Being Santa / Ale and Joy

Leamington Garret. Life is sweet. It has been amazing recently. I feel like I have emerged from a deep, dark tunnel. I walk around with a permanent grin on my face.

Suddenly everything seems so much easier. I am enjoying life in Leamington again. I feel relatively comfortable and am really looking forward to Christmas.

Funnily enough, I was asked to be Father Christmas the other day. A mum called Mel approached me in Lewes during the interval of my younger daughter's school magic show.

'May I ask you a favour?' she asked.
'OK,' I replied awaiting the worst.
'Will you be Father Christmas for the school Christmas Fair?' she asked.
'Why?'
'You have a smiley face.'

Well, that won me over. I agreed and so, late last Friday afternoon, I was dressed in full Santa costume and awaiting my first customer in a grotto like a Bedouin tent.

My first little visitor proved to be the one of more than 150 over the next two hours, by which time I had almost lost my voice with a mouth full of white synthetic hair.

But it was great! All that hope and expectation on those little faces was an inspiration. I had never before fully appreciated how much pleasure and joy the myth of Saint Nicholas brings to the young.

I asked every child if they had been good that year and they all said: 'Yes!' Except one – my younger daughter. She said, 'No' and gave me a most quizzical look. Later, when I was changed back into my civvies, she stared at me, wrinkling up her nose, and said: 'Ol, Father Christmas looked suspiciously like you!'



Life is getting better. The Day-Job has been good; order has returned to my Leamington existence, and I have been writing much more poetry.

There are also good omens, such as the return of my wristwatch. I was given it on my birthday. My sixth birthday, some 39 years ago. It was a present from my German grandparents (now long dead).

On the back is engraved 'Oma und Opa. 22/12/67'. I recall proudly wearing this full-sized man's watch on that day in 1967 – while The Beatles were still together and before Man walked on the Moon!

I wore it until, I believe, my third year at Hull University when at this time of year in 1982 I lost it at the Silhouette Club, then on Spring Bank. I do not recall what happened that night in that club, although I did return many times in the hope of finding my watch.

My grandfather had died by that time and I swore that I would never wear another wristwatch until it was recovered.

Last month when clearing out the London Garret, I found the watch at the bottom of an old biscuit tin I had used to knick-knacks while at Hull University. I had had no idea it was there and hadn't seen it for almost a quarter of a century. Its face was smashed and, obviously, it was not keeping time.

Now, thanks to an old watchmaker in Lewes, my beloved Kienzle is returned to its pristine state, with new glass and a repaired mechanism. The watch is back on the wrist!

Merry Christmas, Y'all!

Ale and Joy. (Flashback to Good Friday, 14 April 2006)

8.20pm. Suburban estate on the outskirts of a former mining village, the North of England.

Been a hectic 24 hours. My Beloved wife and children eventually rolled up at my Bachelor Pad, having spent hours lost in Royal Leamington Spa, occasionally telephoning me with vague details of their latest dislocation.

There was then a great deal of humping their stuff up the eight flights of stairs to my flat. I cooked, which was received well for once. Pork chops in a garlic, English and French mustard and double cream sauce, with boiled new potatoes, baby carrots and dressed salad.

The evident effort that had gone into this feast and the attractiveness of the flat and its fine view over the park and river certainly helped to improve my Beloved's mood. She lauded my cookery, and we went for a stroll along the banks of the Leam, as the sun was setting.

Awaking at 2am, I felt dehydrated and dazed. I went downstairs for water and could not readily get back to sleep. The noise of men rucking and women screaming abuse at each other outside Rio's Nightspot was going on below and continued for at least an hour. The alley beneath my window acts as an ear trumpet for kicking-out time at that particular establishment.

At breakfast time, I was dispatched to buy some sugar and the latest edition of the Beano. Upon my return, my Beloved presented me with a buff A4 envelope addressed to Joe - my old stand-up comedy moniker.

Inside was the new issue of Time Out magazine, London's listings bible, kindly sent to me by the Comedy Editor Malcolm Hay. I had penned an article for him entitled 'Joe's Secret Seven Novelty Acts', and promptly forgotten all about it. My daughters found it amusing.

Cheek by jowl to it were the Poetry Listings. I took that as an omen. After the Oliver's Poetry website launches on 2 June this year, I should use those listings to find some poetry readings at which I could promote the Oliver’s Poetry website.

My younger daughter and I went swimming after breakfast and had a great time.

Francesca and Chloe unwisely joined a Salvation Army Good Friday march passing up the Parade and ended up having a truly dreadful time. We met them for lunch at the Pump Rooms, and drove to Cotesbach, in Leicestershire, to see our friends there.

We were made very welcome. Tom and Geoff had made sterling progress on a house that has been under construction for some years. Miguel and Elise appeared as young and beautiful as ever.

Kerry was most hospitable and Dave, when I showed him a rare 1961 Kodak Retinette 1A camera that I had picked up for a song in Leamington, said: 'I've got a spare case for that.'

He had - and gave it to me! Would you credit it? He even had the nut that screws the case to the camera. 'How many old camera cases do you have lying around in your shed, Dave?' I asked innocently. 'Oh,' he replied, 'about 50!'

I had a walk round the yard and caught up with my former abode the Pi House, where I wrote much of my early poetry (see the photo with Ownsome Valentine).

When we quit Cotesbach at around five, I was full of ale and joy.

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