Statistics my arse!

Have you noticed that the word runs on statistics? Every statement is qualified by some stat or other whether its to do with politics, sport health or virtually anything you can imagine. I get it that statistics can help give some clarity in certain areas of life, but I do wish they would apply more caution when it comes to health.

In 2022, my wife and I left the Carlisle Cancer centre with the knowledge that I would likely be dead in 12 months because thats what the stats said. Those words defined the next 6 months for us until two things happened. The first was that I had a cracking scan result showing that the medication Id been put on had reduced the tumour load significantly, and the second was the realisation that I just didn't feel like a person with only months left on the clock.

Unfortunately for a web junkie like myself, cancer stats cover everything and even if you beat one, it still leaves the trail of stress in its wake. One stat said that the average number of overnight admissions prior to death for a cancer patient with metastatic renal cancer was 3. 

I guess that means I must be dead following my last admission in November just gone, however as I entered January, another stat loomed and it's really scary. According to all the major health sites including the NHS, I have a 10% chance of getting to next January but while Ive had a bit of a rough time lately, I really dont feel like a chap with 11 months to go. Ive acquired more tablets to add to my daily regime and a rather distinguished walking stick and in the last week a water retention issue left me looking like Humpty Dumpty according to my empathetic business partner Louise; but 11 moths to go? I think not. This wee wine merchant is already planning the next Christmas drive in the shop and it doesn't include plans for a send off in a box on the 31st!

I've come to the conclusion that medical stats are best read and consumed by medical professionals and in an ideal world, their details would be heavily restricted. This to me is one of the downsides to the open information world we now live in since the internet was born. Dr Google as Ive often heard medics refer to health searches in the web is an addiction for anyone with a serious diagnosis and whichever way you look at it, according to the web, Im buggered.

So whats the point of this ramble I hear you say? Well, if you are just starting this awful and scary journey read your body, not your browser. Yeah, I know, it's easier said than done, especially when dealing with 5 and 10 year statistics but one thing I have learned about Cancer is that you cannot predict the bugger.

Everyones body reacts differently to tumours, to medication, to surgery and above all to stress of which this journey is full. Medical statistics are meant to be read in context as highly generalist numbers which may be useful to drug companies and to hospitals for long term bed planning. They definitely aren't details that you should be linking to your google calendar!

Anyway, after a year where the tumour in my stomach took to bleeding on a regular basis, causing me to learn a lot more about the blood transfusion service than I ever wanted to know and where the main tumour nearly did kill me with a bad secondary infection, Im still here and Dr Google can sod off.

I didn't see that coming but the ice cream helped.

 This time last year as our lovely fine wine shop in Whitehaven was just starting to recover from COVID, I was going through the the initial process of discovery that led to a diagnosis of cancer with only palliative care to look forward to.

The process of discovery included multiple scans, a camera where the sun doesn't shine and so many blood tests, I thought there would be none left, and then in about May came the news that nothing in life can prepare you for. The news that your clock is ticking downwards and that all future treatment would be palliative.

Ive served in the armed forces, the fire service and nearly 20 years as a magistrate, but the news floored me, physically and emotionally.

To say it's hard to take in would be understating the matter as Im sure anyone with a similar diagnosis can confirm. You start to question everything. It all seemed so unfair, as were the thoughts that haunted me; my wife Dianne is far to young to be a widow, my lovely pal Louise who Ive worked side by side with for over 20 years wasn't ready to run the business on her own and every discussion we had about it ended in tears. Every birthday of a family member became an emotional anvil because it might be the last I would celebrate. I found myself wallowing in sentimental torture when looking at things id collected through life like the old model army truck on my bedside cabinet that Ive had since I was about 5 or the multiple US Navy friendship coins id collected during the Festival years.

Then the treatment started and my energy sapped, my tastebuds disappeared and the feeling of 'why me' became stronger. Between April and September, I went from having one massive inoperable tumour in my pelvis and one in my stomach to having secondaries on my pancreas and lung and the feelings of despair were almost overwhelming. Then something remarkable happened.

I discovered I could still taste vanilla custard, vanilla cheesecake and most of all, vanilla Ice cream and bit by bit with incredible support from Dianne, Louise and my family, I managed to pull myself back together and enjoy life and if anyone is just starting this hell, please focus on that last sentence because you need something to cling to when it all feels dark and lonely.

At the start of this year, depression crept up on me and I added anti depressants to my ever growing list of tablets to take every day. Ive been there before after my last bout of cancer 11 years ago and I recognised my own symptoms this time, not that it makes the diagnosis any easier to accept. Still, even with cancer and depression, we've managed to have fun days and long may they continue.

As time has passed we've even managed to make jokes of it all with Louise  telling me not to play the cancer card to get out of serving customers. It's the sort of military humour that gets you through the day and thats how you manage, one day at a time. 

If you are just starting this journey, know that there will be good days and bad, but the good ones are actually great and they will come. If you know someone who is starting this journey, be close and be patient but for heavens sakes dont tell them stories of a friend who had cancer and has recovered because there's no simple garden variety out there and every one of them reacts differently to their human host. Dont tell them to fight it because it's the most patronising thing you can say; everyone fights  it but some are just unlucky enough to succumb. 

If you want to help, bring them a vanilla Ice cream and dont say a word!

Anyway, we're well into a year I didn't think id see and as well as running the shop, we've got a full package of events with our friends and colleagues at Whitehaven Town Council stretching all the way to December, so life goes on.

PS, by way of an update, my last scan showed that none of the secondaries were visible anymore and the main tumour, that problematic lump in my pelvis has shrunk. The fight continues folks!

Is the High Street in decline or is it transforming?

 Decline or transformation? You decide.

Fifty odd years ago, someone in the Highways department changed the traffic flow on Hensingham Road so that you no longer automatically drove into Whitehaven, you had to choose to do so and the main road itself was diverted and bypassed the town. It was a small physical change but a major psychological change and the start of a depressing trend for the small retailers in the town centre.

By the time we arrived, 26 years ago, the supermarkets were just starting to have a negative effect on the high street. For some reason that I've never been able to fathom, planners allowed them to set up camp on every entrance to the town, complete with their free car parking. Whitehavens town centre became the retail alamo in a way that no other town in the County has repeated so avidly.

Its worth noting that when we arrived, there were still shops like Mark Taylors, Birkets and Lambs for quality clothing, Peter Hendrens Camera shop, and no fewer than five wine competitors including Jeffersons and Victoria Wine. Shop by shop they all dwindled away but the panic didn't seem to set in until the crash of 2008 and the loss of the High Street champion, Woolworths. The years that followed saw a renewed interest in stopping the rot, and the answer was seen to lie in bringing more life to the centre, hence Albion Square.

Sadly, just as Albion was starting to show promise and it felt like the High Street had been given some oxygen, Covid 19 came along and with it, social distancing in workplaces and the feeling that it was somehow naughty to visit any shop other than a supermarket. 

The result, at least temporarily has been that many local stores including ours have have done two things; first, we've drastically reduced our opening hours to cut costs but second and very importantly, many of us have ventured into ecommerce for the first time, with a strong emphasis on click and collect; yeah, we’ve all copied Argos, the model that everyone thought was dying pre covid!

The challenge for all of us now is persuading shoppers to use local shop websites and to stop giving it all to Jeff Bezos. Its a genuine 21st century challenge because when we open our browsers, the psychological drive to national chains is much the same as the one that made folk have to choose between turning left into Whitehaven or going straight on towards Workington all those years ago.

www.richardsonsofwhitehaven.co.uk  #shoplocal

Politics,,,,Who would vote for it?

In these extraordinary times when respect in politics is at an all time low, there can hardly have been a worse time in history to get involved in politics by accepting the role of election agent for Mike Starkie, so you could be forgiven for asking if the cheese has finally slid off my toast?

When Mike asked me to assist him, I saw two things right in front of me.

1. An honest and non politically aligned politician who has delivered exactly what he said he would deliver in his first term in office. If that person doesn't deserve a second term then whats it all for?.

2. A chance to send a message to the two main political parties and that can be done if others feel as disgruntled as I do right now. I dont just want Mike to win, I want him to win overwhelmingly because the very size of the Copeland Mayoral constituency means that this election campaign is as good as a high profile Parliamentary By Election.

Our national politicians have stopped listening and I cant think of a time in my life when the disconnect between normal working people and the political class has been so noticeable. It really shouldn't matter which side of the Brexit debate you are on, if the security of our long established democracy is more important to you. Our system of democracy is envied the world over, as is the honest and respectful way it works in practice. Many world leaders couldn't believe it when Churchill, the hero of the hour was voted out shortly after victory in Europe but the vote was counted, the results were respected and Winston was history. Fast forward to today and the very guardians of our democracy now feel they can manipulate the result of the biggest democratic exercise ever held in the oldest and most stable democracy in the world. Even if you voted to remain, please count to ten and consider that before mentioning misleading campaigns because in truth, neither side played it very straight and they rarely do in normal elections either.

Im not an angry person by nature, but few things would give me greater pleasure right now than a thumping defeat for both Labour and the Conservatives in the Copeland Mayoral Election. A defeat so big that they feel it in their national party HQ's; a defeat so big that they have to take stock and listen, because right now, neither of our two main parties deserve to win a council seat let alone the position of elected Mayor.

My main worry is that turnout will be low because of voter apathy but now is not the time for apathy, and if a vote for a good man inst enough to put the pencil in your hand then perhaps the bonus of slapping the Labour and the Conservative parties is. Whether its Brexit, Antisemitism or the memory of a quite disgraceful expenses scandal, May 2nd is an opportunity for Copeland voters to send both the main parties a clear message that we are fed up with their behaviour.

Please vote on May 2nd and give Mike Starkie a well deserved second term in office and at the same time, take pleasure in sending a clear message to the political lightweights currently occupying Parliament.

Gerard Richardson MBE

Vote Mike Starkie and keep the politics out of Copeland.

Fine wine with Heinz baked beans?

Did anyone else see the article in the national press lamenting the fact that we seem to have lost the art of matching food and wine? I read it with a hint of nostalgia for the good old days before quickly remembering that while I've often given advice on what goes best with what, my best advice has always been to open what you enjoy and just don't overpower the food with the wine.

Matching food and wine really is as simple as that in reality. Lets face it I wouldn't you open a Barossa Shiraz with a bowl of chicken soup and Chenin Blanc tends not to do well up against fillet steak but if those pairings float your boat then sail away folks. The age of Downton Abbey is over so shed the snobbery and crack open a bottle of Napa Valley Merlot with some XL Cheese Crisps while lounging in your Jim jams and watching the latest episode of Geordie Whore. Crikey, why not ask the household staff to join you once a week as well for a treat.

That said, stick with quality wines not the mass market dross ladies and gents because with wine, the value/quality ratio really does work in relation to price. Under a fiver you get about 1 grape per bottle but that jumps exponentially above a tenner and stratospherically the closer to twenty quid you get so if you are on a budget, drink less but drink better. At this stage I'd like to point out that no value supermarkets were hurt in writing this column!

So, what goes well with mid week special meals, and no, I'm not referring to a KFC Bucket or a McDonald's meal deal, heaven help us, how low do you think I would sink? Once a fortnight or so however, I'm rather partial to baked beans on brown toast with a fried egg on top and as luck would have it there are several Merlots that go particularly well with this wonderful dish. Try the lighter ones such as those from Italy or the ultra low tannin versions from the Napa but if you eat your beans with a silver knife and fork then do get your butler to crack open a Nuit St George from Burgundy; by heck they go well with buttery toast and tomato sauce.

Now, I've been known to commit the cardinal sin of partnering rare Grand Cru Riojas with a bag of chips but don’t find me guilty of bad taste until you’ve tried it. The smoothness of the wine seems to react superbly with deep fried potato and lashings of vinegar and if all your landed tenants have paid their rent on time and you can afford to add a fish cake then live the life folks because it's a partnership made in heaven.

It’s not just red wines that I've been known to offend however, I'm an equal opportunity abuser of wines and have often found delight in opening a £60 bottle of white burgundy with nothing more complicated than scrambled eggs or some honey roast ham. The latter is one of life’s delights when picked at with your fingers on a sunday afternoon watching the football.

I know it all sounds a bit criminal to you wine lovers but rest assured, I have my limits, especially when it comes to the classed growths of Bordeaux for those kings of wines deserve, nay demand some foodie respect so I always open them slightly more reverently.

Now before you think we don't do actually do fine dining in the Richardson household, I’ll have you know that Mrs R pan fries the finest fillet steak known to man; seriously folks crimes have been committed for lesser delights so if you’re ever lucky enough to pop round on steak night, you would catch us popping the cork on fabulous Cabernet Franc Reserve from Argentina or a classed growth Bordeaux. She’s also been known to shimmy her way around the kitchen knocking up a mean lamb casserole, the type for which only a top end Californian Zinfandel or Margaret River Cab Merlot will do justice to; yes, what can I say, I married a temptress!

Anyway, my glass is dry, the corkscrew is vibrating as if it’s on a ouija board and the wine rack beckons me to call it a wrap for this week so pip pip for another week!

Here's my recommendations for this week

Rolling Stones Merlot, USA

Enough fruit to line lips like Jaggers. Aromas of cherries with a palate full of warm raspberry fruits coated with creamy vanilla. This really is a stunner

Richardsons £16.95

Faustino 1 Gran Reserva Rioja

Still one of the best you can get with a nose full of cedar wood and tobacco and hints of soft morello cherries in cream on the palate.

Tesco’s £15.50

Age is just a number

Age, as Joan Collins so rightly put it, is just a number that's only relevant when applied to fine wine but talk about our age groups is now so mainstream that it's left me confused.
The recent election we're told was all about the youth vote and how we should all be delighted that they were getting engaged with politics despite the fact that we're told a lot of them were voting for free tuition rather than the greater good of the country. What about my age group, 55 going on 25? Does our vote not count now or is it already taken for granted and 'factored into the equation' of all the main parties? Should I feel disenfranchised or should I be mature and accept my worthless lot?

My very first job was as a petrol attendant; remember the days when it was poured for you and your windshield got a wipe for good measure and all for 70p a gallon or about 14p a litre for the youngsters who I would hate to feel left out of this blog! When I started, my boss and most of the customers thought it was nice and refreshing to see someone so young on the forecourt. Fast forward three years and I joined the Navy aged 19 only to find that in those days, that classed me as a mature recruit! I 'retired' at the age of 26 to marry my Cumbrian sweetheart and started a new life as a fireman. At the age of 32, I was recruited as a Magistrate only to find myself in the youth category again as one of the youngest Magistrates in the Country at the time (not difficult given that most of my colleagues in the early years were on the hip replacement list and lamenting that they couldn't use the birch any more).

I 'retired' early aged 51 to the supplemental bench of magistrates (civil service speak for retired and only to be brought out in times of national crisis) and found myself to be in the youthful category yet again as entry to the supplemental list is normally reserved for those hitting the age of 70.

At the age of 33, I started my own Fine Wine business and found myself at the younger end of what was at the time an old boys network of Claret and Madeira drinkers for whom the new world was still the place to ship convicts off to. Fast forward to today and the world is full of youthful winemakers changing all the rules and even younger wine retailers joyfully promoting Italian style wines from Australia rather than Italian Style wines from Italy. Have you been in Oddbins lately? Most of the staff still have acne, not to mention long hair and, god forbid, youthful beards. It seems I'm once again in the wrong age bracket because it's now all about the youth. On a side note by the way, when did beards come back in? Seriously who likes to kiss a fuzzy face that's hosting more bacteria than your average toilet seat? Maybe it's a grunge thing or did the grunge fad die out without my age group realising it?

When organising festivals in Whitehaven, I would often be told that I should have a youth committee to keep me in touch with what they wanted out of the events but on the one occasion when I posted in the press for younger volunteers to come forward, I got no response. Clearly I was out of touch with what they wanted because they wanted paid! In one memorable telephone discussion with a band, they noticed that I didn't have a clue who they were despite them being number one in the charts at the time! Seriously though, take pity on me because I stopped watching Top of the Pops a decade or so earlier and there I was trying to type ENDUBS into google before realising that I couldn't event spell their name (sorry Dappy, Fazer and Tulisa). On the other hand when I announced we were bringing Katherine Jenkins and the Philharmonic Orchestra to the event, many of her fans thought it was great that I was focusing on the older generation rather than just my own!
I retired from the forces as a youthful 26 year old and later took an early finish from the fire service at 39. In my early thirties, I was considered too young to be either a fine wine merchant or a magistrate. In my fifties, I'm now out of touch as a wine merchant as it's all about the youth but on the flip side, I'm one of the most youthful supplemental magistrates in the UK. When organising festivals, I was out of touch with the youth but applauded for thinking about the older generation rather than my own!

Seriously folks, what is my generation and have I ever truly had one I can call my own? I feel confused at best and frustrated at worst so my plea is this! Am I alone in my age confusion or are there others out there who feel equally confused?

If anyone is listening, I'm 55 with a preference to rock ballads but I do like the odd bit of rap or hip hop (see, I know the terminology), I drive an electric car because I love dolphins yet on the flip side I can occasionally sympathise with the argument for attaching electrodes to the testicles of terrorists. I like a good shandy with a summers barbecue but I'm much more at home with a glass of claret and I still start every year with the aim of getting a six pack in time for summer while at the same time having to factor a bad back into my never existent exercise plans. I like the idea of a social care safety net while at the same time wanting mandatory jail terms to root out fraudulent scroungers. I love the NHS but don't really want to pay more tax for it and I have no problem with immigration as long as it's not uncontrolled. My favourite films are the Dam Busters and the Aliens series but I also like the occasional chick flick (please tell me it's not sexually inappropriate to call it that anymore) and while I love documentaries, I also enjoy a bit of reality tv now and then.

So my question is, am I still relevant or am I like Dr Who, never really in the right place at the right time? In fact, perhaps I should ask if I've ever been relevant?! Answers on a postcard please or is that the wrong technology now?

Words to guide a good life

Do you ever reflect on life when one chapter ends? I've been doing that lately and thought I would share my career and life path so far for your amusement.

When I was still at school I always wanted to be a VET. Bugger knows why because I hate the smell of wet dogs, sneeze whenever a cat is within 10 feet and I detest rodents but anyway, one day, I watched TV Vet James Herriott shove his arm up a cows jacksy and that was enough to change my mind. I knew I needed to see the outside world though (well, outside Cleator Moor anyway) so my next choice was the Forces with my grandads words ringing in my ear,,, face your fears lad! Well my fears were drowning and heights so I joined the Fleet Air Arm as a Mechanical Engineer and had the experience of a crash landing in a Sea King on a Scottish Island as a bonus. At this point I've got to say that every future problem going forward would be solved with my first instructors words (adding to my grandfathers) ringing in my ears 'identify the problem and if you cant adapt it, overcome it but if you cant overcome it, kill it!' Thankfully so far I've never had to resort to the latter but if the words identify, adapt and overcome were put to music, it would be my favourite song.

I thought I was in the Navy for life but the prospect of starting married life with a two year unaccompanied posting to Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean meant that chapter needed to close and so began my foray into the world that is Sellafield. A short spell on staff during which I nearly caused a walkout over demarcation after being caught with a pair of pliers and a screwdriver in my pocket (Navy training did not include waiting for a fitter to remove a panel, an electrician to remove a fuse and a mechanic to dismantle a small blocked pump) led me into the Site Fire Service. They were in the process of upskilling and increasing their manpower and a role I adopted for myself was that of shift medical trainer which in turn led onto a 16 week medical technicians course in Glasgow with the Scottish Ambulance service. That was an eye opener, especially the training in the Glasgow City Mortuary with a long serving attendant who really was weirdly at home with the dead. He asked if I wanted a cup of tea then told me to get the milk which he kept in one of the body storage coolers and yes you've guessed it, the cooler had a tennant!

During this period in my life, our family started to grow and I may as well say at this point that we currently have 4 kids and 8 grandkids. The former wont be going up thanks to a skilled surgeon and a nice dose of anaesthetic but the latter may. I was also finding that full time employment and family life werent fully taxing my brain so I became a Magistrate serving on average 3 days a month for the next 19 years. A year after I first sat on the bench (why do they call it that by the way? It was actually a comfy chair with the added appeal of being addressed as Your Worship which was quite endearing for a lad off the Moor) I decided to become a Fine Wine Merchant, a career I still enjoy today. As if this wasnt enough, I had this crazy idea of starting a Festival for Whitehaven and for a short while, I was all of the above at the same time. In 2001, I left the Brigade to focus on getting some people drunk, jailing others and entertaining the rest. The next 18 years saw the business gain a number of celebrity clients and for a short while I was even advising on the Icelandic wine trades change from the public to the private domain (long story and far too good to waste in a condensed version right now). Running alongside sales of wine, we were organising International Festivals, Exhibitions, Military Parades, Tall Ship visits and best of all a couple of Royal Visits by HRH Prince Andrew and later on, HM Queen Elizabeth and the highly entertaining Duke of Edinburgh. During this period you really never knew who you were answering the shop phone to and in fact there was more chance of it being a celebrity, a military officer or even Special Branch with whom we had a close liaison than it was being a customer.

In the midst of all this and as if life wasnt interesting enough, I had the crazy idea of offering a Pardon to John Paul Jones for his heinous crime of unsuccessfully raiding the town for the US Navy in 1778. This eventually led to the shop becoming the Honorary Consulate to the US Navy and an award from the US Ambassador in 2011 for furthering International Relations between the US and the USA (yes, it does actually say that on the certificate which is rather cool). In fact the last decade has been awesome, with some lovely awards for the business, Jean Christophe Novelli cooking dinner for the family on one memorable evening and even a kiss off Katherine Jenkins and how many lads off the Moor can tick that off their bucket list?

Between 2012 and 2015 a Kidney Tumour and severe depression forced me to reconsider what was a rather hectic and ridiculous period of my life and much to Diannes delight I stepped down from the bench, hung up my Festival boots and took up the more serene hobby of writing books. Two recipe books with Jean Christophe Novelli and four local photographic history books later, Im now planning my first novel.

Sometimes while sitting at my desk day dreaming about the paths of my fictional characters, I dwell on my fathers words of advice when I was pondering my secondary school subject choices and worrying about what I wanted to do for a living. He said 'The main thing is to have a good life'. I asked him how I would know if I had and he replied 'Try to imagine getting to retirement and if you have some really good stories to tell your grandkids then you've had a good life'. The spanner in that plan is that I envisaged being an old retired man when it was time to tell the grandkids stories but Im only 55 and have more chapters left to write so they may have to take the stories in instalments!

So, if you're just starting off in life, let me offer you the words that have guided me so far 'face your fears head on, identify and overcome your problems and remember that when it comes time to tell your stories, you really want them to be interesting'!

Who needs Coronation Street when you have Lowther Street

It's 22 years since we started the business, a civilised type of shop we thought. The type where a chap could send his butler in for a 50 year old Madeira or a case of Chablis but then we really didnt know how colourful life could be on the High Street!
Over the years we've heard some cracking conversations both inside and outside the shop, in fact it's almost as if some people dont see us at all. A group of ladies sheltering by the door on a wet day were talking about a friends daughter who had apparently done really well for herself with some recent achievement. Naturally our ears pricked up keen to hear what the young lady had succeeded in doing. Imagine our surprise to hear that her achievement was to get onto long term sick benefits!

Another couple, this time we assumed to be a man and wife were discussing whether we were a new shop (bear in mind this was only two years ago) and also what sort of shop we were. She said to hubby 'it looks like an off licence' to which he replied, 'looks more like a bloody junk shop'.

Then theres the folk who get carried away with our short history, telling their friends on the phone that 'we're in Jeffersons, you know the old ones, been in the town for hundreds of years'. Ive got so used to being called Mr Jefferson now that I dont even blink.

There was also the chap who kept coming in asking if he could have a wooden wine box. Eventually I asked him what he wanted it for and I wish I hadnt. He has a collection of nuts and bolts and wanted to display them better!

An old lady came in several years ago for a bottle of beer to catch slugs in her garden but realised she had forgotten her purse. Recognising her as a local, I said 'don't worry its only £2 just drop it in next time your passing the shop.' She came in three years later and said ' I dont get out much'!

Theres also the people who come in for job interviews that we havent organised. They are of course meant to be attending the off license up the road and have failed the first test. But what about the people who come in the shop in a rush and plonk a bunch of flowers on the counter with a tenner only to discover that the flower shop is next door! Most of them leave the flowers and stomp out muttering under their breath about how confusing it is. Durh our neighbour has flowers outside her flower shop and we have a barrel and an old delivery bike outside ours. On the subject of the barrel, I've had many questions over the years such as how old is it, what did it used to contain etc but the one that really stumped me was 'is that a barrel?'

I particularly love the people who come in and ask for tickets to get into the rum story attraction which is actually two doors down the road. Quite what they are seeing when they enter the shop and get to the counter is anyone's guess.

My all time favourite though has to be the chap who came in applying for a drivers job we were advertising years ago. He told me he was honest, hard working and had a clean license. Unfortunately he didnt recognise me as the Magistrate who had dealt with him on numerous occasions and knew him to be a layabout with a long criminal record and a driving disqualification for being drunk!

You dont need Coronation Street to get your soap opera fix, just a shop on Lowther Street in Whitehaven and an ability to smile regardless.

High Street Retail is dead, long live High Street Retail

So, is retail dead on the High Street? Are we all changing our spending habits to the point where each County will end up with one or two thriving retail towns or cities with the rest of the spend going to the Net or is is all just a slow adaption to a new and exciting future?

If you're a pessimist then we're all doomed and small shops across the country will end up being converted to tattoo parlours, dens of illicit sex or heaven forbid endless amounts of travel and estate agents. If however you have half a brain and a grasp on history, you will dispel such gloomy thoughts and crack open a bottle to celebrate the future. Many years ago when we evolved from clubbing wives and hunting for our own ends and discovered the benefits of trading, retail was born and in the intervening time it's changed a lot but the High Street which started off as rows of market traders selling anything from freshly hacked meat to black bread and cures for boils has always been a magnet for people. Sometimes we come to buy, sometimes to browse but one thing you cant get from shopping on the net is a conversation and thankfully humanity still enjoys those. Unless you were an aristocrat, shopping, right up until the late 19th century was purely for the daily basics and the first changes to this came about with easier access for the masses to refrigeration and the re invention of Christmas. Refrigeration meant you could store food for longer and it freed up some of our time from the constant search for food. The re invention of Christmas happened in the first half of the 19th century with the launch of Dickens novel 'A Christmas Carol' in which he described Christmas not as a time for binge drinking or just religious worship but as a time for benevolence, families and at least a temporary end to social division. It was a book decades ahead of it's time and it had an almost immediate effect with a major factory owner giving his workers extra days off for Christmas after reading it. Along with the help of many canny retailers of essential items who spotted a market for benevolent gifting, the idea of exchanging presents was borne. So next Christmas when your credit card is maxed out and you want to swear out loud, go to your bookstore and get a copy of Dickens masterpiece and you never know, Christmas past present and future may just visit you that evening.

High Street retail boomed from this period right through to the late sixties and early seventies depending on where you live (mid 80's in Whitehaven) when a new love blossomed in the form of the edge of town supermarkets, those air conditioned palaces where you could buy everything you wanted while breathing in other peoples re cycled farts and slowly developing a headache due to the unforgiving lighting employed in every aisle. They serve a purpose and most of us at some time will shop there but thankfully even they are having to reinvent themselves as shoppers desire smaller more local feeling buildings again. That brings us to the internet and before you think I'm some sort of troglodyte, think again. Even my shop has a web page. Admittedly we do next to bugger all with it at the moment but we have at last embraced the digital world. That said, think back over the last ten years and try to remember how many internet brands have gone by the wayside and if you're a high street lover, you will be pleased to here its lots. The only difference is when an internet trader goes bust, they dont tend to leave a hole on the high street for the doom mongers to moan about.

We are in a period of retail flux that has much less to do with the amount of money in your pocket than it has to do with how we want to spend it and this current period, like the re discovery of Christmas, the advent of the Supermarkets and the advance of the Internet is a decades long change that we should embrace with excitement rather than Valium.

Theres a reason why stores like ours still survive and a good reason why ours looks like a crash between a Fine Wine Merchants and Steptoes back yard. In periods of uncertainty, we all like the warm comforting feeling of the good old days, and even if your good old days were really crap, we temporarily suspend reality and pretend the minute we see something old or retro. We're well into our third decade now with a shop I was told wouldn't last a month in West Cumbria but last Christmas, I knew I was finally on the right track. The reason? Well, my long suffering shop manager Louise for whom the model ships, old bottles, air planes, model cars and even horse riding accessories (honest, they are genuine oldies, no gimp masks in Richardson's) have all been dust collectors said 'you know something, Frank and I go all over the place and I rarely see a shop as nice and original as this'. Nearly 20 years its taken to secure that accolade but having got it, I'm holding onto it!

High Street retail may change but there will always be room for quality, eccentricity and you so the next time you're stressed and you feel you need the comfort blanket of retail therapy, put the mouse down and take a walk down memory lane, and oh by the way, we're at number 26, Lowther Street, Whitehaven right next to a lovely florist, a fab gift shop and directly opposite a proper jeweller and watch maker. Sadly the candlestick chap went years ago!

The weird world of the Whitehaven Festival

In 1998 I came up with the idea that Whitehaven could stage a major festival (over a couple of glasses of wine mind you) and you would think that the strangest thing of all was that it became a success with one event attracting over 300k visits but no, there were far stranger things behind the scenes!

Take the claimers 

For example, and we had so many people try it on from tripping over cables that wern't there (let's face it that's like a chancers apprenticeship) to the down right ridiculous. How about the lady who claimed she was wearing £2500 Gucci shoes that were ruined by raw sewerage running down the harbour. It was an easy one to disprove as there were no pipes anywhere near her and when we asked to see the shoes, low and behold she had destroyed them by fire to kill the smell!

Then there was the lady who tried to sue for a blistered throat caused by the exhaust pipe of an Ice cream van. She claimed she didn't know the engine we would be running, all we had to ask was what was she doing with the exhaust pipe and the matter blew away (pardon the awful pun). We had a chap tried to claim for damage to cows caused by air shows so we videoed them one year when the Red Arrows were doing their best to get their udders in a pickle but happily the grass was far more interesting to the unpatriotic milk makers. We also had a lady (sorry girls but you really dont come out of this one very well) who tried her best to make us have a silent festival ie no air shows and no fireworks to protect her nervous horse. We even offered to have a Vet on standby for the horse but all she wanted was silence so we chose to give her that and ignored her.

Then theres the plain funny: 

I had arranged for a USA Film crew who were making a documentary about the US Navy to sit on the bow spirit of a tall ship to get a cracking inner harbour view of the Red Arrows. Thankfully they had tied the very expensive kit they were using to their back pack because when the reds did their close fast pass (yes that one, that makes you think they have been smoking something first) the cameraman screamed F,,, me and dropped the camera. That was a spine tingler. Fast forward a year and I was accompanying two senior US officers along the main front when the Reds did it again and the senior of the two officers shouted F,,, me was that a near miss! Fast forward 4 more years and I was taking Jean Christophe Novelli fresh from the stage behind St Nics Church to the harbour to meet one of our sponsors. Now Jean gets stuck right into the whole cooking thing but unless he is fully briefed, he can miss out on the whole scene. So there we were walking towards Stobbarts Marquee on Quay Street, JC was on his mobile and a Hunter Jet (yes it had to be a hunter, all engine no foreplay) came screaming over head causing JC to drop his mobile which smashed and scream F,,, me as I quickly added, Oh sorry did I not tell you about the air shows. Actually F,,, me should have been our motto,,, can anyone translate it to Latin?

Floyd bless his cotton socks was our first celebrity chef demo in the theatre we built in the rear of St Nics but despite his surroundings, his colourful language kept bubbling to the surface. A member of the local clergy spoke up and said rather light heatedly, Mr Floyd, this is still a house of God, to which he replied, Oh Bugger.

Then theres the tight gits: 

Why do I have to pay to get on the Sugar Tongue? Answer, because theres tall ships to see, chefs to watch and extra entertainment. Reply: Im not interested in any of that, to which we would say well come back on Monday for free then!

Why do I have to pay to get on the Tall ship, Ive been on that one before!

Why are you charging local children to get into the gig (Ndubz were headlining and were Number 1 in the charts that weekend). One woman even told me that if we put more effort into finding sponsors, I wouldn't have to rip kids off!

Can I just photograph the timetable page as I dont need the programme just the page?

£2 to get on a ship, what does that get me? It gets you on the ship; But what can I do on there for the money? What would you like to do, sail it?

How much are tickets for Status Quo? £39 each. How much for locals? £39 each! Fuck it then you can keep them.

We're not going to the gig but we are having a garden party to listen to them, what times are the different acts on and do you have song lists? Would you like to buy a programme? No, just give me the times!

Theres always just the plain daft: 

Are Status Quo staying in a Whitehaven hotel? No, why do you ask? Well if they arent supporting us I'm not buying a ticket to see them!

I've bought tickets for the Rugby ground to watch Status Quo, if it rains on the day will you be putting a roof over the stadium? No, just bring a hat!

This one was a regular after every festival: I missed the event as we booked a weekend away, you need to make the dates clearer and advertise better to which a fairly standard discussion followed; It's been in the local newspapers regularly for a year! I dont read them any more, It's been on BBC local radio and CFM, I  dont listen to them, Its been on Border TV ad BBC North East several times, I only watch Sky News, to which I would finally say well in that case can you give me your address and Ill knock next time!

The Newspaper say's Abba Gold are playing the next festival, is that actually Abba?

Conversation overheard by a local reporter on the Friday of one of the Festivals as crowds were heading to the harbour area, voices reported as locals: There must be something on this weekend!

I got a parking ticket during the festival, what are you going to do about it? 

And  my all time favourite; Why can't we do that every weekend!

Read on if you have a sense of humour!

If only Whitehaven was Monaco, what would life be like?
The heat and the wonderful bright sun would be our first problem. Look at how tempers are flaring about car parking and toilet issues right now and it's barely 16 degrees, can you image peoples impatience and lack of tolerance at 30 degrees? Still on the bright side we would see more and more of those wonderfully honed bodies that Whitehaven is famous for. I particularly love to see the old sea dog sailors who had a stomach tattoo done when they were as fit as a butchers dog and now regret not building some expansion into the art. There's nothing says fuck you quite like f     u     c     k     y     o     u!  Mind you unfortunate tattoos aren't the sole domain of the chaps these days and I often wonder if there's any personal embarrassment when a middle aged lady strips for the doctor and her tender parts are emblazoned with eat here or free milk. Still if we were Monaco, we could tolerate all this under the long hot sun.
I suppose we would have to have signs in the harbour area urging locals not to fly their helicopters off their yachts but surely they would be better than signs asking you not to let your dog crap or telling you theres a fixed penalty for littering,,, or was it loitering? Anyway I dont hang around to find out. Still, the water would be clean and there would be an assortment of multi coloured fish scavenging for waste from the many harbourside restaurants instead floating rubbish and the occasional shit eating mullet. But would we be happy? Personally I like the mullet although I wouldn't eat one and its interesting watching the rubbish float down from Pow Beck, you never know whats coming next, mind you watching seagulls fight over a tampon was a particularly low moment. Another bright side would be our Royal family as we would have to have a prince to be a principality. Who could that possibly be? I reckon Prince Starkie would work well, but where would the palace be? What about converting the top floor of the Beacon into a palace apartment and letting visitors pop in during the day to see portraits of Councillor Wormstrup and others from the old praetorian guard of CBC. The Royal car would have to be an electric leaf with a cycle powered generator in the back pedalled by a graduate on loan from Sellafield.
Lowther Street and King Street (to be renamed Prince Street) would be busier though with all the billionaires shopping. Never again would we see a charity shop with a half price sale in the window or an outdoor clothing store offering half price camping gear at the start of the summer.  Empty shops with long gone gigs advertised in their windows would be history and Poundland would be offering pots of caviare with a very short best before date. Mcdonalds would be upgraded to offer sides of salmon or spear caught squid in baps, presumably still with free coke.
One of the drawbacks in attracting billionaires off their gin palaces though would be the speed bumps. I mean come on, who wouldnt get upset if their brand new Veyron got stuck amid rift on County Council property? Mind you they would also cause issues for the Grand Prix race but I suppose the cars could cut up King Street instead and all the teams could use the old bus station as the pit stop (health and safety permitting of course)
The problem is that even if we were Monacco, many locals would still bitch, it's too hot, that yacht is blocking my view of Tescos, there are not enough charity shops and the ones that are here dont have sales on any more!
But at least we would have the sun