Lisa Moss - a tribute

Lisa Moss - what can I say about this remarkable young lady?

We both started work within a week of each other and as she had seven days worth of knowledge over me - she showed me where to go and get my pass, she showed me how to log into my PC account and generally helped me through my first week at a new work place.

She was a gem. Always laughing, always making me smile and as you can imagine, we hit it off straight away.

When she got promotion to the job of events manager, our paths crossed more as we worked in the same offices and used to work long hours, especially when we were working on the same events.

Poor Lisa was also subject to some of my terrible practical jokes and I often used to tease her for how easy she was to fall for my pranks. She took them all in good faith and we'd often giggle about the sillier things in life.

We both had an unhealthy obsession with Holby City and used to spend our tea breaks or chats in between walking to meetings catching up with the latest news at Holby.

Lisa didn't know just how funny she was. Her natural flair for saying things that had us all in stitches was legendary. Her sat nav in the car broke and she came into the office one morning extremely flustered as it was no longer working. "I'm just lost without my sat nav" she piped up. Not realising why we laughed at her comment.

Then things changed. One day when we were just having a chat in the office, she mentioned to me about a lump she had discovered and that was the day that her life took a totally different direction.

Finding a lump is something a woman fears most and after she'd had it checked out and it was confirmed that it was cancer - Lisa went into her warrior mode. She was not going to let this awful disease get the better of her. She was going to fight it - no matter what. And fight it she did.

She went through the pain of surgery, chemotherapy and all that comes with it to emerge the other end, smiling and laughing at the different wigs she had to wear to conceal the fact that her hair had gone.

Not once in my company did she complain. We both had crying sessions when I hugged her and let her sob on my shoulder and she had the odd pangs of "why me" but everyone does - but she coped with it in her stride and we were delighted when she announced that this life-threatening illness had given her a new zest for life.

She took out her savings, learned to salsa dance in Cuba, went to and took part in the Rio Carnival, visited Bangkok, Thailand, Spain and went on various cruises - life had dealt her a blow but she was going to enjoy as much as she could.

We were all delighted when after more surgery and a double reconstruction, she was back at work but her good fortune was not to last and the illness returned with an even more aggressive streak.

The brave Lisa battled on; determined that she would once again beat it. After a year of constant treatment, stays in hospital, chemo-therapy, blood transfusions and endless trips to the consultant - she got the news that she was not going to get better and that body blow saw her deteriorate so quickly.

She passed away on 12 May with her family and friends at her bedside.

Thirty seven years old is no age to die. She had so much more to do with her life, things she wanted to see, people she wanted to meet but she was so cruelly robbed of those chances.

I only knew Lisa for five years but in those five years, she was one of the kindest, nicest and most precious friends to have.

Although my last memory of her was as she lay in her hospital bed on Tuesday, I'm hoping that in time, the image you see in my blog is the one that comes to mind when I think about her - smiling, happy, vivacious and stunning.

She was my friend, my colleague and a true inspiration.

Rest in peace my beautiful girl. I'm going to miss you so very, very much.

xxx

The wonder of worm charming!

I had an email read out on Chris Evans' breakfast show today on Radio 2! I was sooo excited and it was in response to his interview with the organiser of the Annual World Worm Charming Championships in Willaston, Cheshire.

I have taken part in these very championships. It must have been about 1991 when I was working at Radio Stoke and I was approached by the Cystic Fibrosis Society, Stoke-on-Trent branch to compete in the championships and get sponsored to raise money for their charity, so of course, I jumped at the chance.

Now I couldn't even charm a duck off the water, so what chance had I of trying to persuade some innocent little worms to leave the sanctuary of their soggy underground haven?

For those of you that don't know what goes into the art of charming the worm, the rules are many but simple. You are given a small plot of land and have about half an hour to charm as many worms as you can and these are the rules:

Each competitor to operate in a 3 x 3 metre plot.
Lots to be drawn to allocate plots.
Duration of competition is 30 minutes.
Worms may not be dug from the ground. Only vibrations may be used.
No drugs to be used! Water is considered to be a drug/stimulant.
Any form of music may be used to charm the worms out of the earth.
A garden fork of normal type may be stuck into the ground and vibrated by any manual means to encourage worms to the surface.
Garden forks to be suitably covered to prevent possible injury when being transported to and from the competition. No accidents please!
Each competitor to leave his/her fork in allocated plot on arrival.
A piece of wood, smooth or notched may be used to strike or 'fiddle' the handle of the garden fork to assist vibration.
Competitors who do not wish to handle worms may appoint a second to do so. The second shall be known as a 'Gillie'.
Each competitor may collect worms from his/her own plot only.
Worms to be handled carefully and collected in damp peat and placed in a suitable, named container provided by the organising committee.
A handbell to be rung about five minutes before the start of the competition.
Competitors to keep clear of competition plots until given the instruction "Get to your Plots".
The competitor who 'charms' the most worms to be the winner.
In the event of a tie, the winner to be decided by a further five minutes charming.
Charmed worms to be released after the birds have gone to roost on the evening of the event.

When I took part in it, I managed to con my Mum into coming with me by promising her a day out in the country! It was an incredibly hot day and I felt really sorry for her as she didn't like the heat and so I got her a chair in the shade so she could sit and watch her second born make an absolute charlie of herself.

First of all, I was wearing a very ill fitting T-shirt which doesn't help when you're a big girl. There was a cartoon worm on the t-shirt which looked a bit distorted because my boobs are quite big and the worm looked like his head was sticking out of his body! In fact, my large chest made the worm look like he was in 3-D!! (or should that be a 43D?Lol!!)


Secondly, I drew a plot that was in direct sunlight so no worm worth his salt would want to come out into the sunshine.

Thirdly, the only tool I bought with me to charm the little blighters out of the ground was my plastic recorder! I thought I would lure them out with music rather than the primitive garden fork method - I now know from bitter experience that Cheshire worms are either deaf or do not appreciate live music. That's probably why you never see any worms at a Coldplay gig.


The half hour seemed like six hours and after ten minutes or so, I'd run out of my recorder repertoire so then I started to improvise or play familiar tunes over and over again. I think I played the theme from Z Cars a few times, three blind mice, Mull of Kintyre, a bit of classical and something that Wilson, Keppel and Betty used to do an Egyptian dance to. (See the film below by following the link or Google Wilson, Kepple and Betty - you'd love 'em)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FxAr66vtUoQ

I was so relieved when the bell sounded but at the same time, deeply ashamed and embarrassed. It was also a bloody good job that I wasn't sponsored per worm or else I would have made hardly anything for the charity.


When I tell you that the winner had the grand total of 200 worms charmed, you will appreciate why my haul was so pitiful. I only managed, THREE, yes THREE and I'm sure one of those was cut in half. It was very embarrassing but like I said, I was in a bone dry plot in direct sunlight so I was fighting a losing battle.


However, it was all good fun and I think I raised £500 from listener , friends and family donations, so the charity was a winner at least.


My Mum enjoyed her trip to Cheshire - well at least she didn't say she didn't and somewhere in my photo album I have a picture of her taken on the day of the worm charming championships and it's one of my favourite pictures of her.

I must admit that it was certainly an experience I will never forget but sadly, it has not made it to my CV yet under hobbies or interests!

So you can imagine my glee at hearing Chris read out my email in full to his millions of listeners. I was at work when he read it out and my friend Katie heard it! That's one thing I love about email, it's so instant. Being able to respond to a radio programme about an item you've just listened to and have your message read out minutes later just makes me want to say in a Fast Show character way:

"Int' modern technology Brilliant?"

Goodbye dear friend...end of an era

You could say that I am a Cadbury baby. I was virtually weened on the brown stuff. Cadbury chocolate has always played an important part in my life and today, it is with great sadness that I say goodbye to a dear friend.

When I was growing up, Cadbury chocolate was given to me as a treat, it was given to me as a reward, it was given to me to cheer me up should I be down and to calm me down should I be playing up.

The Cadbury purple has always been my favourite colour and I could sing everyone of their catchy jingles. I must have eaten every chocolate bar they have ever created.

Yes, I know, that could be the reason why I am the shape of a Cadbury Lime Barrel (to be found in a Milk Tray selection) but it has made me realise sitting here typing this, just how much a part of my life has been made happier by scoffing their sticky delights.

To let Kraft, a big US conglomerate, snatch a part of our heritage away from us right under our noses is too much for me to bear without getting hot under the collar.

Britain's best loved chocolate-maker is no longer ours. Two hundred years of history with quaint but wonderful Quaker traditions has been surrendered to a processed cheese giant with little of no regard of what it has won - to them, it's just another company to be swallowed up. To us, it's our last great asset which will be stripped in no time.

I am mad. No, I am angry. Why has this been allowed to happen?

It's not too late. Please Cadbury shareholders, don't surrender. Think of what you are letting go.

The once sweet taste of success for a family-run firm will now be a bitter pill to swallow seeing the drum-playing Cadbury gorilla wearing a hat made from processed cheese.

I've nothing against Kraft, they saw a firm that was iconic and much loved the world over which was making a profit in today's troubled times.

Mark my words, a few years down the line thousands of loyal Cadbury workers (many of them generations of workers from the same family) will find themselves on the dole when production is shifted abroad to cut costs so Kraft can pay for the loans they have had to take out to pay for takeover.

Hostile takeover? You bet I am hostile towards it and judging by the reaction of people I have heard being insterviewed it should not have been allowed to happen. It wouldn't have happened in France or Germany but we let this go on time and time again. It has got to stop before we lose every scrap of identity and pride in what we produce.

This sucks, it stinks, it's wrong but it's not over till the fat lady sings and I am not singing until the bitter end.

SHAREHOLDERS, SEE SENSE AND DON'T LET THE BIG BOYS WIN - FIGHT, BE STRONG AND HOLD ON.

Keep this wonderful company the way it is and save it for future generations to enjoy.

It's not too late. Say no to the money - you know it makes sense.

So who was Sven Karlsen?

I was seventeen at the time and I was playing first cornet in a brass band in my native Stoke-on-Trent. Every couple of years, the brass band did an exchange tour with a brass band in Norway from a town near Stavanger. They were the brass band that belonged to the farming equipment giants, Kverneland and it was our turn to go over there to play a series of concerts with their band.

I remember being very excited as apart from a school trip to Paris in 1979, this was only my second trip abroad and it was with a group of people I got on very well with and had fun playing music with them.

I do recall that I still had that god-awful curly perm at the time, which I thought looked cool.

The trip to Norway involved a long coach trip from Stoke to Newcastle-upon-Tyne, a boat crossing from Newcastle to Stavanger and a coach ride from Stavanger to Keverneland.

The sea crossing was the worst bit as the water was very rough and everything I had eaten that day decided to pay me a visit over and over again. However, once I had got used to the choppy seas, I saw something that I will never forget. Whales. Yes, I saw whales swimming and water coming out of their blowholes, it was a fabulous sight.

The trip was surprisingly good once the sea sickness had gone and we were all excited but a tad tired by the time we arrived at the Keverneland plant to be picked up by our host families.
Me and my friend Tracy were to stay with the Karlsen family. The Dad didn’t speak English, but the Mum did and so did the children and they loved having us there and wanted to talk to us all the time.

There were three children, two girls and a boy. The boy was Sven. A chubby faced, curly-haired boy with blue eyes (one of them a lazy one!) and the most amazing smile you ever saw. I was smitten as soon as I clapped eyes on him!

Sven was the drummer of the Kverneland band and he was so sweet. He made us feel very welcome and when we weren’t in rehearsals, he was showing us around his town and teaching us Norwegian words in exchange for our English ones.

He taught me what the Norwegian word for “pea” was = echt and the word for “pop” = brut. We were walking around a department store and I pointed at things and he told me the Norwegian word for it. Cheekily I remember asking him what was the Norwegian word for “sex” and he said, with a very evil smile “the same!”

There was an attraction between us and although he was two years younger than me, in no time at all, we were holding hands and going off on long walks to the beach and sitting in the sand dunes watching the fish leaping out of the sea.

It was all so innocent and sweet. It was while we were sitting in the sand dunes that we shared our first kiss. My little crush on Sven was the talk of the brass band and some of my cornet playing boy chums were really taking the piss out of me because Sven was fifteen and I was getting the usual “cradle snatcher” remarks.

Meal times in the Karlsen household were always something to look forward to as you never knew what you were going to get and thankfully, it was all nice. None of the smoked reindeer that I was told about by some of the older boys in the band.

Sven’s Dad would have loved to have been in on some of the conversations and you could tell his frustration at not being able to understand what his kids and us were laughing and joking at but he laughed all the same because he was pleased to see his kids get so much out of the new house guests.

All of a sudden, a daddylonglegs came flying in through the window and Sven asked me what we called them in the UK?

“A daddylonglegs” I said.

They all laughed at that and laughed even more when Mr Karlsen tried to repeat it and it came out as “dooblieblombleb” so ever since 1980, daddylonglegs are now known as dooblie-blom-blebs in my eyes.

It was a really sad day when we had to say our goodbyes to the Karlsens. The week-long tour had gone well. We’d played some great music, had some wonderful excursions to the Fjords and were made to feel very welcome by our host families.

Saying goodbye to Sven was very sad. He gave me a flower and a notebook and a cap. His Mum and Dad could see that he was upset and gave us some time to ourselves to say our goodbyes. We hugged each other for ages and then had a lovely long kiss and then another hug and he said to me these words – written phonetically: “yoy oisker doy” which I found out meant “I love you”

I was late getting on the bus and everyone knew why and so when I eventually got on they all started whistling and singing “Ali’s in love, Ali’s in love!”

I did shed a tear or two when the bus drove off and all our host families were waving at us but I had a lovely time and nearly 30 years later, I still think of Sven and wondered what happened to him.

We kept in touch for about six months or so and both of us had left our respective bands by the time the Norwegians came over to us. I re-wrote the words to Flanders and Swann’s Hippo Song to fit in with my experience with Sven and for a while afterwards, I did it as a party piece at brass band rehearsals.

So Sven Karlsen may be the name of a fictitious Private Eye in a thriller I am not writing at the moment, but the real Sven was a sweet-faced little drummer boy who inspired me to cheer on Norway every year when the Eurovision Song Contest came around – just in case he was the one playing the drum!!!!

The final chapter - back where he belongs...

Well, Monkeh has had one heck of a week.


He's swam with sharks in Anglesey, been on Mr Punch's stage in Llandudno, hitched a lift to Harlech, caught a bus to Barmouth, been involved in petty theft from his Mum and Dad, been caught in a four-in-a-bed romp with The Williams sisters and a sheep and finally, put behind bars in Conway by the infamous policeman, Sweeper of the Yard.


Once his bail had been paid and the charges against his were dropped, we went to pick the little fella up from the Police Station.


He was obviously very pleased to see us and looking none the worse from his ordeal.


We gathered his belongings and packed the car and headed for home.


It's been a very strange week but Monkeh will not forget the new friends he met and the old dodgy acquaintances he encountered. Who can forget Sharon and Tracy to two ginger tom cats in Harlech or Brian the Pug who helped him with the picture scam?


There was the mean Yorkshire man who ran the B & B, the strange Geordie voice-over guy and the Dutch hotel owner whose wife had a penchant for filming their guests while in the privacy of their own room.


Then there was George Seagull who conned him out of £400 to appear in a film that didn't exist, his old flame Annette her thin sisters and of course, Blodwyn and Bethan Williams and the Sheep.

Going back to Coventry will seem so normal but will Monkeh put his naughty ways behind him and behave himself on the way home? Will he realise that he has been a bad boy and be able to accept the consequences?

I'm not really surprised that he ended the film blog by showing us his bum, but that's Monkeh all over. He's home now and has gone out to meet his other Monkey pals to tell them about his big Welsh adventure.

Normal blogging service will return as soon as possible.

Or will it?

To look at Monkeh's holiday photos check out the following link:



http://www.flickr.com/photos/bushythelamb/

TTFN

Softly softly catchie monkeh....

We last saw Monkeh in his hotel room in the Dutch Quarter of Barmouth with his friends, The Williams sisters and a sheep.

After a riotous time in the hotel room, their antics came to a sudden halt when Inspector Sweeper of the Yard, Britain's most monotonous Policeman, burst in and arrested them.

They were all carted off to Conway Police Station - Monkeh was put behind bars (see picture) obviously this was nothing new to him but it was a new and unnerving time for The Williams sisters - both of them had been behind bars before, but at their local "The Welsh Tiger" where they took it in shifts to serve pints to the locals.

The sheep had never experienced this kind of detention and was obviously worried that he was going to be sent to the place where his Mum and Dad were sent - and never came back.

We catch up with our hero, Monkeh, being interrogated by the aforementioned Sweeper of the Yard in one of the station's interrogation rooms.

Please take heed of this warning - if you are at all affected by any of the over acting you are about to witness, a helpline number will appear at the end of the film. Headphones again, are required.

The film producers would like to apologise for the scene where Monkeh was offered and accepted a cigarette. Please children, do not try to attempt to copy anything that Monkeh might do in the film as smoking can damage your health.

Tomorrow, Monkeh and his Guardians say goodbye to Wales and reflect on the week they have had.

Monkeh hoodwinked by chum and much more....

We last saw Monkeh being given his orders on house rules for the shady B& B he was staying at in Barmouth.


"No way do I want you to be entertaining those Williams sisters in your room" said the brusque Yorkshire landlord to our little knitted chum.



However, Monkeh needed to see them because they had promised to assist him with his Welsh accent for the audition his mate George Seagull had told him about. Monkeh managed to sneak the sisters up to his room and they went about transforming him from a normal, healthy knitted monkey to a convincing young Welsh woman complete in a traditional Welsh costume (see picture).





He was bound to get the part and pass himself off as a Welsh woman, wasn't he?



Monkeh and the Williams sisters all went to the location where the film was being shot. Monkeh thought it was strange that his friend George Seagull wasn't there to meet them and what was even more strange was the fact that when they arrived at the location (which was on the other side of town to where his B & B was) there were no film crews, no make-up or costume tents.



Strangely enough, there were no other extras there, no film stars, no crew canteen and no sign of filming.



Monkeh was fuming - he'd been lied to and his so-called friend, George Seagull (who he had given £400 to in order to get a part in the film) was nowhere to be seen.



"Never mind, Monkeh" said Bethan Williams,"there will be other films but the next time a seagull comes up to you in the street and asks you for 400 quid to appear in a film where you'd have to learn Welsh and dress up as a woman, I hope you'll be a little bit more suspicious!"



"Yes, be very cautious" said Blodwyn Williams. "If we had known that it was George Seagull who had told you about the filming, we would have told you not to go as he's pulled this scam before.



"You got off lightly. He conned Babe the Pig once out of £1,000 by telling him that he was a cert for a Danish Bacon commercial and when he turned up for the film shoot, he'd actually been sold to the local butcher and now he's in the deep freeze - so you were lucky."



"I don't feel very lucky," said Monkeh. "I feel foolish. But at least I've still got my B & B for the next few days, so why don't we all go back to my room again and work our way through the mini bar?!



"Ooooh yes," giggled Bethan and Blodwyn. However, when they got back to the B & B, Monkeh found his belongings on the doorstep and a note left on his case read: "You broke the rules, you're out on your Monkey ear!"



"What on earth am I going to do now?" said Monkeh.



Blodwyn said: "I know of another B & B where they are more liberal about what you do and with whom, why don't we go there? There are other ways to break into film you know, so don't be downhearted."


"Oooh yes" said Bethan. "Let's go to that other B & B in the Dutch Quarter".



"Well, I've got no other choice," said Monkeh and off they went to the infamous Dutch Quarter of Barmouth.



Again, ear phones are advisable in order to hear the film in decent quality.

Oh no! What on earth is Monkeh going to do now? He's got no money, he's a long way from home and he's about to find himself in the slammer with a couple of Welsh sisters and a sheep. How is he going to get out of this latest predicament?

Tune in tomorrow to find out the latest in the escapades of Monkeh in Wales.