Diamond Jubilee: party time

Diamond Jengalee, Chalfont St Giles

Our village went red, wet and blue today as it celebrated the Queen’s diamond jubilee. The centre of the village was one big party, and children played Jenga on the zebra crossing.

It’s a familiar pattern: the Golden Jubilee was well marked here as well.

My mind went back to Britain’s only previous diamond jubilee: Queen Victoria’s in 1897. The world is a totally different place today, yet I have a personal link to that far-off celebration. My late grandmother, born in 1891, told me how her brother had climbed a tree to see a procession go by during the queen empress’s jubilee. I wish I’d asked her for more details when I had the chance. I assume it must have been an event in her hometown, Cardiff rather than the imperial procession in London.

Jubilee joy

More than 11 decades later, our son Owen had a similarly joyous time at another diamond jubilee.

Jubilee party

Fellowship – thank you CIPR

I’m not one to blow my own trumpet. But I was thrilled this week to learn that I have been awarded Fellowship of the Chartered Institute of Public Relations (CIPR).

I have been a CIPR member for 21 years. I helped organise its 1994 annual conference at Warwick, and have served on its West of England, Cymru/Wales and Corporate & Financial Group committees.

The nicest thing about becoming a Fellow is that I’m following in my father’s footsteps. Bob Skinner became a Fellow in 1973, and served with distinction as chairman of the Cymru/Wales group twice. Dad also wrote a fascinating history of the group, which served as the story of the development of the PR profession in Wales.

The CIPR has had its ups and downs. It has often been too focused on the UK capital. And it has not always served the interests of members who can’t rely on a generous employer to pay for expensive London hotels and events. (We deliberately chose a modest motel in the south Midlands for that 1994 conference, rather than the likes of Claridges.) It almost came a cropper in 2010 thanks to its old St James’s Square HQ. But under Jane Wilson, its savvy new chief executive, the CIPR is enjoying a resurgence. It is championing the professionalism of PR. It’s embracing social media. And it’s engaging in the debate about lobbying.

Long may it continue.

Cardiff to host Great Britain’s first event at London 2012

Karen, Owen and I will see history made when we watch Great Britain’s women’s football team take on New Zealand in my hometown, Cardiff, on 25 July. The Millennium Stadium match is Great Britain’s very first event in its home Olympics, and the first event of the Games. We’ll be back at the Millennium the following day to see Brazil play Egypt in the men’s football.

I’ll post about our once-in-a-lifetime experience in July.

Perhaps the 2012 Olympics should be titled Llundain 2012?

See the following link for more information about the Olympics football at the Millennium Stadium, Cardiff.

In praise of Britain’s Heritage Motor Centre, Gaydon

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Above: childhood memories come alive at Heritage Motor Centre

How many times have we ignored the brown signs on the M40 to the Heritage Motor Centre at Gaydon, Warwickshire? More than I can remember. Yet today we called in for the first time and were hugely impressed by the museum that pays homage to Britain’s car heritage.

Take my photo above. Apart from vans from Royal Mail and Post Office Telephones (the business that later became BT) vans, it includes three cars my parents owned: an Austin 1800 (lovely car), Austin Princess (an awful creation – more later) and an Austin Metro, the car that showed British Leyland under Michael Edwardes might just have a future after the industrial carnage of the Red Robbo years. (Derek Robinson was a trade union shop steward who became notorious for causing an alleged £200m in lost production in an era when unions didn’t have to call strike ballots before calling workers out on strike.)

Dad routinely bought British until he bought the Princess. It was a shocker. The problems started when it was brand new. The hub caps sprang off when he was driving around Cardiff, and the Howells BL dealers  had no idea why. A couple of years later, the car burst into flames as Dad was driving my 89 year old Nan home from Wiltshire after celebrating her birthday with my sister. Nan thought it was a great adventure, but Dad never bought another car from BL or Rover.

But the Gaydon museum is much more than a tribute to the dark days of British car making. It covers the whole history of our motor industry, including a recent gorgeous Range Rover concept car.

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Owen (above) loved wandering around the museum. Here he’s inspecting one of his grandfather’s first cars, the Austin Seven. I didn’t know until today that BMW’s first car, the BMW Dixi, was a licensed version of the Austin Seven.

The Heritage Motor Centre is well worth a visit. It has an excellent cafe, Junction 12, and a cinema and well stocked shop. We’ll follow those brown signs more often in future!

We love Drayton Manor and Thomas Land

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Above: arriving at Thomas Land. Percy has just arrived with a train.

We’ve just got back from a wonderful couple of days at the Drayton Manor theme park in Staffordshire. We were there so Owen could enjoy Thomas Land – the home of Thomas the Tank Engine and friends. We first visited last year, but this year we were staying at the new on-site Drayton Manor Hotel. We’re glad we did. We got a terrific advance booking offer in January: £128 for two nights for the three of us and a day’s entry to Drayton Manor, including Thomas Land. The hotel is superb, and we loved early evening Thomas entertainment for children. Not to mention the characters appearing at breakfast time, as you see below!

Breakfast is more fun at Drayton Manor

We also enjoyed two evening meals at The Grill Inn at Drayton Manor – or the Grin, as Owen thought it was called…

Drayton Manor has a fascinating history – before and during its theme park days. The old Drayton Manor house – long gone – was the home of Sir Robert Peel, the founder of the modern police force and 19th century prime minister. The current attraction was created by George and Vera Bryan just after the second world war. In those difficult times, George recalls straightening used nails to re-use when he and Vera built the original Drayton Manor Inland Pleasure Resort as it was called in the days before the term theme park was invented.

The Drayton Manor Hotel displays many old photos of the park’s history. I was intrigued by a photo of Bryan’s garage in Kegworth, Leicestershire. Its relevance was unclear until I picked up a bargain copy of Fred Bromwich’s history of Drayton Manor in the hotel shop. The garage was owned by the resort founder George Bryan’s father, the leading slot machine maker WE Bryan – which explains why there’s a slot machine museum opposite Tidworth Hault station in Thomas Land…

The Fred Bromwich history also shows how innovative Drayton Manor has been over the years. George and Vera put to good use their experience at the pioneering 1930s California-in-England leisure park in Berkshire, as well as early visits to Walt Disney‘s Disneyland in the original California. More recently, the Bryans have added dramatic new rides that look as good as anything that Alton Towers, Thorpe Park and others can offer. I can’t wait to try them when Owen lets me!

Meanwhile, I’ll end with a shot of the engine that started the Thomas story. I wonder what the Rev Awdry would think of Thomas Land?

Owen and Thomas at Thomas Land, Drayton Manor

PS: I was less impressed by the wifi service at Drayton Manor Hotel. It offered 30 minutes free. But the receptionist said any extra was £10 a day, which is a total rip off at a leisure hotel. (We paid the same amount for a whole week at The Park holiday village at Mawgan Porth, Cornwall.) Even worse, the hotel wifi service didn’t show any costs before you clicked on the ‘connect’ button. But I saved my money – because the service claimed my user name (my very own emails address) was already taken. Very strange. When will hotels get wifi right?

PS, April 2015. Owen and I spent another lovely stay at Drayton Manor Hotel and Thomas Land. (Karen couldn’t join us this time.) I was delighted to see that the wifi is now free – and very reliable. We dined at the hotel two nights in a row because it was so good.

Owen loves books – and Waterstone’s

Owen browses in Waterstone's Amersham

I love books. So I’m thrilled that Owen seems to be following in my footsteps.

He had a wonderful time today in Waterstone’s in Amersham. He made straight for the Mr Men and Little Miss books – his current favourites, along with Roald Dahl. He’d have happily stayed for hours.

Books are so important to children and adults. They bring to life the pleasure of the story, often with added impact of illustration. (Anyone who has enjoyed a Julia Donaldson story will acknowledge how much Axel Scheffler‘s illustrations bring the tales to life.) And part of the joy of books is returning to a personal favourite, time and time again.

As I watched Owen browsing the shelves at Waterstone’s today, I pondered again the future of the printed book. You might think that electronic, or e-books, are bound to replace their printed predecessors. Yet I’m not so sure. The printed book remains a thing of beauty – to be read, treasured, lent and re-read. You can flick quickly to an earlier page or illustration. The book itself is relative cheap and doesn’t rely on expensive hardware. It never runs out of battery, and can be read when you’re on a plane that’s taking off. (And in the bath – I’ve not yet been brave enough to read on my iPad in the bath.)

There’s certainly a place for e-books. I’m always pleased to have one with me on the iPad if I’ve nothing else to read on a train. But never assume that new technology will always sweep aside what went before it. The internet hasn’t replaced television, which didn’t replace radio, which didn’t vanquish newspapers. Cinema is still going strong despite TV, DVD and the internet. All have their unique strengths.

But parents still have a crucial role to play in helping printed books to flourish. We’ve read to Owen since he was a baby. (In fact, I made up stories to tell ‘him’ when Karen was pregnant: storytelling to a ‘bump’!) We’ve read to him every night for three years. We each choose a book at bedtime. It’s no wonder he likes books!

It has encouraged him to start to read far earlier than he would otherwise have done. It means that reading won’t be a blank page when he starts school proper in September. It’s one of the greatest gifts we could have given him.

PS: for a brand based on literacy, Waterstone’s seems very confused about its name. It uses Waterstone’s (which must be right, as it was named after its founder, Tim Waterstone) and Waterstones…

Ninth life: saying goodbye to Fluff

Fluff, 1995-2012

It’s easy to slip into sentimentality about pets. So I’m sorry if this post is unusually maudlin.

I’ve just looked at our kitchen chairs to see if Fluff was in her favourite spot. It was an act of instinct. Then I remembered. Tonight is my first evening since Fluff lost her battle against the cancer that has ravaged her since August 2010. She died in our arms at the wonderful Straid veterinary clinic in Beaconsfield this morning.

Fluff was the first pet who was truly mine, unlike my childhood cat, Spot. She came into my life on Saturday 8 July 1995, and I still remember the drive back from Yate, near Bristol to my then home in Ashton Keynes, Wiltshire. I have two memories of that day: thinking the couple who ‘owned’ Fluff’s mother were both very good looking. And joining the M4 at the Bath junction happily knowing my new cat was in the car with me.

I would have collected Fluff a week earlier, but I was cycling my first ‘century’ – a 100 mile bike ride around Wiltshire.

Those first weeks were fun, if nerve racking. Several times I had to prise Fluff down from the porch roof. As time went by, I discovered wildlife in my home: birds and mice, dead and alive. I decided live birds were the worst. They took a lot of catching!

One Sunday morning in January 1998, Fluff came up to my bedroom. She was acting suspiciously. I immediately knew she had dragged some poor creature into the house through the cat flap. That evening, I saw something move as I watched TV from the sofa: a mouse! I tried and failed to catch it with a colander. (Well, what would you have done?) I didn’t see the mouse again and assumed it had escaped. Ten months later, it fell out of my sofa bed in the living room when I put it out. Curiously, it was perfectly preserved.

Fluff became a well travelled cat. She lived with me in Llandaff, Cardiff for two years before moving to Buckinghamshire. She loved holidays (often a month long) with Mum and Dad in Cardiff and Penarth. And she adapted to the extended family, as I moved in with Karen and when Owen arrived just after she turned 13. (She was very good at escaping from O!)

She wasn’t a typical cat. She was very affectionate and loved human company. She’d sleep on my bed when she or I wasn’t feeling well. She loved my dad, and always made a beeline for him – except on Mum and Dad’s last visit, just a week before she died. That proved that she was truly ready to go.

Fluff lived longer than we expected. She almost died the weekend of Owen’s christening.

That Friday night, 7 November 2008, she lay down in the garden and gave every impression of wanting to slip into an eternal sleep. (Her kidneys were failing.) Yet the wonderful team at Straid brought her back from the brink. In August 2010, we thought we had lost her. Yet Mark Carpenter and his colleagues at Straid helped her through it. We knew it was borrowed time, as our friend Deborah put it, but it meant Owen has true memories of his first pet. I can’t thank Straid enough for their magnificent care.

I’d also like to thank Marks & Spencer Money for its pet insurance. Unlike many policies, M&S covers continuing conditions year after year. (Disclosure: I was head of PR for M&S Money 2005-08.) This helped meet the cost of Fluff’s monthly injections, as well as the expensive treatment in November 2008.

Fluff, you enriched all our lives. Rest in peace. We love you and will cherish your memory.

Fluff, Owen and I say goodbye today.

Richmond riverside: a family story

Robert and Owy Richmond 1960s

Sixties snapshot: me and Mum at Richmond, circa 1969

Richmond, Surrey has long been one of my favourite places, as I've explained before on Ertblog. I was thrilled a few years ago to find this photo of Mum and me on the riverside as it brought back so many childhood memories. I wonder if it was the day I had an ice cream from a kiosk just beyond the bridge, near where Gaucho is today?

On Friday, Karen brought Owen, now three and a half, to my office. He got to sit at my desk, typing his name. He charmed everyone at work. And we had a fun lunch at Giraffe. But we also got to recreate that 1969 photo. 

 

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A few curiosities. I couldn't quite replicate the shot, even though this part of the riverside has hardly changed since the year of the first moon landing and Swindon Town winning the League Cup. How did Dad get so much space between Mum's head and Richmond's historic bridge, when Karen rose over it like a giant? (Mum is short, but that can't make that much difference, surely?) I can't imagine depth of field differences or standing further back making such a difference either.  Did he bring a stepladder? It seems very unlikely. The mystery remains.

Out of shot, Richmond riverside has changed totally since my childhood photo. For years, the area was derelict as a fierce debate raged about what to do with the site. The 1980s saw the Quinlan Terry redevelopment opened by the Queen. It was criticised by some as a pastiche concoction, but it has stood the test of time.  

Was the Battle of Britain 1940 or 1941?

It was 1940, before you comment!

But there's a serious point here. My father, born in 1926, thought the Battle of Britain was fought in 1941. I was adamant – knowing the overwhelming documentary evidence in my favour – that 1940 was the year. And I was surprised that he was so wrong, given his strong memories of the Blitz.

Blitz

But then it struck me. His memories are of the bombing. And to a 13 year old, there's no difference between being bombed in the Battle of Britain and the Blitz that followed through the winter and spring of 1941. Oh, and unlike us, Dad didn't learn about the second world war in history. It wasn't history to anyone born in the 1920s. It was news.

The lesson, though, is clear. Don't take memories as gospel truth. Don't assume people who lived through the events in question can give you the facts. But don't trust your own assumptions about history. Dad's point was that Cardiff was bombed before London, and that his parents and aunt sent him to the Welsh capital for safety just as the Luftwaffe decided Cardiff was a perfect target. (The debate about the Battle of Britain is a sideshow.) Looking at the records, he's right. I didn't realise Cardiff was bombed before London.

But my point remains. Don't assume that eyewitnesses are flawless witnesses to history. In fact, don't assume anything…

Snow Sunday

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Winter is here. The snow arrived on Saturday night, at the end of a day that began with a bitterly cold night. (It was minus 6.5C when I drove Owen to his football class at 8.40am.) The mild winter had turned real.

We enjoyed an unforgettable day. Owen is now big enough to relish snow, especially five inches of the white stuff. (Proof above in the shape of Karen's old school ruler.) He joined friends Martha and Betrys (aka Betty) on the sleds, and built an interestingly shaped snowman. 

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I also turned intrepid explorer, venturing through Hodgemoor Wood on my 18 year ol mountain bike. It was an exhilarating experience, slipsliding on road and trail. There was barely a soul in the deep dark wood, and I was the only cyclist to pedal the route since the snows fell. My Garmin shows that the ride took 45 minutes compared with 23 the previous, snow-free day. (But my average heart rate was almost the same.) The ride whet my appetite for adventures on my new mountain bike, which should arrive later this month. But it's probably just as well that my ancient Diamond Back Ascent took the icy punishment today…

Is this the last of 2012's snow? Time will tell…

PS: here's my blogpost about February 2009's snowday, Simply Snow… And my praise for my Mini's winter driving abilities 10 months later.