Down Memory Lane


Some time ago in the Pump I recalled the old Triumph Gloria car that I learned to drive on, and how thrilled we were when petrol became available in 1945, rationed of course, enough to do 90 miles a month.  90miles Wow!  The Triumph was described as a ‘sports saloon’, but with only 1300cc it hardly justified the word ‘sports’.  It did have a four speed box, but there was no synchromesh on any of the gears.  After I passed my test in 1948 my father was both trusting and generous and I was allowed more or less free use, within the limits of our joint demands on the petrol ration, which was now a good deal better.  As far as I recall that car never gave any serious trouble but there were numerous niggling faults, mostly electrical, partly because of the rubber insulation on the wires beginning to rot.

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What Does The Doctor Think – April


As a boy, during the winter, I used to sleep with my clothes inside the bed, nice and warm to put on in the morning before getting out of bed, there being frost on the inside of the windows. I had on top of me a sheet, two Moderna Sorento type blankets and a quilt, plenty of weight. I have found this heavy bedding routine hard to quit. Management has embraced these new-fangled duvet things but I like some heaviness in the bedding. So, we decided to compromise and we have a duvet to cover us. However, in some cases, we have free choice in this life and I choose to have a blanket folded double on top of my half of the duvet. For years, this has been in ideal solution. I have told you before of my belief that men go shopping to buy what they need and that ladies go shopping to discover what they need. (There are exceptions to this rule and no offence is intended to those ladies who go out with a list and stick to it). There is a store in Brandon called Aldi (other retail outlets are available) and Management often visits to see what she needs, coming back with skiing suits or books for the grandchildren, a soup maker (brilliant!) and all sorts of things. I have to confess to roaming the centre aisles where they sell tools, overalls, paints, electrical goods, etc., on a revolving sort of basis to determine my needs. Anyway, one day, Head Office came home with a prize purchase – a new duvet cover to add to the collection we have accumulated over the years. I commented that it was very shiny and looked like a woven tarpaulin. “No” she said “It is like parachute silk”.

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Pride is something that has always worried me.  I can understand the concept of personal pride, pride in appearance, pride in achievements, pride in one’s garden etc , even, perhaps, pride in one’s children’s achievements, although it is their achievements not yours, pride in one’s company or in one’s team, if you can feel that you have played a part in its success.  But pride in your team if you are simply a spectator is more difficult to understand, what contribution to his team’s success has the fan made who sits in front of the TV swilling lager?  One can make similar points about pride in national Olympic athletes.  That gets us to the question of national pride and that is where my real difficulty arises.

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