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Month: May 2021


Welcome to my Blog

You are very welcome, and thanks for stopping by…

This time, a trip down memory back roads in a work of art…

Lily is beautiful. She has a special place in my heart.

She has a swooping, V-shaped front, and gleaming green-and-white bodywork. And a pop-up roof. Marvelous.

Lily of the Valleys

We met many years ago when our Family trekked over to Pembrokeshire for an Escape to Nature in our version of the Mystery Machine. Camping. Board games. Rain. British holidays at their most alluring.

We collected Lily and got down to the serious business of grappling with a steering wheel the size of a dustbin lid and brakes which had a stopping distance of around two miles. Cornering required forward planning, The bed in the back looked comfortable., not that I was ever going to see it up close. The Boy and I were turfed out under canvas at the camp site, under the stick on awning that turned Lily into a caravan in the more exotic sense of the word. We forgot the Turkish delight and made do with Welsh cakes.

6:30 the next morning, the thrill of a night out under the stars was tempered by (a) the lack of stars all night because of the cloud cover; and (b) the detached edge of the awning wetly slapping me across the face as if flapped in the wind.

No matter.

We had conquered the challenges of sleeping in and next to a vehicle on a cliff-top. First-hand evidence demonstrated that the handbrake was well-made and functioning. After braving the hose-shower and the peculiarly unstable toilet tent provided by the site, we were done and ready for the next adventure.

In search of snacks

Managed chaos and discomfort, the joy of the outdoors. Freedom.

And we will do it again, these days subject to there being three bars of Wi-Fi and a buffet, but Hell it’s the thought that counts while starting to emerge from our cocoons. For us, Lily was, unknowingly, good practice for Lockdown.

Let’s hope we can all make our way back to the open road soon…



Alan Camrose

Open house


Time travel for beginners

Welcome to my Blog

It’s my bespoke stomping ground in the Intermatrix. You are very welcome, and thanks for stopping by…

This time, several steps back in time. Not sure what the main subjects of this post would have made of it…

I came across some family photos yesterday. The ones that really caught my attention were those of a couple of my uncles. Uncle Dave and Uncle Alf. Memories of their war exploits.

I was impressed by their quiet confidence, the feeling of duty being done that shone from the pages of the photo albums. The clear pictures, the whiff of invulnerability as they got ready to do their bit. Not in the Falklands, not at Dunkirk.

In the trenches of France, where Uncle Alf died on 8th October 1918.

Uncle Alf

Uncle Dave survived the First World War, he was way too old to serve in the Second World War, and died at a ripe and comfortable old age in the late 1970s in a two-up, two-down in North West London, Ford Cortinas and Rovers clanking past on the street splashing water over pedestrians’ flares.

Weird how that sort of thing can hit you when idling through family stuff, but it occurs to me that there aren’t many people around whose uncles fought in the First World War.

My dad was getting on a bit to serve in the Second World War; I arrived in the world when he was 52.

Alf was a rifleman in the London Regiment (Queen’s Westminster Rifles), number 555636, his death – a tantalingly short time before the end of the war – is commemorated at the Terlincthun British Cemetery (Wimille), in the Pas de Calais, France, these pictures are all that I have found.

I believe that Dave was a batman to an officer. So much better if he’d been Uncle Bruce, but never mind.

He has the bandoleer and what looks like a tam o’shanter at the bottom left in the picture below.

I believe this is him again, in a formal photo pose, polished and gleaming in front of a no doubt painted backdrop of an idyllic garden scene:

Uncle Dave

It is at times like that that I wish I had sat my parents down with their old albums and marched them through the pictures to capture their fleeting memories and stories of past lives before they were no longer around and the stories retreated further away.

My reproduction of these pictures is my homage to all that, and a window back in time to a very different place.

I hope these pictures and these reflections stir some memories for you.

Best wishes,


Alan Camrose

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Pagoda moments

Welcome to my Blog

It’s my bespoke stomping ground in the Intermatrix. You are very welcome, and thanks for stopping by…

This time, a Burmese moment… As a gentle warning, if you don’t like cats (and, in particular, Burmese cats) you may want to look away now.

In the interests of balance, I want to put the limelight on Pagoda. A brief moment on a lazy Bank Holiday…

Her full-on, no-holds-barred, knock-down-drag-out name is, as decreed by the all-powerful Governing Council of the Cat Fancy, is:

Karriewhitchit Aligrea

‘Pagoda’ works better when yelling at her not to rip up one of the sofas.

Chocolate Burmese.

Date of birth: 22 January 2015.

I was delighted to find out that her mother is Karriewhitchit Allthatjazz. Pagoda certainly shows off some syncopated moves when she shreds a rug.

I thought I would run through her main characteristics.

Bloody-mninded. She has right of abode on my chest when I am sitting down and wearing an acceptably comfortable item of clothing. Preferably a wool jumper. She is able to detect me anywhere in the house and home in on me with a purr the decibel equivalent of a large washing machine tackling student washing, or a small light aircraft.

Moving is not an option, otherwise her Bad Side comes out, together with the pointy bits of her, ready to act like a grapnel on the North face of the Eiger..

Unwavering. Whether it’s shoulder-charging the utility room door, dive-bombing the sleeping dog or trying to squeeze through the window shutters, she pursues her twisted goals with Terminator-like efficiency…

…She can’t be bargained with, can’t be reasoned with, she doesn’t feel pity or remorse or fear, and she absolutely will not stop… EVER…

Kyle Reese

Ravenous. Whether stalking her kibble, trying to eat her toy mouse, inhaling her Felix or, best of all, heisting the dog’s food, for one so small that cat has a BIG appetite. I always keep my finhers and toes moving while she’s around me. But wait, doesn’t that make me…LIVE PREY?


Mad. ‘Nuff said.


Elegant. (Evil.) Either. Both. See above.

Sleepy. She’s a cat, what can I say?

Extreme. Whatever she does is at the far end of the cat continuum.

I hope you enjoyed my acrostic moment above.



Alan Camrose

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