August …. ‘Over & Out’ !


So strange for me at this moment in time, my body clock is really out of sync.

Picture this, its dark outside, …… how do I know this you ask? … Because its early doors, 05:45, only the silence of the early dawn, there is no wind so far, only the whisper of a breeze, I sit comfortably in the leather window chair which softly creaks,  I am able to make out through my unaided eyes the port marker light on the end of the Breakwater and a few residential lights splattered along the coastline. Someone is snoring heavily, laid comfortably in her basket is Hannah, the phantom plum stone boffer, a nice little present from the midnight ritual of raiding the waste bin, she sneaks a peek at me and twitches the end of her tail, a sign she has recognised that I am not the enemy. I gently doze, I am tired, a bit like today, the last day of a wonderful August.

Sadly these days I prefer to keep in the shade during midday and afternoon, rather like a vampire, who might be out on day release. Just the mere thought of looking up towards that perfect sphere of plasma that keeps us so firmly on the ground makes me want to dig deep into my pocket to check that my sick pills are still there. Too much heat and the culmination of my new anticoagulant tends to make my blood putter away like a pan of borscht on a hot plate.

The sunshine is such a wonderful phenomenon, and I absolutely adore it. To be honest I havent done this for quite a few years I can tell,  but I would often have the need to become at one with nature and disrobe, the drawback was having to walk across a shingled beach for a mile or so to get to where everyone seemed to know you,  but dared not ask your name.

To feel the intensity of the heat totally enveloping you like an invisible cloaking device was quite sensual and bought a certain euphoria to ones inner self. In another dimension I probably would have been quite happy dancing naked round a worshipping block or laying out on the ground spread-eagled waiting for that something surreal to occur. Even in my dreams I cannot see that happening, especially as there are far more bodies more beautiful than ever nowadays to even consider sacrificing mine, believe me, that ship sailed a long time ago.

Somehow, I think I may have said far too much, again. But hey, what the hell, at least you are reading this and that’s all that matters, hopefully so are many others too.

Only a few more days to go and my mate and I will be shading under a cabana in Mallorca, a mere 36C will be infiltrating through the wind bellowed cloth above onto my delicate porcelain wrinkled old carcass, well, of what ever remains that are not covered. That will be just from the knees down, and naked from the elbows. I may be wearing a hat, that subject is a bone of contention, as I may have the perfect face for radio, a head for a hat I have not.

I have noticed that the afternoon siesta will become a need of desire again.

“uf , estoy caliente” !

Phew, I am hot! <wink>

Who put the cannabis in the font.

(a small composition I had tucked away for a rainy day)

Just exactly,  who placed the cannabis leaves in the font?

For quite sometime there has been a sweet smell emanating from the area of the baptismal font, of course the majority of people associated in this environment had no idea or had even noticed that there was a pungency loitering.

Were we, as such fine connoisseurs on this matter being paranoid?  I don’t think so, but it would always seem strange that when the flower ladies are en masses just how bright and cheerful this hardy team of florists seem to be when creating their designs.

Are they responsible for this action, is it a sign from the great above or are they finally having a coffee and just chilling out in good company? Mind you, the contract cleaners are here often on their own, normally early, perhaps it is they?

I have visions of adult Brownies and Guides sat in a circle, cross-legged and passing a joint around. Each one telling a story they have all wanted to share but had never dare in ages, tightly slip lipping in hard, the burning of the leaves almost blistering their windpipe. Not wishing to exhale until the last possible moment and then only with a stream of fine thin smoke with the ecstatic volume of relief. Almost an oral and brain orgasm. A slight choke, the yearn to catch the reefer when it travels back around, each pair of buzzed eyes yearning for the head rush and euphoria that would make their body shudder and slightly convulse.

Who dares to whisper the aged mantra? ….. “Holy shit, this shit is good shit”

Being such super sleuths and very busy and nosey parkers we did a bit of digging, and the only viable thing we could come up with, was that a few weeks previous we had a HUGE christening, with quite a few dubious characters attending. Perhaps “they” had pangs of guilt and the only option available apart from being struck by lightning was to dispose of the remnants.

I am not pointing any fingers ….. but !


New WordPress member

Just thought I would let you know that my dear friend Chris, whom I often refer to when writing my passages, has bought a digital quill and joined the rest of us wordies here often pressing for a deadline, he can be found at

Hopefully, his prose may fill in a few of the hidden gaps in mine.

Wish him luck fellow wordies and follow him, I can promise you, that the song “let me entertain you” has nothing on this.

Good luck dear friend x

Paul Stamp

Halfway Between Barking Mad & Total Genius


August 25th 2016

Some of history’s most prolific writers and composers of our time have either been genius, plain barking mad or somewhere in-between and that includes either being addicted to alcohol or some other form of drug or chemical.

Many of the great Musical Classicists were profoundly deaf, most were so high as a kite or out of their own tree that it still amazes me that they were even able to hold their own instrument or quills, let alone strike an ivory, pull a bow or even be able to sit at their own piano or desk.

I always was, and still to this day consider myself more of a Beatles Babe than a Californian Beach Boy, I considered the latter music totally monotonous, (Good Vibrations did my head in) and to that comment I must add, music is of a personal agenda, no two people ever share the same playlist, or even come to that, ever dance at the same frequency in time or even in tune together.

We all knew the Beatles and the Rolling Stones and the such big progressive groups were into drugs. To add an insult to an injury and icing placed on top of it, only yesterday (where the hell I have I been hiding) did I learn that the Beach Boys in their heyday were constantly tripping their nuts off whilst writing all of their famous Summer hits, guess that figures as they were the tail end of the Woodstock era which psychedelically traversed itself through the flower power and hippy movement. LSD and its associated trips were readily available about ten years or so ago and as far as I am aware have no doubt they are still being torn into many micro strips even to this day.

Perhaps I shouldnt admit to this, but of the twice time that I popped a tiny cardboard square. On both occasions I’m sure that I met the devil, or his advocate at least, and after what seemed like an eternity fighting with him I eventually returned back to square one, again believe me, that is not a pun.

A friend suggested I get out and have some fun clubbing at one of our regular haunts, I was quite into the scene then, but, that’s another story available only for my adult viewers and then only on request. “Go on, you will be fine” he said. So, eventually and with much reluctance chewed and swallowed one of these so-called happy small perforated items, I should have guessed that the many repeated instruction given after of  “if I started to feel ill I was to sit down and try to relax and think of nice things’ was definitely a bad omen ….

If you have ever seen the Mrs Browns Boys episode where Agnes takes some *headache* pills, then you may see the funny side of things …. there were hundreds and hundreds of flying orbs and sparkling lines jetting about in front of me, I was coping quite well and enjoying the environment around  …. until another friend spotted me across the sweaty dance club floor. Suddenly I knew it was all going to end up horribly wrong and be a complete disaster, I can hear his words still to this day …. “sorry to hear your Mum died” (two weeks previous) as he hugged me tight and cried into my ear ……. It was all down hill from there on ….. and when I say downhill I mean DOWNHILL.

I will never forget that nightmare experience, ever.

Making a point, although you may think that some of my ‘passages of time’ may seem a little strange, believe me, its got nothing to do with any form of drug, its only myself trying to put lost times into an order, hopefully It will finally fall into a particular one.

Now that I have had some time to think about it. In what location would I consider placing my own self in the spectrum of between barking mad or genius I ask?

To be honest, lt all depends on what position the moon was in last night and what time I woke up this morning!

Hope that has clarified a few things for you.


The Vicar & the Undertaker tour …..

Monday 22 August 2016

Ian & Ian Main Press Picture.jpgI was asked by my Vicar if I would be interested in helping promote something that he and his friend, an Undertaker, were planning together.

Why me I ask myself?

Apparently, word in the parish has it that im a whizz kid with Social Media, fact is, I do have a “MyFace” account and run a personal “Tweeter” feed, but that is certainly nothing compared to what I had agreed to saying ‘yes’ to in the beginning. The only way I can describe it now is, as it’s a monster, that’s ‘M O N S T E R’ ! or phonetically for greater effect …… …..Thats “EM  OH  EN  ES  TEA  EE  ARRR” 🙂

Now this monster has not been or is ever likely to be possessed by the devil, nor is it likely to be anything undead, (can you see the relationship here with the title yet?) …. but it certainly has started to become a bit of a wild creature, steadily running out of control and having to try to liaise and ensure that everyone to the right point at the right time is very demanding, but I think somehow it might just tame itself eventually and it will become a great success.

The two Ian’s, both motorcycle enthusiasts had agreed that they wished to visit the Four Cardinal Points of the United Kingdom on their own bikes. Both Gentlemen then decided that they would like to ask the community to consider sponsoring the run or make a donation to help improve access for the disabled and elderly in the three of our five churches in our Mission Community here in Brixham.

So, it would seem that with my previous history of planning events and my once busy work schedule I now wear a new hat with the title “Tour & Fund Raising liaison Officer & Social Media Representative” (something like that) … and that’s one bloody big hat I can tell you.

It is not one of my creations, it seems to have just grown on its own and something that is this big, one could possibly guess that it was designed by one of the great milliners ever, David Shilling. No doubt Gertrude, his mother would love to wear it, that’s only if she were still alive today.

Setting up a Facebook page and a Twitter feed was easy and we have been promoting this event like crazy, certain weekday evenings have #DevonHour & #TorbayHour on Twitter and the feeds go crazy. Now we have the local press involved and today after numerous amounts of correspondence,  the lovely Kerry White on her Saturday radio show has invited us to join her which will give us the opportunity to Q&A on a Live On-Air interview, scheduled just before midday on BBC Radio Devon.

I have even managed to rope in the Bishop of Plymouth Nick Mckinnel if he would bless the first part of the tour which starts Thursday September 1st 2016 to the South Cardinal via Plymouth City Centre, and he has agreed. Only this morning I received confirmation that our local biking community known as BMAD are escorting the Vicar and the Undertaker from the departure point here in Brixham on-toward the A38 where another biking chapter will take over …. I think this might just become both awe-inspiring and very emotional for Rev’d Ian & Mr Loram, most bikers are of a hardy breed and look out for those that they care for.

You can of course, follow the tour  on or

Or we would really appreciate any online donations if you are able.

Thankyou very much



Sunday …. Kitchen sink drama’s

Sunday August 21st 2016s-l1600.jpg


Nothing to report as such, except my neighbour decided he wanted to change his new mixer taps just recently fitted in his new kitchen, for even newer.

So, I obliged, In return for a few glasses of fizz, yet again.

“All hail to the new mixer taps” … we cry!

I’m sure you must think that I am a lush of sorts? …..  And of course you would be right. Sort of, YES!

All things THV Patricia ….

20th August 2106

Out here this late Saturday afternoon on the isthmus we are shrouded in mizzle, its dire as a matter of fact, although temperature is at a stable 20 Celsius. My front door is open and im busy doing all sorts of PR stuff for one of the committees I attend.

Music du-jour at the moment is the incredible Will Young which is ‘gently’ blasting through my speaker system. Its been a great afternoon, even managed to pop down to a neighbour who was having a garden party where I was able to self administer a couple of Jam and clotted cream scones.

Suddenly the mist and rain has lifted, as quick as the last paragraph and my storyline twists a different turn. Out in the bay, is moored the Trinity House Vessel THV ‘Patricia’P1010866.jpg

Although she is an operations ship, she also has a slight spin to her maritime tasks, that being having the option to provide passenger voyages. Quite an exclusive club to perhaps inform others that you are a member, and with the ability to carry only twelve fare paying passengers at a max it makes it quite special. It’s a bit like a mystery tour that you would once have taken on a coach on a Sunday evening, except this is all at sea. “She” is on call around the British Isles 24/7/365

The THV Patricia is a fully working ship and those who voyage on board her observe first-hand the day-to-day activities she undertakes, whether planned lighthouse visits, helicopter operations, lightvessel towing or buoy maintenance, including the marking of wrecks and sometimes even unplanned emergency response situations everything is unscripted and without agenda.

I quite fancy a week on-board, just to say I have been would be nice. Especially with my past relationship with boats and the importance of being that perfect sailor and understanding the rules of seamanship. The accommodation is very luxurious, in fact, I have heard that when its Cowes week it sometimes doubles up as temporary use for the Royals now that Britannia is out of commission.

Six beautifully appointed en-suite cabins, the availability of a steward on call twenty-four hours with private lounge, beautifully appointed shared dining and a personal chef are there for the use of if you wish to go that bit further cash wise. Goodness knows how I would cope on one of those ‘Celebration’ type cruises, a bit like being at ‘Butlins’ on the water  …. but this undoubtedly is something totally different.

view.jpegview-1.jpeg800.jpegAs you can see, it is fit for a Queen. It certainly looks amazing.

Imagine being out on the observation deck watching these men going about their tasks and duties in all kinds of weather. Anchors up and away. As Captain and crew remain tight-lipped as she heads at ‘All Full Ahead’. One could possibly pretend one was an MI5 Spy, a superhero, on a mission for the British Government ….. off to save the world. ….. Imagine that as an amateur writer what kind of story you could come up with. One would, or I certainly would, fancy that the weather be tempesty and the sea state quite rough as we battle toward our secret destination. Apparently visits to the bridge are unlimites and being able to get into the routines of help chart maps and plot routes. Now, that really would be something rather unique indeed. view-2.jpeg

By the way, every time “Patricia” comes into Torbay I imagine that its my dear old Mum checking up on us, for her name was Patricia too.

Safe travels THV Patricia

*whoooop*-*whoooop*-*whoooop*  “Attention passenger Stamp, Attention passenger Stamp, Please report to the Captains mess ……IMMEDIATELY!”

Ooh …. All hands on deck!

IMG_3286 (1).jpg

These are not just any new shoes, these are my new shoes!

Always a good sign, even better as these are an early birthday present, only to be worn when we go away in September … I can’t imagine how many times these will be promenaded along the pine-walk in Puerto Polleñca, but rest assured there will be plenty of libation en-route.

Once these are broken in they will be as comfortable as a pair of gloves. 🙂

No butts about it!


Chris my neighbour has had an overflowing water tank for a while, its of the old combination type and gaining access to change the ballcock is going to be an absolute nightmare. However, it only overflows when it feels like it. So we came up with an idea and bought a water-butt for the garden. All we would have to do was connect the overflow discharge pipe to the inlet of the butt and it will collect the otherwise wasted water and we can use it to slush down the yard with a dose of Dettol in the watering can.

It arrived today, and now it stands  in the corner, empty!

So, for its arrival we finished off the opened bottle of Cava from last evenings dinner and raised a toast ….. “up your butt and no babies”

Thursday August 20th 2016

Sliding doors ….

Monday August 16th 2016 …

P1010860.jpgHave you ever heard of the film called Sliding doors ? … If yes, then you would know It’s all about our lives and the already planned route we take ahead, there are plenty of “what if’s and many regrets” and lots of “I shouldnt have done that or I wished I had” not to mention strange occurrences in life. If you can relate to this, then you will understand what I am writing about here.

Alternatively in simple terms it is recognised in real life as living in one of two Parallel universes!

I can remember the date simply as 1975 August, I was almost twenty. We as a joint family had just arrived in Spain after landing at Alicante Airport The slimy dago taxi drivers were queuing up to take advantage of the innocent and the naive traveller, we got hooked, he ripped us off for the journey onto the destination resort of Calpe which was much further along the coast of the Costa Blanca. We however had a great ride through Benidorm and noticing posters for the infamous Sticky Vicky we all giggled and smirked at each other. This was to be our first group holiday as two families sharing together. One of my fathers works colleagues had invested in a frontline apartment in a modern tower block called the “El Mar dos”

The insipid yellow building was probably the first one of the many tall buildings to be built at this end of the small town, and so in a small basic flat on the first floor we all bunked down and mucked in. My first spoken spanish word was webble … actually pronounced as heuvo,  an ‘egg’ !   The famous ‘webble’ still sticks, even to this day.

Mother had stuffed teabags and tins of baked beans into her suitcase with many other food items which she was sure the Spaniards wouldn’t have in their Mercado’s. My dad had packed a three-piece suit in his case. He did get to wear it once at the Jousting event and he stuck out like a sore thumb and then again at the Benidorm Palace, an infamous shit hole then and im sure it still bears the same title and remains the same now, nothing like it’s portrayed by the TV show. Just two of the many tourist traps available to gullible punters, fortunately we only got caught out the once.  

My best mate Derek and his parents got on well with my parents, as I his, a friendship for them that shared many adventures away without us two hanging on. That sadly ended after our parents each gradually passed away. Derek and I remain great friends to this day as I have already written on a few occasions.

Calpe had not yet then been affected by the boom of tourism and commercialisation, unlike Benidorm. It was still a small town and fishing port where the day boats would leave at 3:30 in the morning and return by 4:00 in the afternoon, busy to each unload their catch of the day and was sold to the small restaurants lining the tiny harbour and cooked to order to residents and the few holiday makers alike.

A traffic junction sliced the main road, the right fork led down to the harbour and small establishments selling cheap plonk and contraband fags and two-day old newspapers that had been imported from the UK. To the left the road led onto the residential route which continued and went on down to the Levante beach or you could bear right up toward the imposing Peñon de Ifach, known originally to the Phoenicians as the Northern rock, its southern counterpart being the rock of Gibraltar. This massive limestone outcrop emerges from the sea to a height of almost 1200 feet and links itself to the shore by rock debris.

In the middle of this vee junction stood an aged hostel and bar which was called “The Ancla” which of course from spanish translates to Anchor, a mainstay, and a mainstay this place became for us.

The Ancla was just a ‘get yourself ready and rock’ kind of place, and to say it was quite rough around the edges really was an understatement, fortunately everyone was friendly. As newbie holidaymakers and especially as this was our first foray to España self catering, we took it as a refuge and used it as our meeting point at any time of the day.

Rory the proprietor and his wife Mary, she, a retired circus acrobat/ trapeze artist juggled the accommodation bookings in-between cooking and serving the great food and keeping two unruly boys out of trouble, sadly to her disappointment that was a waste of her precious time. The entertainment was home-made which kept us all amused and the bar staff were extremely pleasant and always engaging. If you were lucky enough as a customer and it definitely got busy, (sometimes Derek and I having had some bar experience back at home) were invited to do a shift or two behind the cramped bar in exchange for a few Cuba libres, plus the bonus of drinking the mistakes you constantly made, we never did get the hang of spinning the bottles …..

The atmosphere was brilliant, an ageing pinball machine competed with the music on the free juke box playing the greats of the seventies at the time, Suzi Quatro, The Sweet, Three Degrees, George McCrae, Rubettes, Abba, Mud, New Seekers were favourites, sounds blasted out of speakers way past their sell by dates and when Rory the resident singer was otherwise engaged he was busy either serving coffee and brandies and bouncing at the door.  We all sang songs, rather loud and disorderly as drunken Brits tended to do. I hear that tradition is still continued, gladly I am no longer of that age to do so, just a more genteel kind of person these days.

I had noticed an Orange Renault 14 slightly worse for wear and covered in dust parked outside this noisy establishment which was bearing a British registration plate, it was synonymous of a local registration to our home area, YXF ???N (similar to this pic)

Me, the nosey boy, great lover of cars and intrigued at this image, went off to seek and find, I eventually made contact with the driver, a young lady named Jean, just a few years older than myself. She was her sister to Rory. When she wasnt spending every hour available bringing up her young baby daughter she spent the rest of her day being a holiday rep, selling guided tours and organising evening bingo trips into Benidorm. She and her family ran the business, they attended the hotplates, and would pour greatly appreciated unmeasured drinks and strum and tend to warble along to the slight discord of an electric guitar once owned by Les Dawson.

Immediately Jean and I ignited a spark, a friendship had been struck.  A spark …. one that has now lasted over forty years. Strangest thing which you probably would never believe if you hadn’t of read it here first, was that she had been living and working in the same town as ourselves in the holiday camp next to where Derek and I were bar tending as a blue coat. …. dear old Brixham ….. and we hadn’t even ever crossed paths.

Lets get back to parallel universes and sliding doors …. I had gotten the bug and thought perhaps I would want to live abroad, have a small business. In the seventies, it was hard work (here in Spain). Franco had been in power and now still the Guardia and the mafioso were everywhere, and yes, protection money had to be paid or they would just come in and shut down businesses or ensure the electricidad or the agua was disconnected. Red tape and illegal corrupt bureaucracy was rife.

I can’t remember the amount of times we were told to invest in Spain, especially Calpe as it was up and coming … and up and come it certainly did, but did we? …. no, we did not! Work for myself here in the United Kingdom and abroad came thick and fast. Life was changing for all of us, but only in the one dimension, in another it stayed the same, but in which one was it actually happening, or even more, were we actually aware? 

Every returning year since we have been asked to come and live, and every year we said we’d think about it, and now forty years on we realise it’s now way too late. I’m certainly too old to move now, unless my six lucky balls fall into place!  Although I can understand the Spanish language and am able to read it, my spoken is very poor, but once I get into the zone I can manage to make the locals either understand or laugh.

Today Jean returns to Devon, as she also loves it here too.  This early morning we have arranged to meet for breakfast at a pleasant hotel in Paignton where we can be waited on.  We greet and hug, and hold on tight in what seems like an eternity, with a few moments silence we then chat about the constant that is old times. We laugh about our adventures into Benidorm on the old road late at night, seven of us crammed into a battered old right hand drive car trying to out run the Policia, as both a foreign car full of foreigners attracts much attention, especially late at night. Images of us skidding around the winding corners with precarious drops over cliff edges, we could have all been killed, but we were not and are still able to tell the tale.’ … often a voice from the rear seat would scream out from a parent NOT YET JEAN’ as she would attempt to make her move and overtake.

One great memory for me that is rather precious  ….. ‘One sultry baking hot afternoon, the two of us headed toward the Peñon, walking off the normal path we climbed down through the palms, brushing the many shrubs of juniper, lavender and white pine with our legs, the scent was heaven. We found our way down onto the rocks under a remote part of the outcrop, the sun shone bright and high, the rays reflected over the water. Far away the horizon rested between the sea and the bright blue sky. Daring each other, we dived off the high rock edge into the deep crystal clear warm waters, below lay a wreck of a small fishing boat on the sea-bed which was teaming with marine life, above us the peregrine falcons which were nesting on the rock face circled high. The gentle winds blew sea-spray over our faces as we swam toward the bright light and just kept on laughing together, time and dimensions were as one. There were no other distractions, all was quiet, all was as if it were the dawn of time.’

Sometimes when something poignant like that happens, only hind sight tends to make you realise perhaps you should have grasped what was in your hand at that particular moment. Maybe it was a sign sent from somewhere far greater than part of the grand scheme we are now in, perhaps we shall never know!

These two universes have been running side by side for what probably has been millions and millions of years, occasionally bumping into one other and then spinning off until the next orbit brings us right back onto the preplanned collision course again.

So, is this what might be considered as part of the Big Bang Theory?

Jean once a young single mother and now with her grown girls, stands proud as a grandmother greatly respected by her Spanish family and those she loves. Me, once a Son, now a proud Father to my beautiful daughter and her partner and of a wonderful mate.

Spending just two hours every forty million years together is as if we have never been apart, and we talk about the same things every time ….. and yes, we still laugh at the same old news.

Sadly, saying goodbye was very emotional this time ….

Until the next collision course my dear!