Showing posts with label UK. Show all posts
Showing posts with label UK. Show all posts
Oct 6, 2012
Oct 2, 2012
Not exactly an aria
I gave a talk at a conference about transforming media into a more positive vehicle for human expression last week at Sadler's Wells in the Lilian Baylis Theatre. Afterwards I was interviewed by VisionOnTV.
Here's a link to my presentation, which might not make much sense out of context.
Stuart Hughes, BBC world affairs producer, also gave a talk about his experiences. It was great to see him again. His talk about news coverage and conflict was superb.
Afterwards there was a panel discussion hosted by former BBC presenter Martyn Lewis, who believes in adding something positive to every news story. He was also interviewed by VisionOnTV
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 14, 2011
Jan 22, 2010
Chipmonks get creative
This origami budgie was made by @maxxmonkey's chipmonks. It is a copy of the budgie I found in the garden a few years ago. It is very well done and I wanted to share it with my faithful readers :)
Dec 11, 2009
Growing up without Grayshott
This story was written for the Grayshott Parish Magazine and published in November 2009.
Some of my earliest childhood memories were generated in the small Hampshire village where my maternal grandparents lived when I was a child.
A recent bittersweet return visit to Grayshott after a 20-year hiatus was a bit of a disorienting experience, which highlighted the complexities of remembrance and reality.
We moved several times when I was a child, which meant we lived in London for only three years before we returned to Canada, where, apart from four years in Washington, D.C., I spent most of my life.
It was an easy trip from London to Grayshott by train and we often visited my grandparents. A cosy, loving atmosphere warmed their chilly home, which was always surrounded by the scent of a bonfire burning rubbish in the garden.
Inside, my sister Tracey and I whiled away the hours by looking at the multitude of ornaments in parlour and sitting room, while outside, we played in tents and with what seemed like a vast amount of plastic garden gnomes and animals.
I also remember the trauma of such outdoor threats as being jumped on by a dog while I was being trundled along the sidewalk in my pushcart.
In an odd twist of fate, since October 2008, I have been working at Reuters in London as my father did, just down the street from where he worked on Fleet Street.
I took a trip back to Toronto, where my parents and sister now live, in March and helped arrange a party for their Golden Wedding Anniversary, which about 50 friends attended.
Returning to Grayshott in recent weeks was a melancholic experience in some ways because my grandparents have passed away, Bidston's garden has been irrevocably changed and the war memorial and green, which my grandfather tended after he retired from Naval service, has been altered with a fence and children's playground.
Everything seemed odd as I wandered around the village trying to piece the past together.
I met for a delicious Sunday dinner at the Fox and Pelican pub with Marie Morris, a lifelong friend of my mother's, who visited us in Toronto several times.
We went for a walk to the Grayshott Pottery and to see the school they attended.
In St Luke's Church, I was intrigued to find the names of relatives on plaques commemorating those villagers who served in both world wars, and most importantly, I was glad that my visit brought to life the building featured in many pictures of my parents' happy wedding day on display throughout their home.
A recent bittersweet return visit to Grayshott after a 20-year hiatus was a bit of a disorienting experience, which highlighted the complexities of remembrance and reality.
My grandparents, Herbert and May Levett, lived at "Bidston" on Crossways Road.
Their daughter, my mother, Joan, married Carl Mollins, a Canadian journalist working in London with Reuters, the news agency, 50 years ago on March 21, 1959, at St Luke's Church.
A clipping from the weekly Hindhead Herald newspaper dated March 28, 1959, describes the event:
"The vicar (the Rev. Dr. A. R. Winnett) conducted the wedding service, during which the hymns 'Lead us, Heavenly Father,' and 'Love Divine' were sung. Given away by her father, the bride wore a short full-skirted white lace dress with long fitted sleeves extending in points over the hands, a coronet of orange blossom, and short veil and white satin court shoes. Her bouquet was of roses, freesias and hyacinths in spray form."
Their daughter, my mother, Joan, married Carl Mollins, a Canadian journalist working in London with Reuters, the news agency, 50 years ago on March 21, 1959, at St Luke's Church.
A clipping from the weekly Hindhead Herald newspaper dated March 28, 1959, describes the event:
"The vicar (the Rev. Dr. A. R. Winnett) conducted the wedding service, during which the hymns 'Lead us, Heavenly Father,' and 'Love Divine' were sung. Given away by her father, the bride wore a short full-skirted white lace dress with long fitted sleeves extending in points over the hands, a coronet of orange blossom, and short veil and white satin court shoes. Her bouquet was of roses, freesias and hyacinths in spray form."
We moved several times when I was a child, which meant we lived in London for only three years before we returned to Canada, where, apart from four years in Washington, D.C., I spent most of my life.
It was an easy trip from London to Grayshott by train and we often visited my grandparents. A cosy, loving atmosphere warmed their chilly home, which was always surrounded by the scent of a bonfire burning rubbish in the garden.
Inside, my sister Tracey and I whiled away the hours by looking at the multitude of ornaments in parlour and sitting room, while outside, we played in tents and with what seemed like a vast amount of plastic garden gnomes and animals.
I also remember the trauma of such outdoor threats as being jumped on by a dog while I was being trundled along the sidewalk in my pushcart.
In an odd twist of fate, since October 2008, I have been working at Reuters in London as my father did, just down the street from where he worked on Fleet Street.
I took a trip back to Toronto, where my parents and sister now live, in March and helped arrange a party for their Golden Wedding Anniversary, which about 50 friends attended.
Returning to Grayshott in recent weeks was a melancholic experience in some ways because my grandparents have passed away, Bidston's garden has been irrevocably changed and the war memorial and green, which my grandfather tended after he retired from Naval service, has been altered with a fence and children's playground.
Everything seemed odd as I wandered around the village trying to piece the past together.
I met for a delicious Sunday dinner at the Fox and Pelican pub with Marie Morris, a lifelong friend of my mother's, who visited us in Toronto several times.
We went for a walk to the Grayshott Pottery and to see the school they attended.
In St Luke's Church, I was intrigued to find the names of relatives on plaques commemorating those villagers who served in both world wars, and most importantly, I was glad that my visit brought to life the building featured in many pictures of my parents' happy wedding day on display throughout their home.
Sep 7, 2009
Not a tribute
Strange couple of months.
First Fred died of cancer in Maidstone.
Back to Canada
Family stuff
Back to UK
Work
Aggro
Travel
Family stuff
Back to UK
Work
Aggro
Travel
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