Under pressure

I am fascinated by top quality sports players who can keep a cool head. The expression on top tennis player Roger Federer's face rarely changes regardless of his last shot - usually precise and well executed or occasionally a blunder. Either way Federer only shows a touch of emotion after a game as he effortlessly fields interviewer questions in a variety of European languages.

The England Rugby team have a new fly half who seems to be cast in the same unflappable mould. Owen Farrell has the ability to 'read' the international rugby game at lightening pace and make quick incisive decisions that boost England players and spectators. He concentrates impressively on kicking goals in front of huge crowds, come rain or shine. These are two outstanding performers under pressure.

Somewhere at the other extreme are us mere mortals. The mere hint of pressure has immediate implosive effects. A hard scrutinising stare from a customs officer is enough to convince me that I have unwittingly packed drink, cigarettes and drugs into my hand luggage. Somehow, despite a clear conscience, my brain then tells me to act normally - which is a ridiculous instruction to give really. How can you act normally by thinking about it?

When I think too hard about my driving, I find I crash the gears. When I deliberately try to think of my PIN number at a cash machine with a queue behind me, I get the numbers mixed up - then I have to pretend I am going somewhere to buy something and whilst thinking of what to buy I let my subconscious brain deal with the PIN number. Endless times I have shouted at the computer telling me I have entered the wrong password/login only to realise, after watching something on TV for a minute, that I have imploded through lack of concentration.

Currently our county chorus choir is rehearsing Verdi's Requiem. I find myself surrounded my people who have sung this piece many times - so much so that in one case at least the whole score is known by heart. This is not a piece of music that lends itself to sight reading; so I feel under considerable pressure to get the right notes at the right time using the right words. In these early practices I find I can confidently get about 1 note in 10 - which means singing little snatches of chorus hoping the conductor will not be too aware of my limited contribution. Unfortunately I suspect it is all too obvious. All singers who know a piece of music look at the conductor whilst others have their heads down looking at the music.

I suppose the real trick is to focus, mentally, on what I am trying to achieve and be absolutely convinced that the concentration effort will be worthwhile.

So the ticking clock, demands of a loved one or the opinions of friends and family are no longer pressure - just a spur to getting a particular job done, properly. Result!

Lang mae yer lum reek

Last week-end we gathered together friends and family under our roof as part of the annual village celebration of Burns Night. The village is decidedly English in terms of ethnic mix for amongst the long-standing resident Staffordshire population there is just a sprinkling of Scots, Irish and Welsh amongst the immigrant population from Yorkshire, Lancashire and North Eastern counties such as Northumberland and Durham. Nevertheless, Burns Night is one of the nights in the village year so we were pleased to attend the 4 and a half hour event.

It is possibly the focus on all basic good things that appeals to so many. " Long may your chimney have smoke" declared our Scottish friend having been asked for a translation of the title; or in other words if you have smoke coming out of your chimney you must have heat and so you must have warmth in the home and a source of heat for cooking. Basic needs fulfilled. Except that our chimney contains a wood stove converted to natural gas. Somehow the appeal of having gas fumes emitting from the house doesn't have the same poetic ring to it.

It was the same with the food. The watery Scottish broth certainly didn't need the expertise of a hairy biker or Michelin starred TV chef. Just heat up everyday vegetables such as turnips, onions,carrots and parsnip in a large cooking pot and mix in a liberal amount of barley then serve with a bread roll. Even the mighty plastic bag bound haggis didn't contain many sophisticated items, though something in it was deliciously spicy. Served with mashed potatoes, mashed turnips and carrots and gravy - this proved to be a very filling and delicious meal. Raspberries for the sweet course and tea or coffee - that was the feast.

But there was much more to it than that. The evening began with a tot of whisky and a toast to Robbie Burns. A Gurkha piper resplendent in kilt and Scottish plaid toured the room piping the haggis towards the top table where a ceremonial dirk was used to test the consistency of the haggis. At least I think that was the idea. There was a spell of Gaelic muttering and eulogising before the stabbing but I didn't understand that and anyway there was a good supply of wine on the table. I did think the dirk was a good idea because when it came to cutting the bag of haggis for our table it took some time to get through the plastic with a table knife.

Then when everyone had finished eating the drone of bagpipes started up again and the piper marched back around the tables to the sound of enthusiastic clapping. He was a very ghurka looking Ghurka if you know what I mean, very intent on doing the job properly and clearly not prepared to accept anything less than total commitment.

Two speeches followed (or maybe they came before the piping - the wine was very good). First the local vicar gave a speech that paid tribute to the "lassies" though it did appear that Robbie himself had been a bit of a lad from the variety of sources quoted in the speech. It also contained unintended humour in the form of the sound engineer who was staring down forlornly at his un-used roving microphone, wondering how the vicar was managing to produce so much volume unaided. We all toasted the lovely ladies present, and opened another bottle of wine on our table. A very resplendent Scottish speaking, Scottish clad lady then gave a very sweet reply on behalf of the lasses, using the microphone and saying how lucky they were to have us blokes around. (Well that was my take on it.)

Next came the party game of clearing tables and chairs to the side of the room to create enough space for the Caledonian Society to demonstrate some Highland Dances.It was interesting that occupants of some tables chose to line up their chairs with backs to the wall  and a good view of the floor across a defensive bank of tables in front. I think they already knew that after 3 dances the members of the Caledonian Society would then turn on the audience to 'persuade' more people to join their elegant hopping and skipping routines. What a great way to exercise! Most of those invited onto the floor lasted one dance before needing a rest. How amusing the scene must have been as confusion reigned for most dances. Choices had to be made about right and left; clockwise and anti-clockwise decisions were needed, then massively complicated manoeuvres called reels had to be attempted. I for one got a whole new insight into the term "reeling".

Simple food; simple dances but with good friends and family to share the experience. No wonder Burns Night is so successful - and our table even won the litre bottle of whisky in the raffle!

Sixth Sense

How well can you predict the future?

I don't mean the end of a story which predictably ends with the hero solving all the problems and living happily ever after. It's the route to the end that is enjoyable, especially with a good writer who provides unexpected twists and turns along the way. A writer like John Grisham is hard to predict, except for the conclusion which will almost always result in a victory for the lawyer in question.

Nor do I mean the end of a tea-time tv quiz show such as The Chase or Pointless. You just know that if there is any danger of money being won then either the questions will need a google type brain to have the answer, or the questions for the chaser will be along the lines of "what is 1 plus 1?". However, if it just happens to be a big occasion such as Christmas, then there is a very good chance that a competitor will win.

I can predict that whenever I hear my wife's car on the drive I will have to multi-task almost immediately. Specifically this will include making a cup of tea; carrying heavy bags of shopping from the car to the kitchen; re-organising the freezer in order to fill it again (twice); and generally making soothing noises about the stress of shopping, often applying balm in the shape of my credit card. 

Garden birds can easily predict my movements. The moment I reach for my camera in order to record a happy feeding scene for Facebook, the birds will disappear. Or, worse, the blue tits will arrive mob-handed and orchestrate a feeding frenzy which lasts until just before I press the shutter on my camera.

In my moments of black humour I sometimes think it would be useful to know my date of death. That would allow planning of travel, spending and saving accordingly. I would also have time to say the things I wanted and needed to say to friends and family, but which don't get said because I am "too busy" with everyday activities. On the other hand the day before DOD might not be that exciting - perhaps..

Inanimate objects can also predict the future. Essential items such as wallet, mobile phone, glasses and car keys all love to play hide and seek and in moments of stress (e.g. by being late) I can guarantee that hide and seek will have started.

By the far the best predictor is my lap-top. I am amazed at the predictive skill  of my lap-top. Recently I was  browsing the internet to find a supplier of small rugby balls, using sites such as Amazon or direct manufacturers. In the end I was overwhelmed by the choice, so bought nothing. However, over the next two days, by sheer coincidence I thought, I was amazed to see endless adverts for rugby balls of every size and shape, and in the end I made a purchase. Then I found that after researching a train journey, the adverts changed to offering low cost trips to London; train and hotel deals; offers on Eurostar and insurance for rail journeys. How did my laptop predict I would be interested in all these?!

This afternoon I intend to make life difficult for the cookie monsters hiding in my laptop. I'm going to google for elephant traps; organic compost; custard; toe nail varnish; minis and global warming - just to see what lap-top thinks I want to buy. 

If it really can predict the future I may have some interesting purchases ahead.

I dreamed a dream

Dreaming a dream - not a good start perhaps; there are few alternative actions other than living in one; chasing one; or trying to live in one I suppose.

I think dreams are vital to us. Sometimes I help myself to sleep by starting an adventure in my head then waiting for sleep to take over the story. I'm envious of a friend who is on a type of medication that allows him to take a comfort break in the middle of a dream, go back to bed and pick up the dream where he left off. In my case I have to start a different thread, usually a successful experience such as scoring a rugby try or sailing a long trip in a dinghy without falling over. On rare occasions a real event comes along which seems to echo a dream in an eerie sort of way - like seeing a "new" place and feeling I have seen it before.

Yesterday we went to see the film version of my favourite musical (by a long margin). Reading various critics of Les Miserables nearly put me off. Some of my highly skilled musician friends were also full of reasons why mere actors should be not be allowed to perform in such a highly rated film. The musical is of course a world phenomenon now - and yet the so called experts got it wrong at the start as well, predicting an early end to the stage show.

Well, I still love the musical - and the film has added hugely to my enjoyment of the stage performance. It certainly hasn't spoiled my dream. Instead of having to imagine what events were taking place from programme notes or brief text comments I now have a much clearer mental picture of the plot. Street conditions were portrayed vividly. Anguish and emotion were present in abundance. The escape through the sewer was horrifically vivid. And good though the landlord and landlady have been in the stage and video performances I have seen - Helena Bonham Carter's take was delightful, especially being paired with the often dubious Sasha Baron Cohen.

There were lots of dreams in the plot, and the songs around this theme are woven all through this epic story. It mattered little to me that very few of the performers could match the singing performance of their equivalents in the stage show - Russell Crowe's strained rendering of "Javert's" stern edicts are a prime example.

Hope; Forgiveness; Remorse; Second chances; Love; Dreams.. in my head all these themes of Les Mis are now much more clearly defined. If you haven't seen either the film or the stage performance - you are missing out.

Boxing Day recipe

Cooking Time : 18 hours

Ingredients : 1 mini i-pad thingy - very thin,small,in a slippery case - needs to slip easily down the cushions of an armchair

1 larger A5 sized I-pad with nice big symbols which either a 3 year old or a 60 something can see/read

1 blackberry with mini head-phones which can blot out any conversation, allowing the wearer to be present in body only - with mind in another universe where communication involves a lot of clicking and buzzing

2 sets of 40 something parents - one set just 2 weeks into their new business which has required all their financial, emotional and physical resources for the last 3 months.

2 sisters aged 7 and 12.

2 brothers aged 3 and 16 plus 1 sister of University/College age

1 over-affectionate cocker spaniel with a keen nose and an eye for an opportunity but with the ability to make his presence felt from time to time in a quiet, anti-social way (illegally consumed sprouts being the cause).

2 home owners each eligible for winter fuel allowance and directly or indirectly related to all the guests (other than the dog - who likes to be related to anyone with the ability to walk)

Half a stuffed 16 lb turkey

A lovingly prepared venison stew which has been so well marinated there is hardly any sense of venison present ( but it is a fact that deer are associated with Christmas, and reindeer, and a famous one was called Bambi....) 

A well-prepared ham

A delicious slice of salmon

Sea food

A choice of 8 cheeses

Every traditional Christmas vegetable 

Christmas cake

Trifles

Many more deserts

A wide range of alcoholic and slightly less alcoholic drinks

1 consumer who refuses to eat to eat any meat or fish - and cheese, because that has been the standby used for the previous 3 days.

! consumer who is growing so rapidly in his teen-age years he has lost the ability to speak or think and speaks in monosyllables - and also favours crisps or very plain sandwiches rather than anything exciting - like venison, or salmon, or sea food.....

1 highly active 3 year old who can operate i-pads of any size, the tv remote, dvd controls and taps with ease and has no problem in removing baubles from the Christmas tree (in secret pacts with dog, who is under instruction to hide things).

1 guest with the winter vomiting virus.

1 guest who is convinced she has the winter vomiting virus but nevertheless has an adult sized appetite

1 clever 7 year old who moves effortlessly from room to room without being seen, but who needs to be acknowledged - or else.

An unusual period of prolonged rain, creating unprecedented floods on the main access road from the north.

Preparation :

Spend 2 days preparing the range of foods that cannot be prepared in the 8 hours before guests arrive.

Arrange for the flood effect to strike at the end of a long journey - just at the moment when the winter virus vomit urge is strong; children are tired from the 3 hour 80 mph journey and everyone desperately needs the toilet.

Be on hand with alternative car routes.

Have ready
a.clean toilet and
b.bed

 - for one guest who can move like lightening from car to a. to b. not to be seen then for several hours ( including Christmas Dinner - which for the first time in 10 years he is not preparing himself). Hope there will be an appearance by Boxing Day.

Have stand - by transport available to find and ferry 16 year olds at short notice. (The notion of forward planning is antiquated and boring..)

Ply with drink, feed (with whatever weird combination works) and sit back to see what happens.

Result : an amazingly enjoyable day! Thanks to all involved.

P.S There was just the final incident the morning after when one of the wrinklies attempted to pick up his prescription from the doctor/chemist  whilst taking the dog for his pre-long drive walk. This was supposed to take 20 minutes, not an hour.

 It was the dogs fault. Why he (the dog)  felt the need to slip his new lead; visit the supermarket on his own; involve a shop owner and 3 customers in getting him back to the chemist; bark all the time it took the nervous dog-averse chemist to count the tablets; then relieve himself hugely 3 times along the river bank (so supplying one more helping than the number of bags available for clean-up) and finally find the muddiest path to follow all the way back to the car - I will never know.

Love my phobile moan

I once overheard a conversation from a motorist broken down on the motorway. He was trying to report a vehicle breakdown from a Motorway phone box and clearly under stress.

Operator : "Your location please?"

Driver : "In the roadworks just after junction 12 - there's loads of traffic and it's very close to us.."

Operator :" Be with you soon sir - can you give me a phone number just to keep you informed?"

Driver : " Ah!!!! Can't remember it - Tracey! Tracey!..what's my phobile moan number?.. Oh xxxx"

I use a limited number of functions on my mobile - just calls and slow texts really. That was before I was given a course of tablets to take for the next 6 months, every day at the same time. The trick to remembering tablets  is to use alarms when I'm at home - so I set the small radio signal driven clock for 6.00 pm - repeating every 10 minutes. As a back-up I also decided to set the alarm on my mobile phone using a carefully chosen tone which increased in volume until acknowledged, also repeating every 10 minutes unless switched off.

This has worked very well for me, but has triggered an unusually frantic reaction from my wife - who is often cooking around 6.00 and well within range of both phone and clock.

Things began to go "pear-shaped" when I lost my phone. Several days later I happened to be in a meeting and mentioned the loss. Two members of the choir committee looked at each other and asked for a description of a phone that had been going off repeatedly in church during a choir practice - a phone that had been switched off and left in the safe.

30 seconds before our Sunday concert performance, as we walked to our places I was handed my phone. I checked the credit but saw a message "Sim card failure". "Fine"  I thought, and switched off the phone.

About halfway through our rendition of "Sister Mary had but one child" a mobile phone alarm went off - getting increasingly louder. I looked at my neighbour pointedly and the row of ladies in front began to either glare or giggle. It took a good 10 seconds (or 5 lines of the carol) for the penny to drop - at which point I decided to bluff whilst singing with as straight a face as possible and carefully pressing buttons on the phone in my pocket.

We sat down at the end of the carol. Then I gave the game away. Having realised the alarm would repeat during the next carol - Silent Night - I decided to turn the alarm off completely.

Having switched on the phone I was rewarded by the familiar switch on Nokia theme tune - followed rapidly by a lot of accusing looks, and quite a few moans...

The lost art of letter writing

I have to confess that modern methods of communication have me foxed. There was a time when I could make a phone call to a family member. It was quite a simple system. I would dial the telephone number, the phone would be answered by a human being (often the person I had dialled) and we would have a telephone conversation. It worked the other way as well. People would ring me and I would pick up the phone and answer. Such an easy system. Everyone understood what to do.

When I make a phone call now a machine usually answers. Alternatively I hear a multiple choice option list which requires pressing another number followed by a long pause for repetitive music, and eventually a human voice if I'm lucky. Half the incoming calls are for people who used to live where I now live, or from a machine (which needs an eternity to think what to say) and perfectly timed to coincide with a meal time.

Skype needs all parties to be assembled together and gathered around a well-lit computer screen with a good internet connection. The excitement of a skype call when it works usually results in a close up of the most excitable/assertive small member of the family. Alas, this potentially brilliant system doesn't work for me either.

So - I decided to resort to another tried and tested method of communication dating from the 19th century in England. I wrote a letter to my 6 year old grand-daughter. This was carefully handwritten in large print on one side of A4 paper on the assumption that it could be read by a literate child with a spare 3 minutes. 

I was surprised to get a reply within 2 days. This itself beats replies to e-mails or messages left on ansaphones by a week. And, I can read and re-read the letter lots of times.

It's so good I've decided to share it on the basis that it speaks volumes of what impression I have made on her. I'm assuming that deep down I appear to her to be a very busy person. I could be wrong. Perhaps I'm the closest thing to a slimy sea-creature that she has met on land...