our sub group, the two Phil Liz Pete and I were cut adrift around 200 metres from the start. Riding in the wind shadow at the back of a Peloton makes for an easier ride, if you can get there in the first place that is. For us this did not happen and the only sight we had of these groups were when the fifth snd final group passed us (we were in the fourth group).We did see a section of this fifth group once again when we came upon a multi bike pile up. perhaps 10 miles into the raceAmbulances were everywhere dealing with bleeding cyclists and moving broken bikes to the side of the road. We navigated our way through the carnage and went on our way. It was all rather lonely almost scary and we formed the view that unlike similar British rides that are open to riders like us the organisation was non existent. This was not quite the case however as Liz denied she needed a pee and entered into cornfield to relieve herself. It was in truth a very funny sight as her bike helmet appeared just above the rows of grain which afforded her privacy. Within moments out of nowhere a flashing blue light announced the arrival of an Alfa Romeo police car. Two officers sprang from the vehicle shouting at Liz to stop what she was doing. We received a collective warning before they ent on their way.

After 15 miles or so Phil Bayliss announced a problem with his saddle. he elected to stop but insisted we go on as it was just a case of adjustment. the road was clearly marked so we pressed on. after an hour or so of constant turning neck craning Phil B did not appear and his phone diverted to answer. Phil Rees elected to find his friend peeled of and retraced his steps. We were three. Now at this stage I want to offer Pete my deepest gratitude. For the next sixty miles he sat on the from towing us both along at a very respectful speed. It was lovely to hear brother and sis constantly encouraging each other. It gave me some comfort as ,reasonably, their Mum fearing I was leading them to disaster, had given me a serious pre-emptive bolllocking-‘if anything happens to them ….”!

The first feeding station was after 80 miles no less at the foothills of the climb up the coastal range. We tucked into cakes and sandwiches. I had been studying Italian for three months before the race, 2 hours a day, it the hope that it might come in useful. Trying to communicate that we had ‘lost’ two colleagues was pointless as it was greeted with the inevitable Italian shrug. We climbed up 10 mile so of a stay 8 degrees slope. Phil Rees appeared from behind benefitting from his leg strength but as a young man chasing sheep in the Welsh Valleys as a boy. The news was not goos re Phil Bayliss. God knows where he is but as we crested the peak of the hill Phil Reece’s phone rang it was Phil B who had somehow teamed up with A South American man who spoke no English but who Phil later told us, surprise surprise was ‘very nice’.

We swept down to the coast Phil Rees electing to wait for Phil Bgoing into the city of Genoa. We turned right and set off up the coast road. I looked down at my speedo and considered the fact that with 90 miles done, close to the longest one off ride I had ever done we were in fact about half way. I gulped as apparently so did we all. After several mile sLiz announced she was turning her Garmin off as it was ‘doing hr head in’. the coastal road navigated a series of similar looking town typical we rod downhill on to the sea from navigated a series of crossings and junctions before heading up out of the town to the next one. We had expected that e would be respected as we had race numbers on our bikes but non of it. We were honked at gesticulated at at verbally abused,I assume. In one moment of anger I launched a banana at the open window of a mail van whose driver had tried to kill me. Sadly it missed hitting the side with a dull thud. The driver reached on his brakes and hurled abuse in my direction. I signalled my response.

We stopped for a loo break in a cafe and as we did Phil Rees swept by. Phil B and he had decided to go at their own pace. We shouted but he did not hear us. On we went becoming progressively exhausted Pete pulled out a lead which Liz and I were unable to follow and we willed the ordeal over. The mighty Cypressa arrived and we turned off right up the hill. Three miles up and three miles down. Liz, who is an excellent climber pulled away from me and I gritted my teeth. Pete was churning up the hill when he heard a bike coming up behind him. At first he was surprised but then delighted to see his sister. They rode up the rest of the hill side by side. Half way up a heard the tones of Phil Bayliss. ‘Hello Dennis’ , ‘what a lovely ride` I meet this South American man called Roberto he is very nice I will see him at the finish’. ‘Phil please shut up’. I moaned as I struggled to turn my now exhausted limbs. Don the hill along the coast road and as we did I caught site of Phil Rees sitting in a cafe sipping a coke. I shouted he jumped up and singled he would catch up.

The final assault of The Poggio was one hell of an effort as we were all completely knackered. Pete and Liz encouraged each other to the top and waited in the village square to welcome firstly Phil B quickly followed by Phill Rees with me bringing up the rear. Out of nowhere ‘support arrived’ As I rode up the hill a van came along side me and small cans of coke were offered along with some genuine encouragement. I am afraid I had picked up enough Italian in my studies to realise I had been given nickname by the race organisers.- The fat man!!. As I rounded the corner I was very emotional. Seeing the uniform of The ACE of Clubs in that famous Italian square was quite a sight and to see a brother with his had on his sister’s shoulder was quite special. After 180 miles of riding that should all end up in the same place at almost the same time was quite remarkable. We rode down into San Remo very much as a team. I had practiced riding with no hands arms in the air in preparation for a photo op at the finish line. But truth behold by the time we arrived the finish line was being taken down and there were no pictures. Thankfully a race official organised a medal presentation for our group and each of us was adorned with a precious medal. Thank fully a German woman stepped forward and made a speech. It was largely directed at Liz but she told how she was supporting her husband and had seen us at breakfast. She told us she was amazed to see us taking sort in such serious event and as a result she had followed us off an on during the day. She offered Liz some particular congratulations which we all echoed because as usual Liz had not once during the day offered anything but positivity and encouragement. Bayliss set off to find the pasta party but he was disappointed as it had finished some two hours previously.

We were not last either as on tensional two climbs we had overtaken around a dozen completely exhausted participants. We did in the circumstances what any rational person would do after riding 185 miles, we went for a beer, well several actually. In a small alley we sat down exhausted and mumbled away to each other. The soiree was punctuated by a an interloper who demanded we buy him a beer. We did of course an the told ud his tale which was basically that of a foreign national who had lost ‘his papers’ and as such was ‘illegal’ in Italy. It tuned out he had lost his passport etc as a result of an overdose of ‘magic mushrooms’. Not sure how you impart a n unfortunate event such as that to the authorities.

The ride up to the villa we had rented was hell but soon showered and changed we were tucking into pizzas beer and a simple pasta. Matt and Rob had of course finished way ahead of us and probably were in bed. We sat around a large table looked each other in the eyes and reminisced on a truly amazing day. Adventure and Camaraderie are the words that the first two letters of the ACE logo represent. The third stats for ‘Elegenzia’ which means ‘style’ in Italian. In our own way for so many reasons we had completed a remarkable event with what I would call a lot of style. A special event, some very special people and the most memorable of days.

Now this is all a bit personal and full of secrets. Still if you want people to understand you when you have gone then it is necessary.

I reckon I got Covid at the beginning. It landed in Europe in a place called Les Contamines. An English doctor who had travelled to Singapore or somewhere was diagnosed. The thing is Les Contamines is 5 km from where we have our place in France. We were there at the time and seemingly everyone was coughing in the supermarkets and on the chairlifts. I had flu like symptoms so much so that when we returned to the UK we actually ‘self isolated’ as per government instructions. We were not that poorly and soon we began to ask questions of all the data we were being told and how the whole thing was being managed. Suffice it to say that living with a scientist, who has the ability to interrogate facts made the whole process very uncomfortable, as at least a significant percentage of the stuff we were told was misrepresented. I reckon I have had the thing twice more too courtesy of my grandchildren.

Anyway the reason I mention all this is it nearly drove me to madness. I thrive on contact and people. Adventure is my lifeblood and there I was locked up and when not locked up I was cut off. I was just desperate and what was worth my cries for help fell on deaf ears. I would call supposedly good friend to ‘talk. No one listened and many simply told me how well they were doing. It was deparate.

So in the end I decided to focus on my investments. I put together a portfolio of super growth stocks. Amazon,Tesla,Lumina,Moderna,Alibaba,Tencent, around 40 stocks or so. In truth my portfolio was built around some of the best investors in the worlds ideas. I simply went along for the ride. At one point I had made over £2million pounds in my ‘Covid portfolio’. I can prove it if you really need to know. I bought some toys, a motorbikes, top of the range Tesla, my daughter a horse lorry and a few other things. I remember one day well for a booming stock market meant I had made £80,000 on the day!!. of course I could not tell anyone, other than Liz of course. The thing was we just sat there getting richer with no ability to properly spend the stuff. Weird was not in it.

I am not a pauper by any means but this ‘extra’ could have been very ‘helpful’ on the longer term. But guess what Covid went ‘bi bis’ and my shares started to fall. I was stubborn as I thought things would come right but they didn’t and absent the above mentioned toys I gave it all back.

What to conclude from this? Well obviously if someone says ‘help’ at least do them the favour of listening, especially if they are a friend. Realise that “paper profits’ are just that and don’t rely on them. What ever you do realise that money in the bank or indeed in stocks and shares for that matter are just ‘digits’. It what you do with the digits that count!! So don’t die wondering if you make a few bob spend it!!