Went out for my Steward Stroll fairly early morning as I combined it with a trip to the doctors to get a flue jab. It's the first time I have had one, but I thought this year seemed to be an appropriate time as I could see the point of it (that's a pun by the way).
The jab took approximately five seconds, not that I was counting you understand.
I then had a problem in counting my distance home. I usually rely on the step counter on my phone for distance - none of that old GPS nonsense for me. When I found the phone had run out of charge what could I do?
Being a total anorak, I counted the steps all the way up Churchfields, along the B1172 and home. Spookily I was just two steps short of 5,000 when I got back. Add to that the steps to the surgery and it amounted to around three miles again.
I find I can just about count and think of other things at the same time. I was just hoping I wouldn't meet anyone for a chat as that would have sent the counting all over the place. Must remember to keep the phone charged from now on.
I was also able to ruminate on finishing the C.J Sansom book Tombland - set in Norwich at the time of Kett's Rebellion. I have spoken with plenty of people over the past few weeks who enjoyed this book. Personally I found it rambling, overlong and with few interesting plots and turns or surprises. But as they say you pays your money and you takes your choice.
As is so often the case, they asked for my date of birth at the surgery - presumably to check that I'm still young enough to be alive. I was, so that was a relief. So on the way back home, as well as thinking about Tudor England, I ruminated (that's twice I've used that word today) on childhood and the fact that I like to think I haven't turned out too bad.
I often have visions of my mother and her mother (my grandmother) chatting together thinking that I, as a youngster, couldn't hear or understand what they were saying. And the subterfuge. Pretending that chicken gravy was "beef tea" when I knew jolly well it didn't taste of beef. These are probably important things when you are six or seven years of age. Then there was later in life when I was probably in my mid to late teens. I was hot so got a lollipop at the local shop. My mother made a disparaging remark about "how young I seemed to be." "He's eating ice lollies. xxx next door is engaged and she's the same age." It was as if being engaged made you adult and grown up but eating an ice cream somehow made you young and immature. I'm sure xxx next door often enjoyed a cooling lolly and as for the other thing - well I had a pretty steady girlfriend at that time!
My mother had some strange ideas - some of which have always stuck in my mind. She did help to shape my character (I hope) with her friendliness and caring. I was certainly closer to her than my father but to me they always seemed to be individual people rather than a couple. Perhaps that's because they were so different.
My mother was what you would call "a good ole Norfolk gal" as was my grandmother. There were areas in life that were alien to them and one of these was the world of academia. The Steward family wasn't known for its brains but more for its ability to paint and decorate, garden and mend things (in fact all of the areas I'm not greatly proficient in).
I remember my mother talking about "people with letters after their name" as though they were aliens from another world and as though it made them special. Now that I have "letters after my name" I realise it's more about the person you are than what qualifications you have. I'm sure my mother would be impressed to know that she has a son, a daughter-in-law, two grandchildren and their respective wives/partners who all have "letters after their names."
I also often think about my grandmother's terrace house in Rupert Street, Norwich, where I used to go after school every Wednesday and often during the school holidays. It was only recently that I found out that Rupert Street was badly bombed during the war. I assume the terrace was part of the re-build. Like so many houses of that era it had just two small bedrooms - although there was a kind of utility room off one of the bedrooms which could have been utilised as a third bedroom but would have necessitated going through the other room to get to it.
The problem with this house is it had no indoor toilet or bathroom. Can you imagine a property being built today without these basics? The toilet was in the yard next to the coal shed. Get caught short in the night in the middle of winter and you would have to half freeze to death shovelling the snow away before you could have a wee.
Need a bath - well then it would have to be either a stand-up wash at the kitchen sink or a tub by the fire with hot water from a kettle. I know lots of other people of a certain age had similar experiences. I will be writing more about this in my Coronation Street 60th anniversary special on December 9th.
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I was desperately sad to hear that Des O'Connor has died at the age of 88. He seemed to be one of those indestructible showmen who just went on forever - rather like Ken Dodd.
By all accounts Des was a genuinely nice guy and great fun to be with. I still remember the TV shows when he gave a showcase for developing comedians and would role around crying with laughter at some of the jokes. His reaction was usually funnier than the joke and it seemed to be genuine and not put on.
Des started his showbusiness career like so many others in those days as a redcoat at Butlins in Filey. That would have given him a closeness to the public that some performers never achieve. He was the consummate professional entertainer even if he was the butt of many jokes. In fact Morecambe and Wise perfected the Des O'Connor joke.
"Here's the good news. Des O'Conner has got a sore throat" Eric said on one show.
Des O'Connor could always laugh at himself and that was his skill which he took into quiz shows such as Take Your Pick and Countdown. He sold millions of records despite many people taking the p--s out of his voice.
Mind you he did release one of the worst singles in the history of pop music. "Dick a Dum Dum". It had the following verse:
Get a-movin' on the
Buckingham beat
Go to Kings Road
Pick me up a nice
Real sweet girl
The chorus was a mind-blowing example of English Literature at its most complex:
Dick-a-dum-dum
A-dick-a-dum-dum
Dick-a-dum-dum
A-dick-a-dum-dum
Dick-a-dum-dum
A-dick-a-dum-dum
Dick-a-dum-dum
As somebody once said: "they don't write them like that anymore." Mind you I defy anyone to play the wretched thing without humming or singing it for the remainder of the day.
For the record "Dick a dum dum" wasn't written by Des O'Connor but was written by somebody almost equally well known in Jim Dale who is best known for his appearances in Carry On Films.
Jim Dale's real name is Jim Smith. He's still going strong at the age of 85.
There is one O'Connor song that I have a sneaking affection for. That's "I Pretend". The lyrics start with a kind of sadness:
"Sitting here so lonely in the firelight
Listening for a footstep on the stairs
All I have to talk to is the moonlight
Shining on an empty chair."
This song was written by Barry Mason who wrote such classics (mainly with Les Reed) as Delilah for Tom Jones and the Last Waltz for Englebert Whatsisname. One of the attractions to me of this song is its melody's remarkable similarity to one of my favourite ever pieces of music "Question 67/68" by Chicago. Give them both a listen and see how they start off with a very similar tune.
I may have mentioned before my love of the music of another quite obscure British singer-songwriters - John Howard. John was born Howard Jones but changed his professional name to avoid confusion with the other (probably better known artist) Howard Jones.
I will talk more about John and his music in a later blog, but one of his songs was recorded by Des O'Connor. Blue Days appeared on the Portrait album which earned a silver disc for sales of over 100,000.
* * *
Something a little different tomorrow. The untold and very sad story of a distant ancestor who was blinded during a freak accident at her home in Elm Hill, Norwich.