Bulgaria with Noodles

It was great to have some comments from old PHS pupils, so I thought that I might write a little bit more.  I have not said much about the headmaster of Perrott Hill, Mr Derek Hoare. At my interview, he smiled and said, "I see you got a Third Class degree at Oxford. Well, I won't say anything about yours if you do not say anything about mine." Well, Derek, I have kept your secret for more than forty years, so I hope that your ghost will forgive me. On the whole, I found Derek Hoare to have a sense of humour, as did his wife, Lydia. There was a scandal at a well-known public school, as the headmaster and his wife had been appearing in some pornographic photos. Very daringly, I suggested to Lydia Hoare that she and her husband might do something similar! She laughed and said, "Well, I did suggest it to Derek, but he did not think it was a good idea!" It was at Perrott Hill that I really started reading the books of Roald Dahl. I often shared my enthusiasm for Dahl...

  It's all happening. First of all, the Jerusalem artichokes that Mila gave us are doing amazingly well. I do not remember ever eating Jerusalem artichokes and they are not really artichokes anyway.   Yes, my dear wife's tomatoes are also coming along well. The real problem is how to support them, as the tomato plants produce lots of very heavy fruit. Poles are supposed to be the answer, but they tend to blow over in strong winds. Some water to dampen the earth, sharp points on the poles and a rather heavy sledgehammer: these seem to do the job.   Redcurrants! We have had lots of them and they really are delicious. The raspberries are yummy, but we have not had many of them.   I was not happy about the idea of having some old tyres in the garden, as they do look a bit naff. Well, healthy cucumbers like their instant raised beds and the tyres keep in the moisture.   

  This is probably going to be my last blog post about Perrott Hill. Yes, it has been rather enjoyable to look back on my four years at PHS and perhaps it has brought back a few happy memories for one or two former pupils. I have always hated organised sports, as anyone who has read my blog posts about the London Water Closet will already know. However, at Perrott Hill there were two school sports that I rather enjoyed.   At PHS, all the children (or certainly all of the boys) were allocated to the “four games”. “First game” was a bit serious, for those who could be playing in the Under 13 matches against other schools and “third game” was for those who might be playing in the Under 11 matches. This meant that the “second” and “fourth” games were for the oddbods, those who would not be playing in school matches, those who were a bit physically challenged or (like me) did not really want to be there. I really enjoyed playing cricket with the fourth game. A sunny afternoon...

Memory does not really work in straight lines. If anything, you recall things in circles, returning to the present and then back around into the past. Before I leave Perrott Hill, I must make mention of one of my greatest triumphs at P.H.S.: my production of Arsenic and Old Lace . This three act play was never written for children, so it was a bit ambitious, but I am proud of the way that my young cast rose to the challenge. Just in case you do not know the plot, I will briefly sum it up for you. Two elderly sisters, Abby and Martha Brewster, magnificently played by Victoria Hume and Claire Morgan-Smith, live in an old house with their loony nephew, Teddy (Eoin Roe), who thinks that he is President Teddy Roosevelt.  Abby and Martha are well known for their kindness and good deeds. At the start of the play, Abby is having tea with the vicar, the Reverend Harper (George Russell). Another nephew, Mortimer, is a drama critic and in love with the vicar’s daughter, Elaine. Adam Ogilv...

I think that I ought to go back to my reminiscences of Oxford, as there is something quite important that I have more or less left out: the Exeter College chapel. It is one of my favourite buildings, Gilbert Scott’s flamboyant pastiche of Saint-Chapelle in Paris, and a riot of Victorian gothic architecture. The Burne-Jones tapestry, The Adoration of the Magi , is rather splendid. Before "second hall" on a Sunday evening, it was my habit to go to chapel. After the service, there was a glass (or maybe two) of sherry in the chaplain's rooms. As well as attending Sunday evening services, I actually lived right next door to the chapel when I had rooms in the Margary quad. Sitting at my desk, I could sometimes hear the organ’s notes. Exeter College chapel was also the setting of a memorable production of Murder in the Cathedral , in which yours truly was the Second Priest. The chapel was the domain of the college chaplain, the Rev Graham Shaw. When I did rather badly in Cla...

Someone called Neil Loughbrough recently wrote this in Facebook about halal meat in the UK. My reply is in italics.    In some places — including hospitals and certain high streets — halal has quietly become the default option. That doesn’t sit right with me. In Britain, people should be able to choose food that matches their own beliefs, traditions, or personal preferences. No one should feel pushed into eating something they didn’t knowingly choose, or feel they have to go hungry, or be labelled as racist simply for questioning the food options available. Hospitals are a good example. When someone is ill, stressed, or recovering, the last thing they need is to be told there’s only one type of meat available — especially if it doesn’t align with their own beliefs or comfort. A hospital should offer non‑halal as the standard option, with halal available for those who want it. That’s basic fairness. I also think councils should have the power to ensure that high streets don’t e...

Just before we left Samothraki, I managed to finish Napoleon the Great by Andrew Roberts. It is a rather long book (935 pages altogether, but a fair bit is taken up with notes and a detailed index). What is unusual about Napoleon the Great ? Well, the most obvious thing is that Roberts nails his colours to the mast, declaring that Napoleon was not another Stalin, Pol Pot or Adolf Hitler. He was much bigger and better than that. He was not just a brilliant general (Wellington famously said that Napoleon’s hat on the battlefield was worth 40,000 men). He was a superb administrator, a reformer and someone who saved France from the worst excesses of the French Revolution and at the same time he preserved what was good in that tumultuous event. He was also a patron of the Arts and a true son of the Enlightenment. Three characteristics of Napoleon make him particularly admirable: his personal charm and ability to communicate with ordinary people and understand their point of view; his p...