Back in the early 1990’s I worked with Chris Caramel who was a former Royal Marine. Indeed Chris had won the Sword of Honour as the leading officer in training. Educated at Malborough School he was a truly remarkable man. He was the most prolific ‘Ladies man’ I ever met. He would refer to ‘big Ed’ as if ‘it’ was a family friend. No-one took offence indeed most women were utterly charmed by his open direct approach to ‘light and fun’ as he termed it.

Anyway one day he came into the office and asked me what I was doing at the weekend. I was unsure as to what was coming next but I declared availability. ‘We are going to get our motorbike licences’ he said. At nine O’clock one Autumnal Saturday morning there I was with Chris and a motorbike courier, who had been caught by the police for driving for several years without a licence. The three of us in the same group.’What ever you do’ said Chris don’t tell them, as was the case, you have never ridden a bike before. ‘That way we will have to do the long course and that will takes several weeks’ By 11 :30 we had called passed the CBT preliminary exam and we set off around Central London on 125 cc bikes with the voice of our instructor in our ears. Terrifying to begin with this ‘super crammed’ course made rapid progress. By the evening we were exhausted but allowed to take the bikes home. I rode from Wimbledon around central London then up the A1 to my home in Harpenden-I was late for a dinner party. The following morning up at first light I set off for Wimbledon and another intense day followed. The next day when I woke (we had taken the day off work) my destination was the motorbike testing office in Croydon. Somehow I got there and took my test. ‘Congratulations Mr Elliott, you have passed” I looked the examiner in the eye. ‘Do you honestly mean to tell me that although two days a go I had never ridden a motorbike I can now go out and buy and ride something that will do 150 miles an hour”. He looked me in the eye and said ‘yes” !!

On passing the test Chris took me to the nearest motor bike and ordered me to buy a crash helmet. ‘Show some conviction’ he said. I did and I started reading the various motor bike magazines of the day. On the from of one was a silver Honda 750 VFR. It was beautiful with two square headlights. The strap line of the advert said, ‘look me in the eyes and tell me that you love me’. I was smitten.

I ordered a bike from a shop in Watford and a few Saturdays later I turned up with my helmet to collect it. I had no leathers so my first stop was the clothing department where I bought leather jacket with square shoulders, a pair of leather trousers with protective inserts and a pair of leather boots. Now the thing was I needed to wear them to ride my bike on and rather like the little boy in the shoe shop I asked if I could keep the gear on. Credit card out job done. The thing was I forgot to take off the labels and as I headed awkwardly and nervously to the bike section of the shop a wild looking man approached. ‘Hello’ he said ‘I am Mike’. Whats your name? “Dennis I mumbled” Mike was 6 foot something tall he had a cropped tee shirt with tattooed well muscled arms and a head of wiry hair curled into a top knot. He looked every inch a ‘proper biker’ and he was very intimidating. ‘How can I help you?’. I mumbled rather nervously that I was in the shop to pick up a VFR. The shop was very busy full of ‘proper bikers’ who clearly were visiting their ‘church’ to see what was what. ‘Heh boys’ he announced to the shop. This is Den he has come to pick up the VFR” and in doing so he indicated the front of the shop and standing here in all its glory was my bike. The sun was out and it looked beyond wonderful. I gulped. Before long I was out side surrounded by ‘fellow’ bikers all of whom were cooing at my bike. Mike gave me a run down of the controls, none of which entered my scrambled brain. I was desperately aware of the labels on my leathers blowing in the wind. He handed me the keys and posed one final question. ‘Tell me Den what bike did you ride before this one’?. I racked my brain for something credible but nothing came. Sheepishly I huskily admitted that ‘this was my first bike’. He looked at me and countered with ‘ you mean to tell me that you have never ridden a proper motorbike and that you have gone out and bought a Honda VFR 750- a pause coupled with incredulous looks from the assembled throng- grasping me by the shoulders in a proper bear hug he uttered the following phrase I will never forget-“Fuckin Cool”. the crowd lined up to high five me and soon I climbed on to the beast and somehow I wobbled off down the road to cheers and messages of goodwill. Now fully ‘qualified’ my first ride on the thing was actually up the M1 from Watford to Harpenden.

A month or so ago now I was thinking of my motor bike adventures and obviously affected by my current mental state in these uncertain time I bought BMW GS 1200 an absolute beast of a bike. I don’t know if Mike is still in the trade but I do so hope he would have approved of my purchase and just maybe he would have awarded me further ‘cool points’- no-one else has!

A BMW GS 1200

Today I am going to write about a favourite subject of mine, ‘haircuts’. Now I have troubled a lot of people with my view but, with perhaps one or two exceptions I can recall no one else either agrees or believes me. Fair enough.

The first thing I noticed about my wife Liz when I met her was her fabulous hair. It was shaped in a sort of a bob but it was perfectly proportioned and when she danced it moved with he in a complimentary gavotte. It turned out that through University she had got used to visiting a hair salon called Milton Brown in the West End of London. I cant quite recall but I think she may have acted as a model and got free haircuts. Let’s say that was the story as it is a good one!

All my own life I had tricky hair. A funny bit at the front and a tendency to spike at they back. I had loads of haircuts and aside from David Pickavance (see earlier post) no one had ever managed to really sort it out and lets be honest make me look as good as I could be.

When I worked in New York my colleague Richard Gray, who (If I have not written about I must) one day announced he had a new hairdresser. AS he had already found me my Doctor, my dentist and various other professional services it was inevitable I found myself in the chair of Mr Akee. Mr Akee was Japanese and he trained with the Vidal Sasoon group. He used Japanese scissors and bits of kit and the precision and care in his cutting was just amazing to watch. The usual 20 minute job in some salon, picked by chance, transformed into at least an hour of snipping. The cost instead of the usual $25 became $75 and Richard informed me I MUST tip well. When Mr Akee finished I was delighted. Vain yes I know but oh my goodness did it look good. So good in fact that the following week a woman approached me from HQ in Zurich who was looking for photo opportunities for The UBS magazine. I have the picture somewhere and I think you would agree if you saw it my ‘Barnet’ looked great.

At the same time Liz was beginning to enjoy a certain freedom of motherhood as our children got older. It became possible for her to leave Jo and Tom with a friend for an afternoon and fed up of the local Greenwich Connecticut hairdressers she headed for New York. (By the way most American women have lousy haircuts-it is a fact just look). She decided to head for Vidal Sasoon and she went a step further by paying up for a senior stylist. We had arranged to meet somewhere near Park Avenue in order to journey home together. As I walked up 56th street I think it was towards towards our rendezvous I passed a stunning woman wearing a white dress and carrying a red handbag. Gulp I thought eyes front! Suddenly a shout and I turned the vision was my Lizzie looking beyond gorgeous. Her hair once again looking just fabulous with maybe some highlights, I can’t remember.

After this occasion I was convinced. Mr Akee moved away but I was hooked. Vidal Sasoon New York, Toronto, wherever I may be in the world boy I had some great haircuts. Back working in London I would go to see John the top stylist at Vidal Sasoon London. I would arrive back in the office and people would comment, usually a wolf whistle or similar. In truth most admired but when it came to the question of where did you have your haircut and how much was it people were appalled. In 1900 I was all done with John for £75 but as that compared to the usual barbers charge of perhaps £7:50 with a tip no one followed me. Then one day I man who worked for me and who was a seriously good bloke in many ways told me it was his birthday. He had always admired my haircuts and was beyond delighted when I gave him a ‘special birthday present’ a haircut with John. Suffice it to say that Graham who usually had an awful haircut and wore unflattering glasses returned with a fantastically stylish hairstyle. Within days he had got some very different glasses and I can honestly tell you that he would place his hand on his heart and confirm that that haircut was a game changer. He went on to become partners in an investment firm and he always says that the boost to his confidence was routed in that cut.

So next time you need a haircut don’t go to some barber or local hairdresser. Certainly dont convince your self the Toni and Guy or similar are any good. Just fork out and get a really proper haircut or hair do. If you want specific recommendations then get in touch. One thing I promise you is you wont be disappointed.

As far as I can see I have currently around 20 followers. Not sure who some of them are but it does not matter. In early lockdown I took to writing some pieces on Face book. It was strangely therapeutic as it released the positive side of me. Sadly someone who will remain nameless decided to have a go at me and my reflections of my life. This person was obviously really stressed and I have not seen her for maybe 20 or thirty years but her negative words really stung me. So I stopped.

Before I continue I urge all of you to watch a documentary on Netflix ‘The Social Dilemma’ you make your own mind up but to me it is full of some very serious questions that need addressing. By the way it also explains why so many people have acted so oddly in recent months.

Anyway having listened to a podcast in which the contributors apparently come from the same mould as me I have decided to follow their advice and try and get some order and shape into my misshapen life. I have rediscovered meditation and I have been reminded of all the knowledge I gained over the years of how the human mind works and also mis functions. I will write about meditation at some point but not now.

I have also decided to alter the direction of this missive and try and write a daily blog type thing. Apparently, and this is a side track, if you can make yourself do it, the most creative way of starting your day is to take a piece of paper and a pen and write down your thoughts. I am told it releases all sorts of emotions and will set creative ideas free. Not ready for the pen yet but here goes on other stuff.

Well what a truly fantastic weekend. The weather was glorious. I know I have said this many times but watching Everton play football served up a bundle of joy. As a little boy football was so important to me. I played it every day. Either kicking ball against my house,in the school yard or in a field nearby that was usually littered with cow dung. One birthday I was given the Everton kit. I slept in it I treasured it. Of course in those days money was tight and the value of something special was easy to appraise. One of the few good things my father ever did for me was to take me to the football. I was around 10 I suppose and he would take me to Everton one week and Liverpool the next. In truth we probably only went a dozen times in all but it did not matter. As I grew older I was blessed to watch some of the great “Blue’ teams. They won cups and championships playing a brand of football that is now the province of those selective organisations that have decided that style is as important as substance.

Any way to watch Everton at the weekend was to turn the clock back. Ping ,ping, ping the ball went. Everton’s new trio of superstars urged on by their ‘special manager’ released talents that other Everton players had kept hidden. This could be a false dawn I know but of injury does not play its fickle part then I am sure that James and his mates will light up the Premier league this year. What a pity that those most passionate of fans were barred from watching the spectacle first hand. I turned the TV over at the end of the match to a rugby game in France. The stadium was around a quarter full only but the atmosphere was created. One country has decided sitting in open stands in family groups is fine the other it is not. No wonder my head hurts.

It is not football that created the greatest sporting achievement in recent years it was cycling. There is something about the 21 year old Slovenian Tadej Pogacar that is entrancing. Self confident yet humble. Proud but certainly not flash. Self belief is an amazing thing and the way he overtook his good friend and fellow Slovenian superstar Primus Rodlidg was something to behold. Of course all along he had told us he was going to try and do it but who believed him?

In modern cycling it has become normal to ride to numbers. Watch the Ineos team riding up a hill their eyes fixed on their computers. Calculations made about power, cadence and all the rest. The mind ignored. Well on Saturday Tadje rode the last part of the Time Trial without a power meter. (he was of course riding a Collage C64 by the way (my bike)). He decided to let his spirit free he dared to dream and his dreams came true. That he did all this with a decided average group of team mates is something to reflect upon with awe.vOf course on the other side we were to watch a tragedy of epic performance. Primus Rodlidg himself is a wonderful athlete. There he was leading ‘the band of brothers’ bedecked in their yellow team shirts. Maybe the race Gods found this challenge to their holy grail(the yellow jersey) an affront and intervened- we will never know. What we did see as the pressure came on and the impossible became a possibility that a fantastic athlete and proud young man who had worked so hard for his success and was supported by a team of like minded folk gradually come apart. His pedal cadence suddenly changed his head rolled as the passion in his body tried with every sinew to respond. As he crossed the finish line his helmet looked awkward, his yellow skin suit way too bright and even his face, without his cycling glasses, looked angular an unattractive. He was the beaten man and the pain he must have felt in so many ways is why we all enjoy watching sport. It is failure that is common in life not victory. As in life it is the lessons we learn from that failure and how we respond that will mark us out. I so hope Primus comes back to challenge his countryman. The guard has been changed and a new nation sits upon the summit of cycling. To both young men I offer my congratulations and I look forward to watching their individual journeys. How they respond to both their success and failure.

My final comment of the day is do consider getting your self one of those new pizza ovens that are advertised anywhere. The pizza Liz and I ate last night were in the realms of the heavenly. My Grandson George was four yesterday and as I ate my pizza I raised glass to him. I enjoyed writing this stuff I hope you enjoy reading it.

I have spent more money on skiing than probably any other leisure activity in my life. I first got into it when we lived in The USA. We ‘shared’ a ski Condo with two American families and we would trek up to Okimo Vermont most weekends during the season. The Condo was lovely and I remember well loads of kids sitting round in their jams while that legend in his own life time, Len Epand, serenaded us all. Strange to think that his two young sons then would be come rock stars in their own right. Google Len, Danny and Ben Epand if you want to know more.

When we arrived back from The US we had many wonderful trips with families Hine, Faure and I was to meet one of my very best life long friend Jim Devlin on a wild trip to our favourite place Obergurgl. I could write chapters on these trips but suffice it to say we ate and drank a lot. One year I had the misfortune to fall and break my arm. I went to the doctors office who announced a small break and he asked me did I want to carry on skiing. Yes of course I said. I also asked him to shape the cast he attached to my arm so it would accommodate a beer glass. The cast was applied as I held a glass snuggly in my grip. At the end of the week I got special dispensation to take part in the ski race. I asked the judges if my eight year old son could push me from the gate as I was unable, because of my injury, to push myself. They agreed, Tom did a great job and despite crashing at the finishing line, due to having held my breath all the way down for some reason I won the silver medal.

My son broke his leg when 3 years of age in the US. He broke it again in Switzerland on the Lauberhorn. A moment i remember well as neither Liz nor I could keep up with the first aid sled that took him off the mountain. That broken leg led to an amazing romance I will describe else where for Jim Devlin that few would believe.

many ski trips to Europe but on one of these with my good friend David Lis and his step son Ben we ended up in Chamonix. we had planned a day out in Italy but took the wrong turning and ended up in St Gervais Les Bains. David looked round and made a simple statement. You should buy a place here mate it is lovely. It was and I did.

I was changing jobs and literally had a one day window to buy na flat. Liz and I git the early flight form Luton and we arrived in StGervais with a load of appointments to view. It did not go well and by lunch time we had all but given up. As we sat eating baguette or something liz spotted an Estate Agent’sshop that was not on our list. We went in and were greeted by a sight we were not ready for. The owner had clearly had a bad accident and his face was severely disfigured and the wig he wore was skew on his head. He told us in excellent English that ‘despite what has happened’ he was still the valleys top agent. he added that he was also now blind! Any way he addressed Liz and asked her for her perfect apartment. High ceilings, big opening windows, lovely views and of course some balconies. he looked studied the announced. ” I know the one but first I will show you two others you will like a lot so much so that when you see the third one it will be clear” An extraordinary statement. his very pretty wife appeared and we joined her in her car. The first apartment she showed us was lovely and way better than the ones we had sen in the morning with other agents. The second even better and we became enthused. la Residence was a former grand hotel that attracted the rich of Paris to the Alps. The mountain railway but a few hundred meters away had served as the mode of transpose both from the main railway station and also to the ski slopes up aloft. (the orginal plan had been to build a railway to the sunlit of Mont Blanc no less.

A rickets lift then she opened the door. the windows were open and the views we were to get were breathtaking. net curtains blew in the breeze and the classic room one after another wowed with their out looks. we looked at each other and knew we just had to buy it.

Back at the office we asked a triumphant Pasqual how much?. He said the seller wanted 75,000 francs but he as agent would handle the pricing as that was his job. We said we wanted to buy the place and we filled out a 16 page document which seems to contain everything but the price. ‘You leave it to me’ he said, ‘ I will touch the seller and I will establish the price and get back to you leave it to me.””i will call you on Tuesday at 7 pm your time”.

Bang on time he called and announced as follows. ” I have touched the seller”. ‘it is no use you offering less because the price is fair and I have established it”!! Happy to pay the 75,000 i asked pasqual for the final figure. ‘You will pay 63,000 francs that is it’!!

Two weeks later we were in the notaries office formally signing documents and the fat wa sours what a buy and what a sort book of adventure and delight it has given us.

I have done The Great North Run 3 times I think. I actually think it is overacted as the crowds re indifferent to the runners and not very big apart from the end. Any way as many will remember The Great North Run used to be sponsored by BUPA. Guess what the former Finance Director of BUPA, Ed Lee used to be a good mate of mine and he was also a runner. His son Mathew was a good friend of mine too.Ed had been involved with the event over the years and when he came to retire from BUPA he was given the honour running with the number 1 on his vest. Very kindly he offered Liz and I a chance to join his VIP experience and so a truly remarkable weekend followed.

We went up to Newcastle on the Saturday and stayed in a very nice hotel courtesy of BUPA. In the evening we had dinner with Brendon Foster. He was delightful company and we all got on well. On the morning of the race we were taken to the start by limousine and dropped off at the start line with all the top athletes and celebrities. I cannot find it but I had a picture taken with Kipchoge Keino comparing our guts-I won. I got to meet Satus Quo who were setting up their instruments before playing the runners through. And wait for it I got to shake hands with the ‘unofficial starter’ Jimmy Saville-oops.

Starting at the front was in fact nearly a disaster ashore the next couple of hours all I experienced was runners overtaking me. At the start it was rather crazy.

Having completed the course I had a large glass of red wine with Paula Radcliffe and had a nice chat with David Coleman. A good day out. Thanks Ed.!

Bryce Cottril was the senior partner of Phillips and Drew for whom I worked. He was charming always smiling and full of good cheer. I never worked directly with him so I do not know what his specific business skills were like but he had a good reputation. As senior partner he was ideal as he kept all egos and self interest in its place by behaving well to everyone in the firm from top to bottom. He had been wounded in the second world war and walked with a slight limp. He was known as someone who would say something that on reflection the recipient might consider he had been given a message. Let me give you an example. Phillips and Drew were an understated lot and fashion was low on the agenda. One day I wore a very nice Hermes tie to work, a Christmas present. I met Bryce in the corridor. ‘Hello Dennis’ he said “I am hearing very positive things about you” and then. “that’s a very nice tie you are wearing”. As I walked away I was left wondering was Bryce telling me my tie is a bit flash?. Everyone had similar experiences and every conversation with him seemed to develop hidden meetings. It could of course just as well him being pleasant we will never know.

Any way the mighty UBS came to court the partners of Phillips and Drew. Switzerlands largest and most powerful institution with an open check book!!. Now as many will know military service is compulsory in Switzerland and I suppose not surprisingly the most powerful army officers were all in senior positions in the bank. the CEO of UBS, Robert Studer, was also the commander in chief and General of the army. Switzerlands military is superbly equipped but to date it has never ever fought a war.

The partners of Phillips and Drew were summoned to Zurich for a grand dinner. The following day the deal itself was to be signed and the final price agreed. The UBS board sat in its self administered glory as dinner was served and Herr Studer made a speech of welcome. The speech was full of the power of UBS its ambition, its potential and its plans. All very grand.

Up got Bryce. ‘I feel very humble’ he stated ‘ a mere second lieutenant in the British Army addressing some five star Generals”. The look on Studer’s face was a picture. Bryce had given him a message too. You may be a five star General sir but I am the one who has actually fought a war and I have even been wounded.!! Now again whether Bryce intended this message we will never know but Robert Studer himself once told me of the huge respect he and his fellow Swiss had for Bryce on account of that speech. By the way the final price Bryce agreed for the sake was way above the expected levels. Yes it was probably peanuts to UBS but it made the partners and staff at Phillips and Drew very happy.

I worked with Richard Watkins in New York. His back ground had been in corporate finance and he had joined Phillips and Drew form London rivals Hoare Govett who had been bought by Calafornia’s most powerful bank Security Pacific. (All this buying was due to a reorganisations in the securities industry in the 1980s.) Richard had negotiated the deal for Hoare with Secpac. He was descended from elevated stock and was one of the most stylish men I have ever met. He would attend client meetings always immaculately dressed. He would take notes on foolscap yellow paper and write with a huge Mont Blanc fountain pen-black ink of course. He would make notes that all could read with double underlinings if the client had wanted to make a specific point. It was pure theatre, the Americans loved him.

Any way he told me the story of the purchase of Hoare by Sec Pac. The average Hoare partner had no idea how to negotiate a deal and Watkins was sent to do the job, a minimum price was agreed and Richard set off to LA. In those days the most prestigious hotel in LA was The Beverly Wiltshire along with its many starred Michelin restaurant. As Richard arrived at the front door the doorman opened the taxi door and out stepped Richard. ‘What is your name’ he said to the doorman. “Charles” was the reply. ( Big US hotels all have their own main door man. It is a very prestigious position and the man himself has great influence in the hotel. They make a living out of tips and tend to guard their turf with great care and work incredibly long hours) any way Richard produced a one hundred dollar bill and placed it in Charles’ hand. Looking him in the eye he announced ‘ good evening Charles my name is Watkins, you want forget that will you?’ ‘No sir’ Charles responded and he called a bell hop to carry Richard’s top of the line ‘Lark’ luggage.

Richard settled in his room then called the CEO of Secpac. ‘Hello’ said Richard ” Richard Watkins here I wonder of you and your CFO (Chief Financial Officer) would consider joining me for dinner so we can discuss the deal. I believe the restaurant in my hotel has a great reputation, I chose the Beverly Wiltshire as I had heard so much about it” The CEO readily agreed and Richard suggested he drive by Secpacs headquarters, have a look around and then take the two men over to his hotel. Secpacs HQ was magnificent but these two senior men were no match for Britains finest. He took a tour of the offices before escorting the two men to his waiting limousine and then back to the hotel. The car drove up outside. Richard allowed the CEO and CFO to get out first and as they stood on the pavement after a tactical pause he emerged. Charles was waiting to do his stuff. ‘Good Evening Mr Watkins, how are you this evening” ‘ Very well thank you Charles said Richard. The two men looked on and instantly were on the back foot. They moved into the restaurant where Richard was able to further demonstrate his style by discussing the appropriate French Wines with the sommelier. The negotiations that followed were straight forward and Richard claims he achieved £10 million pounds more than the expected price. I would not doubt it for one second. That hundred dollar tip-cheap!!

In the early nineties we lived in a place called Mackerye End on the outskirts of Harpenden. We had some truly amazing neighbours and we seemed to get on with all of them although they did not necessarily get on with each other. I was still working for UBS at the time and my company car was a beautiful BMW series 7. Approximately a week after I took delivery of it we had an old friend over for Sunday lunch. The Parrots had been neighbours of ours when we lived in Barnet before moving to the USA. Graham was an amusing man and was a director of a public company Granada no less. Sadly he had split from his wife and we invited him over to catch up. I am sure he must have had all sorts of professional qualities but our relationship was based upon banter and humour.

Well Graham arrived and drooled at my car. ‘I just love big Bmers’ he said. ‘I love the colour too’ it is my dream car. ‘Why don’t you take in for a drive’ said I. ‘Seriously’ said he ‘yes please’. he drove off and was gone for around 20 minutes. I saw the car returning to my house up the lanes and he parked up in front of the house. He got out his face a mask. I suddenly realised why. The entire passenger side was stored in, lights broken doors dented -the lot. he was just overcome, he apologised said something like ‘I am not sure how this happened’ then he got back in his own car and left. I never saw him again.

Still on the car front it is true to say I have a remarkable number plate. My initials are DGE and I have the plate DGE1. I came to buy it because a friend of mine found it for sale in an advert for around £2000. You just buy it he said it will only appreciate and if a premier league footballer has the same initials you will make a fortune. So far no luck on that front but I still have the plate on a van I own. It has been on all sorts of cars, most of the tatty old land rovers and the like. Any way for some reason I bought one of the first Porsche Cayennes when they came out. To be honest it was when my head was turned as I had made a lot of money on some share options I had owned and I just bought it. To make matters worse I put DGE1 on it. If ever I got some looks of hate then that was it. One day Liz and I went up to London to support friends in The London Marathon. As a sort of joke we found a great rate at The savoy and we decided to stay there. I rolled up to the front door and got the full treatment courtesy of my car which was very rare at the time as a new model. The doorman insisted in parking it for me.We were given a great room and we decided to go out for a meal. By the front door of the Savoy is a sort of ‘top peoples parking bay. There parked in all its glory was my bloody car. I did not know whether to cry or laugh. Looking back I so wished I had taken a pic but I didn’t. Sorry to all my family I bought that car and for all the embarrassing moments you had to suffer in it. embarrassing at the Savoy or what?

Back To Mackerye End. We had there a swimming pool and our closest neighbours were in truth the odd ones out in the tiny hamlet. Most people were wealthy and lived in magnificent houses. The Fields were not wealthy, lived in a humble farm cottage and were very alternative and they had a doberman dog that terrified me although he was in truth quite dopey. It came to our notice that when we went away The Fields would take advantage and come and play in our swimming pool. Apparently, so our source told us, as soon as we were gone on our holidays they would let themselves in and would enjoy the facilities to the max. Fair enough. If they had asked us we would probably have said Yes but safety and the like made us a little concerned. Out of the blue Liz had an idea. The pool was kept clean by a revolving filter system and once a week the chemicals would be topped up. Just before we left Liz emptied an entire container of the chlorine based fluid into the pool. It smelt strongly of bleach and Liz reasoned that by the time we got back the mixture would have diluted and all would be well. ‘At least we will keep the Fields out’ she said. She was wrong! after 14 days in France I seem to remember we returned home. The pool area wa clean and tidy but the following morning our daughter burst into the house with the news that the Fields had all got green hair and there skin was a bleached colour. We said nothing. They said nothing. They all looked embarrassed when ever they saw us for about a week and would dive for cover as we passed. In time there hair returned to normal and the next time we went away the pool remained unused.

I think it was 2002 although not sure. ‘Help for Heroes’ had just been invented and we were all struggling to see our wounded servicemen coming back from war. Liz decided we needed to have a really difficult challenge to take on as she was worried about the size of my gut and she reasoned we could turn this effort into something positive by raising some money for this new charity. Like all these things I suspect the decision was made after a glass of wine. The only thing I do know was one night, late in November, our on line application was accepted and we were in ‘The Mont Blanc Marathon’. The clue is in the title a full 26 miles but all uphill around Chamonix. Well not actually as the course allows competitors to ascend up to the circling ridge of the place before descending back to the valley floor, twice, before sending them back up for a final time a special piece of torture- the last 3 miles are up a 25% grade hill that is normally the preserve of skiers.

Any way it was hell on earth. It was mid summer and the temperature in the mid thirties for a start. I was not as well prepared as Liz and I held her back. She kept on nagging me and telling me how lucky I was compared to the soldiers. I kept on going as we had promises of around £10,000 conditional on our finishing.

As we pressed on all around the course supporters encouraged on. We had our names on our numbers and people called our names. ‘Allez Elizabeth Allez Dennis.’ ‘Bon courage allez!’

Well as we went along we got into a sort of sub group. Sometimes we would overtake sometimes we would be overtaken but a group we were. One man took my interest. He was Latvian. He had thin white wiry legs. He had a wispy moustache that was curled at the ends but so thin as to be pointless. He wore retro silky shorts. Brown no less with a cream stripe and a sort of string vest covered his thin but bony white body. His hair was reddish in colour, long and badly cut. I encouraged him. He encouraged me in broken English. I was fascinated by him and soon I realised why. He was probably the ugliest man I had ever seen. Not in a bad way just factually speaking.

After about 20 miles I was all but done in and I again encountered my Latvian mate. ‘Hows it going’ I asked. ‘Bad’ he said. We were united in our quest and I decided to provide some mutual encouragement. ‘We will have a beer at the finish’ I said. He seemed delighted. Indeed he scurried off as if energised. As I climbed those last few miles of the race I needed all the resolve I could muster. Liz waited for me and slowly slowly we arrived at the final few yards and our names were called as we crossed the finish line. 8 hours 23 minutes!!! A medal placed around our necks. I was stumbling around working out what to do when I saw a large tent which was a recovery area providing food and drink for the competitors and also a bar. Walking towards me with a smile from ear to ear was my Latvian friend with two beers in his hands. He gave me one we toasted each other and for the first time I was able to see him fully face on. Yes I thought this really is the ugliest man I have ever see. Our stilted conversation in broken English was interupted because the man announced he wanted to introduce me to his two sons who had also done the race and were sitting in the bar. I saw my mistake instantly as soon as I saw his sons. This was not the ugliest man in the world, his offspring were comfortably worse. Thank God I did not meet his wife the boy’s mother. He and they were a delight however so ‘cheers’ to all things Latvian and of course to my wife Liz and those soldiers bless them.

I will write a number of horse stories in time. My daughter Jo has always loved all things equine. She has owned some amazing horses and has won countless events herself.

Now I have always wanted to support Jo by riding myself. I have tried but largely due to a horse called Frank I am afraid that I do not sit comfortably on a horse. Frank was a large grey horse at the local riding stables. Once on one of my first lessons he bucked in the indoor ring. I was cantering at the time and it scared me. My teacher laughed and said something like ‘naughty Frank.’

I went out for a hack with the riding school one autumn day and foolishly I accepted Frank as my mount. All was well as we walked along the country lanes but as soon as we hit the stubble of the freshly cropped field Frank became possessed. He was off, full bore with the occasional bronk for good measure. I have never ever felt so afraid. I grasped on to his main and tried to do all the things I had been told , in theory, to slow him down. No good, he thundered over the ground for about a mile before stopping in his own time. I was shaking like leaf when the anxious woman from the riding school came along side me. She tried to make light of the situation but I was clearly traumatised as she took my reins and led me home.

I have ridden a horse on a number of occasions since including a former winner of the Norwegian Grand national. But that is another tale. I was determined to try and conquer my new found fear and in the end I found the perfect horse.

File Concord was twenty something. He was a former race horse, look him up, and he was ‘out to pasture’ at our good friends and neighbours David and Mary Laing. His trainer had been none other than Jenny Pitman who was a friend of The Laings.

Now the thing about this horse was he could no longer run more than about twenty metres with someone on his back. He was quite large I remember but very kindly towards me. I would take him to a field and make him run his 20 and maybe a second time for good measure. Once I had done this his running was done and we would just amble along, all very nice. In truth it was so low risk as to be boring but I did like to put my kit on and take him out.

Remarkably one Sunday we were invited to a Laing Sunday lunch. As usual all sorts of interesting people in this case including Jemmy Pitman. She turned up in her glam kit with a handbag. She declared this to be highly unusual and she told us all sorts of wonderful tales regarding the racing world over lunch. I told her how much I liked File Concord and she was keen to go and see the old boy. We walked together to the fence rail of a large field about 2 or 3 hundred yards away FC, as he was known, was munching away on some grass. Jenny climbed over the fence, high heels and all and let out a shriek. FC stiffened raised his head and immediately set off at full gallop across the field stopping precisely head to head with Jenny. It was spectacular to behold as it was moving. Jenny petted the old boy he whinnied and nodded his head. They nuzzled. It had been around ten years since they had last met she told me.

My daughter had often told me about horse people connections. This was the first time I saw one so close. Amazing. Bless FC!

As a young boy I lived by a marine lake. I suppose I was around 10 years old and I used to take myself down to the water to watch the small sailing dinghies. Most were dinghies called ‘cadets’ and one day a boy asked me if I wanted to have a sail with him. I loved it although I found the thing quite scary as the power of the wind was a whole new thing to understand. Over time I would help people launch and recover their boats and occasionally I would be given a sail in gratitude. Somehow this flimsy experience translated in my mind to me being fully competent in all things sailing. I definitely wasn’t. I somehow persuaded Liz that as we lived in the USA by the water, buying a sailing boat was a must. Tenacity had 4 berths a diesel motor and was 30 feet long.!!!

Our first outing was quite a thing. Tenacity was moored on a river in a sort of a bay. The way to the sea in this case The Long Island Sound involved around 2 miles of gentle motoring before the river broadened out. Unusually the river went under the main railway line from Boston to New York. The mast of ours and most other sailing boats was too high to go under the bridge. As a result the bridge had to be lifted and lowered. The boats had some historic right of way.

We set off the diesel engine burbling. Liz and I with me reassuring Liz I had it all ‘under control’-I didn’t. We approached the bridge and I ‘ordered’ Liz to call the signal box via our short wave radio. Many years later Liz and I became fully qualified ‘Yacht masters’ but back then we did not realise that there were international conventions regarding VHF radio-oops. ‘Come in bridge’ Liz spoke in her best English accent-always helped! ‘This is sailing boat Tenacity’. I should add it was early spring and whilst a sunny day the water was still very cold. ‘Come in Tenacity’ the reply. “Request passage under bridge”. ‘Please wait” Slowly the bridge began to rise and as it did a silver and blue Amtrak train came onto sight. It was probably on its way to new York or Washington from Boston. It stopped it had to because we were going through!

The bridge behind us we headed down the river and the sea breeze coupled with the incoming tide on the outgoing river caused Tenacity to pitch up and down. Liz was alarmed I was too but feigned calm. The river wide now I ordered Liz to raise the sails. She unfurled the foresail and but as she did so one of the sheets (the rope you pull in to set the sail) went over the side. There was a clunk and the engine stopped. I tried to restart it but no success. I quickly realised the rope was wrapped around the prop. panic. I looked around and saw that Tenacity was being blown towards the side of the river where there were rocks! “Drop the anchor” I yelled. The description of ‘hardly used’ on the sale particulars became horribly real as Liz opened the anchor hatch and produced the lump of metal. Unfortunately it was without any rope. I found some in one of the cupboards and quickly tied it on. Threw the line out and hoped. The anchor held but the wind was building and the ‘sea on tide’ phenomenon was becoming alarming. I quickly calculated but one option which was to go over the side and cut the rope. As I said before it was cold.

As I mentioned in an earlier post Americans are very funny about nudity. For some reason I stripped off and lowered myself into the water via the rear ladder. It was agony. About waist deep I became aware of a launch approaching. Riverside Yacht Club was and is probably as prestigious as any club on the planet. Millions of dollars of sailing boats decorate its exclusive moorings. The club barge was heading our way to offer help. It set up in a circle. ‘Are you OK do you need help?’ ” No fine thank you”. I lowered myself head deep and tried to stay calm in the freezing conditions before plunging beneath the boat bread knife in hand. Somehow I dived down and started cutting, I managed to cut my finger at the same time!. Emerging for air the barge was still circulating and I noticed that there were at least two women on board. Down again, frantic cutting and at last the rope came away. I surfaced gasping for air. ‘Are you OK?” the shout again. ‘ Yes thank you” still it held station. There I was freezing and naked with an audience. For a reason I cannot explain Liz handed me a pair of pants that were in the tool box. They were in fact an old pair of her knickers! Her thinking was that keeping my clothes dry for when back on board was a good idea as I needed to cover myself and in doing so I would soak any clothes. The knickers on I merged from the water in full view of the barge and its passengers. It was probably a good thing it was cold as women knickers have less room in the crutch than mens for obvious reasons. I climbed back on board displaying my lace covered arse to the onlookers.

The engine thankfully restarted I put on my clothes and we bumbled off. Liz asked me a straight question. ‘You don’t know what you are doing do you?’ “err no sorry’! We motored off waving to the barge. Going out to sea was out of the question. I was shivering and traumatised. I suspect the barge passengers may have been too. We could not go straight back and stop the trains again so we just burbled around. We discovered the stove had no gas canister the loo had a leak and various other things. After a couple of hours we returned to our berth me somewhat embarrassed.

Liz as ever was very forgiving. She saw the funny side of the whole thing. Typical of her she signed up on a course and learned all the basics. It was not long before Tenacity and team `Elliott’ were on the high seas. The start of many nautical adventures.