The Ghostly Smell Of Rice Pudding

A friend died recently and reminded me of another friend who died some time ago!For my friends Tony Blakeman and Phil Morgan. RIP old friends.

Bit of an update, not too long!

I remember there was a thunder storm, the three of us were standing in the semi-darkness waiting for the inevitable! (PIC: Land Army Girls during WW2. Back row, on the right is Maisie Wooley)

This chapter may contain things that could upset you, which is not my intention.Sit back, get comfy, and listen to The Ghostly Smell Of Rice Pudding - Chapter 12 and a half - Hearts & Strings.The photo (above) is me just before I had my haircut following the three month lockdown for Covid. The bandana? Well it was a present from my granddaughter... who's name is Seren... which, I understand, is Welsh for Star!

The previous chapter ended with 'I was invited for an interview... on the day I was due to return from New York!'...I think I need to explain.

I fiddled around with some half baked idea’s, such as multi-level marketing, and then Margaret came up with an idea. She told me about this job where people pushed catalogues through letter boxes... I’m not doing that, I told her rather indignantly!

After more than 64 years of being an only child, I found the final resting place of the sister I never had.

"Covid 19 is a great leveller. It seems I'm something of a risk because I've had two heart attacks in the past so I have to be handled with kid gloves... actually I feel fine!"That quote has little or nothing to do with Chapter 9, other than it starts with those words! It has to start with something!

I met lots of people during my time with Beartown Radio. I did promise myself that I wouldn’t try and name everyone because I’d bound to miss some out and, maybe, upset some really nice, kind people.So apart from the wonderful people of the Congleton Chronicle, Congleton Partnership, Congleton Community Projects, Electric Picture House, Congleton Town Council, Cheshire East Council, advertisers and anyone else who supported us, my wife, who supported ME, and our landlord, who had the patience of a saint.Not forgetting all of Beartown Radio’s wonderful, talented presenters, and trainers, who gave their time totally free, I’ve seen these people grow and develop their skills.Not just radio skills but personal life skills as well.I’ve seen both young and, shall we say not so young, walk into the studio with a dream and walk out again, a different person with a fine memory, and a personal skill.I am proud of you all, and thank YOU for helping ME to achieve MY dream.

I wouldn’t like you to get carried away with some romantic notion that it was anything more than a plastic box. Wash away from your head any ideas of a mahogany cabin with brass portholes overlooking the English Channel with your clothes folded neatly by a steward. This was my first foreign trip!

During the mid 90’s I was a freelance producer/presenter with the BBC. It was more of a hobby than a job. I had taken the advice of more or less everyone when they told me “don’t give up the day-time job”. It wasn’t that I was bad at it you understand; in fact I was quite good. See what you think.

Graham Bourne had the dual profession of butcher and master builder, he preferred building. He was described, by my soon to be mother-in-law Grace Mellor, after his death, as a gentleman and a gentle man. He was a 40-a-day Park Drive man... that was his downfall.The above photograph was taken on his honeymoon after marrying Maisie Woolly.

It was like witnessing the fall of Sodom! It was the mid seventies and fashion had gone mad - long strings of buttons on jacket cuffs, massive lapels and even bigger shirt collars. White trousers, white suits, even white platform shoes – yes I wore them - medallion man was alive and well and ready to kick ass. Men wore suits and women wore long dresses – god we thought we looked the mutt’s nuts… and of course we did – at the time! Oh, and let’s not forget the wonderful cheesecloth shirts! I was about to enter that bastion of “Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll” in the form of the business known as show.

During 1973 the three-day working week was introduced on January 2, due to power shortages caused by the miners strike. McDonald’s opened its first UK restaurant in London. And I got married.

Finding out what life was all about!

It was a smoky old place, evident from the still blackened sandstone buildings that stand proud in its centre. Black because of the filth and grime that once filled the air, courtesy of our staple industry – ceramics. I must admit, I don’t recall the air being smoky, or indeed filthy at the time I was born. There again I can’t remember much at all of that chilly September morning in 1952, in fact until I started to research this, I didn’t even know it was chilly!