A Conundrum

Somehow I doubt that there’s a simple explanation, or indeed a single answer to this question but I’m going to ask it anyway. Why is it that some shows explode from the country of their birth to go on to be a success across different parts of the world while some only remain a home grown smash, and others find great success yet still have a few countries in which they flop.

I’ll tell you what prompts me to ask. The BBC have just put a couple of series of Australian Survivor onto the iplayer. I’m a Survivor fan from way back., and used to watch Australian Survivor on Netflix. And I’ve never quite been sure about why it never caught on in the UK, not in the original 2 UK series on ITV nor on the BBC revival a couple of years ago.

We can look at the things which can blight a homegrown version of a hit. If we start with the host, I don’t think Mark Austin was the right choice for the original couple of series on ITV. Too straight down the line and serious – it really called for someone with at least a foot in the world of Entertainment. Had you asked me beforehand whether I thought Joel Dommett would have been the right choice for the BBC revival I would have said absolutely not. But then he turned the dial on the godawful cheese that he dishes out on The Masked Singer (enjoy the show but not him on it) so much so that he was almost channelling the host of Australian Survivor, which was pretty much exactly what the show needed. Yet it never caught on and has not been back since.

Looking at the ingredients, it’s difficult to see which of them might put off a British audience. There’s been enough popular shows in the last two or three decades that have relied on contestants showing sneakiness and nastiness to each other that it surely can’t be that. There’s nothing on the show that is quite as gross as a lot of the bushtucker trials in the hardy perennial I’m A Celebrity. As for the physical trials, well, in some ways they are every bit as exciting and impressive as anything you’ll see in Gladiators. But for all of that it just doesn’t seem to catch on here. Strange.

The Continuing Saga

If you’ve been following my recent posts about the changes to the marking system in our quiz at the Aberavon Rugby club and my suspicions about the scores emanating from one of the teams during our ‘mark your own’ era then you’re maybe feeling that it’s all rather distasteful and shows me up as small-minded and petty. Probably guilty as charged if I’m being totally honest. Well, if you are of this opinion, this post is the latest installment of the mini-saga and you might want to give it a miss.

Right, now they’ve gone, let me tell you what happened last night. To recap, from the end of lockdown until a fortnight ago we had a marking policy in the quiz that everyone would mark their own answers, relying on the fact that it’s just a fun quiz with no prizes to be able to trust teams not to inflate their scores. For all bar one team I trust their scores implicitly. With the other one, no, ‘fraid not.

I’ve mentioned these suspicions on the blog from time to time, but never tried to discuss it at the quiz. Just didn’t think I could, really. Blimey, the way that team reacted when I asked them how they managed to score 15 on a 14 point round would put anyone off making a scene in the club. Then  a fortnight ago our esteemed and valued organiser, Dai Norwich (his name is David and he has spent a lot of time in Norwich) announced that with Covid hopefully receding ever further behind us we would be switching to swapping our answer sheets with another team for marking. The team I have my suspicions about were not there. Last week, when I was the question master, two of that team were there. Now, bear in mind that they have several times played with just two of them there. I gave them the answer sheets, and the picture handout and they did not say a word about not playing. I announced we were carrying on swapping answers for marking. Then, when it came to swap answers they said that they weren’t playing.

Right, so what happened last night with them then? Answer – nothing. They weren’t there. Maybe they were all away on holiday. One of the guys has an injury at the moment I believe as well. On the other hand, I just can’t help wondering whether the change in marking policy has anything to do with it. Dan, Jess and I were discussing this in the car on the way home and we all agreed that we’d just really like to be certain about it all. Yes, I think that they were inflating their scores somehow, but all I have is evidence, not proof. I’d just like to see how they perform in a few quizzes where someone else is marking their papers and knows what they really, honestly scored. And if they still score as well as they were scoring when they marked their own papers then that’s absolutely fine. We’ll know. Likewise, I really don’t want to thrash them week in week out – it’s not that kind of quiz. I don’t want them to be driven out of the quiz. But I do want to feel we can trust the scores that teams are saying they had , and I don’t want to be leaving the quiz on a Thursday evening feeling that one team is taking us all for mugs, which to be honest is a feeling I’ve had a lot over the last 5 years.

I Wonder

In conversation yesterday I reflected that my grandparents’ generation lived through the Second World War. In fact in 3 of my grandparents’ cases, they lived throughout both First and Second World Wars. My youngest grandparent, my father’s mother, was born in 1915, so she at least lived through part of both wars, although she was too young to remember the first at all.

Both of my grandfathers died before I was born. Neither of my grandmothers ever seemed to want to talk about the Second World War. Which is ironic really because when we talk about their generation, we tend to remember them specifically as the generation that lived through the war, rightly so. Yet in both grandmothers’ cases the war was something they didn’t particularly want to talk about.

Both of my parents were born in London in the early months of the war. Both were only 5 when it ended and neither of them had particularly strong memories of it. But their generation was the generation of war babies who got to grow up during the post war austerity of the late 40s and the 1950s. I can’t help thinking about what Sir Billy Connolly once said about the 1950s. He was talking about that period before Rock and Roll hit our shores. And he basically said words to the effect of – I remember the 50s. I was there and it was like living in the Eurovision Song Contest in a school uniform. The world was beige and the music was crap.- I’m guessing he meant Eurovision as it was in its first couple of decades and not as it is now.

I can’t help wondering, in the future, when my grandchildren are grown up and have children and grandchildren of their own, how will they think about our generation, that is, the kids who were born in the 60s and grew up in the 70s. Because looking back, I can’t help feeling just a little bit blessed that I was born when I was. I grew up in a Britain with a functioning NHS, went to a comprehensive school just 2 years after the local authority had ended the 11 plus system that in a lot of ways determined the future course of kids’ lives from some tests they did before they reached puberty, went to a University and not only did not have to pay tuition fees, but got given a grant to support me when I studied. Off the top of my head it’s difficult to think of anything in my lifetime anything like as hard or traumatic as what my parents’ and my grandparents’ generations lived through. There was Covid, certainly, which was unusual and very frightening at the time. Thousands and thousands of people died who should not have died at that time, and it’s easy to forget this as the memory of lockdown recedes into History. Growing up we lived with the fear of nuclear war, but that was just it. We lived with it, it didn’t seem to affect our lives that much. Who knows what they’ll say about us? Time alone will tell.

 

Museums

In 2022, a couple of years before my years of working at the chalkface came to its blessed end my school held a craft fair in an evening during the summer term. I was offered a stall and I sold a couple of paintings and a couple of prints. Lovely jubbly, thank you very much. Now one of the stallholders came up and invited me to take a stall in another craft fair, nothing to do with the school, being held in a couple of weeks in Neath. I had to take out some public liability insurance, and this meant that I was going to need to sell more pictures than I’d sold in the school to make any kind of profit. But hey, she told me, it was being held in a much bigger venue, for longer, all day rather than a couple of hours in an evening and it was being well advertised, locally.

Well, it was certainly a bigger venue and there were more stallholders. I don’t know how well it had been advertised, though, because there was hardly anybody there all day. I sold precisely nowt. Adding insult to injury the organisers came round asking stallholders for donations to charity. I replied that I would gladly make a donation as soon as I broke even for the day, knowing full well that this was unlikely to happen.

The only good thing about the day was that it did enable me to meet and start to get to know a real-life costumed hero. Captain Beany. If you don’t know about the captain, it’s probably a safe bet to say that you don’t come from Port Talbot or the local area, or you haven’t lived there for a long time, or you don’t visit it a great deal. We’ve all heard of national treasures. Well, Captain Beany is a Port Talbot local treasure. By his own efforts, he has become something of a legend.

Which is not something I would have predicted 40 years ago. I moved to Port Talbot on Friday 12^th September 1986, having got married on the 10^th. On the 15^th I started the primary school observation stage of my PGCE teaching certificate. Quite a week. One item of local news that same weekend was an eccentric gentleman called Barry Kirk and his attempt to break the world record for sitting in a bathful of beans. He succeeded too, as I recall, and from then on he and his alter ego Captain Beany from the Planet Beanus would become a fact of life in Port Talbot that just was not going to go away. Beany legally changed his name by deed poll to Captain Beany in 1991. Over the years he has raised tens of thousands of pounds for charities and good causes in the area.

In 2009, Beany opened his Baked Bean Museum of Excellence in his own council flat. It was opened by TV’s Danny Wallace, who featured it in one of his TV shows. Hunter Davies, the man who wrote the official biography of the Beatles, visited and wrote about it. At one stage it was Trip Advisor’s most popular attraction in Port Talbot. Beany invited me to visit, but I never quite got my act together to do this before the museum closed in 2023, when the council sent Tai Tarian in to renovate the flats.

I love museums. Whenever I’m off on a trip somewhere one of the first thing I do is google to see what museums are there. But somehow I seem to have missed out on a lot of the strange museums you can find in different places, even when it would have taken little or no effort to get there, like Beany’s. Just off the top of my head, I missed out on the Devil Museum in Kaunas when I visited in 2018. That wasn’t strictly my fault, having said that. It was Easter time, but Spring had come later in the Batlic than it did in the UK that year, and it was bitterly cold for most of the time I was there, and like an awful lot of places, the museum was closed when I went.

Then there was Reykjavik’s Phallological Museum. Yes, that word Phallological does mean what you think it means. Sorry, but I just didn’t fancy popping in when I had so much else to do and see in my short time in Iceland. My daughter and son-in-law went to Reykjavik the same year. My daughter gave it a miss, but James, my son in law did have a look. When I asked him about it he said, ”I found it quite interesting . . . even if it was just a load of willies.” There you go.

I mention all of this chaff because I took a long weekend on leave from work last week and made a visit to the Helicopter Museum in Weston Super Mare. It was one of a few museums I’ve never visited that I think would make a nice trip in a single day. The Helicopter Museum won out because it is closest to my home and is home to the few remaining bits of the Fairey Rotodyne. The Fairey Rotodyne was one of a number of aviation initiatives post war Britain came up with and somehow managed to make the least of. Basically the Rotodyne combined a rotor that was powered by jets on the tips of the blades during take off and landing, but spun free like an autogyro during level flight. It performed very well in tests, but there were concerns over the noise the jets made during take off and landing, and only one prototype was built then the government pulled the plug before any orders were received. I’ve become a little obsessed with it I suppose and even painted it a couple of weeks ago.

The other museums on the list? Well, I would really like to go to the Hovercraft Museum in Lee on Solent and have long meant to visit the Tank Museum in Bovington. Which sets me wondering, is there any mechanical means of transport that there is NOT a museum dedicated to in the UK? Did you know that there is a Lambretta scooter museum in Weston Super Mare? No, me neither or I might well have been tempted to make it part of a double header when I went to Weston last week. The National Cycle Museum is in Llandrindod Wells, a place well worth a visit in it’s own right. Amazingly , there is even a Bubblecar Museum! It’s in Lincolnshire, near Boston. Now that’s too far for a day trip for me, but it’s a definite addition to my must-see list. Sorry, but I absolutely love the Isetta, Messerschmidt and Heinkel bubblecars. Should I ever win the lottery – highly unlikely since I never buy a ticket – I want one of each.

Entrepreneurs might note that there is not yet a Segway Museum nor a Space Hopper Museum, so it Is still possible to get in on the ground floor with those.

There's a novelty -

I met Rod Burton on a tube train the late 70s once. Actually, that’s not strictly accurate. I was on a tube train once and Rod Burton came into the same carriage and got off a couple of stops later. We didn’t exchange any words so I didn’t exactly meet him. Well, be fair, it was a tube train and you didn’t.

Rod, if you’re not sure, was one third of Rod, Jane and Freddy. If you’re still not sure they had a pretty long running kid’s TV series running through the 80s into the early 90s. I watched it a few times with my kids. I think the best way to describe the shows is that each was a 15 minute mini musical, concerning different issues like moving house. It was rather good for what it was, unless memory deceives me.

Of course, the trio are probably far better known for providing the music component of ITV’s iconic and long running younger children’s show, “Rainbow”. Why I mention “Rainbow” is this. I am currently moonlighting in the office today, responding to the live CDS phone line rather than the messages on the DAP phone line. Don’t worry about it. But it does mean that I’ve been surreptitiously looking at Facebook on my phone in the interludes between calls. There’s been quite a bit of clickbait about the show there because puppeteer, Ronnie Le Drew, who operated Zippy, passed away this week.

Now, if you click on clickbait then you probably deserve what you get. But one thing I learned was really rather interesting. I knew in the 70s that Rod and Jane were married. Not for all that long, it appears, though. They divorced in 1979, I think. What I didn’t know though was that in the mid 80s Jane began a relationship Freddy Marks, the Freddy of Rod, Jane and Freddy, culminating in marriage quite a few years later. So, at different times, Jane was married to both Rod and Freddy. Well, good luck to all three of them. Freddy sadly passed away a couple of years ago. Rod made it quite clear in an interview that his split with Jane had nothing to do with Freddy and that their relationship didn’t start until several years later.

I just found it interesting – there’s lots of examples of TV performers marrying their co-stars, but marrying both of your co stars at different times, now that’s a bit special.

Tip 'n Strip

True story. On Monday, my friend, colleague (and former pupil) Viv returned to the office after a week away. She gave us all presents, in my case a biro. I was in the middle of a phone call and only took a quick glance at it and saw a young woman’s head. I idly wondered if it was one of those novelty pens where, if you hold it point down to write with it the lady in the bathing suit on the barrel of the pen miraculously loses her clothes. When I had finished the call I had a closer look at the pen and realised the lady on it was the Virgin Mary. Viv had been to Lourdes with her church. Thanks goodness I had not voiced my suspicions to her. And no, before you asked, nothing happened to Our Lady’s image when I began to write with the pen.

Just out of interest the technology that made the wonders of the ‘tip n’ strip’ pen possible was, like lego, created in Denmark. Baker Peder Eskesen created the leak proof mineral oil sealing process for floating action pens in 1946. The company he created started to market the ‘tip n’ strip’ or ‘disappearing swimsuit’ pen in 1962.

Just out of interest, the first pen to use the floating oil technology was created for Esso, and featured a floating barrel of oil.

I really don’t know if the ‘tip n’ strip’ pen is commonly available any more, but if it is I’d guess it’s probably in seaside souvenir (crap) emporia. Which brings to mind one Wednesday morning seminar I took part in 43 years ago.  At that time the Warden of University of London Goldsmith’s College was Richard Hoggart, father of Simon and author of “Uses of Literacy”. He was a very interesting speaker, whose lectures under the guise of seminars were something I looked forward too. Even if he did remark once that he thought Mastermind was simply the most ridiculous programme on television. He was an incorrigible name dropper (he once told us he had to end the seminar early because he was going for a late breakfast with Graham Greene) and one of the names he once dropped was George Orwell. Rather than going into detail about any of the novels what he really wanted to do was to talk about Orwell’s 1941 essay on seaside postcards and the work of Donald McGill.

McGill was the artist most clearly associated with the genre of ‘saucy seaside postcard.’ Reading his Wikipedia biog I was surprised to see that he was actually prosecuted under the Obscene Publications Act 1857 as late as 1954. He apparently never received more than 3 guineas per design even at the height of his fame, and no royalties. So even though his most successful postcard “Do you like Kipling?” “I don’t know, you naughty man,I’ve never kippled.” has sold more than 6 million copies, he never received one penny for it after the initial payment.

I’ll be honest, I don’t think that the kind of humour in these postcards - you can call it innocent if you wish but I reserve my right to disagree – has stood the test of time. But when I was growing up in 70s it was still pretty mainstream. The Thames Television Benny Hill shows, for example, are an oft quoted example and they are oft given as an example for a good reason. Now, Benny Hill was actually a very clever and intelligent man and a gifted comic, but he knew the market he was aiming for an he aimed for it unerringly.  To give another example, the Two Ronnies used a far wider variety of humour and was often far more clever than Benny Hill’s ITV shows. But Ronnie Barker – as clever, intelligent and witty as Benny, as good a comic as Benny and a great actor to boot, was very fond of this seaside postcard humour, and had a huge personal collection of seaside postcards. And there are times in Two Ronnies shows where you can clearly see this influence.

I’m struggling to bring this post to any kind of conclusion. So I’ll bring it back to the whole question of seaside souvenirs. 10 years ago, when my daughter Jenn started her career as a travel agent, I rediscovered my love of travel, and in 10 years I’ve been all over Europe and as far as New York City. Wherever I go I try to buy a souvenir cloth patch for my collection, these having been very much one of the tourist souvenirs of choice from when I was growing up, and taking up a lot less space than snow globes. I’ve been places where you just can’t get them. But fridge magnets! They are like stinking fish now! And I just can’t help wondering why that is, and how they have grown so popular to the detriment of other kinds of tourist tat. Answers on a postcard, please. (But preferably, not a saucy, Donald McGill one.)

A Bit of a Downer

Wednesday was a wee bit of a downer to be honest. I believe that there was a football match involving England somewhere that didn’t quite turn out as we might have wished. More importantly thought, we lost the film quiz in the Gwyn Hall.

Well, alright, maybe not quite so much of a downer. The subject was Epic Movies. It turns out that this is a genre I rather like, for I had a better night on a personal level than I usually do in the film quiz. Maybe it is just my imagination but it seemed to me there were more questions about older movies than is usual. Mind you, I'd question by which definition some of the movies referenced were epics. Casablanca, for example, is a rather intimate movie, and surely the very opposite of what would be defined as epic.

But we still lost by a point. Now in some ways this is actually better than tying for the win and losing on a numerical tie break. What put the slight downer on it is that I was kicking myself for not knowing the answer to the last question. Of course the film starring Christian Bale and Miranda Richardson was Empire of the Sun! Oh well.

I’m glad that we had the Wednesday quiz this week though, because in all honesty I could not bring myself to go to the rugby club on Thursday. If you read my post from April - Life After Mastermind: Principles be damned

Well, question master who set that quiz was doing it again last Thursday and I could not face it. I wrote the post when I was in a bit of a mood, but even having had time to reflect I honestly think giving it a miss was the kindest thing for both of us. I find that I cringe with embarrassment for him when he is trying and failing to read out his own questions. I would not put it past myself to make some unkind comment if he resuses the same questions in two rounds because he just can’t be arsed to check it. I don’t like myself very much for doing it, but at least if it didn’t work out on Thursday I won’t have ended up making it worse.

None of which helps me to decide what I am going to say if he asks me why I wasn’t there. . .

R.I.P. Dermot Murnaghan

I would just like to pay a brief tribute to Dermot Murnaghan who passed away last week. I was lucky enough to share a studio with Dermot 4 times, once in Eggheads, and three times in series two of “Are You An Egghead?” The nature of the beast when you’re a contestant in a quiz show is that there’s never a huge amount of time for you to talk to the host off camera, but on each occasion when I did get to chat a bit with him he struck me as a very nice, thoroughly decent gentleman, who did not take himself or the games too seriously.  

Rest in peace, sir.

We're Havin a Heatwave - a bloody nuisance heatwave

This didn’t happen in my day. Whether that’s a good thing or not, well, that is another question. I am referring to the news that most schools in my area of South Wales ( and all the others for all I know) are closed today and tomorrow due to the extreme temperatures.

I was 12 in 1976 and distinctly remember being told to some into school every day but being allowed to wear civilian clothing. Then in my 37 years as a teacher the two schools I worked in never closed for extreme heat, even in 2022 which was a similar situation. Trust me, school managements and their governing boards appreciate just how serious the disruption caused by school closures is. It really is – and should be - a last resort. So how have we come to the situation that this time, the schools are closing.

Well, I don’t know, but I do have my theories about this. Logically, when you remove all else and get right down to the essentials, the children should not be at more risk by coming into school. In fact, there is an argument that with parents at work, some of the children will be at more risk from the conditions with the schools closed. We can’t ignore the huge disruption for parents. But. . . I know that this might be a controversial thing to say, but the situation may well have been brought on by the actions of a growing number of parents themselves with their own actions and attitudes. There is no doubt in my mind that through the noughties and 2010s parents gained more and more power. In some ways that’s a good thing. However power can be abused.

Personally, I can’t help wondering if the school closures are, at least in part, prompted by fears over parent reactions and, yes, potential litigation if children become ill through the heat while they are in school. And before you say – oh, surely they couldn’t do that – you need to know that in many cases, yes, they could and yes, they would. Of course, I haven’t spoken to any headteacher or chairman of Governors who has had to make this decision so I don’t know if this has entered into their thinking. But I’ll be honest, yes, maybe it is hotter than previous heatwaves, but why this makes schools less safe than pupils’ own homes, I really don’t know.

My thoughts go out to all my brethren and sistren who have been at the chalkface this week in this weather – not easy at all. Summer holidays are on the way.

We’re in work at the NHS today, not that this is relevant to the issue.

Internet Challenges - Obsessives, approach with caution

Sorry, it’s been over a week since my last post. Excuses? How many would you like? This week has been allocations week in work and the upshot is that the phone line is red hot all week and I have been too exhausted to be thinking about what to post. It can be difficult to find any thing I| think is even remotely interesting enough to write about during the off season when we’re waiting for Quizzy Mondays to return. Also, it’s June. During June I usually participate in the internet 30x30 Direct Watercolour Challenge and that acts as a bit of a spare time hoover. Basically, if you take part you need to try to paint 30 direct watercolour paintings during the month of June. Direct is the key here. Direct watercolour means you start directly with the paint, no sketching or drawing the design on the paper first.

What do you get for completing the challenge? Nothing material, certainly. I first took part in 2018, when I completed the challenge. Since 2018 I’ve completed the challenge 5 times. I didn’t do it in 2020. Not sure why? Lockdown, perhaps? Then I started in 2024, produced 8 terrible pictures and got so despondent and frustrated with it that I gave it up as a bad job. This year I’ve so far made 24 paintings in 21 days, so I’m looking good for a completion. But that doesn’t answer the question, what do you get out of it, does it? Because once you’ve done it the first time, then you know that you can do it. Which is where competitiveness comes into it. I want to do better each year than I managed to do the previous year. I want to produce better individual paintings and I want to produce a better set overall.

All, or at least most, of the above does actually sound quite positive. But while I do find challenges a great motivating force to actually do things the great drawback is that it does tend to play on the obsessive side of my nature. Being honest with you, if I have a day when I don’t paint during June, then I get really quite anxious about it. Case in point. I had completed 17 paintings by last Sunday, June 14^th. Monday, the 15^th was my birthday, and I knew that kids and grandkids would be coming round after I got in from work, so I wasn’t going to be doing any painting. Well, come Tuesday 16^th – still one day ahead of schedule – I was in a bit of a state, convincing myself that I was going to have a hell of a job trying to finish by the 30^th. I did calm down. I’ve made 24 and with six paintings still to make and 9 days to do them even I’d have hard work convincing myself that I’m not going to do it.

Well, as regards the personal challenge, yes, I do think that some of the paintings I’ve made this year have been better than anything I’ve done in the challenge before, and yes, I do think that this set are on target to being the best set I’ve done yet. But then, I do always think that.

So - Who really was Clint Eastwood's old Dad?

You know, I caught the old Carry On film, Carry On Screaming a couple of days ago. Yes, I know, the Carry On films, especially the later ones in the 70s, were not at all PC. Funnily enough, as the 70s progressed I think that they became progressively less funny and more un-pc in a weird, inverse ratio. But I do think that a few of them, especially those parodying a specific genre – do stand up quite well, even today. I still find Carry On Cleo extremely funny, as an example. But I was writing specifically about Carry On Screaming. It’s not to my mind quite as funny as Cleo, but still has a few good lines – The Master is dead . . . But I’ll see if he can see you.’ For example.

A prominent role in the film is played by Fenella Fielding, and this immediately made me think of one of the more famous urban myths that found its way into quiz questions back in the day. Namely – who is the famous brother of Fenella Fielding? The answer given in more than one quiz I played in was Marty Feldman. This is, of course, a complete set of what my Auntie didn’t have (presumably) and my Uncle did (presumably). I googled this in an idle few minutes at work, and the AI feature attributed this to Feldman being Fenella Fielding’s real birth surname. This may well be the origin of the urban myth, but I reckon the quiz popularity of it was due to it featuring in the Pears Quiz Companion.

I’ve written about this volume before o I’m not going to go on about it now, but it did sterling service to me when I first started compiling quizzes for the club back in the mid-1990s.. Many was the time I’d turn to it when I was stuck for a question belonging to a specific category and it rarely let me down. There was another couple of quite well known errors in the Quiz Companion. One was  that the lovers in Aida were burned alive rather than buried alive. Another was that Nelson’s statue in Trafalgar Square was sculpted by one Edward Hodges Banley rather than Edward Hodges Bailey. I’m pretty sure that these were typographical errors, though.

One of my favourite urban myths quiz questions I heard second hand. Dai Jenkins, an all round good egg who was our Deputy Headteacher for a while and went on to become a Headteacher in Bridgend, once asked me “Who was Clint Eastwood’s real father?” I replied that I didn’t know, and he said that in a quiz he’d attended the night before, the question master had sworn blind it was Stan Laurel. Well, I investigated this one, but it is pure urban myth, spun out of the fact that I believe that the Laurels had a son who was either still born or died not long after being born at around about the same time that Eastwood was born. I couldn’t resist asking it in the club one night. A number of teams did actually put down Stan Laurel, but my answer was Clint Eastwood’s father was . . . Clint Eastwood (senior).  That’s another fine mess you’ve gotten us into, Dirty Harry.

Words guaranteed to make your heart sink

There are certain words that I hate. Of course, if you really want to unpick it, it’s not so much the words themselves, per se. As it is there are few if any words that I hate for themselves, although quite a few I’m very fond of. The name of the capital city of Burkina Faso, for example, Ouagadougou, is in and of itself an utter delight. So really and truly it’s what the word represents that I hate. Such a word is workshop.

Now, don’t misunderstand me. The portmanteau word workshop is of itself perfectly inoffensive. As is the proper meaning – a space in which work is carried out. When used in this way to mean a place where things (preferably material) are made or repaired  is in fact a pretty pleasing concept. My hatred for the word really began concurrently with my teaching career. I’ve written before about INSET (in service training). For the vast majority of my first 30 years as a teacher, my heart used to sink at the prospect of INSET generally, but it would then sink several floors further if the words ‘workshop session’ were mentioned.

“We will be having a workshop session.” Translation, we will be expecting you to listen to someone who probably has no experience inside any classroom and certainly has no experience of the particular situation in YOUR classroom lecture you for at least 60 minutes, then you will be instructed to perform some totally random exercises which have very little real connection with the subject of the INSET and absolutely NO practical relevance to what goes on in your classroom. Hey, I was an English specialist and I just objected to the hijacking of a perfectly innocent word. Because despite what the authorities might have thought, just calling some pile of crud a workshop did not automatically transform it into an experience where something useful was produced or made better. We genuinely had a saying in the school I taught in for my first 29 years – never trust anything that calls itself a workshop. To be fair, by the time that the school closed, even the senior management had stopped using the term.

Why do I mention this? Well, in my current position as an NHS patient coordinator with the Dental Access Portal, from time to time I get sent generic emails inviting me to take part in inappropriate and irrelevant training. The one I received today used the offending w word. Thankfully it’s totally irrelevant to me now.

It’s difficult to think of other innocent words which so arouse my hackles. On a personal level I suppose there’s ‘organise’. A perfectly innocent word, I grant you. But in her personal idiolect, Mrs. Londinius uses it as a synonym for ‘do’. So she will say ‘Will you organise the washing up?’ when all she means is ‘Get off your bum and fill the dishwasher’. She has many, many excellent qualities, I should hasten to add, but this one little linguistic idiosyncracy is a persistent niggle.

Working for pocket money

Like a lot of men of a certain age, I am prone to exaggerate. Particularly when I’m mentioning my childhood, I do have a tendency to suggest a harsh upbringing akin to that of a Dickensian waif. Nothing could be further from the truth. So don’t give me any sympathy for what I am about to write even if you do by any chance happen to feel any.

I have just read a Facebook post by my best mate from University, in which he responds to the news that children are not having the opportunities people of our generation had to experience paid work in their most formative years. Me, I had a choice. Get jobs or have no money. Not strictly true. Get jobs or make do with your meagre pocket money would be more accurate.

Looking back, I started with delivering a local advertising paper called The London Market. You had a number of local streets to cover and had 500 copies to deliver once a week. It took two weekday evenings and after you’d given a cut to your Mum, then there wasn’t a great deal of money left. To be fair she did fold all of the papers for ease of delivery. From there, when I was 11 or 12 I progressed to a milk round. I was fortunate that at the end of Leighton Road, the street adjoining ours, was the Ealing branch of Jobs Dairy, and you could usually find a milkman to help on weekends. When I started with Stan, we would work from 6:30am until about 4pm on Saturday, because that was his day for collecting most of the money. Then on Sunday we would work from about 6:30am until about 10:30 am. Would you like to guess what I was paid? £2 for Saturday and £1 for Sunday. Now, admittedly this was the mid-late 70s and money went a lot further, but even so! This was the whole year round, too, and if you have never spent a winter in London let me tell you it can be a lot colder than you might think. Essentially the only thing that Stan did on a Saturday that I didn’t was driving the milk float. I would have done that too if he’d let me, but he was, thankfully too sensible for that. By about 1979 I was working for Paul, who collected money all week, so we’d be finished by midday on Saturday. He paid me £5 for the weekend. If we finished at noon, it also meant that I could go out and help another milkman for the afternoon and get anything up to another £5.

I turned 16 in 1980, and after my birthday I started to work a couple of evenings a week and all day Saturday in the local Budgen supermarket, while I was doing my A levels. I transferred to the Coop after about a year. I can’t remember how much I earned, but it had to be more than the milk round(s) or I’d never have done it. In the summer holidays after securing a place at the University of London Goldsmiths College I joined a temp agency in Ealing Broadway for whom I worked every holiday until graduation. The money really wasn’t great or even good, for that matter. But occasionally the jobs you got were quite interesting. My first was working in Hoover in Perivale putting together repair manuals. I also had a stint on the delivery vans for Harvey Nichols, where a woman in Kensington called in a glazier to take out then replace her front window so we could get a huge sofa bed into her front room. For the most part I ended up washing up in the kitchens of various BBC canteens across West London. Looking back, the temp agency were actually pretty terrible people. They used to hold off paying you and then joke that this was all a way of helping you save. We finally fell out for good when they told me to go to a hotel kitchen to do a spell as an under-chef. I’m not a brilliant cook now but back then I was worse. I point blank refused to be part of what was so obviously an act of deception on their part.

They never offered me another job again.

I‘m going to end this with a recollection of my old Nan. This was my mum’s mum and it was her house that I grew up in. I loved her dearly, but I have to admit lying to her on one occasion. After I qualified as a teacher and was appointed to my first teaching post, her reaction was – Oh, lovely, you’ll be able to pick up some temping work during the long summer holidays!- My head said – I should cocoa!- but my mouth said, “Oh, Nan, didn’t you know? I’m paid a 12 month salary in 12 installments so I’m not allowed to work in August even though I’m not in school.” Did she buy it? Well, she didn’t argue and that was good enough for me.

The Power of a Brand Name

If you’re of a similar vintage to myself maybe you have the same reaction to the simple brand name Airfix that I do. Maybe you’re in your sixties or older and it doesn’t have any effect on you as it’s not something you were ever into– good luck to you. But for at least a fair proportion of us the mere mention of the name is enough to bring on a wave of nostalgia.

I’ll tell you why I mention it (eventually). I did really enjoy making Airfix Model kits from the age of about 6 or 7 right through until my early teens. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t turn my nose up at Revell or Tamiya kits but I much preferred Airfix. I still remember the enjoyable anticipation of going to Brayleys on Northfields Avenue, the best model shop in Ealing in my humble opinion and seeing just how far my meagre pocket money would stretch. I started with airplanes but as time went on I wasn’t averse to land vehicles as well.

So, this is the month of June. Every June I take part in an internet event called the 30x30 Direct Watercolour Challenge. A direct watercolour is a watercolour painting that you make without sketching the design onto paper prior to painting. 30x30 means that you have to paint 30 paintings during the 30 days of June – 30x30, see. It does exactly what it says on the tin. The ideal is to make a painting every day, but as long as you complete 30 by the end of June, then there’s no problem.

I have completed the challenge 6 times in the years between 2018 and 2025. I didn’t participate in 2020. In 2024 I produced 8 crappy paintings and gave up. But now I have 2 simple aims each time I start the challenge. One is to finish it. The other is to try to make a better set of pictures than the previous year.

I’m currently 11 paintings into the 2026 challenge and ahead of schedule. One way I’ve achieved this was by planning to make a series of nostalgic beach paintings. Okay. Well, yesterday I painted an SRN4 cross channel hovercraft at Pegwell Bay near Margate. The SRN4 was the largest hovercraft in the world when it was first built. Large enough to carry over 200 passengers and more than 30 cars it is still the largest civil hovercraft ever built. These giants ferried passengers across the channel between the south coast and France between 1968 and 2000. Sadly there’s only 1 left – the Princess Anne- and that’s a static display in the Hovercraft Museum.

They were operated by more than one company over the years, but I knew that I had to paint it in the red and white Hoverlloyd livery. I wondered why, and then it hit me. This livery was the one on the cover of the Airfix model kit box.

I should probably state that I never built the Airfix model of the SRN4. This was very much one of the larger models of the range, the sort of thing to be longingly gazed at on the shelves or in the pages of the Airfix catalogue but not actually purchased. Airfix did market a model of the SRN1 – Sir Christopher Cockerell’s world’s first hovercraft which I did purchase being smaller and much cheaper. I made rather a good job of it too, as I recall. But I never bought or was given the SRN4.

Which is okay. I know that the Airfix name and brand has passed in and out of the hands of different owners and even administration since, but there is an Airfix brand out there now, which uses a lot of the original artwork on boxes (a good move that) and it is possible to buy the SRN4 model now. Well, I could, but I don’t want to. I just don’t fancy building it. That was part of the me that I was in the mid 70s, not the me that I am 50 years later. But you know, for all that, I can’t help wishing that I had bought it and made it back in the day. Oh, what, you’d like to see my painting? Well, all I can say is, don’t say I never do nothing for yer. Here it is:-

By the hairs on my chinny chin chin

I grew a beard during lockdown and my nearest and dearest rather liked it so I’ve kept it ever since. It’s a pure, snowy white, which is fine by me. But on odd occasions when I let my facial hair grow when I was younger, it was ginger. My hair, when I had any, was light brown, but the beard and ‘tache were ginger. Okay, that’s fine, again, no problem with that. We’ll have no gingerism on my blog, thank you very much.

Yesterday I was watching a TV show on one of the History Channels about the attempt to build a recreation of a traditional Viking longship big enough to cross the Atlantic with. Sadly, when I visited Oslo in 2025, the Viking Ship museum on the Bygdoy Peninsula was closed for renovation and redevelopment. One interesting feature in the show was about a buried ship – possibly viking – under part of a pub in Meols on the Wirral. Apparently, it was first seen when the Railway pub was being constructed in the late 1930s and the builders were told to rebury it and hush it up so as not to delay the building of the pub. One of the men made a sketch of the boat and its location which came to light again in the 1990s. Now, featured on the show about the ocean going Viking ship, we saw archaeologists, having used ground penetrating radar to pinpoint the boat’ use an auger to bring up wood samples from it. That was as far as the show showed us.

Well, I googled it today, and found out that this actually happened in 2023 and the wood samples turned out to be just brushwood. I’ve been unable to find out what progress, if any, has been made since.

Which may lead you to ask what has any of this got to do with my once-red facial hair? Not that much, if truth be told. It goes back to 1984, and the top deck of a 20 hour ferry from Rhodes to Piraeus (calling at many islands in between). In 1982 I’d island-hopped from Piraeus down to Crete and back and in 1984 I island hopped down to Crete, then across to Rhodes. What it’s like to do such things now more than 40 years later I have no idea, but back then backpackers used to camp out on the upper decks and I’ll be honest, it was pretty much a party scene. I loved these ferry trips. Well, it was on the last one of all, the ferry back to Piraeus from Rhodes that I got talking to a Danish guy. I hadn’t shaved for 2 weeks, and while it wasn’t enough to give me the full Brian Blessed, it was enough for you to see that my facial hair was ginger. I don’t recall what it was that prompted my Danish friend to make this observation, but he said “You have red hair! You are a viking!” Then he grabbed me round the shoulders, handed me a bottle of Amstel and insisted we serenaded a couple of girls with “Wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen” from the Danny Kaye movie Hans Christian Anderson. I didn’t know that this was a particular viking favourite but what the hell, go with the flow.

I’ll be honest, there’s any number of places my once-red facial hair could have come from. My father had the same – light brown hair and ginger facial hair, and I’m told that his father was the same. So it’s a decent chance I get it from my Scottish ancestors, but what the hell, who knows. There’s Irish in the mix with me, and also French Huguenot on my mother’s side and Gawd knows what else that I don’t have an inkling about. Viking? Who knows, but I won’t be burying a boat in the back garden any time soon.

 

Thank You for that fact, Mr. Green

It’s ironic that I ended up spending nearly 40 years teaching in Wales because I suppose it was almost a case of taking coals to Newcastle. In the 1970s many of my teachers in Elthorne High School in Hanwell, Ealing were originally from Wales. Some of them I remember very fondly, like the late Gwilym Morris who saw me safely through my Maths O Level and some of them not at all fondly but I shan’t mention their names in order to protect the guilty. Most though were somewhere in between these two poles. Such a teacher was Mr. Green.

Mr. Green was one of those teachers who you absolutely loved to have covering your class, but he wasn’t to my mind quite as good when you had him as a regular teacher. When you had him covering your class he could and would go off on a tangent and would tell you about some really interesting things. When he was teaching a regular Physics class he tended to go by the book and that was nowhere near as interesting.

I remember him starting off one such cover class by explaining that the romans used to clean their teeth with urine. Quite a barnstormer of a fact to begin a History class with, that one. This led him onto the use of urine in dyeing and then the use of mercury by hatmakers which explained, he said, why Lewis Carroll included a Mad Hatter in “Alice in Wonderland”.

I think I’ve explained before just how the book captivated me at an impressionable age, so I shan’t go on all about that again now. I’ve just said that Lewis Carroll included a Mad Hatter in “Alice in Wonderland” but that is not strictly speaking true. Lewis Carroll included a mad hatter (check out the lack of capitals) in “Alice in Wonderland”. For Carroll himself never uses the epithet The Mad Hatter in the narrative. He calls him the Hatter and leaves you to make your own mind up about his sanity or otherwise.

Here’s something you may already be aware of, in which case, apologies. The first person to illustrate any version of “Alice in Wonderland” was (drumroll please ) Lewis Carroll. He wrote the stories he had made up on an 1862 boat trip with the Liddell girls and the Reverend Robinson Duckworth in manuscript form calling it “Alice’s Adventures Underground”. He showed it to a friend called George Macdonald who had children and sought advice on publishing it. They were all very enthusiastic but advised Carroll that it might be a good idea to get a professional artist to illustrate them.

Carroll gave the manuscript to Alice Liddell in November 1864 as a Christmas present. It’s now one of the treasures of the British Library. So how did Carroll draw the Hatter? Well, the answer is that he didn’t. “Alice’s Adventures Underground” is considerably shorter than “Alice in Wonderland” and the Hatter was added to the story later for the published version. So the first person to illustrate the Hatter was actually (Sir) John Tenniel and it’s his conception of the Hatter that is probably what comes to mind whenever you hear the phrase “The Mad Hatter”. I’m not an expert but it seems to me that everyone who illustrates the Alice books now is faced with a difficult choice when it comes to the Hatter – to either take inspiration from Tenniel, or to react against Tenniel and go for something drastically different.

Personally although when it comes to a whole set of illustrations I’m very much in the Tenniel camp, I do also like the way that Mervyn Peake depicted the character too.

Well, I can’t finish with a song so I’ll have to finish with a question. Most people know that the price ticket inside Tenniel’s Hatter’s topper says 10/6. But what else does it say? Highlight below this line to check your answer.

In this style.

Bit of acid 's what that needs.

Do you know what the Romans kept in an acetabulum? I would imagine that you do. The question, how is diluted acetic acid better known? - is a real old hardy perennial in quiz terms and so that acet at the start of the word has probably given you the answer – vinegar.

I mention this because yesterday it was just me at home with my grandson Ollie at lunchtime and I suggested we head down to Aberavon Beach and had some fish and chips for lunch, and a walk on the beach, which is what we did.

Okay, another quiz question. What is the derivation of the word vinegar? Anwer – it comes from vin aigre which s French for sour wine. Mmm, sounds good, doesn’t it? I think that I’m the only member of my family who doesn’t like vinegar. You know, more than once I’ve wondered – who was it who first looked at a portion of sliced, fried potatoes and thought to themselves – , it’s good, but you know what would make it better? A liberal dousing in acid.

But then I’m a fussy sod, anyway. At least most places don’t automatically assume you want vinegar and ask you in the first place. I remember 10 years ago I made what would turn out to be my first sketching trip to Ieper in Belgium. In the shadow of the magnificent (rebuilt) medieval Cloth Hall. I bought a portion of chips. I didn’t look at them as I began eating and the moment I put the first chip into my mouth, I thought – what the hell is that?!- I looked down. The chips were slathered in mayonnaise. And the stupid thing is I don’t even dislike mayonnaise. But chips? I couldn’t finish them.

Tomato ketchup? Tastes too sweet. Curry sauce? Okay, fair point.

Helsinki

I mentioned in my last post that I’ve never been to an Olympic event, even though my mother, who couldn’t be less interested in sport if she tried, got to see the men’s 100m final in London 1948. (Harrison Dillard. He was, I think, the world record holder for the 110 hurdles at the time, but failed to win selection for his best event. So he entered the 100 and won gold. 4 years later he won the 110 hurdles and may well be the only man to do this career double). By my reckoning I’ve been to every European city that has hosted the Summer Games apart from Munich and one other, the city I’m planning to visit in September.

I’m sure that you’ve worked it out that this would be Helsinki. I was in Tallinn in March and I did consider taking the ferry to Helsinki. But I was only in Tallinn for a few days and it would have taken a huge chunk out of the day and I had no idea how long it would have taken to get into the centre of the city once the ferry docked. But I do want to visit Finland. I’ve enjoyed the other Nordic countries I’ve visited – Denmark, Sweden, Iceland and Norway. Oslo was, to be fair, a little bit bland, I felt, but then the Viking ship museum was (and I believe still is) closed for refurbishment and it was one of the things I most wanted to see.

So, what distinction does Helsinki hold amongst Olympic cities? Well, this is a little contentious. I’m sure that it is the smallest capital city (in terms of population) to host an Olympic Summer Games but I have seen some sources saying that at the time of the 1920 Games Antwerp had a smaller population than Helsinki had in 1952. Well, whatever the case, former IOC president Juan Antonio Samaranch – a man admittedly given to hyperbole (if the price was right, allegedly)- said that the 1952 Helsinki Games was the best and the best moment was Emil Zatopek entering the stadium at the end of the marathon with the crow all on its feet chanting Za-To-Pek! Yes, it’s on the list for when I invent my time machine.

Fair's (World's) Fair

I moved to Port Talbot in 1986.  In a space of a few weeks I became a dad, sat my finals, got married, moved to Port Talbot and started my PGCE training to be a teacher. The last three all happened in the space of 5 days. Sadly, I was a few years too late to see the Miami Beach funfair on Aberavon Beach.

I’ve seen many photographs of it, even drawn it and my wife Mary remembers it vividly. Now one of the notable features of the funfair was a large structure made of a lattice of metal poles, and spaced on regular intervals across it were a lot of unevenly sized coloured balls, on which was placed the sign Miami Beach. Now, I haven’t been able to prove conclusively that this was the Atomic Structure from the Festival of Britain, but my goodness it was a dead ringer for it.

Okay, so let’s recap. In my last post I mentioned that the 1904 St. Louis Olympic Games were staged as part of the 1904 World’s Fair. Well, that got me thinking about world fairs, or expos, in general. Now you know that the 1851 Great Exhibition in Hyde Park will be one of my very first destinations when I build my time machine, and this is generally regarded as the first World’s Fair/Expo.

Yet as with many things, it’s not necessarily quite as simple and clear cut as that. For the 1851 Great Exhibition was drawing on a tradition of shows of industry and technology going back into the 18^th century, although maybe none of them were on the same scale as the Great Exhibition. OK, all well and good. What I didn’t know was that on the official list kept by the world sanctioning body, the Bureau International des expositions, London also held the third world’s fair in 1862. The second? Paris.

That’s important, because the 1862 Exhibition was designed partly to outshine the 1855 Paris exhibition. It was originally planned for 1861, but hey, delays in construction are by no means just a 21^st and 20^th century phenomenon. The Exhibition took place in South Kensington on the site now occupied by the South Kensington museums. Was it a huge success? Well, not financially. It made its costs back and a small profit of £790 or so I read. The government of the time had no wish to take over the exhibition hall when the exhibition closed and so it was dismantled and the materials were sold and later used in the construction of Alexandra Palace. There you go. Compare that with the profit made by the 1851 Exhibition, which made a profit of about £186,000, the equivalent of over £20 million in today’s money. The good old Festival of Britain made a loss of about £7.5 million, despite having over 10 million visitors, but then it was never really expected to make a profit.

Do you remember the Millennium Experience? No, me neither. That’s a little unfair. The reason I don’t remember it is because I never went to it. Well, when you factor in that I have five kids who were all aged between 14 and 6 in 2000, not to mention the cost of getting to London and back, I really couldn’t afford it on just one teacher’s salary. Well, couldn’t or wouldn’t, anyway. But I idly googled to find out just how much money it lost, and it’s been really difficult to arrive at a concrete figure. Several hundred million pounds seems a conservative estimate. Okay, maybe this too was never designed to make a profit. But it was certainly designed to attract up to 12 million visitors. Which maybe wasn’t that unrealistic when you consider that the Festival of Britain attracted in total 10.25 million visitors to all attractions and events across the country, and 8 million visitors to the main exhibition on the South Bank in London in just the 4 months it was open. But give a dog a bad name, I suppose.

My brother did actually go to the Millennium Experience and he seemed to enjoy it, as I recall. Come to that, my Mum was 11 years old and was taken to the South Bank for the Festival of Britain, and 3 years earlier, despite her having no interest in sport whatsoever, she was taken by my Grandpa to Wembley to see the Olympic 100m final. The closest I have ever got to attending an Olympic event was when the 2008 torch relay ran past my house. Which actually was quite an event. The only thing I remember that parallelled it was in 2002. The late Queen Elizabeth II was making her Golden Jubilee tour of the constituent parts of her United Kingdom. On the day she visited Port Talbot, when I left for work in the school in the morning, there was nothing to show that Her Majesty would be driven down it later on. By the time I returned home in the afternoon council workers had flung bunting across the street and placed union jacks in strategic front gardens.  (I refuse to answer whether the one placed in mine is still in my garage on the grounds that I might incriminate myself).

Her Majesty and the late Duke of Edinburgh arrived at Port Talbot Parkway station on the Royal Train and got into the limousine that would carry them the couple of miles to Margam Park, which meant driving right past my house. It was a very regal occasion, only marred by the fact that a local character, who had a reputation as what my grandmother might have called a ‘lady of the evening’ leapt out in front of the royal limousine and flashed them. That’s Port Talbot for you, folks.

St. Louis Blues

Here’s an easy one for you. Where was the city outside of Europe to host the Modern Olympic Games? St. Louis of course. It’s interesting to note that the only other US city to host the summer Olympic Games is Los Angeles – who will take their third turn next. But St. Louis, Missouri got there first. OK then, try this one – why did St. Louis host the games in 1904? Well, to tie in with the 1904 World’s Fair. If you  remember the Judy Garland film “Meet Me in St. Louis “ (Meet me in St. Louis, Louis, meet me at the fair) – well, that was set at the same world’s fair. This was following what had happened with the 1900 Olympics which coincided with an international exposition in Paris – indeed it is said that some of the winners never knew that they were actually Olympic champions, so little prominence being given to it at the time.

Alright then, try this one. Who were Etienne Desmarteau and Tom Kiely? Answer, the only two non US athletes to win track and field gold medals in St. Louis. Etienne Desmarteau was a fire officer from Montreal. The Montreal fire department refused him leave to participate but he resigned and went anyway. He won the weight throwing event and returned home to a hero’s welcome. The police department hired him, but sadly he passed away in 1905, possibly from typhoid fever.

As for Tom Kiely, well, he won his gold in the all-round athletics competition. This was a predecessor to the decathlon. All on the same day the competitors took part in a 100 yard run, shot put, high jump, 880 yard walk, hammer throw, pole vault,120yd hurdles, 56 pound weight throw, long jump and 1 mile race. He is listed as representing Great Britain but he really was not. Tom Kiely was an Irish Athlete. Ireland not having gained its independence at this time did not have their own Olympic Association. Despite all this, Kiely accepted no help or sponsorship from the British Olympic team and made it perfectly clear to everyone that he was representing Ireland and only Ireland. Good on him.

If the 1904 Olympics is remembered for anything though, it’s probably the antics of Fred Lorz. Lorz dropped out of the marathon, then hitched a lift to outside the stadium. He ran in, accepting the plaudits of the crowd, until the real winner, Thomas Hicks entered the stadium and his prank came to light. The American Athletics Union took a dim view at first, banning him for life. They did reinstate him after accepting that he meant no harm, and he went on to win the Boston Marathon in 1905.

There is speculation that Hicks’ two predecessors, 1896 winner Spiridon Louis and Michel Theato may also have taken short cuts in their respective marathon wins. Both were local boys. In 1896 the Marathon, the very last event of the Games, was the host nation’s last chance to win a gold. As it was the Greek competitor who was originally placed 3^rd was disgraced when the Hungarian runner who came fourth reported that he had seen him getting into a horse drawn carriage. Did Louis do the same? Well, History says no, but until I build my time machine, we’ll never be 100%. Then in 1900 it is speculated that baker’s roundsman Michael Theto used his knowledge of Paris’ back streets to take a win for the home team – although to be fair he was actually supposedly born in Luxembourg.