The Music didn't Stop for Red

We all have certain pieces of music which we connect with certain places.
 

When I hear Roadhouse Blues played by the Doors, I am seeing streets in suburban London passing by swiftly, semi-detached redbrick houses in the sunshine and lots of black people in the streets. I am feeling the swerve of the car as we go through a roundabout, and I am being cooled on a hot summer’s day by the air drawn in through the open sliding doors of a Comer van.

The year is 1970. I was seventeen. Together with a friend I was hitchhiking in northern Europe. We had made it to London, and it was when we were leaving London that we had the chance of getting a lift with a tradesman.

We had a small cassette recorder with us and in London we had just bought this new Doors record, Morrison Hotel. The driver noticed our recorder and asked for some music. We listened to it for the first time.

“Turn it up”, the driver said. “More”, he added.  And with the volume at maximum we drove through the suburbs of London.  The first track was Roadhouse Blues. I think we listened to the whole record twice, before we were dropped near a motorway from where we could look for a lift to the coast and a ferry to the Continent.

To this day, this song brings pictures of driving through London suburbs in hot summer sunshine to my mind.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5XWQrt00_NM

The Demoralizing Effect of Roadside Speed Indicators

The legs felt good. Of course I was tired, but I felt I was still able to put quite some force into it. Had been on my racing bike for about two hours and was getting close to home. I felt strong and good.

That’s when I heard the voice in my head – the inner commentator set off: 

 

And here’s the Sky train. They are keeping a tremendous pace to secure this stage for Cavendish. But what’s that. Who’s that on the other side of the road? It’s Pulo! Pulo looks to be taking this stage. Isn’t it just amazing? He won the time trial, he took two of the toughest mountain stages. He has the Yellow Jersey, he has the Polka Dot Jersey, and if he gets this stage, he can add the Green Jersey to his collection. Isn’t it just fantastic!

And bear in mind. All this after being his country’s top goal scorer at the soccer world championships earlier in the summer. Who doesn’t remember how he was changing from this football outfit into this bicycling outfit, hanging high in the air after being parachuted over the starting area for the Tour de France prologue in order to be in time for the Grand Départ? The crowd is going to love .......

I noticed a light flashing at the roadside. It wasn’t the photographers. It was an amber light. And there was a sign saying:

Vous roulez à 22 km/h. Or in English : you are moving forward at a speed of 22 kilometres an hour. After this sign there was another sign. Heimdorf it said.

I was back where I belonged.

The Sound of Europe Changing

Not long ago I was on a ferry –crossing from Dover to Dunkerque.

We were welcomed over the ferry’s intercom system. Safety instructions were given.

First in English. Then in French (after all we were on a crossing to France). Then in POLISH and, as the last language, in German.
 

It does not seem many years ago that we looked at unfamiliar number plates when going down the German motor ways, and discovered that they were Polish. And now Polish is slowly becoming a part of the public European soundscape. Most of us do not understand the language, but many of us have reached the point where we can identify it.

So, welcome to the sound of Polish. And to the Poles, of course.

Congratulations Sir, you're pregnant

My father told me this story.

It must have taken place in the 50’s or 60’s.

A professional cyclist had a call from the anti-doping authorities. Congratulations Sir, you’re pregnant, the official said on the phone.

He had been in a race and had been selected for doping control. This included an analysis of his urine. And now they had the result.

This is what had happened. During the race he had a small bag with a urine sample on him. It was fixed under one of his armpits so as to attain his body temperature.

The sample, of course, was not his urine - It was his wife’s.

NB! I don’t know if this is a true story. Does anybody know?