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.

For some reason I seem to have a load of plane stories. Can’t think why that is but I have flown a lot in my life.

New York to Philadelphia is but a hop. Probably 40 minutes or so gate to gate. Back in the mid 1980s Delta had a ‘commuter service’ from La Guardia Airport. It was probably quicker door to door by plane but one day I found myself on the morning flight. Not sure exactly what the plane was but it had around 12 seats only. Its as very cramped and noisy. The flight down was largely uneventful although I do remember clearly that before take off we were given an in flight snack of pretzels.

• 

Having done a day of visiting clients I headed back to the airport. Bad news. The aircraft had developed ‘technical difficulties’ and the flight delayed. Most of the other passengers, who were largely my fellow morning travellers, disappeared, probably to get the train. I was left with a handful of people waiting at the gate. After about an hour an announcement. We would be leaving in about 20 minutes as a plane had been ‘found’. The Macdonnell Douglas MD 90 had seating capacity for around 190 passengers. As we showed our tickets we were told we could sit where we chose. I got on last and whilst my 4 or 5 fellow passengers turned right at the door I turned left and sat in the First Class cabin. The plane closed up and two delightful young women introduced themselves to me and told me I would be getting their undivided attention. ‘What would you like to drink when the plane has levelled out’ was the question. Out of my mouth came a phrase I had never heard myself say before or indeed since. ‘Bourbon on the rocks”. Why I cannot say. The flight to New York was short and I am afraid to admit I drank the first bourbon and two more before we landed. All very extraordinary.

I used to go to Boston a lot during my time in New York. Rather like Edinburgh in the UK Boston has some of the most sophisticated Investment Institutions in the world. Names like Fidelity will be broadly recognised. It was an awkward journey as I lived in Connecticut and the drive to New York’s airports was around an hour. Add an hour for the flight plus all the messing about and you will see what I mean.

I heard that relatively close to my home there was a small airport called White Planes and that there was a service to Boston from there. The journey up to Boston was relatively uneventful although the plane itself was hideous looking and very noisy. I was in Boston overnight and I took the lunchtime flight back to White Planes with the prospect of an early evening home attracting me.

A soon as the pane started its take off run it started to move around violently. It was windy, very windy. I had but one fellow passenger a black man who was already looking very unhappy and sweating. The plane took off and started lurching around. It was very unpleasant. The Pilot came on the intercom and reassuringly informed us that the turbulence was caused by high winds and we could expect a very bumpy trip-thanks. The black man who was sitting across the aisle from me a few rows back became very unhappy and started pushing his bell repeatedly. The hostess finally came to his aid although she had to hold on to the seats to support her. ‘Bring me wine’ he bellowed in a beautiful booming baritone voice. ‘Please bring me wine’. She tried to tell him there was no cabin service because of the weather but thought better of it and returned with a full bottle of red wine. The man started to drink from the bottle in huge gulps. After a while he seemed too calm down and he began to sing. I suppose it must have been a spititual song of some kind. I tightened my belt and held tight as I was serenaded all the way to White planes.

It is truly alarming when the pilot comes on the pa to tell you bad news.

It was Christmas Eve 1987 and we were heading from New York to Manchester to spend the holidays with my Mum and Dad. We were paying so we were sat at the back of a very busy plane. “Ladies and Gentlemen this is your pilot speaking’ “We have major engine difficulties. One of our engines has failed and we need to dump fuel before returning to New York where we will be making a fully supported emergency landing so do not be surprised if you see fire trucks ambulances and the like”

In those days you could smoke on a lane!! All cigarettes were ordered to be extinguished and the pilot gave us a runnning commentary as the fuel, tons of it, was dumped over the sea. We then headed back to NYC. As we came into land you could see all sorts of emergency vehicles racing along side the mighty plane as it landed. Tom my son thought it all good sport. I had managed to avail my self of a few of those Vodka miniatures as the trolley had been momentarily been left by my seat. Liz and I had a nip each and we decided that what ever happened we would not scream and would put a brave face on for the children.

We were put up in a hideous hotel on Long island and after about 3 hours sleep we were coached back to the airport. Our plane had had its engine ‘fixed’ we were told but there would be a final test before we took off. It was freezing cold and as I looked out from the departure lounge I saw a large black man with an Afro Haircut tucked in one of those brightly coloured tea cosy hats. He was on top of a cherry picked apparently screwing up a panel on the main central engine. This is not a racist comment but all I will say it did not inspire confidence.

It was the year of Simon and Garfunkel’s multi award winning album and I had my ‘walkman’ on with it playing in my ears. It could have been tiredness or perhaps a desire to protect my young family but I became totally terrified. I turned up my walkman to full as the plane started its take off roll. This act cause me to burst an eardrum and to this day I still have a permanent whistle in my ears to remind me of the trip.

• 

By far the most terrifying flight I have ever taken was from Aspen airport in the US. A week of skiing had ended with a large storm coming through. The airport had been closed for two days. Aspen airport is an amazing place. America has many faces but the airport serving the prime ski resort in the country is not only spectacular in its setting it also has parking for literally dozens of private jets. Super rich Americans own ranches in the area and at weekend they get in their Gulf Stream or similar and head off for the weekend.

After a week on the skis we were on our way to Dallas to visit with some friends our connecting flight gave us some privilege and despite many cancellations we were confirmed on a 5 o’cklock flight from Aspen to Denver. We boarded the plane, a BAC 146. Liz, Jo and Tom in a row in the middle of the aircraft and me in an aisle seat at the rear. The doors shut the pilot came on the intercom. She was a woman. Very rare in those days and the message she gave out did little to settle my feeling of unease.’ Ladies and Gentlemen, you will be aware of the stormy conditions. This flight which will cross over the Rocky Mountain range will be subject to extreme turbulence. There will be no cabin service and the cabin crew will be seated for the entire flight for yours and their safety’. ‘Please do remain calm all conditions are within the aircrafts tolerances”. Gulp! I pointed out to my neighbour, who had decided that getting off was a good idea, that the plane was British and all would be fine she was not impressed.

The plane took off and soon it began to lurch and shake. This lurching gave way to a roller coaster ride like no other. People were screaming. Toms base ball cap came off and I clutched on to my arm rests. The woman next to me clutched on to my arm. It was not a long flight and good ness knows how far we fell and rose but it was without any shadow of a doubt utterly terrifying. We landed in Denver shaken and quickly changed gates for our flight to Dallas. Tom did not want to get on board. We two ended up seated at the back with Liz and Jo further forward. The thought of a similar experience to the one we had just survived was not a good one. A soon as the aircraft was airborne the drinks trolley appeared and as I was at the back we had an early opportunity to get a drink. I ordered a large Bloody Mary and took a sip. I decided to visit the loo and when I returned the drink was gone. Tom had drunk it and I don’t blame him!

• 

There are surprisingly large number of dogs in New York. Most are in truth ‘compact’ by design but any morning or evening you will see the parks and streets of the City full of pooches and their owners walking around awaiting what dogs do.

There are three police forces in France. It is all routed in the Revolution but essentially there is a base level group who manage the streets in towns, the nation wide gendarmerie and in Paris the presidential guard who see themselves as an elite. They tend to be arrogant, they will readily use their power and in doing so call on water canon, truncheons and various forms of tear gas to ‘help’.

Now there is a law in Paris that if your dog decides to go ‘loo loo’ it is obligatory to clean it up. There is a ‘fine’ for the offence published on many lamp posts that back up the law. As far as I am aware no member of the Paris police force has ever given out a ticket to anyone who is guilty of contravening the law. It is quite simply ‘beneath them’. As a result the streets of Paris have a liberal supply of dog poo and most parks are a nightmare as ‘stepping in it’ is more likely than not on any outing.

Over to New York and one day I was in the back of a New York Taxi. The driver, of Eastern European roots, was regaling me with his history. I was getting bored as we approached the mid town turn to the FDR drive. As we stopped at a set of traffic lights a woman in high heels was walking along the road a pecanese dog at her heel. The dog decided to do what a dog does, sat down and deposited his or her coil on the sidewalk. The woman walked on either unaware or uncaring as to the deposit. Immediately the taxi driver wound down his window. ‘Heh Lady’ he roared ‘ your dog just shit on the sidewalk” he honked his horn and all the nearby taxis chimed in. Other windows were wound down and similar orders uttered. ‘Heh lady clean it up”another shouted. The lights changed but the taxi stayed still until the embarrassed woman cleaned up the mess and deposited it in the bin. We drove off the driver triumphant.

As a result of this phenomenon you can walk the streets of New York looking upwards. In Paris not so, watch your step!