Sunday 18 October 2020

An Amazing Avian Artiste!

Writing this post to record a remarkable encounter with one of Britain's smallest birds - a male Goldcrest - in our garden last week (Sun 11th Oct 2020). They are occasional visitors to our neighbourhood usually staying only for a few minutes. This one though I was able to watch for a good 30 minutes, searching the tree canopy at the end of the garden (focussing on the acers and hornbeams) between a couple of bouts of sitting on a branch about 5 metres up preening thoroughly for a good 5 minutes each time, with me watching from directly below, getting a cricked neck in the process.

What was most remarkable though was its singing.

I didn't at first believe it could be the Goldcrest that was making the sound, as the song was so different from the familiar "seedli seedli seedli seeee see see" calls I'm more used to hearing. But it seemed to be the only bird around, and the sound followed the bird's movements. The singing also ceased during the aforementioned preening sessions.

Unfortunately it was very windy despite being a bright and sunny (though chilly afternoon) and I didn't manage to record any of it.

But anyway, the song itself was more like that of a Robin singing to itself*, only higher pitched, squeakier and less tuneful, but littered with snippets of mimicry of other species. A keen ear could detect, along the expected "seedli" sounds, snippets of coal tit, blue tit, goldfinch, possibly chaffinch, and distinctly the trill calls of a long-tailed tit. Furthermore it was singing all the time it was fluttering from branch to branch, in bursts of maybe a minute or more.

As outlined above, I would never have attributed such varied singing to a Goldcrest unless I'd watched it myself. The quality was more like that of a warbler - to which they are reasonably closely related - a family that features plenty of expert mimics. None of my bird books mention anything about mimicry by Goldcrests though, and I've not found any such reports on the internet either. Maybe it was auditory pareidolia on my part? I don't know now, but it was a memorable experience either way.


*Something I've observed Robins doing (at least outside the breeding season) is to find a nice quiet perch and sing quietly with their beak closed so as to mute the sound, as if they're almost humming tunes to themselves that they're rehearsing. Quite delightful.



Saturday 18 January 2020

Please Hold

Post from Elaine (@elainepixie) relating the trials of negotiating modern technology:

"Wrote this li'l poem, inspired and informed by thoughts occurring during the real phone call I made to my GP surgery this afternoon. It will no doubt be a familiar scenario for many. Imagine, if you will, that this was spread over 32 minutes... I call it 'Please Hold'. 😊 (Small quantity of colourful language.)"


Please Hold

Your call is in a queue.

Mu-sic starts to
Pound my ear drums
And a-ttack my brain
It is clear-ly
Spe-cially writ-ten
To drive me in-sane
It re-peats in
Sing-le beats with
No res-pite at all
No-thing ap-proach
-Ing a tune I
Think I'll end this call
That is what they
Want you to do!
You can't let them win
You can do this
How much lon-ger
Can they play this din
Where do they get
This crap mu-sic
It must be de-signed
By a mach-ine
For the pur-pose
Of fuck-ing my mind
Ah it's end-ed
Sweet re-lease please
Play a new re-frain
It can't be as
Bad oh fuck they're
Start-ing it a-gain

Here I am ten
Cy-cles la-ter
Knee-ling on the floor
Star-ing out the
Win-dow though my
Eyes can see no more

Press one for appointments.

Please hold. Our staff are currently dealing with other patients. Your call will be answered as soon as possible.

You are caller number...

Three.

Ring ring
Ring ring
Oh joy
I'm there
Not long
To go

Please hold. Our staff are currently dealing with other patients. Your call will be answered as soon as possible.

You are caller number...

Three.

O-kay
Not there
Just yet
But soon
Pre-pare
To speak

Please hold. Our staff are currently dealing with other patients. Your call will be answered as soon as possible.

You are caller number...

Three.

Oh God
I'm stuck
Help me
How long
Will I
Be here

Please hold. Our staff are currently dealing with other patients. Your call will be answered as soon as possible.

You are caller number...

Three.

Lost track
How long
I've been
At three
Hate num-
Ber one

Please hold. Our staff are currently dealing with other patients. Your call will be answered as soon as possible.

You are caller number...
Two.

Progress!
Punch air
Be quick
I beg
New num-
Ber one

Please hold. Our staff are currently dealing with other patients. Your call will be answered as soon as possible.

You are caller number...

Two.

Sus-pense
Pain-ful
Will to
Live is
Slip-ping
A-way

Please hold. Our staff are currently dealing with other patients. Your call will be answered as soon as possible.

You are caller number...

Two.

This line
Is for
Ap-point
-Ments fuck
What takes
So long

Please hold. Our staff are currently dealing with other patients. Your call will be answered as soon as possible.

You are caller number...

One.

That's it!
Get set
To speak...
Ring ring
Ring ring
Ring ring

Please hold. Our staff are currently dealing with other patients. Your call will be answered as soon as possible.

You are caller number...

One.

Argh no!
Not there
Still one
Ba-stard
A-head
Of me

Please hold. Our staff are currently dealing with other patients. Your call will be answered as soon as possible.

You are caller number...

One.

Feet dead
Shift legs
Re-ward
In reach
Please please
Please please

Please hold. Our staff are currently dealing with other patients. Your call will be answered as soon as possible.

You are caller number...

One.

Soon now
Pre-pare
Clear throat
Do not
Hang up
In shock

Hello - reception. How can I help?

I open my mouth and try to start speaking
But what is that sound?
I appear to be squeaking!
Such eons have passed since commencing this call
My voicebox has aged
Barely functions at all

So I squeak my request
My name, D.o.B,
And I get my appointment
I'm a jollier me
I'm glad I hung in there
Achievement is mine
As I write in my diary
Smear test app't - nine.



Wednesday 23 January 2019

The End of the Parade


Currently suffering with a virus, but instead of letting my body rest last night and get some much-needed sleep, my semi-conscious brain instead decided to bombard me with a weird and vivid dream, over and over again. The story below is a pretty faithful - though slightly embellished - summary of the tale my virus-addled brain told me.


Our story starts in the southern plains of central Africa where a large herd of elephants were preparing to make their annual migration. They were a strong and well-established herd made up of many tightly knit families comprising over 200 individuals in total. With the dry season approaching they needed to make their way North to where for decades they had sojourned at a bountiful watering hole. It was a long and arduous journey of several hundred km and not one that any of them relished. And they knew that when they got there they'd be competing with other elephant herds - and indeed other species - for the best spots to encamp for the season.

But this year before they left, they were approached casually by a small group of griffon vultures. The vultures explained how with their ability to soar to 1000's of metres they could see much further than the elephants. They told the elephants they knew of a watering hole to the East hidden in a secret valley that none of the other animals had discovered. The vultures would show them the way there. The elephants could have the whole place to themselves. They would be in complete control.

The rumour of this paradise spread throughout the herd. Some of the elephants were at first suspicious. "But you are mighty elephants! We are just birds! Even a dozen of us would be of no threat to even the youngest of your group. Where's the harm?"

Of course the elephants knew that was true, but it flattered them to hear it being said by these new found friends.

The herd began to discuss their options. The older cows in particular liked the idea of not having to share with other herds: they considered some of those outsiders to have rather poor hygiene standards, ironically unaware of their own shortcomings in that department. Others - especially the younger members - were more sceptical. They'd been perfectly happy with their previous destination and indeed relished mixing with the youngsters from the other herds.

Eventually to settle the matter the lead bull declared there would be a head count. Those wanting to go North would stand to left; those for the East would stand to the right.

Roughly a third of the herd held no strong opinion either way and stood aside, not committing to either group but trusting the herd to make a sensible choice.

Nearly all of the younger adults stood to the left, whilst most of the older animals went right. The very youngest were of course excluded being considered too inexperienced to have a say.

At first the difference in size between the two groups was hard to distinguish, but as they filed past in pairs, one from either side, it became evident that the group for the East had a handful of extra bodies.

The lead bull was aghast. He understood the danger of making such a momentous decision on such a closely balanced opinion poll. "We really don't have to go through with this," he declared to the ensemble.

"OH YES WE DO!" exclaimed an over-confident old cow, striding off Eastwards onto the path the vultures had shown them, her cabal of friends in tow.

And so the journey for the whole herd began; many reluctant and resentful at how the decision had been taken, but feeling obliged to toe the line.

After a while, unease amongst the elephants began to grow. Some felt they hadn't really been given enough time to make a well-informed choice, and that the promises about this fabled paradise seemed too good to be true. However, any ideas of dissent were harshly quashed with rebukes of being a traitor to the herd, or trying to sabotage the will of the herd. There would be no turning back.

Now it's easy, but dangerous, to underestimate the cognitive capabilities of birds, especially griffons who look so ungainly and gangly when comically tottering around on the ground. But while they lack true strategic planning aptitude, they can make connections and associations which to all intents and purposes can resemble cunning. The land to which they were leading the elephants had once been teeming with animals; now it was deserted. The vultures instinctively felt that luring the herd back there would somehow prove fruitful.

The vultures had been quite genuine when they had said that they themselves posed no threat to the elephants. But they were nevertheless leading the elephants into peril. The absence of wildlife in the Eastern lands was down to eradication by hunters and poachers.

It's impossible to discreetly relocate a herd of over 200 pachyderms. They were spotted from miles away by the poachers who used drones to locate targets. The poachers could scarcely believe their luck. They'd managed to bag the odd stray bull on its own before, but never had they been presented with such a rich and easy bounty.

The path the elephants were blithely following led on through a narrow ravine; a dried river bed formed by the freak flash floods that occasionally struck the region. It had an ambience of disconnection from the outside world; one of peace and tranquility. It was however the perfect place for an ambush.

The slaughter started as soon as the last member of the herd had entered the ravine. It was as brief as it was brutal. A terrifying din of machine gun fire, panicking pachyderms, and the thuds of massive bodies collapsing to the ground, making the earth quake. The poachers had set up a pincer trap, attacking from both ends so that the bodies of fallen animals blocked escape for those trapped in the middle. It was over in a matter of minutes. Efficient and industrial; every tusked adult killed. So much death; so much blood. A few of the youngest elephants had managed to escape - they were of no value to the poachers after all - they were unlikely to last long on their own in any event.

A short while later, the ensuing eery silence was shattered again by the sound of chainsaws. The poachers would have their bounty of ivory. And the vultures; they would have their meat. So much meat.

And that is sadly where the story ends.

It's some small consolation that most of the youngsters who had escaped did manage to find each other and navigate their way back, where the orphans were welcomed into other herds; those whom their own herd had previously spurned.

Their story would grow to be a legend used to warn others against being led to disaster by ill-informed opinion. From which we should learn and for which be grateful.


Tuesday 14 June 2016

A Fable


A Fable

The following was condensed from a dream I had last night, which I've turned into something resembling a short play...


Scene: An upper middle class gathering in an upper floor function suite in an upmarket hotel. Guests mingling making polite conversation, when our hero turns up at the room entrance...

F: "Ah, Monsieur Urquart! [pronouncing it Ur-karr] So glad you decided to join us after all..."

U: "Yeah? Well it's pronounced Ur-kutt [deliberately stressing the last consonant] and I wanted to get my money's worth didn't I. What sort of party is it when the guests have to pay anyway?" [whilst saying this he's been removing his camel hair coat and hands it to one of the serving staff without any acknowledgement.]

F: "Well monsieur, all we ask is a contribution to help pay for the occasion. Everybody chips in..."

U: [butts in] "You mean fries in! ... You know: French fries? chips?" [laughs at his own joke]

F: "We have to pay for the room and for the staff's wages for instance."

U: [butts in again] "Yeah, but I didn't have any say in choosing them, did I?"

F: "No monsieur, but all the same..."

U: "Just as long as I get my 35 quid's worth."

F: [this time F interrupts] "35?! But does monsieur not remember [lowering his voice] I gave you a special discount? You only paid half..."

U: "Yeah but you asked for 35." [Urquart glares challenglingly]

F: [sighs] "Very well..." [notices U is empty handed] "we also did ask if maybe guests might bring along some offering to share... Monsieur?"

[Scanning round the room there are tables with ham, sausage, fish, cheese, bread, and bottles of wine and beer, and a few exotic looking desserts. ]

U: "Well I've bought me financial wizardry... and me use of perfect gramma'ical English." [mutters] "That must be worth at least 35 quid..."

[F puzzled by the nonsensical last statement, opens his mouth to speak, but...]

U: "Anyway, wine o'clock!" [U brushes past F and heads straight over and pours himself a glass of an Italian red] "And you can't have wine without a bit of cheese!" [picks up a small plate and helps himself to selection of French cheeses] "And you can't do worst than a bit of wurst..." [both words pronounced identically, of course.]

[U starts to wander through the room with his booty; the guests are all in small groups chatting politely. As he approaches one group, he realises they're speaking in a language he doesn't recognise. He pulls a look of disgust, mutters "rude" under his breath and wanders on. He stands alone at the side of the room polishing off his food before going to grab a bottle of Belgian beer. A man is at the adjacent table quietly cutting himself a slice of bread.]

U: "Bread's a bit of a boring thing to bring to a party, isn't it?"

R: [turning around startled] "I baked this myself specially this afternoon. We don't all have the money for more lavish..."

U: "Ah MONEY! You want to talk about money... you're talking to the right man! Just between you and me... [initially in a hushed voice, then suddenly talking loud over everyone else] I'VE GOT THE FIFTH BIGGEST HOUSE IN THE CITY!"

[The room has gone suddenly quiet. U turns to the gathering and holds his arms out as if calling for applause. One lady evidently confused by the sudden interjection starts to clap, but the man she's been talking with shakes his head and she stops.]

U: [turning back to R] "Oh yeah - I've got a bob or two." [takes a few swigs of beer. R looks uncomfortable]

U: "You know that big house on the other side of the river?"

R: "The one with the high wall around it?"

U: "Yeah that's right. That's mine."

R: "Very nice, I'm sure."

U: "It is! It's very nice. And very expensive. And what about you - whereabouts do you live?"

R: "Oh on the east side of..."

U: "Ooh it's a bit rough round there isn't it?"

R: "It's OK really; people are friendly and always happy to help if you have a problem."

U: "Well when you have as much money as me you don't have problems. You just build a big wall to keep all your problems out."

R: "Or in." [R jokes]

U: "What's that?!"

[At this point F who's made his way over to the pair interrupts.]

F: "So nice to see you fellows getting along so well. I just wondered if you were ready to get on with the night's proceedings?"

U: [grabbing another bottle of beer] "Err... what's that then?"

F: "Well the plan is that when everyone's had enough to eat and drink, we are going to discuss the problems in the neighbourhood and try to find the best solutions that suit everybody."

U: "Well that's easy! I've got the fifth biggest house in the city. You should just do what I say"

[another man starts to interrupt]

G: "Well actually, as a matter of fact..." [but he sees F shaking his head and stops.]

F: "That's not really the way we do things."

U: "Why not?"

F: "We like to be more... democratic."

U: [shrugs] "Sounds boring. I've got other parties I could be at, you know?"

F: "Even so, we would genuinely value your input. Do you not think it's important that we discuss matters that affect all of us? Our environment? Security?"

U: "Of course, but not if you're not going to listen to me."

F: "We're going to listen to everyone, but we need to find a balance."

U: [guzzling back his beer] "Yeah... well sorry, that's just not the way I roll."

F: "We really would like to try to find a way..."

U: "Whatever." [U. pulls open the door and turns to face everyone] "Bon soir [pronouncing it soya], tout de suite! Au jour d'hui!"

[he backs out of the door muttering "35 quid! what a rip off". Only when he turns does he realise he's backed out onto a balcony overlooking the road. There's the sound of a bolt sliding across behind him.]

U: "Bollocks!"

[it starts to rain...]

Wednesday 6 May 2015

The Flawed Logic of UKIP

One statement that has been repeatedly ejaculated from the mouths of UKIP's most vocal advocates is that of "80% of our laws are now coming from the EU!". It's a "fact" that has been mindlessly parroted by those with a Euro-sceptic bent: a sound-byte designed to enrage the patriotic spirit; to instil a belief that we in the UK have surrendered our national sovereignty and are now cowed and enslaved to the evil bureaucrats of Brussels...

[Aside: if the UK parliament has really been so disempowered, why would UKIP spend so much time, energy and money trying to elect their members into it?]

What is most annoying about this assertion though, is their application of a mathematical operation to non-quantifiable entities.

For instance, if I went shopping and bought a 5kg bag of best British potatoes for £2-50, and then a 50cl bottle of Italian's finest Limoncello for £15, how much of my shopping would be British? On an item by item basis it would be 50%, but going by weight/volume it would be more like 90% British. On the other hand, on the basis of price it would be only 14%. So I can get three different answers, depending on what metric I choose.

And that's on items that can be quantified!

How can you quantify laws? How can you for instance compare a law regulating for efficiency of light bulbs (an evil law from the EU in UKIP's eyes) to the law for marriage equality (a law from the UK - and similarly evil to UKIP)? The whole concept is utterly meaningless.

And besides, if a law is a good one (and I'd argue that both above examples are good), does it matter where it comes from? Surely only a bigot would think so...

And I'm certainly not going to turn my back on a good bottle of Limoncello just because it's not home-grown! Now pass me a glass...


Saturday 31 January 2015

Sliming Mount Improbable

In his iconic book, "The God Delusion", Richard Dawkins posits a qualitative scale of theism ranging from 1: Strong Theist to 7: Strong Atheist with the mid-value of 4 for those good honest agnostics who admit to being happy to sit squarely on the fence. Dawkins declares himself to be "a 6.9" and goes on to say "I'd be surprised to meet many people in Category 7... Atheists do not have faith; and reason alone could not propel one to total conviction that anything definitely does not exist. Hence category 7 is in practice rather emptier than its opposite number, category 1, which has many devoted inhabitants."

Whilst philosophically I accept this logic, it still strikes me as being frustratingly non-committal, and doesn't consider the dynamic nature of the evidence, i.e. the balance of probability of a divine existence versus the increasing certainty of divine non-existence as time passes without the slightest hint of an omnipotent being even vaguely flexing their muscles.

So whilst one can state that existence of a god can never be disproved, the probability of such decreases continuously with time as no scientifically credible evidence is found.
 
Contemplating this situation reminded me of one of Zeno's paradoxes which I remember first being presented to me thus:

A snail crawls half way to the bottom of the garden one day, then half the distance left the next day, then half the remaining distance again the following day, etc. Does the snail actually ever make it to the end of the garden?

Well - it's evident that the snail will never truly reach his* goal (especially bearing in mind the finite natural lifespan of gastropods), but since the remaining distance decreases as an inverse exponential, then "as near as dammit"** he just as well might have. And mathematicians do indeed allow these convergent infinite series to be assigned with an exact result***.

So while philosophers continue to argue the toss over god's existence, the Snail of Doubt creeps relentlessly ever closer to his goal, with only divine intervention capable of thwarting his progress....

For all practical purposes, I therefore suggest that as long as one accepts the infinitessimal possibility of having to eat humble pie and change one's stance in the event of some supernatural entity finally and unequivocally demonstrating their presence, it's absolutely a perfectly reasonable stance to declare oneself a 7 on the Dawkins scale and unequivocally state one's disbelief.

 :-)



* Most snails are hermaphroditic and I'm not sure what the correct personal pronoun is for such cases; I hope none are offended by my adoption of he/his/him. ;-)

** My old maths teacher's technical term.

*** The ones and zeroes in digital electronics switch in an analogous manner, arguably never actually reaching an absolute state of one-ness or zero-ness, but fortunately engineers are far too sensible to let such things worry them... ;-)

Tuesday 8 October 2013

On Eulogies

This is something of a significant departure from rational sensibilities but was inspired by Robin Ince's blog post which touches on the sense of responsibility he felt when delivering a eulogy at his brother in law's funeral. Having had only one such experience to compare with, I can certainly relate to his anxiety, but also the confusing sense of satisfaction felt afterwards when reflecting on a difficult job well done. The task of the eulogist is undoubtedly onerous, and inevitably at a time where one's emotions are in some turmoil, but the realisation of it being a final public way to honour a loved one surpasses those challenges.

That said, my own experience was for my father's funeral, and my first attempt at composing a eulogy was disastrous. It was full of bitterness and anger at the illness that had gradually but relentlessly taken him from us and robbed him of a well-earned retirement. While I had tried to include some positive memories, the overall balance was uncharacteristically depressing.

The very act of writing that, however had itself been a catharsis. The expression of the hurt I was feeling disempowering those negative emotions that inspired it. With Elaine's invaluable support, the second version attempted to vanquish all the melancholy, and the result was so much better.

Five and half years after my father's death, I've only just looked back to reflect on what I finally said, and while I'm not entirely sure if a blog is an appropriate place to belatedly post a eulogy, it's something I would now like to do. So there...

Don Pickering - A Tribute (Feb 2008)

Family and Friends,

Thank you all so much for being here today to remember and say our final farewells to my father, Don. We really appreciate the trouble that many of you have gone to to be here.

Dad would have been delighted to see you all as he always enjoyed a good get-together. He would thrive at social occasions, being a master of conversation - and would  talk confidently with anyone on seemingly any subject, though sport was always his particular favourite. He also had a brilliant memory for names and faces - skills that made him well suited to his job in insurance. He made many business friends, and on our shopping trips into Coventry city centre when I was a child, he nearly always bumped into at least one person he knew (quite astounding for a city of that size) always taking the time to chat affably with them (much to the irritation of us impatient kids!).

He very much enjoyed the simple things in life: music, sunshine, walks in the countryside, gardening and good food - especially desserts: his sweet tooth was legendary, and he always regarded the savoury courses of a meal as an inconvenient formality before the main event - the dessert menu. As his niece Hazel recalls "I will always remember the dances we had at family parties and the way he made a dash for the gateau". And yet despite his weakness for sweet things he always liked to keep fit and maintain a healthy weight.

He took great pride in his garden, and rightly so considering the incredible patience he invested in it, growing all his plants from seeds in his greenhouse before transplanting them out in geometrically perfect rows resulting in a blaze of colour which was the envy of the neighbourhood. And naturally he often got into conservation with passers-by who felt moved to compliment him on his splendid display.

He was a real sun worshipper and loved our family holidays, which we often shared with my mum's older sister Betty and her family. (I'm delighted to see the lads - Nigel, Martin and David - are here today.) Even when we cousins reached the age when it was no longer cool to go on holiday with our parents, my Mum and Dad continued to enjoy sunny breaks with Bet and Ray to Jersey, The Canaries and Portugal in particular where they had many happy times together.

My Dad also made the most of the sunshine back home, and in our secluded back garden he was often to be found on sunny days nonchalantly sprawled out au naturel on a chair outside the back door. So in the Summer it was always best to remember to use the front door when returning home with any guests...

And then of course there was his love of music. His radio was a constant companion when he was gardening, and he often sang along without inhibition. Indeed he loved singing in public - something he'd felt since childhood when he switched churches just so he could join their choir. In the 1980's he joined the Coventry Operatic Society and was a member of the chorus for more than a decade appearing in productions of many of his favourite musicals. He took great delight that his youngest grand-daughter Rosanna has followed in his footsteps, and she will soon be making her own tribute on behalf of all of the grandchildren with her rendition of Black Hills of Dakota from Calamity Jane. (Dad admired both Howard Keel and Doris Day greatly, though possibly for different reasons...)

With Dad's cheery disposition, it's difficult to believe he was once mistaken for a terrorist! The story goes as follows:-

According to my Dad he had a brief but urgent "business" call in the city centre. (On the basis of the proximity to a favoured betting shop, that detail may not have been entirely accurate, but to be kind we'll accept his version.) Unfortunately there were no parking spaces available in the area, so in desperation he decided to risk the double-yellow lines directly outside the Coventry City Council House and just across the road from the main Police Station. At the time we were in the middle of the IRA's mainland bombing campaign. Since he was trying to be quick, he'd dashed away from his car which was understandably misconstrued as highly suspicious by some vigilant member of the public. Just to make matters worse he had left his copy of The Sun in plain view on the dashboard with its sensational "IRA Terror Alert" headline showing. Consequently, when he returned several minutes later he found a police constable ushering people away from the area until the bomb squad could arrive to set up a proper cordon. Amazingly (and I still don't know how he got away with it) Dad managed to blag his way out, charming the officer into letting him go without so much as a parking ticket!

The one redeeming aspect of Dad's illness was that over time it suppressed his desires for the active life he could no longer achieve, and he became content to simply savour the care and love bestowed on him by his family, friends, and the caring staff of the Warwickshire Nursing Home where he spent his last two years. He continued to enjoy listening to music in particular and simply the warmth of the company around him.

I must at this point pay tribute to my wonderful mother Dorothy, who did her utmost to care for my Dad at the family home, until his degree of debility simply made it physically impossible for her to do so. The love and dedication she showed through that difficult period was nothing short of heroic. She has been a tower of strength and an inspiration to us all. Dad couldn't always express it but I know he appreciated all that you did, Mum, as did we.

I'd like to summarise with a quote from his long-time friend, Ian Brown, whom I phoned to let him know of Dad's passing, and to thank him for all his friendship and support over the years. He replied "Well, Andrew, he was just such a nice chap" and I thought, Yes - that's it in a nutshell... Don Pickering the man I was proud to call my father.

And now over to Rosie...