Report

On Carrer del Calvari, Pollensa

Our Majorcan villa, just outside the ancient town of Pollensa, was almost perfect. All four bedrooms had effective air-conditioning units which were pretty essential in that sultry heat. And the outdoor area with a lovely deep swimming pool served us well - even though the three children required responsible supervision.

Our Phoebe

My son-in-law Stewart was the barbecue king and every night we had salad and barbecued meat with a dollop of carbohydrates plus wine and beer. Of course my son Ian didn't have the meat - he had beans or a tofu alternative.

There were two or three days at the villa when I got up, put my swimming shorts on and dived in the pool and I didn't shower, get dressed or comb my hair all day. This made a nice change.

Ian and Zach at Playa Formentor

We visited Playa Formentor which Shirley and I had taken Ian to in 1986. At that time we stayed in The Hotel Cala San Vicenze where there is a little sandy cove. Interestingly, forty years later - on our second morning Ian ran there - around ten kilometers before diving into the sea and swimming out for half a mile.

Happy busker in Pollensa

The flights were on time and we didn't have any costly prangs with our two hire cars. The children were happy and healthy and I didn't watch any television or learn what was happening in the world beyond our former Majorcan farmhouse. 

Picnic time

And - oh - I met a famous person at Birmingham Airport but more about that in the next gripping episode of "Yorkshire Pudding"...

Majorca

 

Yo! I got you there with my last blogpost didn't I? "The End"? What on earth did that curmudgeonly old Yorkshire bloke mean?

Well let me start be reassuring you that I was only playing. A few out there will be disappointed when I reassure you that this blog is not over. It will continue when I get back from our holiday in Majorca, Spain.

At this very minute we should be safely ensconced in our rural villa north of Pollensa following a flight from Birmingham and a late night hire car drive to the north of the island. When I say "we", I mean all of us - me and Shirley, Ian and Zach, Frances, Stewart, Phoebe and Margot. A proper family break at the start of the school holidays here in England.

The last time I was in Majorca, Ian was eighteen months old. Forty years ago. He won't remember a thing but I remember it was a lovely holiday in the Easter period when the sunshine was comfortable, not angry as I expect it will sometimes feel during this week away.

Fortunately our villa has a swimming pool and I expect to spend a good amount of time in there. With three little children and simply to save money, I further expect that we will mostly eat in the villa but One lunchtime Shirley and I will treat everybody to a happy family meal that we will remember fondly in the dark days of winter.

This was a "scheduled post". I won't be blogging again until Saturday the 25th.

End

 

Extras

Dr Johnson memorial in Uttoxeter

Now I have had time to edit the pictures I bagged on Wednesday, I want to share another bunch with you. I know that some overseas visitors to this blog rather enjoy seeing images of Ye Olde Englande caught in the camera of a native citizen. To remind you... I went to Uttoxeter in east Staffordshire and then plodded four miles to the  village of Marchington before turning north to Marchington Woodlands, Hollingbury Hall and back to Uttoxeter, risking my life on the narrow verges of busy Highwood Road before paved footpaths thankfully reappeared.

One of the genuine delights of my retirement has been to walk in unfamiliar territory, taking photographs and seeing sights that confirm to me I am lucky to live here - in a land of beauty and history where almost everybody I meet is kind and friendly. I say this in all honesty.

The River Dove - border between Staffordshire and Derbyshire

Marchington Hall - dates back to 1690

St Peter's Church, Marchington

Church Farm, Marchington Woodlands

Two sheep near Brook House Farm

Cyclist passing the gates of Hollingsbury Hall

Back in Uttoxeter. Can you see the sheep?

$5.6m

At long last I am delighted to inform you that the former chairman of the US version of "The Apprentice" has finally paid up a portion of the money he owed Elizabeth Jean Carroll. Back in 2023, a district court in the USA had instructed him to pay over $5 million in damages for defamation and sexual abuse. With interest that figure rose to $5.6million.

In essence, the matter related to an afternoon in the mid-nineties when the orange reality TV star with the golden mane assaulted Ms Carroll in a changing room in the Bergdorf Goodman department store in New York City. This crime was compounded by his repeated lies and cynical attempts to smear his victim. He said, “She’s accusing me of rape, a woman that I have no idea who she is. It came out of the blue." He also referred to her as "a nut job" which is of course rather rich coming from him!

As months and years passed, the elderly rogue sought to use every legal appeal avenue in existence to overturn the court ruling but in the end all of his efforts were in vain. Even The Supreme Court that usually dances to his tune could find no substantive merit in his endless appealing.

As the money finally came through, E. Jean Carroll wrote, "The Eagle has landed" - a reference to the first moon landing. After all of the effort and expenditure, the mission was finally successful.

The former "Apprentice" host has a big appetite for pursuing people through the courts but when it happens to him he always kicks back. Perhaps he believes that he should be above the law

$5.6million is loose change to a guy who made many millions through shady cryptocurrency deals. However, there remains an outstanding judgement against him. Still in relation to E.Jean Carroll, he is similarly appealing against an $83 million lawsuit judgement that also involved defamation.

Through the legal system, Elizabeth Jean Carroll's intentions were never about making money. It was all about principles and justice. In fact, at one stage, she declared that she would give away any funds that were awarded to her.

In my estimation, she has been extremely brave to stand in the full glare of publicity while challenging a very powerful, extraordinarily vindictive man who has a penchant for using the law as an arsenal to get what he wants - come what may. Let us hope that in the course of time she also secures the $83 million already awarded to her before the appeals rigmarole began all over again.

Repeat

Action! Camera! Take Two!

Remember last week when my little trip to Uttoxeter in Staffordshire went all wrong? Well I bought a new railway ticket for today and everything worked out just fine and dandy. The trains were on time and I did not stupidly mislay my camera.

As soon as I arrived at Uttoxeter station. I was off walking, using the Ordnance Survey maps I printed off for last week. Eighty minutes later I was in the delightful village of Marchington.

Miss Tiggywinkle in Marchington

Dodge van in Marchington

It had everything. Some lovely private houses, two churches, a village hall, a small primary school, two pubs, a recreation ground and a lot of history. In another life I could have happily dwelt there with my family, lost in the middle of England.

It was a long circular walk and it was clear to me that some of the public footpaths I had chosen were rarely trodden. Finding my way was more than a little challenging because of that but I made it!

The trains home were punctual with no bing-bongs to drive me mad and I was home in time to watch England lose to Argentina by two goals to one in their World Cup semi-final. 

About this, I have to say two things. Firstly, we lost to the better team and secondly - after Anthony Gordon had put England ahead, that was the time for our manager to drive home our advantage with attacking substitutions. In my opinion, he screwed up by instead strengthening our defence when he should have been going for the  jugular.

We should take some pride in the realisation that our lads made it to the semi-finals when 44 other teams in the World Cup tournament failed to do that. Even so, I still feel rather sad tonight.

A distant view of St Peter's Church - Marchington Woodland

Clarification

On Saturday I referred to my now defunct shower radio. Ever since then I have hardly slept a wink for I have in effect been traumatised by what I can only call a commenters' "pile on".

Why did I need a shower radio? How much time do you spend under the shower? Have you not heard of water conservation? "I am so quick in the shower that there would be no time to listen to a radio" and "I could not hear a shower radio above the noise of my super-duper  Australian shower".

These comments have hurt me so deeply that I seriously considered hanging up my blogging boots. However, instead, I have decided to simply clarify matters with a more detailed explanation of my shower radio usage.

Take today - just as an example. Downstairs, dressed in my silk ruby dressing gown, I consumed my chosen breakfast with a pint of tea, read a chapter of my current book and mooched around the internet for half an hour.

Then I mounted the stairs.

First thing I did was to grab my new portable radio and switch it on. Then it was hooked on to the bathroom window handle. Next I sat down on the porcelain throne to do what I have started to describe as a "donald". I think you will be able to guess what this means. All the time I am listening to the Naga Munchetty Show on Radio 5 Live. She is interviewing Amy Wallace who was Virginia Giuffre's ghost writer for "Nobody's Girl".

Off the throne, the horrible donald was flushed away and it was time to turn the shower on but before that I took some sharp scissors and clipped my sprouting nasal hair with the aid of the mirror on our bathroom cabinet door. Now the shower was running.

I am in there, quickly washing my hair and soaping my crevices. It does not take long  and then I rinse the soap and the shampoo away before commencing another task - wet shaving. I always do this in the shower. Sensitive gel is applied to my ugly face and, helped  by a circular shaving mirror, I carefully shave away my bristles with an old Gillette GII razor that I have been using for what - almost fifty years. (Of course the blades are replaced occasionally!)

By now the interview has finished and it's the Radio 5 Live News. Superhuman peacemaker Trump has stopped his unnecessary war with Iran yet again. Andy Burnham has been endorsed by pretty much every Labour MP to become Britain's next prime minister. We look forward to tomorrow's game with Argentina but how and why did Ann Widdecombe die?

I step out of the shower and dry my body. Hair first. I have never used a hair drier in my entire life. A bath towel does the job. I usually comb my hair before I have dried my toes. This morning I noticed that some nail clipping was necessary - especially as I am visiting an NHS podiatrist  on Thursday afternoon.

Next on the menu it's tooth brushing. I rinse my mouth and close one of the bathroom windows then I take the shower radio into our bedroom - still listening. 

Time to put on my fashionable Homer Simpson underpants before applying foot cream and underarm deodorant. Oh - and I remembered to spray "Forest Fresh" aftershave on my newly shaved visage.

The bed needs making and I fluff up the duvet and the pillows  before getting dressed. You can imagine that all of this took eighteen minutes. Plenty of time to listen to the radio and absorb some interesting stuff. I switch off the radio before heading downstairs.

So there we have it and I make no apology to circling hyenas here in the blogosphere. Please don't upset me any more by criticising my use of a shower radio. After all - I am like my preferred shaving gel - sensitive!