Facing My Fear of Farewells

One thing that really saddens me more than anything else, and a thing I handle particularly badly, is farewells. Not only from people, but from places too. Some places just don’t do it for me but there are others where I seriously believe I pick up a spirit, and I feel a strange, almost “goosebumpy” sensation when I am there and that spirit is around me.

There is no rhyme or reason where some of these places are concerned. Abingdon in Oxfordshire is a pretty town in places, but there are prettier ones all along the Thames. Ham in Surrey is fairly nondescript. Cliftonville near Margate in Kent, once a cheerful seaside town, is but an empty shell. And yet for me they all have an inexplicable gravitational pull. Some people believe in ghosts in the form of human spirits, but for me there seems to be an energy generated by some past event or period of time that seems to linger, and which I reconnect with when I set foot in these places.

There is more logic to the affection I have for my little bolthole in Portugal. It is a very pleasant place, both aesthetically and in terms of the life I enjoy when I am here. I visit Portugal for a week every year. In fact this time around I was fortunate enough to have been able to enjoy two weeks in very quick succession, but that was sadly a one-off. I can’t afford two weeks every year, and timeshares are frankly a rip-off anyway.

For my last five visits my wife Caroline and my son Joe have not come over with me, for various good reasons, although my daughter Rosie has been with me for the last two. Of course I think the world of them both, but they can look after themselves and being away from them for a week doesn’t tug at the heartstrings all that much.

Being away from here for 51 weeks is a different matter. All sorts of irrational fears invariably report present. Will I be healthy enough to travel, or for that matter alive, this time next year? Will they have knocked the place to the ground? Will all the friends I like to think I have made here have found better jobs and moved on?

Because, obviously, it is about people too. On most holidays we meet people casually and sometimes we become friends with them. Then we all go home and usually we never see nor hear from them again.

The worst example of this I can think of was a coach trip that Caroline and I took to Austria back in 1996. For ten long days the same coach party is together, long journeys from place to place, meals together at restaurants along the way, all in the same bar at the hotel in the evening, quiz nights and talent contests. Then the long, long journey home, a last evening as a group at a hotel in France, a few drinks on the ferry and then, at Medway service station, suddenly the realisation strikes that you will never have anything to do with any of these people again. For a soppy old romantic like me it can actually be quite a devastating experience.

This being a timeshare we do sometimes see the same faces from one year to the next year, and I take comfort from this. This year though the clientele was a little different, the week having a Country and Western theme and the usual karaoke folk and talent showers presumably having swapped their bookings for a different week or jetted off elsewhere. I hope they will be back next time.

I am reassured by the work that is going on around the pool, noisy though it is. They wouldn’t be doing all this, I guess, if they had plans to turn the site into a multi-storey car park or an international airport.

So for me it’s back to the grind tomorrow, hoping that I can raise the price of an “in-betweeny” for September or October, and hopefully also we can be here then as a family.

69 Years And Still Waiting

Belated commiserations to Brentford FC, who gave their all during a spirited second half at Wembley on Sunday at the Johnson's Paint Trophy Final against Carlisle United after having gone a goal down during a disappointing first half.

They did well to get there, and in the event were the width of a goalpost away from extra time.

It was a great experience for my son Joe, my father, my brother-in-law, my nephew and his friend, and my first time at the new stadium.

A big thank you to Vic London and to all at the Isleworth Royal British Legion who organised the double decker bus that got us there and back, and to Di for the bar and barbie beforehand.

It has been 69 years since Brentford last won a cup final. Maybe next time?

A week away in Bournemouth

Last week my family and I spent a few nights on the south coast at Bournemouth, the first time we had been away en famille since we visited the Isle of Wight just before Christmas last.

That we were able to do so was purely a result of Caroline's diligence in collecting her Tesco Clubcard points. Unbeknown to me (until a few weeks ago) these can be exchanged for four times their face value on certain services and products, as a consequence of which we were able to spend four nights at the Britannia Hotel, an unpretentious but very pleasant three-star abode a few yards from the top of the scenic East Cliff, at no additional cost.

Bournemouth has one of the cleanest and, in my view, one of the most pleasant seafronts around. The town itself is unspectacular, and it is clear that the local authority invests most heavily in its attractions around the coastline. Although ordinarily I am not into flashy cocktail joints, being more of a traditional pub man, I do recommend the Aruba bar at the entrance to the pier - whether you are looking for a beer, some light food or something more exotic.

During the daytimes we tended to spend most of our time around the beach, where I became very sunburned (including on my scalp thanks to my severe new, "accidental" haircut) and each evening, after a swim, we spent an hour or two in the hotel bar with some light entertainment and several very cold glasses of Bulmers.

When it was time to leave we took a slight detour through the New Forest, where we stopped off at Burley for a cream tea and a close up view of the horses, which my animal-loving daughter Rosie particularly enjoyed.

Much though I love my home town of Isleworth and its very special people I do feel the need to get away at times. I think we'll visit Bournemouth, and the Britannia, again.

Trying to live a normal life at an abnormal time

"You can't hide beat," according to the song.

Last night I sat up so long with my laptop doing paperwork stuff for the forthcoming local election that I didn't get around to going to bed. Then at 8.30 it was off to Hounslow Heath to collect my son from his cousin's, where he had been staying over, and a swift drive to Pinner for his last football league match of the season (in the event he was subbed early on as his asthma got the better of him and his side lost 4-1 - I'm not sure whether the two were connected).

Back home, quick sleep to try to recover from last night's data entry marathon, then off to visit several residents in Isleworth and Hounslow South.

In the meantime activists were out and about working in all three of the wards that we are contesting.

This is proving to be an unusual election. The general election being on the same day ensures a higher than usual turnout and yet there is still a great of deal of indifference and uncertainty on the doorsteps. More so, I would say, than is usually the case at this stage during a normal local election campaign.

Labour have been out and about but it all seems a bit half-hearted. They are doing more in Syon than they did last time, but then they did nothing whatsoever last time. In Isleworth they are all over the place, with 15-year-old hoodies knocking on doors and the same streets and the same residents on hostile estates being canvassed twice. Their almost complete rejection on "their" social housing estates seems too much for them to acknowledge, even to themselves, and consequently they are in denial.

At the general election the Lib Dems would appear to be riding on the crest of a wave following their success in the first leaders' televised debate. Whether it will last till polling day or not remains to be seen. In this constituency, certainly, there is plenty of political space for their candidate Andrew Dakers to move into (more observations about Andrew's campaign are to follow).

I envisage a local election turnout of around 45-48% in Isleworth and Syon, and as much as 55% in Hounslow South. It will be interesting to see whether voters' national preferences repeat themselves in their local choices, or whether electors are cute enough to differentiate between the two. My suspicion is that they will be.

As you were

I'd promised to do a spot of "canvasser training" yesterday (Friday) morning and as my assistant was from the Worton estate I decided to follow the route taken there by the Labour canvassers a week or too back. Not that I believe in letting my opponents set the pace, but because I wanted to test what kind of effect, if any, their four-yearly visit to the estate had had on local morale.

In short, the answer was not a lot. Whatever they had hoped to achieve by visiting Worton it clearly hadn't had the desired effect. Residents there remain as loyal as they have been since the days of the protest nearly a decade ago - as you were as it were - and I was enthused by the sense of optimism that pervades the estate and the feeling that, whilst there is certainly still a goodly amount of work to be done, we were all getting there together.

In the afternoon Caroline and I nipped over to Hounslow South to drop some leaflets and were nearly run over at one point by a visiting Councillor Peter Carey - get your eyes tested man! :o). We survived to complete the drop, meeting a couple of residents along the way whom I knew from way back. Both greeted us warmly and with promises of support.

Later it was across to the airport to collect Joe on his return from Greece. Later today it will be back to door knocking, but in the meantime to bed, shattered but happy with my day's endeavour.

Greece is the word

It only seems like yesterday that my son Joe and daughter Rosie went out on their own for the first time to the off-licence across the road, to bring us back some milk and a bottle of pop. I remember the sense of pride they both had in being allowed to venture out and cross the street without the protective custody of their parents. It was a truly defining moment in our relationship with our children.

So this morning I felt rather strange as I stood with Joe in Terminal 5, at 5.00 am, seeing him off on a flight to Athens with his school. Last year he had declined to travel on the Year Seven expedition to Kent but this year, it would seem, Athens fazes him not a bit.

I envy my son his experience. I have never been to Greece and would love to do so one day. No doubt Joe will be itching to show us around.

Joe and Ciaran - the official photo

Joe and Ciaran lead out the Bees

Yesterday we spent a family afternoon at Griffin Park watching Brentford play their first home league game of the season against Brighton & Hove Albion in League One.

Whilst the game itself was a fairly uninspiring scoreless draw, with both sides making chances but unable to capitalise, for us the highlight of the day was watching Joe and his cousin Ciaran lead the teams out as the official mascots for the day.

Both lads got a pendant which they were able to take around the dressing room and get signed by all the players as well as by manager Andy Scott (the second time in a month that Joe had got to meet him), a small football and a match program in which they both received a mention and a small write-up. Then they went out onto the pitch and enjoyed a kickabout for some forty minutes before going into the tunnel to lead the teams out for the game. They also got to shake hands with all the players from the Brighton side.

It was a wonderful experience for both of them and below are just a few of the photos that I took:

Proud to support our successful community football club

In gave me great pleasure on Friday to welcome Manager Andy Scott, Captain Kevin O'Connor and several other delegates from Brentford Football Club to a Reception given by the Mayor at Hounslow Civic Centre in recognition of their success in gaining promotion to League One last season as League Two Champions.

Both the Mayor and the Deputy Leader of the Council, Mark Bowen - standing in for the Council Leader - paid tribute in two moving speeches not only to the team's prowess on the pitch, but also to its repeated success as a community club, providing learning and sporting opportunities for local youngsters across the borough. I was privileged to be able to say a few words myself too, before handing over to Andy Scott.

My wife Caroline (Councillor Andrews to some), my kids Rosie and Joe, and Rosie's friend Siobhan - a Brentford nut - also came along and seemed to enjoy the evening. They are pictured above posing with Kevin and Andy, and Joe is below with the League Two trophy.

Getting away from it all

When your twelve-year-old daughter would rather stay at home and nip across the road to a fete at her old primary school that go away on a family holiday, you realise that you are either a terrifically boring father organising terrifically boring outings or that the kids are just fast growing up.

But Rosie is Rosie, and as a consequence of her decision we concluded that I should go away with Joe for my quarterly £9.50 pilgrimage to the Isle of Wight while the girls would remain back home in Isleworth. For about the third time in a row, we stayed at the excellent Rookley Country Park, although we did also pay a visit to our other stamping grounds at Fairway, Lower Hyde, Whitecliff Bay, Thorness Bay and Landguard.

And didn't he just love the attention? A whole weekend of flitting from toy shop to burger joint to amusement arcade. The computer may say no but unfortunately Daddy always says yes, and without the tempering influence of his more sensible mother I was always going to be a lamb to the slaughter.

But much though I love my home town it is always good to get across the sea (inasmuch as the Solent is a sea) and recharge the batteries, whatever the collateral damage.

Now I'm back, albeit exhausted and impoverished, and raring to go once again.

An end to two successful seasons

A massive well done to Brentford Football Club for confirming their promotion to League One as champions yesterday with an emphatic 3-1 win against Darlington, who had a man sent off after just ninety seconds. I'm pleased that I've managed to secure some tickets for the last match against Luton Town, who will also be leaving League Two - for the time being anyway - after finishing bottom of the table. Having sustained a 30-point deduction at the start of the season I guess they were never really going to finish anywhere else.

Today my son Joe also played his last league match of the season for Spartans 'B', in the Harrow Youth Football League. His team are the only 'B' side in Division Two (Under 12s), and they managed to finish mid-table after beating Pinnstars 5-3.

Taking the snap below of the players awaiting an incoming corner got me into a little bit of trouble when an over-zealous Pinnstars coach berated me for taking a photograph of the children! In this day and age - and I say this with great sadness - he probably had a point and I should have given the matter more thought, but I didn't like his manner and had to remind myself that I hold a position of responsibility and need to bite my tongue in situations of this kind.

Despite his comments none of the players in this small, grainy photo were facing the camera and I am cool about including it on this blog. Joe is the tall lad in the blue to the right of the Pinnstars forward.

Bees thrash Accrington, but promotion must wait

The family and I spent a thrilling afternoon at Griffin Park on Saturday watching Brentford FC comprehensively demolish the legendary Accrington Stanley 3-0, but sadly the promotion that would have been assured had the matches involving Bury and Exeter gone our way was not to be and we go to Dagenham & Redbridge on Tuesday looking for three points which would secure our passage back to League One.

After the match we had the opportunity to help select the Man of the Match, and the accolade deservedly went to 21-year-old loanee striker Sam Williams. He must have been pleased as he kindly consented to have his photo* taken with Joe and Rosie (above).


* Photograph by Jim Wong, to whom my sincere thanks.

Counting the visits, counting the days

Yesterday afternoon I installed an invisible stat counter onto this blog and I am amazed by the number of unique visitors it attracts, especially in the light of the fact that it hasn't been updated for over a fortnight.

It is therefore with a certain feeling of guilt that I put digit to keyboard again, to carry on where I left off.

As I stated previously August is the political "close season" and, as such, I should in theory have more time during that month than normal to post up my news and thoughts. We know however that nature abhors a vacuum, and into the vacuum created by the relative lack of meetings during August stepped not only the need to make a living, but also the usually vociferous demands of two children who have been enjoying their last summer holiday before entering senior school for the very first time.

Doing the family thing provides one with an opportunity for reflection that is often absent when engaging in political business. At Legoland I had plenty of time to reflect upon how a normal person would view somebody who happily paid £36 to ride on a bus in the full knowledge that it would not arrive for two hours, and that the journey would then last for no more than four minutes before terminating at the exact same point from which it had departed. However as the day progressed I was privileged to be able to enjoy the same experience no less than four times, reassuring me that at just £9 per ride I had received real value for money.

More fulfilling, for me, was a sunny day spent in Brighton. Ever since, at a late age, I learned to drive a car my use of public transport has fallen woefully short of my advocacy of it. It came as a pleasant surprise to discover that, with a bit of luck in arriving at the right station at the right time, it is possible to travel from Isleworth to Brighton in less than one hour and twenty minutes (in other words considerably less time than I had spent standing in the aforementioned queue at Legoland!).


Despite the tendency these days towards holidaying abroad there is still a unique appeal about a visit to an English seaside resort, and Rosie and Joe (above) were not noticably inconvenienced by the experience.

Rosie now has embarked upon one of the most daunting journeys she will make - through senior school - and Joe reports for duty on Wednesday. It seems like no time ago at all that we were pushing them along in the distinctive, elongated Swedish twin pram that announced our arrival to the neighbours.

In the meantime for me it's back to the world of meetings, doorstop agendas and political parry and thrust which seems to have become my lot.

I'll do my best to keep this blog updated as I go along, and as always your comments and observations would be most welcome.

Much more than just a chip off the old block

While many of my fellow Hounslow councillors were attending the Sports Jam in Gunnersbury Park, organised by the Brentford Football Club Community Sports Trust, I was in Yeading cheering on my son Joe at the 20th Annual Summer Tournament organised by Yeading Wanderers FC.

Hundreds of players between the ages of 6 and 15 years of age competed for medals and trophies in this well-supported two-day 6-a-side tournament.

Joe plays in the Harrow Youth Football League as a defender for the Brentford-based Spartans Under-11 B team. Most of the other teams in the league play out of Harrow, Wembley, Greenford or Ruislip so taking him to away fixtures requires much travelling.

Last season the side won promotion from Division Three with an impressive 39 points from 14 matches, their 100% record only being marred by a slightly complacent 1-0 reverse in the final game of the season.

Unlike his father, who was always hopeless at football (the highlight of my career having been being picked as an unused substitute for one match from amongst a pool of about fifteen possible players for my primary school team at Worple Road), Joe is an intelligent player who reads the game extremely well for a lad of his age. More Tony Adams than Cristiano Ronaldo, his party piece involves upending forwards who have the temerity to cross the half-way line.

Spartans B were one of twenty Under-11 sides competing for The Brian Cox Cup (no less). Drawn in his group were Isledon Wolves, Heathrow Club B, Yeading B and Hillingdon Youth.

After a disappointing 0-0 draw against Isleton in a match which they had completely dominated, their next fixture against Hillingdon saw them emerge as 2-0 victors. A second one-sided goalless draw with Yeading followed, before they finally found their scoring boots and thumped Heathrow 5-0 to finish the first round as group winners.

In the Quarter Finals they were drawn against Bedfont Green B, and Joe was inconsolable after conceding the penalty which allowed Bedfont to cancel Spartans' 1-0 lead and eventually to force the match into penalties. I hope I don't sound too biased when I say that most of the neutrals watching felt the forward had dived, but at a good twelve inches shorter than Joe he was always going to have the ref's sympathy.

Fortunately for Spartans B, and for Joe, they won the penalty shoot-out 3-1 and went into the Semi Finals ... against Spartans A!

Well the dream stopped there, and The Brian Cox Cup was not to be. Joe was rested for the first half, the coach fearing that he and the other "big 'un" who normally lines up in defence with him could be wrong-footed by the nippy 'A' team strikers. Unfortunately as it turned out the fast kid who was put in in his place was not a natural defender, and when he was brushed aside twice within a minute or so the 'B' team were never going to catch up in a twelve minute game. Once the 'A' team had scored a third just before half-time Joe's team were playing for pride.

Joe came on in the second half and a much better display by the whole team ensured that their opponents did not add to their tally, but the fixture finished 3-0 and, after watching Spartans A win the Final, Joe and his team-mates went to the organisers' tent to collect their bronze medals.

As a parent it is sometimes difficult to juggle political and family priorities. As the Lead Member working with Brentford Football Club I would also have liked to have attended the Sports Jam, but my children didn't choose my vocation and I believe it is right that I should support them and encourage their development in their various interests and pursuits.

After all, if I don't they could end up becoming councillors!