Left to our own devices

Santa Barbara is a beautiful City, Ronald Regan had a ranch there and numerous film stars and celebrities had homes in and around the hills overlooking the town and the Pacific Ocean.  Santa Barbara sits nestled against the Santa Ynez Mountains, in between the Pacific and Wine Country. The first inhabitants of the land that was to become Santa Barbara were Chumash Indians.  Fleeting visits by Portuguese and Spanish explorers resulted eventually in the arrival of a group of Spanish Missionaries and soldiers, led by Felipe De Neve, and Padre Junipero Serra who had visited in 1769 and now returned to convert the locals to Christianity in 1782.

Mission Santa Barbara was built by local Indians under the instruction of the newcomers.  Apparently, they needed God and western religion so much so, that most had died of Smallpox and other diseases, to which they had no immunity, within a few decades.

God works in mysterious ways!



Mum’s hospital bed offered a fair view of the City across the rooftops toward the ocean and she was making good progress, whilst undergoing various tests to measure the capacity of her heart.  My brother Mark and I, whilst enjoying the scenery and various attractions in and around Santa Barbara, were slowly convincing ourselves that Mum was improving and Doctor Braniff concurred, going as far to say, after mum had been in hospital for 4 days that another 4 days would see her released to the outside world again.  We decided we had best prepare the town for the invasion that was Cynthia Joan Weaver.

As Mums eldest child, Mark took care of anything Mum worried about back home, followed by my sister Helen.  When our father passed away, Mark organised all the papers, the banking and filing of documents and as our dad had been pretty much on the ball with everything, even had to show Mum how to write a cheque, much as it is hard to believe.  As the reliable oldest, he was the soothing appearance of family Mum needed, and had brought an aura of calm along with him.

I struggled to find a picture of the three of us together but eventually settled on this picture, but as usual, I was all about the joke I suppose, as illustrated by rabbit ears behind mums head, the picture being taken 15 odd years ago.  I am the fat boy on the left and Mark is the one with the hairy bogey on his top lip.


We decided that the hotel was fine for her needs, but decided to move into a cabana that had parking outside to allow her easier transition between the car, wheelchair, room and vice versa. The hotel had a pool, just a short walk away across the carpark, through a gate and onto a lawned area.  Disappointingly for Mark, Mum was due out the day after he was due to fly back to the UK, so extra time was spent with her at hospital, Mark entertaining her with stories of our trips, her grandchildren, Michelle, Jason and Ben, his wife Monica and his career, which had transitioned through and apprenticeship in engineering and into sales.

I have written of Mark in earlier blogs, most notably in blog 1970 to 1979, Growing up is a Family Affair.  Mark is ten years older than I and whilst I was still growing up at aged fifteen, he was married with children.  My last two years at home before leaving school and joining the Army, hold memories of Mark and Monica seeing Mum at weekends, usually Saturday mornings, or for the occasional Sunday Lunch.  Most Christmases and Easter holidays included a visit to either his house or ours, or my sister Helen’s for a meal and catch up.

Monica had been married previously to Mark and had two children, Michelle and Jason.  They would go onto have Benjamin (Ben) who was born almost a year after our Father had passed away.  Being that much younger than Mark it was obvious that we would have little in common (or so we thought).  Finding ourselves forced upon one another in such extreme circumstances as we found ourselves, we cemented a loving relationship, dispelled a few myths and created a bond that has lasted to this day.

Mark was focusing his attention on Mum during those last 3 days in Santa Barbara.  He wanted everything to be set right for her release from hospital and to know she and I would manage well enough. I suppose it was a quiet a difficult time for him, as he had to leave Mum with me.  A brother, who despite being exceedingly good looking (ha), had pretty much little else going for him at that time.  So it was obvious that he would try and ensure every little detail was set for her discharge.

Everything from making sure she had access to her bank, that the insurers knew our contact details, that we would only have to pick up the phone to access expenses from them, through to extending the car hire and buying mum all new toiletries, nightdresses and a dressing gown.  The irony was that mum liked her hospital issue nightdress so much that she kept it for years afterwards.

One often reads of the impact of others upon our lives and whilst I have become somewhat more mature over the years, back then, I was always about me, myself and I.  Mark had to go home and it stands to his confidence that I would manage, that he did fly back to England.  For my part, I was being relied upon to do the most trusted job anyone had ever asked of me.  My reliance on Mark had grown and whilst we had enjoyed a superb week together, I was so set up by the time he left, I had little to do but collect Mum from the St Francis and ferry her about for two more weeks in the sun.

No one had ever relied upon me like Mark had to do then.  The trust shown and the support and love he gave have never been forgotten.  And whilst I may joke and pull his leg (all the time), I love and respect my Big Bro more than words could possibly say.  His support, love, respect, strength and organisation of everything, saw Mum and I manage superbly after he left.  I took him to Santa Barbara Airport, hugged him goodbye and armed with Baseball Mitts, Cigars, T-shirts, all type of mementoes and a mix of emotions, he climbed into the plane and away north to San Francisco and England.

Mum for her part was happy to be out and in the sunshine only the day after Mark had left for home.  Of course, me being me, I had plans to take her everywhere, but had to temper my enthusiasm, as it was very apparent that she needed lots of rest.  Once settled into her room, I went to the Supermarket and got her favourite magazines, National Enquirer and the other tabloid papers, propped her up in bed, made her coffee and we relaxed.

Mum had to attend the Cardio clinic at Dr Braniff’s surgery for a treadmill test in 5 days time.  Until then we decided that each day we would venture further afield, have a nice dinner out each evening and stick to the regimen prescribed by the doctors, plenty of rest when needed, but try and exercise every day.  We had been provided with a wheelchair for mum to use until her treadmill test and despite leaving her in that chair, on the steepest of hills, she resolutely refused to take off the brakes!

So I was stuck with wheeling her around town. Our first trip was to the Marina in Santa Barbara.  The pictures here show that day and as you can see, Mum ensured she always struck a cool pose.

Nothing too taxing, but as Mum was proud and courageous, she refused to be pictured in that chair, so any pictures we took had her out and about, leaning against a rail, or seated on stairs or a bench for support.

The next few blogs will cover this period in Santa Barbara and the two weeks spent back in San Francisco, sorry it’s been a while since I last “blogged”, poor show and all that, but back on track again.  Bon Chance’.

My Mum and her Myocardial Infarction!

Further to http://jw-alifeofsurprises.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/journey-into-darkness.html,

I composed myself and had another discussion with Doctor Braniff about mum’s condition and what the next few weeks and months may hold.  I explained that mum was here on holiday, had been here only a week and was due to fly home early August.  That was no longer the plan as he explained that she would be in hospital for at least a week, would not be able to travel back to the Bay Area for at least another 3 weeks, and only after a series of tests at the Cardiologists offices.  As all Health Care in the USA is private and insurance cover is vital, I knew I had to get hold of the CO-OP back in the UK and start the ball rolling on her insurance.  First and foremost I had to call my family back home.

It was 06:00 in Santa Barbara, the sun was up.  In the UK it was 13:00 and the only number I had in my head was my sister Helen’s.  I called her number and David her husband answered the phone.  This was good, as I did not want to speak directly to Helen as Dave could take care of her, and once sorted, she could contact Mark, Richard and Julian.  All went well with David and I left him to deal with Helen and the boys.  It transpired that my oldest brother Mark had been in Boston Massachusetts only recently, with business.

Dr Braniff explained that mums heart had stopped quite a few times and that her heart was being damaged little by little as she ignored the pains and shortness of breath.  The right hand side of her heart, the Right Ventricle has artery’s supplying blood to it.  A number of these had become blocked, interrupting blood flow and resulting in that area of the heart muscle dying, thus causing a Myocardial Infarction (Heart Attack).  He would be carrying out tests and scans over the coming days, and where possible addressing particular problems by means of angiograms.  Phew!

As mum was asleep and resting he advised us to do the same, so we jumped into the Shelby and drove with Tammy’s mum Sandra, to their Hotel.  The staff and management at the Hotel greeted us at reception and advised that we could stay free of charge for two days until we had sorted out accommodation elsewhere, or could then pay for our rooms.  They were worried for mum and were very kind, and I will always be grateful to them, http://www.fessparkersantabarbarahotel.com/

Sandra went off to her room and we checked into two rooms, a single for Mark and a double for Tammy and me.  We slept and met for a light lunch by the pool as we planned the next steps.
Sandra came to join us, as did her sisters who were staying with Mum and Sandra.  It then transpired that on the night of mums attack, the sisters had been arguing in mum’s room, she was sharing with Sandra, and on the balcony.  By all accounts these women had been screaming at one another and mum had got upset and stressed as apparently the sisters were really going at it.  She had gone back into the room and laid on her bed, Sandra then went into the room a few minutes afterwards and found mum spark out on the bed.  She had called reception, who called the paramedics.

The hotel manager got to mum first and carried out CPR, followed by the paramedics who were there very quickly, revived mum again and then put her in the ambulance, where she was shocked with a defibrillator again and again.  I was angry with the sisters but held back as it was not going to help mum, they had their own problems and guilt to deal with I supposed.  We went to visit mum and sat by her bed for some while until she awoke.  Her first words as always were “What are you doing here?” followed closely by, “I must look terrible!” and “does my hair look ok?”  All that was missing was “does my bum look big in this?”

I had collected a few of her toiletries from the hotel and brushed her hair and washed her face and hands.  She told me her version of events as best she could remember and recalled the shocks from the defibrillator and the arguments between the women.  She told me that when she was in the ambulance and the ER, that she was aware of what was happening and saw he “legs fly up off the bed with each jolt”.  Obviously, that does not happen in reality, but it reflects her own view that she knew she was being shocked back to life and how it felt.

Later I called her insurers and reported the facts, they set up a claim and I then spoke to my brother Mark, who had decided that he would come out to see mum and be with me.  The Cavalry was on its way!!
Helen also wanted to come but given the time constraints and family matters along with accessing a visa from the Embassy, decided against it, but was very disappointed.  I suspect all of my brothers and Helen wanted to be there.  The next few days was all about seeing mum and finding a new hotel, as the Red Lion was beyond the insurer’s budget.  We decided on the Holiday Inn and moved there.  We then moved to the Days Inn (or what is now the Day Inn and Suites), on State Street.  My friend Mark and Tammy had to get back to work and get Bobs Dodge Shelby back to him as well.  Mum had a balloon angioplasty procedure and we were told that a large part of her heart muscle was dead and would not recover, but the rest of her heart was fine and doing well.

My brother Mark arrived on Friday 1st July and stayed for a week.  He had flown American Airlines via Houston Texas and San Francisco and we met him at Santa Barbara airport.  I was really pleased to see him as the week had been stressful and his support and help was great to have.  Mum was progressing well and Mark wanted to see her.  First of all though, having travelled for about 18 hours in total, he needed a wash, shower, shave and a sleep.  Mum would not be impressed if he turned up looking like a shower of shit.

After some rest, a coffee and light meal we set off to the hospital.  I told Mark the news and brought him up to date, including the fact that Lloyds Bank had agreed to give us access to Mums credit card (nice) and that the Insurers had agreed to cover all out of pocket expenses for us (even nicer) and onward for mum and I once Mark had returned home (most nice).  Mum was still in Intensive Care when we arrived and she looked up as we went into her room and said “What are you two doing her?”  Typical and not unexpected!

Mark and Tammy headed back to the Bay Area on the Saturday, leaving Mark and I in the Holiday Inn.  Once Tammy and Mark had departed, we had to decide what we would do apart from visiting mum.  We were allowed to visit mornings before 10am and afternoons and evenings after 5pm.  So we decided, as any right minded person would, to travel around the area, taking in the sights.  I treated it more as a reconnaissance mission, as I would find places to take mum to once she was discharged.  Mark treated it as a holiday!

Each day we would turn up to mum’s bedside, give her the news etc, and then she would ask where we were going that day.  Days out included; Universal Studios LA, Rodeo Drive and Hollywood, The Beach Malibu, The Beach at UCLA Santa Barbara, and Solvang the Danish village in the wine country, as well as State Street Santa Barbara, the Pier and Boardwalk..   Each day, exhausted from our adventures, we’d report back on the day’s events, taking her treats and souvenirs Mark had purchased to take home to Monica and his kids, Michelle, Jason and Ben.

Mark and Monica taken more recently

Mark was like a man possessed.  He really entered into the California Lifestyle, as far as the eating, drinking and enjoying yourself was concerned.  Except that Mark also stayed resolutely British in his dress sense, including long socks with trainers and shorts (No!!) and tucking his t-shirt into his trousers (still does).  I attempted to walk a few steps behind on a number of occasions and on others pretended I had a simpleton brother with me.

Not Mark but a work of art

Many people took pity on him and offered to get him trainer socks, but he wouldn't budge.  Even mum turned away once when a vision in orange shorts, blue socks, white trainers and yellow t-shirt appeared at her door and she asked for the curtains to be drawn around her bed, lest others see her with him.

Mark has an intolerance to Limes, so on our first night out after Tammy and Mark Cameron had departed, we went to an amazing Mexican Restaurant on the seafront called El Torito.  http://eltorito.com/about.asp.  Mark went for the strawberry Margarita and I had the traditional Lime variety, salt rim glasses and blended, not on the rocks.  We had a tasting platter and Chimichangas all round and at some point Mark and I had Tequila shots and he had the lime slice to suck.
Next day, well all I can say is that this clip sums it up. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4la47SzTzSc

Whilst in town it was Independence Day and we wound up at the top end of State Street at what is now Carlitos Cafe and Cantina.  It had a large car park out front and a tree filled with lights, so in the evening it looked really welcoming and was full, also a good thing.  We spent some time drinking, chatting to various people and this guy tagged along as we moved from bar to bar.  As we were walking he stopped and said he wanted to go to his room to get some money. We waited in reception and he rang down and asked to speak to Mark.  He asked Mark if we wanted to go up to his room to take some coke, at which point Mark said he was a Detective from the Police in the UK and that he was under arrest!  We walked out sharpish as he hung up and did not see him again.

Mark was keen to get Ben a Baseball Catcher’s Mitt, so we found a sports outlet on State Street and he got what he wanted along with a few baseballs.  We crossed over the road and went into a small alleyway that led to some outdoor seating for a small cafe’ bar.  We sat down and ordered a couple of beers.  Next door was a Tobacco and Cigar Shop, selling anything and everything to do with tobacco.  Being a cigar smoker meant Mark was naturally inquisitive and we both went into the store for a look around.

Mark got himself some cigars and we left ad went back to our beers.  Beers downed, we picked up our gear and went back to State Street.  Only then did Mark say “where is the bag with the Mitt?”  He’d left it under the table.  We dashed back down the alleyway and with most stories like this, it was gone, in fact it was probably taken whilst we looked at cigars.  So back across the street, into the sports shop and a new Mitt and baseballs were purchased.  Mark was spitting feathers.

We had a few more days together including an unforgettable trip to Solvang, the Danish village, which I will tell about in the next blog.  Bye for now.

A journey into Darkness

Continuing from the last blog http://jw-alifeofsurprises.blogspot.com/2012/02/you-gotta-have-faith-faith-ah.html. 

Cynthia Joan Weaver

Through the windscreen of the Dodge Shelby, the names of previously unknown towns and a few I recognised from the John Steinbeck novels of my youth offer themselves in a line and pass by as we sweep southwards along Highway 101 in California.  Gilroy followed by Steinbeck’s birthplace, Salinas, is followed by Soledad, in turn followed by King City and onward I drive.  Spanish names, Atascadero, San Luis Obispo, Arroyo Grande, Santa Maria, Los Alamos and Los Olivos tumble past in a blur. 

Then Solvang, exit left appears, Danish, in California? The name fixes itself somewhere deeper in my mind for later recall.  Any conversation from my companions has long finished; slumbering as they are, unaware and therefore unconcerned at the speed I am driving, which would get me stopped in any country apart, from Germany probably, but especially in America; freeway speed limit 55 mph, my speed 80 to 100 mph.

A little over 3 hours ago I was naked and dripping wet, standing at my bathroom door, more or less knowing the phone call from Tammy’s dad has something to do with mum.  Mark is stood in the hallway with a look on his face that says “I am your best friend, I am here and you are going to be OK”.  Behind me, Tammy is naked and in the shower, the water running, the room full of steam.  Dave our flatmate is stood just behind Mark, the phone in his hand.  I turn my gaze from Mark and drying my hand with a towel take the phone from Dave and say “Hello” to Tammy’s father Steve.

“Jonathan, I have just taken a call from Sandra, (Tammy’s Mother) your mum had a heart attack in the hotel room and has been taken to hospital in Santa Barbara.  I am going to give you a phone number for the hospital; it’s the St Francis Hospital”, I listened to him giving me the number but could not concentrate, so passed the phone to Dave and asked him to write it down.  I sat on the floor in the hallway and said “What am I going to do?”  Not to anyone in particular, more a question to myself.  Mark sprang into action saying “we’ll drive down there!”  My reply was along the lines of “not in our car, it’s a piece of shit”.  Dave said he would take us but he had to work and I wondered whether we could hire a car.

Mark went off to make some calls and I went back into the bathroom to dry off and get dressed.  Dave made coffee.  It was well after eleven PM and the only car hire offices open were at San Francisco Airport.  I called the number for the St Francis Hospital, got through to the Emergency Room and spoke to a male nurse there. Mum was in good hands, was being monitored and was under control, for now.  I should travel down as soon as possible.  

I asked the guy for directions.  “Where are you coming from?” he asked.  I told him San Mateo and that I would use Highway 101.  “Ok then” he said, “drive south on 101 to Exit 99, turn left onto Mission St, then right onto Garden Street and then left onto East Micheltorena Street.  The hospital is on your left”. 

Simple really, just drive for 304 miles, take a left, a right, another left, boom, you’re there!  5 easy steps to get to my mum!

As I hung up, the phone rang, it was Big Bad Bob, Marks Karate buddy.  This guy was, as Mark recently told me, as tight as a ducks ass, he’d nickel and dime you over a restaurant bill.  He called to offer us his Dodge Shelby.  No questions asked and based upon nothing more than being Marks friend and an acquaintance of mine; the guy gave up his pride and joy.  This car was a 2.2 Litre turbo mental case, which went like stink off a turd and scared many who drove it.  We thanked Bob and he was at our door within 15 minutes and Dave ran him home after we had left. 

He neither gave instructions nor veiled threats as to the wounds to be suffered, should we damage his baby, only that it drank gas and simply to wish my mum a quick recovery.

Mark called Paul and Shirley, told them what had happened and that we’d update them later, once we knew what was happening with mum.  Tammy insisted on coming along with Mark and I and Mark insisted on driving, as I “might kill us all, as you’re fucking stressed out mate”.  We threw together the bare essentials, toiletries, change of clothes, under crackers and socks, pants and t-shirts etc, dropped into Tammy’s on the way for her to pack a bag and we were off.  The car was filled with nervous chatter as Mark drove south.  We decided we were all hungry and as the car needed fuelling up, pulled into a service station in the town Morgan Hill.  Mark gassed her up and Tammy and I went to pay for the fuel and get coffee and Twinkies, Donuts, Pastries and potato chips.

We came out to find Mark climbing into the back seat of the car.  “Sorry mate, I am knackered already, you will have to drive”.  What a fanny! But, that was fine by me and with Tammy holding my coffee, off we sped.  Mark was soon asleep and after a few more miles, Tammy was asleep too.  I focused on the road and as I was too wired on caffeine and nervous energy, barely noticed the miles passing under the wheels of the Dodge.  The three hundred odd miles passed by in a matter of four hours or so, and we swung into the car park of the hospital and walked into the ER a little after four in the morning. 

The nurse on duty sent us to the Cardiology ward and we emptied out of the elevator onto a darkened floor, low level lighting guiding us towards the nurses’ station.  I told the nurse there my name and that of my mother and she called another nurse over.  This lady took us into a side room, sat us down and left to get a doctor.  The Doctor came in, he looked not unlike a film star; late thirties, neatly combed hair, tall, tanned and good looking came in, followed by the nurse.  He introduced himself as Doctor Blaine Braniff, Cardiologist. 

Sandra came into the room just as he started speaking, rushed over to me, crying and hugging me, saying she was sorry, it was her fault, she should have noticed something was wrong.  Tammy stood up and took her mum out of the room and Dr Braniff started again.  After introductions, again, he said that it appeared from the initial tests that mum had suffered a number of heart attacks over the last few days, and that earlier today she had suffered an “acute myocardial infarction” (Heart Attack). 

She had been brought to the hospital by ambulance, and during the journey had been resuscitated a number of times using a defibrillator.  She had been administered that procedure both in her hotel room by the paramedics, again in the ambulance and a couple of more times in the ER, where she had then undergone a series of tests, once her heart beat had normalised.  She was very ill and the next 48 hours would be critical.

“Oh” I said, “can I see her”.  In fact, I was crying my eyes out whilst saying this and spent some time sitting with Mark, Dr Braniff and the nurse as he asked me questions to determine what might have been the cause.  I talked about my dad, his heart attack and subsequent death, about mum’s diet; her pain leading up to the trip to Santa Barbara, my brothers and sister, our family history and anything else that seemed relevant.  Mum had been sedated, he said, but I could see her and leaving Mark with the nurse, Tammy and her mum, Dr Braniff and I walked down the corridor to my mum’s room.

Her door was slightly ajar, Dr Braniff pushed it open and I walked past him and into the room.  Dr Braniff stood by the door and I walked over to her bed.  For a while I stood listening to her breathing, the beeps and whirrs of the machinery monitoring her and began noticing how weak and frail she looked.  The only light in the room was coming from the various machines and their readout screens, each casting a pale blue, red or green glow across the floor and bedclothes. 

A small yellow lamp on a telescopic arm, leaning over the bed like an angel, watching, waiting quietly. 

I touched her hand, it was noticeably colder than mine, the bedclothes reached her waist and she wore a thin hospital nightgown, so I gathered the sheets and drew them up towards her chest, trying not to disturb the legion of wires, trailing out from her body and arms.

 Her eyes were closed and she appeared peaceful and resting, no sign of the struggle for life, the battles fought by unknown medics, no horrid marks showing, except for needle entry points and a cannula in the back of her hand.  Her hair was a mess though; she’d be angry about that I thought, I noticed how thin her hair looked, wiry and swept in all directions.  I turned to the doctor about to speak, I was crying silently, but huge sobs started to build in me, I felt them rise, fought to hold them back, failed and a wail came from me, a noise I had never made before, almost primeval, made worse by the attempts to restrain it, animal and loud, so deep and guttural that it hurt my stomach to make such a noise.  I sank to my knees, trying to breathe in, but the noise was still coming out and coming and growing and growing. 




Cynthia Joan Weaver 5 years old

I put my hands flat on the floor and wailed out that noise, thinking about the other patients, I’d wake them, wake mum, make people worry, got to stop, can’t stop, where is it coming from, my guts hurt, can’t breathe. 

I saw my sister Helen and my brothers Mark, Richard and Julian, they had to be told, how to tell them, what to say, I was gasping for breath. 

Arms pick me up, help me into a chair, pass me tissues, stroke my hair, rub my hands, soothe with words and I fall into regular sobs, deep but regular, able to breathe but unable to speak, just crying and crying for my mum.

You gotta have Faith a Faith a Faith Ah!

Pull that gut in Fat Boy!

Following on from (http://jw-alifeofsurprises.blogspot.com/2012/02/splish-splash-i-was-having-bath.html), I kissed my girlfriend Tammy goodbye at SFO and wandered off to find my gate.  My British Airways flight back to Heathrow was due to take off late afternoon, dropping me back on UK soil early morning the following day.  My sister Helen, nieces Claire and Katie and my mum Cynthia were waiting for me when I into the arrivals hall.  I wore my tasselled sleeved Black leather jacket, my Levi 501’s, Hokusai T-shirt and black crocodile leather cowboy boots and a pair of Rayban Aviators.  My hair was almost blonde with highlights and I was tanned and healthy (apparently).  Claire and Katie spotted me first, their squeals of “there he is” accompanying their run towards me as I stopped, dropped my bags, and lifted them both into the air.  Claire and Katie gave me the once over and approved of my new look.  I walked forwards to my mum and sister and hugged them both.  It was great to be home!

As it was still early, we went for coffee and a catch up before piling into my sister’s car and driving home to Norwich.  The journey home was filled with my stories and theirs.  They told me the latest news of my brother Richard and his wife Tracey in London, Brother Mark and sister in law Monica, their sons Ben and Jason and daughter Michelle.  Julian and his girlfriend Toni, who had just had a baby boy Lewis, were now going to get married.  I was home for three weeks and was due to take Mum back to California with me.

Once home (mums house) and after a sleep, I was off to the Wensum Community Centre to catch up with the lads there.  One commented on my tan thus “Look at the fucking colour of him!”  I did not tell them it had been developed by spending some serious time on the sun bed, rather, I said that it was due to the unending sunny days in the Bay Area, in fact, the days can be overcast and cloudy/foggy more often than not.

I planned to hold a party at the community centre for my 24^th birthday and booked Saturday the 18^th June.  A buffet would be pulled together by family and friends and I was looking for some live music, a disco and as I had by now been perfecting my “George” shtick, would need a tape deck and microphone as I had discovered that I could actually sing.  Mark and I had been to a couple of Karaoke bars and I always got up and did a George Michael number.  I had bought the Father Figure CD single as it had an instrumental version on it.  I also had an instrumental of Faith and Kissing a Fool, all from the Faith album.

I went around to my friend Rick Holmes house and after a few cups of coffee and multiple cigarettes, we agreed that his Band “The Law” would play a few covers, as well as their own stuff; I would then accompany them on backing vocals and follow them with my George songs.  With at least a week to go until the party, I went along to rehearse and watch the band go through their numbers. 

Rick at Back, Luke Bullen seated in blue denims

I expect many of you know someone who had been in a band, had almost made it, should have made it etc.  The Law were one such band.  Patrick (Rick’s brother) was a front man in the style of Bono/Adam Ant/Mick Jagger/Jim Morrison.  He looked not unlike Adam Ant, had Jonny Depp cheekbones and a swagger and attitude that made him the perfect vocalist for their brand of rock music.  Their cousin Steve was on Lead Guitar (he now teaches guitar in schools), Melly, an old school friend on bass, was a steady consistent player and they had Luke Bullen on drums. 

Luke, then a young drummer learning his craft, has gone on to great things and is now married to KT Tunstall, after becoming her drummer, (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luke_Bullen).  He was very committed to his craft even then and attended Drumtech (http://www.techmusicschool.co.uk/) in London.  The Law won the “Battle of the Bands” on Radio One and recorded in London, performing live sessions.  The pictures here are (apologies for the focus – crap camera) of the band in the recording studio in Norwich recording a EP “Jacky D”.   Not lacking confidence, they even gave themselves more "rock star" last names Rick Holmes became Rick Sheridan and Patrick Holmes became Patrick Kingston!  Love it........

The picture left is Rick (Red Bomber jacket) and Luke Bullen leaning on wall far end in Black Leather Jacket.

I met up with everyone I knew, including the girls who came to Rhodes (http://jw-alifeofsurprises.blogspot.com/2011/10/all-roads-lead-to-rhodes-and-police.html) along with Helen Breakell, (my Brother Richard’s sister in law and an ex of mine), Jackie Barton who I had a serious crush on, but who was going out with someone else, Elisa Savory, who I dated after Helen, and her twin sister Emma.  I invited all the boys from the club and the football team, my extended family and anyone else I bumped into and felt like inviting.

When not rehearsing during the day, I was organising my mum’s trip to California.  She had organised her flights already, (linking with my return on BA) and we went into Norwich City centre to the CO-OP to get her travel insurance.  He trip was for 32 days in total.  The insurance was sold in blocks of weeks and months.  Mum could have insured herself for the month (31 days) for £44.  I told her better safe than sorry, so she added an additional month for another £44, had some discount applied (returning customer) and paid the grand sum of £81 for travel insurance.  I realise there a bit of detail there, but hold on to that as it becomes very relevant in the forthcoming blogs.

Saturday 18^th June 1988. 

I accompanied “The Law” to the community centre and helped them set up and we sound checked, laid out the buffet and then all headed off to change.  Patrick and Rick always put on a proper show no matter where the gig was being held and my party was no different.  Imagine a rock concert at a stadium venue, intro music on a mix tape that Rick would produce, some light show effects, a backdrop, an intro song to reflect the bands output and then their entrance, well the musicians anyway.  They’d kick off the first number, something like Sympathy for the Devil (Rolling Stones) and repeat the opening bars, until with much fanfare and ado, a bottle of brandy in one hand; Pat would emerge through a backstage door and make his way to the front of the stage.  They’d crank it up and Pat would launch into the song, a showman. 

This photos shows the band at full throttle, note the concentration on the face of Steve the Guitarist far right.

The Law - Left to Right, Rick Holmes (Sheridan) Patrick Holmes (Kingston), Luke Bullen and Steve (Coz)

I joined in on a number of songs towards the end of their set.  I then took to the stage and sang Faith, but started it Acapella (without music) and slowed down.  Rick picked up his acoustic guitar and Luke his sticks and we punched out a version of Faith that had everyone singing along.  I couldn’t believe it! 

Well, You Gotta have Faith

I loved performing in front of people, even if the songs weren’t mine. 

I called my nieces Claire and Katie on stage and on bended knee, sang Father Figure to them. Yea, I know, really gushy, but those girls were/are so special to me. 

I finished my set with “Kissing a Fool” and another run through of “Faith”, this time to the backing track and left the stage. 


My mum said “I never knew you could sing” and I am sure someone said, “He can’t”.  But, everyone had a great time that night and we closed it off with a trip to Ricks Place, at that time the “in” club in town.

The next few days were spent putting final plans together for mum, making sure she had her visa sorted and that she had all she needed.  She was really excited to be coming to America and when my sister drove us back to Heathrow she was smiling all the way there.  Goodbye over and done with, we made it through to departures and ate breakfast.  The flight was mid-morning, getting us into SFO late afternoon.  Mark was due to collect us and his cousin Trevor had flown over to California in May and was working with Paul to cover my absence.  Trevor was a real character and he and my mum got on like a house on fire.

Mum took my room and checked in next door to Mark’s room.  He was eager to have mum stay as he and she were really close.  Mark has always had the ability to make friends with the generations older than us.  He is a great listener and a good sounding board for people to share their thoughts with.  We arrived in Sa Francisco on a Friday afternoon.  Mum got over the flight pretty quickly and Mark, Trevor, Tammy, and I showed her around the local area, especially Burlingame and we took her to meet CeCe at La Piñata, the Mexican Restaurant. 

She met Paul, Victor, and Shirley, and she and mum were soon great friends, talking about home (UK) and life in America.  Mum thanked Shirley for helping Mark and I out when we first arrived and after a few days reconnaissance, mum said “Jonathan, you’ve got a wonderful life out here, you are very lucky”.

I introduced mum to Tammy’s parents on a trip down to San Jose.  We were talking about how mum was going to occupy her time whilst I was at work.  Tammy’s mum then suggested she accompany her and her sisters to Santa Barbara for a week.  Mum would have been stuck in our apartment once I returned to work, Paul having let me take a few days off, he was starting to moan about workload and I knew I’d have to go back soon.

Tammy’s mum explained that she and her 3 sisters were taking a week in Santa Barbara, staying at Fess Parker’s Red Lion Hotel (http://doubletree1.hilton.com/en_US/dt/hotel/SBAMCDT-Fess-Parker-s-DoubleTree-Resort-by-Hilton-Santa-Barbara-California/index.do)  that the actor had opened during his movie career along with a Winery at Santa Ynez.  His most famous role was as Davy Crockett for Disney studios.  Mum was a bit worried about the trip, but Tammy’s mum assured us that she would be well looked after and she would have a wonderful time.  Mum decided to go and after dinner, we went back to the apartment in San Mateo. 

There was a week or so before the Santa Barbara trip and I had to go back to work.  On our excursions, mum had been short of breath on occasion.  She had her Ventolin inhaler as she was pretty sure she had Asthma and would take a few goes on her “puffer” as she called it to ease the breathlessness.  I went back to work concerned about her breathing; she said I wasn’t to worry and that she would take a walk along the sidewalk everyday to get some air.  This she did and most evenings when I got back she’d be out of breath again.  Whilst I did not have health insurance, she certainly did and I told her we would go to the medical centre.  Mum was having none of it, telling me to stop worrying, but agreed that once back from Santa Barbara she would see a doctor.

The Friday evening before her trip to Santa Barbara on Sunday, Mark’s pals at the Karate studios organised a BBQ, at Coyote Point County Park.  The guys were all 3^rd Dan Black belts and above, so knew how to handle themselves.  Marks pal Frank came along and they all doted on mum and made her welcome and she, being my mum, treated them like long lost sons and they loved it.  She soon took over the cooking duties as they played Frisbee and threw a football back and forth. 

One of the gang had a Dodge Shelby Daytona, a beast that could go Zero to Sixty in 8 seconds, was fully trimmed out, and went like stink. I had only met this guy twice before, he was a great big bear of a guy, but really decent as I was to find out.

BBQ over, we headed home, mum out of breath and me fussing and getting told off, which made her more out of breath, so I stopped.  Saturday afternoon Tammy’s Dad collected mum and she stayed over at their house, so to leave early on Sunday.  The distance to Santa Barbara from my place in San Mateo was 308 miles, a five hour drive.  I would speak to her when she got to the hotel she said. 

So, mum packed off and my room back for a week, what else to do but get Tammy over for a weekend of debauchery.  Saturday night dancing and dinner, Sunday morning in bed, Sunday afternoon a drive out and Sunday evening, well we decided to take a shower together. 

The shower was running and we were both oblivious to outside interruptions.  In fact, it took Mark quite sometime to get our attention, which he eventually did, by hammering on the bathroom door with his fist.  I opened the door and asked what was so important?  Mark said "Tammy's Dad is on the phone, its not good"....................