Monday 7th March 2016

Sunday

I woke at half five, walk through the the back of the house where an ornage crescent moon had just risen in the brightening sky away to the east: it looked stunning, so stunning I wake Jools and tell her she should go and look at it too.

Another bright, if could day. So what could be better than a morning beside the seaside?

Nothing at all.

Last winter I decided we should re-visit the seaside resorts of North Kent, and we did most, but Herne Bay slipped through the net, so, I thought that was where we should go. I think it has been many years since we last were there, certainly I think 2010 when we left from there to visit the Mausell Forts.

After breakfast, we set off, with us taking the route to Ramsgate and me thinking it was just to the west of Margate. But I was wrong, it was ten miles firther along the coast, near to Whitstable, so once we crossed onto Thanet, we took the main road back off the island.

Traffic was light, but those out and about clearly were in a rush as they whizzed by us as we tootled along at 60mph or so.

We turn off and drive through the centre of the small town, turning along the promenade, and confronted with many empty parking spaces, so many, I didn't know which one to choose. In the end I pick one of the free ones, but then free is my favourite price. Apparently. We get out of the car and the arctic wind hits us. I thought it looked warm so failed to put on an extra layer of clothes on, I was chilled to the bone. And then the extra cuppa I had for breakfast wanted to come out, so we had to find a place with facilities, as there seems to be so few public toilets around these days.

We find a cafe, so go in and I use the facilities, Jools then informs me that she had chosen a Knickerbocker Glory to eat, as she had never had one. Was I going to have one, too? NO, I would have some TSP in the form of a bacon butty. It is great, sitting at the back in a booth watching the world come and go, order food and do stuff.

We finish, so have to go back outside into the cold. At least the light is good, right? Anyway, offshore are two windfarms that my employers built, with no help from me, but they look good, producing all those wiggly amps out of thin air.

We walk down the promenade to the start of the pier, which has now had the sports centre removed and instead a shopping village made of small sheds, put in its place. I am sure it will be great in summer, but yesterday, very few were open, and those that were had no customers. We walk to the end, look out at the old pier head, now separated from the rest of it by several hundred metres of open water, then turn to walk back to shore and then to the car.

Back in the warm of the car, we drive along the coast to Reculver, where once was a Roman Fort, then a Saxon Church, is now a ruined parish church, right on the edge of the sea, standing forlorn. I get out to take some shots, then go back to the car where Jools is listening to a documentary on Jeff Buckley.

It is too cold to go to Minnis Bay, so we drive the long way home, via Boyden Gate, Chislet, Grove Ferry and Preston, and then back along familiar roads home. We did drive along roads that were unknown to us in getting to Chislet, and will need a revisit to take some shots. Always new places to find and explore.

Back home there's football on the radio, photos to edit and tea to drink. So the afternoon passes quickly. I make chorizo hash, only to discover we have only one ring, so I defrost some ginger flavoured sausages, fry them and then add to the hash. Worked very well I can tell you.

It was Mother's Day, so I call Mother, and we swap news, not as bad as I thought, but always fraught if a taboo subject comes up and we can start throwing accusations at each other. Still, got that over with.

We watched some more on the Renaissance, then tiredness took us to bead at nine, pooped after a full weekend.

As I walk round the bedroom, I look out the window, and down below feasting on seeds and fat balls are a badger and a very large fox, almost as large as the badger. But the badger rules, the fox is trying to get to the seeds, but the badge lays across the seeds, trying to keep them all for itself. They dance for about 5 minutes, or at least the fox does, trying to sneak past the badger and get some seeds, but the badger is having none of it. The fox gives up and slinks off. One of them had taken the fat balls to the back garden and eaten them there, as I found the leftovers this morning.

Sunday 6th March 2016

Health update: My inner infection cleared up, as expected. I can now laze abed and not have the room swirl around me, except when I been on the whisky. Which isn't often, two or three times a week or so. Ha, gotcha.

I have not had an allergy attack for nearly two weeks now, it was two weeks ago in fact. Well, I have had some sneezes, but I take a pill and all is well. I feel this is proof I was right, and my GP was wrong. Which is why I try to go and see him as little as possible. I cannot begin to tell you have happy I am with the allergy thing, being able to sleep, not sneeze and generally able to lead a normal life now, and not have to take days off work to catch up on my sleep.

But, back to Saturday and part 1 of the weekend.

Saturday

Jools had gone to Tesco on the way home from work on Friday, which meant we could lay in bed until the heating switched on at just gone seven on Saturday morning. Even the cats gave up trying to wake us and let us sleep. I get ten hours sleep and so feel better again come daybreak. We wake up to find that day had already broken, the sun was up and the birds were on the telephone wires outside our house singing for their breakfast. More animals wanting feeding.

I go down to feed the cats and make coffee. I can multi-task, and manage to give the cats kibbles and not coffee grounds. Which is good.

What is the plan for today, asks Jools. Well, with the weather fine, we think we should go for a walk. So, once dressed we don our boots, coats and extra layers and head out.

At least the weather was supposed to be fine this weekend. However, as soon as we stepped out the door the golden sunrise faded and the sky was covered in grey cloud.

Was it something we said?

5 minutes later once we had walked over the field to the pig's copse, the cloud had burnt off, and the air was filled with golden light again.

Signs of spring are still there, but the cold snap these past two weeks have held much back. So, we wait for next week, warmer weather and more signs of spring, and maybe checking the rosettes next weekend..

Down the dip, passing the hungry, wary horse, who looks at us with suspicion as it munches on hay.

The clouds had by now cleared, and we walk into a warm golden light.

I take pictures.

On the track up the other side of the dip, the runoff from the field had revealed the chalk bedrock, and frost and thawing had cracked it, making it crumble, Finally, ice crystals from the frost had formed, making the chalk look like salt. Or so it seemed to us.

I walk back along the lane opposite the house, then down station road to home, half an hour or so, but a good leg-stretcher.

Back home I cook the remaining kebabs, and once cooked, slice them thin and make sandwiches fit for a king, or fit for a buyer and quality manager at any rate, for elevenses. We feel much better with such naughty food inside us.

I have eyes on the two ongoing projects; the St James development and the repairs to the sea wall and railway. Jools decides to stay in, so I take my camera and walking boots to the car, and hence to the road to Dover, driving down Castle Hill, Castle Street and up Military Hill on the other side to park at St Martin's Battery to get views over the harbour and back over the town to the desolation where Burlington House, The COunty Hotel and various car parks used to stand.

The views from up there are splendid to say the least, looking down on the harbour, the rails leading to the sea wall are rusty through lack of use, and will remain for most of the year I guess. THe DHB have begin work on moving some facilities back to the Western Docks, so there are lane closures along Townwall Street, and beside that is the former site of Burlington House, now a building site, or will be soon once the excavations have finished.

From there it was a short drive to Aycliffe, and then down the underpass and up the narrow path up Shakespeare Cliff to the overview of the railway. Where the orange army have been building a road. No news on what repairs are to be done, but I guess the road is for the use of heavy plant. The road looks nearly finished, so maybe the next stage will begin soon. I can tell you the closure is now getting tiresome, adding some 45 minutes to the journey back from London.

Back home for tea and medals and to listen to the big game; the North London Derby between The Arse and Spurs, which is a great game and ends in an honourable 2-2 draw. At three City kick off in Swansea, and thats about as good as it gets, as they never really get gong and lose 1-0, and so have collected just one point out of a possible 27 since getting dumped out of The Cup at the beginning of January. It now looks grim, very grim.

For dinner, we go out to eat. First time in ages, just to the Curry House in Whitfield, but we just fancied a curry, so the best place to go really. I have chilli garlic chicken and rice and curried garlic lentils and garlic naan. No risk of vampires for us, oh no. But we made sure we were back in time for the 7th and 8th episodes of Trapped, the Icelandic murder mystery, and it is just beginning to make sense, just in time for the final episodes next week. Just as well then.

Saturday 5th March 2016

Friday

The alarm goes off at half five, to allow me to get from the castle to the airport. Outside it is still pitch black, but even I could see the mist swirling about. Would be an interesting drive.

I get ready and then pack, checking the room one final time. I then I have to make my way down the maze of corridors to reception where I surprise the night porter who was reading a newspaper. I have to scrape with windcreen once again, search for the foglights, program the sat nav for the airport, then pull out onto the country lane which lead to the main road.

I find a 'classic' radio station to entertain me as I drove, but when Foreigner gave way to Boney M, I switched it back off. The fog passed in banks, making the drive interesting, but I did arrive in about 20 minutes, and getting out of the car, I expected to hear the sound of taxiing aircraft, or at least engines starting up, but heard silence.

However, inside the terminal I look at the departure board, and see there were no delays, so, lets hope so. There is a massive queue at security, so I go to the coffee shop for some breakfast, sit and relax, so that by the time I am finished the queue has died down so I can just breeze through. I suppose it is reassuring to know that when on their holidays, its not just the British that have lager for breakfast, as the departure hall is littered with empty beer glasses as the hordes walk to board their flight to Spain.

I find a table, and power up my laptop, check mails and the usual stuff that you have to do in the mornings. I wander down to the gate at eight, it is open, so I end up exchanging one seat for another, but the good news is that the fog is clearing, and other flights have already left.

We walk over to the plain as a gentle drizzle is falling, taking our seats and all of us ignoring the safety brief. I mean I must have heard it 200 times now. So, the engines fire up and we taxi to the western end of the runway, the engines roar and we lurch off, accelerating along the tarmac, and taking to the air, immediately losing sight of the ground as we climb into the grey sky.

For an hour, it seems that we are flying in a clear globe of air about 500m across, on all directions beyond that all is grey, just the weak sun showing away to my left.

Breakfast is served, and more coffee. And beneath us, the clouds part and I can see the sea, meaning we have passed over Holland, down the coast and are now striking back for Blighty. We seem to be a bit further out into the sea as we approach Essex, indeed we end up banking sharply over the London Array windfarm, striking south towards Thanet and home. We turn west but are heading along the coast, and I have fine views as we pass the line of resorts and landmarks eventually flying out over the estuary as Harty, Sheppy and Grain slide by.

Down we sweep, nearing London now as we cross to fly over Essex again flying low over the Dartford Crossing, all the building below I now know, flaps are deployed, the wheels lowered, and we swoop over the river and bounce down on the runway, back home at nine fifteen. Well, when I say home, back in England anyway.

I work out that I can't make the quarter to ten train, so I am not rushing to get off the plane, in fact I am next to last. Anyway, we have to wait ten minutes for our bags to arrive. I walk to the DLR station, I have just missed a train, but no worry, no hurry and all that. At Statford I have plenty of time for a coffee and a sausage roll. I sit watching the trains stop at the platforms below.

The escalator down to the platform is still broken, so I walk down the steps, only to see a new Eurostar until on the line that runs above the station, so I pause, get my camera out to take some snaps, waiting until it gets a green signal and moves off passing within a couple of feet of me.

On the platform there are a few other passengers waiting too, but once the train arrives there are more than enough seats. I close my eyes as we enter the tunnel under east London, it has been a week in which I have not slept well, I feel shattered again.

After changing onto the bus at Folkestone, we arrive in Dover at just gone midday, but there are plenty of taxis waiting, so I get the first one take me home, we go up Jubilee Way, and we swap views on the ongoing demolition at St James, we both don't hold out much hope what will be built is too clever. But we shall see.

Anyway, I am home, I put on the kettle, make a huge brew and slump on the sofa. I have had enough for the week, so switch off my phone, and watch MOTD, even the Norwich defeat.

Jools has chores to run once wrk finishes, so I have dinner ready for half six; kofte kebabs and fried potatoes, which is dirty but good. Tomorrow we will go out for curry, but for tonight, we will tidy up, have a shower and get ready for the new series of Gardner's World and our weekly date with The Don.

Friday 4th March 2016

Thursday

And it should have all been so bloody simple.

Really.

Now, I should point out that, sadly, I have no pictures to illustrate this post, but you will have to take my word for this, because it really did happen.

Just like this. I woke up at a quarter past six, I lay in bed checking to make sure I hadn't lost a leg or arm during the night; all seemed fine, until I have an extra long stretch and I get cramp in my whole leg. I hop around the room until it passes, then look outside: more mist, but the sky was clearing, might even be a nice day.

I pack, get dressed and go down to check out, have breakfast, then have to scrape the ice of all the car windows; only the second time this winter I have had to do that. A gentle drive to the office, I listen to some of the latest pop tunes on the radio, the journey goes by quick.

Into the office, I find a desk, check the news, Faceache and Flickr as I had received no mails during the night. Other people arrive, it all seems friendly enough. I do miss the cats though, if I'm honest. But the coffee machine and the canteen make it bearable. We have a meeting, another meeting. Lunch, and about two hours into the afternoon I begin to get the beginnings of a headache. Others have already left, so as I have caught up on my work, I decide to leave too. Its just over an hour to the hotel, i could take it easy and arrive just after four, have an early dinner, check in and have a shower and a combat kip. Yes, that sounds fine.

At three the roads are quiet, no jams and so I cruise down the E45 to junction 57, overtaking the trucks but not racing. The sun is shining, the countryside is drying out after a very damp winter, it feels almost spring-like.

I drop the hire car off, go to the terminal and have burger and fries before walking to the Zleep. I wait in line, then state, I have a reservation, in the name of Hadingham. But his computer said no. I check my reservation, and it was for Aarhus. Not Billund. And the one in Billund was full to bursting. No room at the inn.

I walk back to the termnal, power up the laptop and try to book in at the Hotel Propellen: no room there either. I use one of the hotel portal, and get a room at a Kro in the centre of town. I now have to get there, so I walk back to the car hire place to see if they had processed my car, if not could I have the keys back, please? Good news, they hadn't, so I get the keys back, program the hotel address into the sat nav.

I find a place to park on a side street, walk to the hotel, and the receptionist was expecting me. I have a reservation, I said. Ah, yes. Only, there was a fault with Hotels.com, and it showed a reservation that was filled yesterday. I sighed and sagged at the shoulders. But, he says, there is a place, only 15km away, but they can't do dinner as it is full. I have eaten I say. OK, he gives me the address, then feeling very shameful about not having the room for me, tried to give me wine, beer, chocolates to make things up. I say not to worry, as long as I have a bed.

He says the new place is kind of like a Danish castle. OK< I am interested.

So, I drive through Billund, out into the country and towards Velje. About 5km before I reach the town, I have to turn off and there, on the left is something like a renaissance chateau, now a hotel and conference centre. Good enough for me in my stinky workwear. I get the final parking space, walk to reception, where there is much shuffling of paper, and I am given my room key. All is good, very sorry about the meal thing. Don't worry I have eaten I repeat.

The room is pretty standard modern hotel thing, but there are two good beds, a large TV, a good bathroom and excellent internet connection. It will do fine.

I have a shower then make a cup of tea, as the room HAS A KETTLE! Only the second hotel in DK that has had one.

I while away the night, writing blog posts, listening to the radio. Phew, I am shattered. Darkness is complete outside, and apart for the kitchen along the corridor, it is quiet. I'll sleep well anyway. I give into the sleep at half nine.

Thursday 3rd March 2016

Wednesday

Last time we had to upgrade the operating system on our work computers, it took over two weeks to get everything working as it should. So, the demand that we upgrade to Windows 10 this week made us wonder if it would be as bad as the one to 8.

Outside, the snow that fell during the night was rapidly melting, and a slight mist lay over the city. I could see the traffic building on the main road down below already. I go down for breakfast, grabbing a bowl of fruit, but then see the pancakes, syrup and bacon. I was hooked, but have just a couple, but that is enough of the sweet, salty goodness.

On the roads, it is fairly quiet, so I make my way across the city and then up to the northern quarter to the office. I go round to see those who are already in, saying hello and catching up before grabbing a desk, and clicking on the install software icon. Not much happened. So I grab a coffee, grab another, and the computer chugged away.

Just over an hour later it is done, all my files are still there, and all programs seem to work. So, no excuse for an unproductive day.

It passes quietly; I do work, and get stuff done, which is always nice. By late afternoon the traffic is building outside the office, so if you have not left by three, then forget it until half four or later, unless you just want to sit in traffic. I work on.

At quarter to five there is no traffic outside, so I pack up for the ten minute drive back to the hotel. It is still light, showing that I am much further north I suppose. Back in the hotel, I have a shower, listen to some radio until it is time to meet Chris at half six to a walk to Memphis.

The Memphis is a smokehouse, and he said it is good, and it is also his turn to pay! So, lead on McDuff.

Past ARoS, down the hill to the bright neon lights of the smokehouse, they have a table, I order ribs and a beer. You could order two or three mains on the same plate, if you were hungry…..

The ribs were great, meat falling off the bone good, and covered in sweet smoky sauce. Time enough to walk the ten minutes to the Highlander for a couple of swifters in the establishment owned by Julian, and ex-RAF cook. Sorry, chef. The beer, whisky and rum are all good. But we are shattered, and Julian switches the Dexys soundtrack to some soft lovers rock as there are lovebirds canoodling in the corner. Our cue to leave.

Outside it is snowing again, but huge wet flakes, that melt when they get to the ground. I need sleep, but am sidetracked by more football on TV when I get in, but not for long, as it soon ends with a win for Liverpool over Citeh. This really is a season of surprises.

Tuesday 1st March 2016

Monday

Another day in paradise, but, on the morrow I travel back to the frozen wasteland that in Denmark in winter, where, even more so than in Britain, folks moan about the weather. I mean I would have thought they used to snow and ice by now.

The cats were playing hide and seek under our bed during the night, what with much hissing and meowing, they had us awake at half four, waiting for the clock to tick round to six and time to get up.

It is a usual morning, Jools makes the first coffee and has breakfast then gets ready to leave for work, and once I have checked the interwebs, I take to the sofa for 45 minutes to watch the weekend’s football. Probably the most important task of the day, dontcha know. And at eight I switch the computer on and so begins the day.

Midway through the morning, a wonderful mail arrives which means that I don’t have to re-write a document in the next four weeks, thus reducing my workload by about 80%! Great news.

Then came the mail from the BBC which you read about in my previous post, which kinda blew my mind for the rest of the day. But the upshot being, on the balance of things, it was one of them great days. So great that when Jools came home at six, I was halfway through cooking dinner, chorizo hash, and drinking a bottle of Iron Maiden themed beer. Sadly, it was a bland an uninspiring pint, but then there would be wine with dinner too, which would be more full bodied.

I pack for my trip, and after the early wake up call from the moggies the previous night, we decide to record the X Files and watch that next weekend, thus allowing us to hit the sack at nine in the evening, pooped.

Tuesday

After several days of dry, if not bright weather, Tuesday morning came as a shock, as down revealed a leaden sky, heavy with the promise of much rain to come. Dawn is usually well under way by six when we get up, but an hour earlier, daylight seems like a distant promise. We get up, do the usual stuff in the morning, so are ready to leave the house at quarter to six, now having to by pass the port on the way to Folkestone and Hythe due to the new roadworks. There is light in the easy, but only just, and a light drizzle was falling.

Jools drops me off at Folkestone Central, I buy my ticket and as I walk up the platform the train glides in 20 minutes early, so I am able to get on, pick a seat and then switch on my phone to look at what the world of work had thrown at me overnight: nothing in fact.

We glide out of the station a minute early, pick up more passengers at Folkestone West, then zoom along to Ashford where more people got on, but it seemed not quite as crowded as it normally is. It is nearly light by now, so as we head out along HS1 I look for the signs of spring, and smile as we accelerate past the queues of traffic on the motorway as we thunder past Maidstone.

Stratford is really quiet, almost like it was in the days before the Olympics, I walk to the DLR station, a train is waiting, ready to whisk me to the airport. The train fills up at West Ham, then empties again at Canning Town, fill with more folk, this time heading to the airport too. No queues for checking my bag in, and only 5 minutes at security. So I am sitting down in one of the new rows of chairs keeping an eye on the departure board, but with my flight delayed, I had two hours of checking mails, reading and drinking coffee before I would have to think about walking to the gate.

The plane is full, I have a seat right at the back, beside the galley and WC. But the plane is a jet, which can fly quicker, so we save 20 minutes off the flight time and it takes just an hour and 20 minutes to arrive at a grey, freezing Billund almost on time. Due to lack of sleep, I decide to go straight to the hotel, have a shower, combat kit and work from there instead of going in to the office.

So I get the keys to an Astra, set the sat nav for the centre of the city. Traffic is light, and I make good time, arriving in Arhus before the rsh hour and not knocking any cyclists off their bikes. So another good day.

At half six I meet my colleague, Chris, in reception, and we walk past the railway station to the Mikkler Bar again, where waiting for me, us, was my old RAF friend, Shaggy. We greet, buy beers, drink then wander along to the diner where we order very unhealthy food, along with stupid strong beers. It is a good evening.

Back to the bar for a couple of final beers, just 200ml glasses, but enough to get a taste of the beers. Anyway, we walk outside to return home or to our hotel, and there is a blizzard blowing. Snow is piling up on the parked cars and on the cobbled side streets. It is like being back in Norway, with the snow swirling round, blowing in our faces. So it is good to get back to the hotel, into the air-conditioned warmth. Sadly, on TV is the final minutes of the Norwich v Chelsea game, City slump to another defeat, but give a good account of themselves, and are denied a point by a shocking refereeing decision. Such is life.

Time for bed.

Charting the 80s

In March 1980, my friend Trevor had a bright idea. And that bright idea has lead, some 36 years later, to me being interviewed by the BBC. Life can be very odd sometimes.

Trevor’s bright idea was as a result of us being frustrated at there being so much disco pap in the charts at the beginning of the 80s, that we should just create our own. The initial idea was to take the official chart and just weed out the stuff we did not like; Cliff, The Nolans, The Brothers Johnson and so on, and just renumber them.

And so on Tuesday 4th March, I wrote what was my first chart. Blondie were at number 1, as I think they were in the real world. And the rest, as you can was filled with some strange and some popular songs.

And this is the way things went until after the summer, when I discovered heavy metal. Yes, you read that right.

I suppose it began with AC/DC releasing Back in Black, but along with my friends, began listening to the Friday Rock Show, and what with just Saxon and a couple of other rock tunes getting into the chart, I sneaked them in anyway: I cheated. So, it was at this point the chart really began to track my taste in music on a week by week basis. The chart featured an eclectic mix of pop tunes and rock tracks, sometimes album tracks.

However, having a few tracks in the lower reaches of the chart was one thing, what would happen if there was a tune, or a band/singer I really liked? Which brings us on to Pat Benatar.

Pat was almost unknown in Britain at the time, and only had a couple of proper hits and that was in 1985, so after hearing her first single, Heartbreaker, on the radio, I began a not so secret fascination with her, which resulted in her dominating the charts for many years, even after getting over the heavy metal thing and being a proper ‘Indie Kid’ in 1982 and beyond, her music still featured in my charts. Even her crappiest songs.

Once that happened, many other sings that had failed to be hits here in the UK were ‘hits’ in my chart, Genesis singing Misunderstanding being another of the first. So, as we entered 1981, the rock tunes dried up for the most part, and then after getting a radio for Christmas, like many others, I discovered John Peel and other evening radio shows.

So, it came to pass that records off the Some Bizzare Album sneaked in, then the singles from Soft Cell, B Movie, Depeche Mode filled my chart. Some got to number 1, some got to the top ten. And like most folks who do this kind of thing, I began to wonder what would be the best selling singles of the year, and in due course, of all time. So I allocated points per week as to where each record got, and ran a running total as the weeks went by. So by the time the last chart of each year was done, I could collect the data and produce the chart of the year. And after a few years, the all time best sellers. The downside being that on occasion, I would want a record to get ‘silver’, ‘gold’ or ‘platinum’ status, so the charts would have to be further rigged to allow this to happen.

As my schooling entered its final year, when every second of spare time was vital, I would spend hours calculating points, or re-writing a few charts, anything other than doing what I should have been, like doing my best to get the best possible exam results so I could enter the world of work once my exams were finished. But, of course, I procrastinated as I would for decades to come.

Family holidays or school exchange trips meant that when I returned I might have two or three charts to do at once, so leaving even less time for school work. However, what is less than zero anyway? I started to buy Record Mirror as it published the top 75, not just the top 40, so enabling me to see more of the new releases. I became fascinated with new music, new bands, and despite not hearing them, anything new by a band I might have heard of got in. This meant that at times in 81, I was producing a top 50, or more, of my own.

So, in 1982, I decided to strip it down to a top 20, fitting the chart on each page of an exercise book, and therefore being really strict about what to put in and leave out. Sometimes this would expand into a top 25 or 30 on a good week, but mostly just 20 tunes, and a mix of electropop chart hits and Peel tunes.

I left school in May 1982, and continued my chart. I had three years mostly unemployed, but I kept doing the charts every week, and after taping tracks of the radio, used to pretend I was on the radio doing my own chart rundown on a Sunday evening. As you do.

And so it continued through the rest of 82 and 83 to 84, more and more eclectic bands and songs having hits; Yello, Icicle Works, B52s among many.

Until 1985. Its hard to say why, but I was getting jaded with the charts; sometimes there was just a top ten, then as the year progressed, I began working full time, and there was little time to listen to evening radio as I was so tired. Some weeks there was just a top 3, compiled weeks later just to keep the records going once I discovered my mojo.

Then in 1987, what with work and the bright new pop world of the real charts and the glitterball of the dancefloor, I took a three month break, then came back with a chart a month, just to mark out what I was listening to. Until the final months when with my head full of Acid House and other dance music, I fully got my mojo back.

Every week I produced the charts as I continued to work at the chicken factory, still Pat Benatar was having hits, and I was still obsessing over what was the best-selling singles of the year and of all time.

Finally, in 1989, I planned my escape; joining the Royal Air Force where I was sure I would grow up and become sensible and so leave the charts behind. But I did keep on, at least for a few months, until in 1991, and with a friend of my parents living in their house, a young lady from Yugoslavia they met on holiday and wanted to study English. We, or at least, I fell in love. We ended up marrying, and then, finally, the charts ended.

Or as it turned out, were just suspended.

By the summer of 1996 I had been married, posted to Germany with my then wife, divorced and posted back to England, arriving back at the end of the Britpop boom, and so with so much music around, and me commuting weekly between Suffolk and Wiltshire, I had plenty of time to listen to the radio and soak up new music. The chart returned. At least for a few months, but with me in another (doomed) relationship, money worries, getting a mortgage and then wedding planning, I ran out of time and the chart final was put to bed.

So, what are you telling us all this, Ian? I hear you cry. Well, a few years ago I scanned some of the charts and it generated some interest on Flickr when I posted them. And then at the end of last year, the BBC asked for people to contribute to a project called The People’s History of Pop. I posted a shot of one of my charts and forgot about it. At the start of this week, I get a Tweet from someone from the BBC asking me to look in my Outlook mail to respond to a request. I looked and arranged a phone call with a producer, the upshot being the BBC will be arriving at Chez Jelltex in April to film me and chat about my chart, getting me to read some of them out.

Me on TV, being interviewed about Trevor’s bright idea: strange world indeed.