Mrs Reiver always says that sitting on the swing on our balcony in India is the perfect location to write that novel.I have gone to the trouble of reading a number of Indian and Indian themed novels over the last couple of months –and whilst I am nota confused attractive twenty somethingwoman ( I think we can all agree on that) on the brink of self discovery as India struggles for its identity in the turbulent 1920s and 30s ( is it just me or do these feature a lot??) – I will give it a go – at least as far as the first couple of paragraphs.
Sealed bids for the film rights must be received at my NY Publishers offices by 31st Dec 2008.
The polished wooden swing groaned gently - a reciprocating plaintive grumbling against the chill Bangalore morning as if the joints of the house were stiff from unexpected use.Auto-rickshaws coughed and spluttered by on the on the dirty streets, pausing only to sneeze out impatient honks. Could sick building syndrome apply to a whole city, a whole country?? – If Bangalore was a vibrant healthy place it certainly wore its disguise of self abuse and neglect with assurance.
Such thoughts often drifted through the mind of Arnold Liddle reminding him of childhood days lying in the fields gazing at the sweeping clouds as they danced an elegant waltz around his beloved Cheviot hills.At such times his surprising two tone brown/grey eyes seemed to focus on a distant objective – ‘Like the Girl with Faraway Eyes’ growled Mick Jagger as his mental jukebox leapt into action. Arnold often wondered if his life was being played out as a cruel parody of a Country and Western song – Bangalore had turned out to be far more of a gone to seed Marie than the promised jiving Donny of the ‘Party Capitol of India’. Find the off-switch to the jukebox and think! screamed the part of him he tried to ignore.But real thinking inevitably led him back to Beirut, Rothbury and the madness that lay between these two places which was etched on his soul, and told in every line of his attractive lived-in face.Had he come to Bangalore to forget? As penance? To create a new life?
The splash of colour of a dancing butterfly, suddenly dragged him back to vibrant summer of 1970, tank tops and chopper bikes and the eternal optimism of being the defending world champions – ‘ Back Home they’ll be watching and waiting and cheering every move’ – well back home in Rothbury dark events emerged from the shadows of the rolling Northumbrian landscape which would change young Arnold forever and set in train his slow inexorable journey to India and his desperately uncertain fate.
Tensing with frustration he again he tried to remember what exactly happened on that fateful day in July 1970. He slowed his breathing, filtered out the white noise of the Indiranager suburbs and with aching slowness the pictures in his mind started to come into focus and the soundtrack became audible……..
A heart-breaking and painfully vivid portrait of shattered promise and ultimate triumph peppered with oh-so-true vignettes of Northumberland life (is what the Hexham Courant might say some-day - well infinite monkeys etc etc)
I have none, I am just very poor at Christmas Cards and still need my mother to remind me just how many cousins I have and their related offspring - us Reivers can certainly breed. I could blame the vagaries of the Indian postal system but cards are reaching us with predictability so I can't.So a seasonal wish in e-form.
May be going to the Beach tonight (local Goan themed bar/restaurant) but I would much rather be having fish and chips in the beach at Alnmouth however cold it is!
Yes its that time again as the duster of history 'man cleans' the the stains of todays endeavors from the kitchen table of life I must face up to the fact that I will soon be 49. Editors note - man cleaning as defined by Mrs Reivers mother is when you spill something on the table and use your finger, shirt, tie whatever to make it appear clean - but she knows it isn't properly clean!. Such a mathematically round age forces one to reflect on how you reached this stage - after all the next round age will be when I'm 64!
a) 0x7 = 1959 - I enter the world on the banks of the Tyne, in what is now the Lion of Corbridge, with a questioning approach - both No 1 singles of the month (Adam Faith and Emile Ford and the Checkmates) being titled 'What do you want?' - those that have benefitted from my mentoring over time may recognise this motif.
b) 1x7 = 1966 - Basking in Fenham suffused in the afterglow of the World Cup Win (my only memory is a policeman not throwing the ball back to the disgust of Kenneth Wolstenholme) - I seem to remember being similarly disgusted when our sledge got nicked form the porch - If only there were justice of the form crooned about by Tom Jones in the Green Green Grass of Home - Mrs Reiver Senior - she of the leonine birth - loved that song.
c) 2x7 = 1973 - Best glazed over virtually no-one looked good in flares, long hair and platforms (especially rugby boy at grammar school) - Gary Glitter gave it a go (No 1 with I love You Love) but was merely an in retrospect unsavory appetiser to the most reliable of Christmas treats (excluding of course the Great Escape) - that being Wolverhamptons finest with Merry Christmas Everybody.
d) 3x7 = 1980 - 'What University student in the early 1980s did not have some experience of drugs' - qouth a government minister recently - well this one - us red brick types probably lacked the creative imagination - although one of my team mates could drink beer through his nose. Of course I didn't mix with those arty types who go on to government - stuck with the engineering/rugby fellows who go on to real jobs. John Lennon gets shot, goes to the top of the charts then gets displaced by St Winifreds School Choir within the week - I love the British!
e) 4x7 = 1987 - Starting out on corporate life, poorly paid, with two small children, mortgage etc - yes they gave mortgages to young people then! We had a Mini Metro with dodgy suspension - BMW came much to late - much to be said for the Ordnung Muss Sein approach of the germans. T'pau lived long and prospered at the top of the charts with 'China in Your Hand.'
f) 5x7 = 1994 - Suddenly life has accelerated, through Germany and 3rd and 4th junior Reivers to leave me contemplating a tropical Christmas in Singapore - I still remember the 10 m high inflatable snow-men on Orchard Road sagging in the languid humid atmosphere. Turkey on the balcony was certainly different to toasting bacon on the open fire in Park House just three steps back in the table. East 17 (who seemed to get into more trouble about their views on drugs than cabinet ministers) topped the charts with 'Stay Another Day' - we would have stayed for much longer but for my sympathetic boss CK!
g) 6x7 = 2001 - How did I end up as a Sales Manager with 30 people working for me??! Age 42 provided more questions than answers to everything. Fittingly S Club 7 topped the charts with 'Have You Ever' (had a job for which you were so badly suited), to be followed by Daniel Beddingfields 'Gotta Get Thru This' ( and find something useful to do with my life), and then ending the month with Robbie and Nicole with 'Somethin Stupid' (like taking an inappropriate job in Holland six months later) - maybe flares and platforms have some merit?
h) 7x7 = 2008 - I am living with a Zombie with positive mental attitude, a couple of bats and a lizard in a house designed using spiritual design principles and have been forsaken this afternoon in favour of 2000 armed soldiers and the England Cricket Team. Last week Take That were No 1 with 'Greatest Day' - mmm not so sure about how fitting that is- maybe just a bit late after all in 2007 the then Ms Lancashire Mill Family did turn up, say yes and become a Reiver by Grace of God.
What will 8x7 bring - that is any ones' guess - as Gary Barlow et al might have said - Extrapolate That and Party! I will just have to trust in my Karma Chameleon.
I am passingly familiar with 'Tea with Mussolini' from popular culture, but never expected that I would be waiting in on a Friday morning for coffee with Stalin, at least someone sharing a name with someone (self) dubbed as the "Coryphaeus of Science," "Father of Nations," "Brilliant Genius of Humanity," "Great Architect of Communism," and "Gardener of Human Happiness," probably wont be short of conversation. The Stalin in question is our local insurance agent who is coming to assess us - whether he joined the insurance industry to sow and nurture the seeds of human joy will indeed be interesting to find out. Coryphaeus is not a name I have come across til now - they were mostly Robsons, Woods, Fairbairns, Liddels and the like by the north Tyne - mmm turns out it is not a name after all (I never knowingly bypass an opportunity to highlight my lack of classical education) but a word for the leader of the chorus. Hence the term (sometimes in an Anglicized form "coryphe") is used for the chief or leader of any company or movement. The coryphaeus spoke for all the rest, whenever the chorus took part in the action, in quality of a person of the drama, during the course of the acts. This blog is becoming positively Reithian in its values.
Of other guests: Gordon the Gecko chose to visit our bedroom this morning adding an additional haunting dimension to the already ethereal 'Helen Taylors Eyes' painting on the wall, plus disturbingly Buffy and Angel are MIA. We will host our first proper 'human' guests this evening - so I face a day of intense househusbandry, managing the servants and of course choosing which one of my little black numbers to wear. Perhaps I could go for the Fanny Cradock (I had to explain who she was to Mrs Reiver - young people nowadays pah) approach (Whatever Happened to Baby Jane make up, dubious food hygiene,a domineering manner, and lots of brandy and cream), but I am not sure I can get Mrs Reiver to wear the moncole. The guests will be both Indian and French so may need to go East meets West with a soupcon of gallic flair - so coq au vindaloo served wearing a beret it is. In my time honored and minimum working capital approach I will walk the food shops and listening carefully to hear what talks to me and then try and form it into if not a well known - at least edible gustatory phrase or saying - I don't want to end up getting too coryphic feedback from Mrs Reiver! Food turned out ok last time we entertained a few people including a frenchman ;-) (, so remain confident - somebody has to be! Given location and time differences it is also pertinent to take advantage of modern technology to socailly interact. I knew the heat must be getting to me when I caught myself throwing virtual snowballs on a popular social networking site this morning but was then surprised by the opportunity for virtual parenting and ended up tucking in my 19 year old student son at 3am UK time - aah bless .... or NUGs as I believe they say in Lufbro?
PS Reflecting on the title of this and my previous blog I would like to make it perfectly clear that I do not consider Valerie Singleton to have been a global despot - she might have bossed John Noakes round a bit but that was all.
Not Amy Winehouse, but the redoubtable Ms Singleton inspired the humid Bangalore afternoon today. After road testing out local Chinese takeaway for lunch (you see I am fully embracing cultural diversity) I happened by a fancy goods store - and some twinkling wares whispered sweet Biddy Baxters in my ears. Before you could peel off your sticky back plastic, the wardrobe was being raided ( I will be in trouble for that - Mrs Reiver regards coat-hangers as highly personal assets) and I was digging out the candles I got from my trip to Koppal (home of Lionel the Warthog).To fully complete the ambience I tuned into the light programme on the t'interweb, and as the Germans would say 'bastled' away, after an hour Col Hannibal Jones was loving it, and our kitchen was adorned with a new decoration.
Our house is designed around Vaastu principles (Vaastu Shastra deals with various aspects of designing and building living environments that are in harmony with the physical and metaphysical forces) and I trust that this small intrusion of a sixties childhood will not upset the balance too much - it certainly makes me feel more at home.Yes - I know using candles is a fire hazard, it is just to look at! - but as there was no sign of any advent candles at our local church on Sunday, and the approach to the festive season was celebrated by the local 'Three Degrees' singing a modern Christmas song written by a US magician, combined by the minister telling us what Marys stress score would have been as assessed by psychiatrists today - somebody had to do something!
Now that we have been in our house for a couple of weeks we are exploring and understanding the local environment a little better. The garden teems with many species of ants especially vibrant orange ones. Previously enjoyment from this direction was limited to the early eighties - 'I'm the deadly highwayman that you're to scared to mention, I spend my cash on looking flash and grabbing your attention' indicating some Reiverish behaviour, and it still doesn't take too much for me to get me crossing my forearms and wiggling what hips I have to Ant Music (my children should look away now). The most interesting and recent find however (courtesy of the Love Guide Bangalore) was ANTS which is a crafts/clothing/COFFEE SHOP just round the corner - which has great potential as an abandoned expat spouse bolt-hole for pondering lifes big questions - and of course doing that male rabbit in headlights Christmas shopping. The vegetable seller with his cart parked outside our gate and the local laundry facilities (coal powered ironing on the streets) may add colour but it seems I have slipped inexorably into the expat lifestyle - Chester le Street sheds a salty slushy tear and ponders how fickle are human affections (perhaps this blog is a covert attempt at writing the movie script of my life - discuss?)
Harsh reality intervened on Saturday when I went down to Bangalore Rugby club which curiously temporarily train in side a golf course. Attempting to coach the local kids, without the benefit of any Kannada or Hindi was a little challenging - getting the concept of soft hands and the pop up pass over through the medium of mime was fun, although I did feel at times more Norman Wisdom than Marcel Marceau. This reminds me that on a stag do a few years back we were in a comedy club in Nottingham and the compere was asking where the various groups were from - Chester came our reply - and taking in our group without a beat he said 'mmm more Emmerdale than Holyoaks' - Oi keep on topic - yes rugby. Emboldened by this mini-coaching experience, I decided to stay for the seniors training - I should have realised the error when most of the seniors looked younger than my kids, and the focus of the session was to be an up and coming sevens tournament. I last played sevens seriously (for University) in 1981, at the County sevens when our primary purpose was to ensure that we were able to field a team and so ensure the return of the clubs £50 entry deposit - having suitably run around but emphatically gone out in the preliminary round, we felt completely justified in then drinking the entire deposit in the Club bar - and £50 was a lot of money then.
After two hours on Saturday I once again had that difficult to describe feeling of being pleasantly beaten up, which translated on Sunday into an almost complete failure in leg function resulting in a pregnantesque waddling walk for at least the first half of the day. My recovery was of course aided by the inherent Harmony of our surroundings where it emerges we have papaya, guava, herbs and a lemon tree in the garden and life and love blossoms. The award of 'couple of the week' goes to Buffy and Angel (see picture) who have chosen to hang out just outside our front door - if they can manage 13 series between then then anything is possible!
So what does a lone male trailing corporate spouse actually do to justify their oxygen consumption on this crowded planet?
The otherwise excellent ‘Love Guide to Bangalore’ (no its not like that really!) suggests that one should spread the love – Mrs Reiver might have more than a little to say about that.
Lapsing into coprporate speak – ‘One explores relevant local opportunities to deploy and develop ones skills and experience to continue to grow as a person and make a significant contribution to the collective economic, social and environmental well-being at a micro and macro level’Ok but what do you do…..
The answer to this is still very much work in progress, you know still running a few things up the flagpole to see who salutes them, and putting up a few strawmen which cascaded from the ongoing brainstorming situation – but enough of a life as a feeder for on-line bullshit bingo – what have a I tried so far:
The Efficient Househusband – mmm immediately disintermediated by our staff and the Indian ‘processes’
The Pampered Love Kitten – think I got this one wrong yesterday when I accidentally washed my hair with bitter orange massage oil and smelt like a left over Cointreau for the rest of the day
The Socially Aware Contributor – well I have made a start here with an NGO, which has provided some of the highlights to date including Lionel the Warthog (see previous blog)
Embrace Indian Culture – the RSC at Stratford has set the bar very high!
Take Time to Reflect and Smell the Flowers – big problem here – although clearly well-endowed in the proboscis department – slight sensitively problem: Typical dialogue:
Mrs Reiver – ‘What on earth is that strange overpowering smell’
ABRiB – ‘What smell’
Write that book you always mean to – I am afraid I am probably just a shallow sound/blog bite person, the collected works of which are probably only of any value to my therapist rather than my literary agent
Study – I think I am more likely to feel well-rounded by finding a good cake shop than filling in the MBA gap in my CV
Take up a hobby, art for example – well I am pretty visual but unfortunately within Mrs Reivers outrageously talented family I am unlikely to do better (see enclosed example from today) than raising myself to 4th place if I can demonstrate superiority in technique compared to Emma – who is after all a very artistic cat.
Sit Back in the Sun and Chill – I go more crème brulee than mocha
Contemplate Your Inner Self – Well …. the mischievous 8 year old who liked to build go-carts from old prams and scraps of wood could prosper here – if only he could find a bit of continuous pavement for test runs.
I should probably add – reflecting on my earlier blogs – an additional challenge of not turning my entire life into 10 point lists…but the answer inevitably is quite simple – I may have to actually decide what I want to be when I grow up, and that is a lot scarier than Bangalore traffic and bomb threats.
Bangalore is known as the Garden City although the rapid progression and growth of commerce and industry is superimposing a much more industrial landscape on the manicured Raj designs of the past. Life teems about you and you get the feeling that it would not take long at all for Nature to re-assert control and retake the city.
I have never really been one for pets but we do now seem to have a small colony of friendly lizards (geckos) who queue up to share the shower with Mrs Reiver in the morning, but are curiously absent when I present myself to wash away the sweat of a jogette - perhaps they are trying to tell me something? Most other local animals seem largely indifferent: the dogs have mastered lazy dozing to full undergraduate levels, and the cows wander the streets with a 'we were here first' nonchalance and an unerring capacity for knowing where the tastiest morsels of discarded food will be (mmm also undergraduate like).
During my 'out station' visit last weekend the fauna was even more profuse with bullock carts being close to a prime source of business transport, a cow tethered to most village houses and a proliferation of pigs in the streets of Koppal. Our worlds nearly collided several times - partly due to the death race 2000 (the original 70s one with David Carradine?) attitude of our taxi driver but also on parking on the main street for some light shopping - as I opened the car door a passing pig very nearly joined me in the back seat. The lyrics 'We're having fun sitting in the back seat a-kissing and a-huggin with Porky' don't really ring true so I will perhaps not take up bacon-crawling as a hobby. The pigs however do seem really at home and a natural part of the local environment.Koppal has been very short of rain, as a result the corn and sunflower crops looked very subdued. Two days before we arrived this all changed, the heavens opened, and the road to the office we were using was partially washed away - this mean we had to walk to and fro on the Sunday. This was a blessing in disguise as in doing so I encountered a truly memorable sight walking up to the office - an enormous warthog half submerged in a stagnant pool of mud with the most self satisfied smile on his face I have seen since Robert Kilroy Silk disappeared from daytime television. In my head there was disco remix of Lionel Richie crooning that he was 'Easy Like Sunday Morning' featuring samples from Flanders and Swann..... ' And there let me wallow in glorious mud..' - Ed Stewarts Junior Choice clearly has long term stickability.
So life goes on back in Bangalore, with three wheel son my wagon i will just keep rolling along, maintain my High Hopes and start to worry only if I start seeing little mice with clogs on - where? - there on the stairs - beside the ghosts of Pinky and Perky.
