An Artist & Cartoonist's Blog

Pacific West Maps - where 'Contours' begins.

2012-02-05T11:58:00.000-08:00

The next stage of conquering the world with my ‘Contours’ conceptual abstract paintings has just begun.

That’s after the Mission Viejo Library gallery where my 2-month, one-man show displayed 23 of my acrylics on canvas and before the aforesaid paintings form the basis for the ‘Parkway Gallery' show on the Mission Viejo streets. Segments of 16 of those compositions will make up 32 panels on Crown Valley Parkway and Marguerite Parkway that will be on show for 4 months.

It’s unusual and I’m intrigued how much people or drivers-by will appreciate the splashes of color on the brick plinths in the center island of the separated highways.

Here am I with two panels - segments of Laguna Beach - with Linda at Concept Framing International, Laguna Hills, which is responsible for the presentation and I’m particularly pleased with the job it's done.

The ‘conquering’ part I referred to is at Pacific West Maps, 994 N Main Street, Orange. That’s where my journey into the unknown of the highs and lows of topography begins. Last weekend I collected a map for a future project and was particularly happy that the shop’s Brian wanted to display examples of my art. So all you hikers, bikers, campers, snowboarders, skateboarders, mining engineers, and other interested parties including hangliders & paragliders who are curious about the terrain you’re interested in – my colorful interpretations (prints) are up on the wall and modestly priced.

I know that they are effective – shoppers from Costa Mesa immediately noticed Newport Beach and others saw the shapes of Malibu, Beverly Hills and Coachella Valley.

Do you recognize them in the photo? Those on show are all signed, limited-edition Giclée (high quality) prints. And the flare on my wife’s photo, if nothing else, proves there’s glass in the frames!

Cartoonist Ronald Searle, a short tribute

2012-01-04T11:26:00.000-08:00

The tribute is to him but naturally I remember how his life affected mine.

He was as well known for his St Trinians characters as he was for surviving the notorious Thai-Burma Railway as a Japanese Prisoner of War. I was to go to Singapore in the 1970s during my business life and saw the Changi cemetery in honor of those who died as a result of the Japanese invasion. It was a sober memory.

He returned from the war weighing 85 lbs complete with some 300 drawings which captured his experiences during his three or more years of incarceration.

Ronald had just had accepted his first St Trinians cartoon when he joined up for the war. Fortunately he was able to return and continue to draw his characters which were deliciously if not correctly transferred to the movies.

I include the Alastair Sim picture not only because I was supposed to look like him in the film Christmas Carol starring Patrick Stewart which aired on TV recently but because Alastair was brilliant in the St Trinians series.

Yes, that's me - doling out the money in the 1999 movie.

As to the leggy girls - they appeared in a more recent revival of the St Trinians series and are the 'delicious' part I refer to.

Ronald Searle won many awards and his cartoons appeared in magazines on 'both sides of the pond'.

I include his caricature of the Beyond the Fringe crew because they in turn influenced so many later comics and form of humor; not least Monty Python.

Finally, although I understand Ronald wasn't happy with the final result, nevertheless the animated Dick Deadeye which my good friend's company Bill Melendez Productions produced and based on Searle's drawings was considered a triumph by everyone else.

This particular book, of the animated film which featured Ronald Searle's characters and linked all the Gilbert and Sullivan Operettas I saw nestling in a little shop in a little town outside Sydney, Australia in the 1990s. I regretted to this day that I didn't buy it. But what it did show was how international was the appreciation of Ronald Searle's work.

Now that Ronald's gone to the Great Drawing Board in the Sky I hope he's reunited with all his characters and he will be remembered by his many fans. I have been one, for years.

Hogmanay, the Royal Opera House …and me

2012-01-01T10:49:00.000-08:00

Hogmanay is distinctly Scottish – New Year’s Day when heavily-committed Scotsmen return to their Homeland to get decidedly drunk celebrating the fact.

It noticeably impacted on me in 1956 when my business colleague at the national Sunday Dispatch newspaper where we worked as lowly clerks said offhandedly ‘So many Scots Guards are heading home for Hogmanay, they need replacements.’

Doug had recently returned from doing his 2 years National Service in the Welsh Guards. He had for the last 6 months of his tenure been based at the barracks at Bird Cage Walk, London (very near Buckingham Palace). There he discovered another employment – appearing on the stage. Not in ‘Footlights’ or anything to do with entertaining the troops but keeping the audience at the Royal Opera House enraptured.

A right about turn you might believe and you would be correct but very much in the manner of tradition.

Ever since Queen Victoria visited the Opera House and saw actors performing as military she said ‘My guardsmen can do better than that!’ And when Queen Victoria made statements like that they were obeyed. And so it came to pass that guardsmen stationed at Bird Cage Walk barracks were entitled to be ‘supernumeraries (supers) in the Covent Garden’s superb operas. Supers – non-speaking parts – ‘the lowest of the low’ – essentially extras for the stage.

Returning to ‘Civvie Street’ Doug was able to continue his evening contribution to the finer arts and added to his meager Sunday Dispatch salary in the process.

And so it came to pass that New Year 1957 arrived and so many of the Scots Guards were due northwards for the holiday that there would be a dearth of supernumeraries for the opera Aida. Doug enquired if we of the Sunday Dispatch Circulation department would care to step into the breach and get paid of course. We three: Howden, Putnam and myself agreed. Putnam, short of stature and bearded was advised if stopped at the stage door to say he was in the band. Howden at 6’2” and myself had no other instructions other than turn up – on time.

No, Sophia Loren was not in the opera, only a film version.

So in the cramped dressing room we were introduced to the roles and payments for the night. If dressed as Egyptian soldiers we would be paid half a guinea (10shillings and sixpence 'old money', 75 cents, US), because of the greasepaint we would need to apply. Ethiopians with more skin visible would be paid 15 shillings and Nubian Slaves, black from top to bottom would be paid one guinea.

Appropriately chosen we applied the orangey makeup with a sponges from a Victorian ‘po’ (chamber pot) to our face, arms and legs.

Our role was part of the ‘parade’ which was a feature of Aida. We would take a wooden spear or giant salver plate as part of the parade across the stage – then turn backstage to exchange spears for other weapons and join on the end of the line. Keen eyed members of the audience might notice a person appearing more than once.

When it was finished we would rush backstage, throw the spears (upright I hasten to add) to the backstage lad who dexterously fielded them – while we rushed to be first in the shower. Nubian slaves would later have the showers to themselves. Their guinea was earned for being longer onstage.

Having got the taste of Show business, I also appeared in Boris Godunov and Meistersingers holding a banner but Aida was the more frequent opera. Three times more than the others because it ‘lost the least amount of money’ I was told.

One memorable evening warming up, a guardsman mocked the obvious gayness of one of the male ballet troupe. He in return gave an elegant high kick which hit the guardsman squarely under the chin and knocked him out. One less for the parade and an instant stop to any further mockery.

One day Derek, an-earlier-school colleague thought he saw me on stage of another opera. Could it be? ‘No’, I said ‘I work in the circulation department of the Sunday Dispatch’. ‘My, you have a double’, he said, possibly suspecting my reluctance to admit being a ‘thespian’.

He wasn’t there when the prompter gave us a stage whisper to ‘Turn’. We did, but clearly it was a wrong order because his stage whisper could be heard over the silence throughout the house. I slowly turned back as we all did to see him head in hands having taken his eyes off the score!

Little did I know that it would be another forty years before I would return to 'acting' as a film extra.

Memories…

Sylvia Kristel, Boxing Day and why I never met her.

2011-12-22T10:32:00.000-08:00

Boxing Day is a British institution. It follows Christmas Day and dates from the time, ‘Boxes’ or gifts were handed to staff. That may not be the case these days but the British enjoy the day to overcome any excesses of the previous day's celebrations. Nowadays though it’s the first day of the ‘Sales’ and for bargain hunters – another celebration.

So knowing my American business partner Norman was in town we invited him for dinner. He was single, very much into arm-candy with a vast address book of page 3 girls (so-called nubile young ladies who would bare (most) to be featured on a page 3 tabloid; starlets, playboy bunnies – you get the picture. He wanted to impress us at our thatched cottage in the country and asked if he might bring a special lady. We were happy to add one more for dinner.

He set about convincing her to fly from Rome where she was filming and he would meet her at London’s Heathrow airport. She agreed. He was ecstatic. We would be entertaining Sylvia Kristel – the Dutch born soft porn queen star of Emmanuelle France’s highest-grossing film of all time, (which played at a Paris cinema continuously for 13 years) who had just split from Ian McShane.

I mentioned her name to my wife. Unsuspectingly, she asked if Sylvia made family films. I concurred, my son and daughter overheard and snickered. As teenagers they knew the name even if my wife didn’t. The stage was set.

Come Boxing Day, I drove into London to collect Norman and Sylvia. He answered the door and hurriedly blurted ‘It’s not Sylvia, it’s a Playboy bunny, I’ll explain later.” I drove us home wondering when I’d hear the story – how the Playboy Bunny replaced Sylvia in Norman’s affections. When we reached home I hurriedly repeated Norman’s words to my wife and she graciously received our visitors.

At the sound of our arrival my son and daughter broke records rushing downstairs. Seeing a girlfriend, clearly not Sylvia Kristel they stomped back upstairs until dinner was ready. I thought I detected “Dad’s a liar” but I could have been wrong.

Dinner passed off without incident. After dinner we watched TV, one entertaining program hosted by Barry Norman, film buff/compére featured a visual questionnaire which ironically showed a female’s breast – none of us could imagine whose it was. When it transpired it was Sylvia’s I glanced at Norman quizzically, thinking at least he should know. He looked steadfastly at the screen and wouldn’t return my gaze.

Not until the next day did I get the full story. Sylvia Kristel did take time out from her filming. She did catch the plane from Rome to London. And Norman did meet her at Heathrow. But she was so ‘out of it’ with drugs and alcohol, Norman was understandably upset and said so. Whereupon Sylvia took umbrage and took off. She headed immediately for Holland where her parents lived. That necessitated Norman hurriedly searching his book of ‘A’, ‘B’ and ‘C’ list of ‘charmers’ to make up for Sylvia’s absence.

To this day I think my son thinks it was just a story to impress.

Contours Paintings, Mission Viejo Library Gallery...and me.

2011-12-05T10:54:00.000-08:00

It's a busy time prior to Christmas and now especially for me to have an exhibition of my work. I feel honored that the City of Mission Viejo Library invited me to stage a one-man exhibition.

Dru Maurer the Cultural Services Supervisor, staff lady Tina and I put up the pictures, repositioned most of the lighting points and the exhibition commenced on Friday 2nd. It continues until January 26th 2012.

After which 'extracts' of my 23 paintings will appear as panels by the city's roadside, to be displayed for four months from February 2012.

That in itself is an interesting project - finding suitable detail from my compositions that reflect the same dynamic as the original paintings.

All in all a satisfactory end to 2011. If there's any downside to the exhibition it's that it's in a library and since libraries like a quiet surround any 'ooohhs' and 'aaahhs' will have to be silent. But believe me, I can put up with that.

Crime writer Peter James, my wife Pat Silver-Lasky …and me

2011-11-08T12:59:00.000-08:00

English author Peter James has just won this year’s U.K. Specsavers ITV3 People’s Bestseller Dagger Award for Dead man’s Grip voted by the public. He was up against stiff short-listed opposition: David Baldacci, Mark Billingham, Lee Childs and Peter Robinson. My novelist/screenwriter wife Pat Silver-Lasky and I first met Peter at English Horror writer James Herbert’s house in Sussex. When introduced we knew him as being involved in films. We were particularly impressed that he’d been financially involved in William Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice starring Al Pacino. So it came as a wonderful surprise to later appreciate that he was an author too, who was building a reputation with his Police Inspector, Roy Grace character.

He writes a ‘mean blog’ and so readers know that he often accompanies the Brighton, U.K. police on drug busts and the like to get first hand information. Peter ‘does the rounds’ with the police for his background.

Pat fully understands the depth of research that goes into the writing of a character. Many years before with her late husband Jesse Lasky, Jr. she wrote a seven part TV series called The New Breed which featured Leslie Nielsen – out of which sprang a lifetime’s friendship. Pat had the singular experience of being allowed to accompany the LAPD on certain cases, where female police were not yet permitted as she and Jesse built up a dossier of criminal events.

Leslie later found ‘instant’ fame with the farcically-funny Naked Gun franchise.

Peter James’ workload is outstanding. He writes at least a book a year and accompanies it with book signings around the world. The UK has now read 7 of the Roy Grace series and Peter has a personal cartoon from me for each one since I’ve known him. He features it on his blog and I’m honored that it finds space in a room crowded with awards. We count him as an extremely good friend and look forward to Dead Man’s Grip.

Pat meanwhile continues her writing having moved with me, from the UK in 2009. Her Batsford UK Book Screenwriting for the 21^st Century ISBN 0 7134 8833 6, derived from her 7 year London International Film School lecturing tenure has reached Universities in the U.S. including Pepperdine. Her Letters from a Hollywood Mogul is being considered by a Publisher and her latest nod to Hollywood is the novel Ride the Tiger where ‘Murder in Hollywood doesn’t only happen in the movies’ ISN 978 145110188 available from Amazon and Kindle.

So, for lovers of thrillers look out for both authors: Peter James and Pat Silver-Lasky.

Jazz: Woody Herman, Sarah Vaughan …and me.

2011-10-13T09:17:00.000-07:00

It’s October and unless the economy has put a brake on everything, maybe they’re still staging special jazz events in the various dining establishments in London. It’s a legacy from 1978 when I was Marketing Manager at Sanyo.

Back in the 1950s my cousin John did his National Service which took him to Jamaica. He so loved it there he decided to return. He handed me his vinyl jazz collection and headed for Jamaica. He’s still there today despite losing his banana plantation to a hurricane and is now associated with famous blue mountain coffee. Despite being a Brit’ - and I love this bit - he has been Honorary Consul for Sweden.

So I listened to the Nat Cole Trio, Benny Goodman and the rest of his collection all of which turned me into a confirmed modern jazz nut.

The idea of a Jazz Festival was first put to me when I was with Philips Electrical. Having moved to Sanyo I put the proposition to my Sales manager who said immediately “I love jazz. Let’s do it.” I said “No, not for that reason but we at Sanyo are way behind the other Japanese companies, Sony, Hitachi, Toshiba, National Panasonic in terms of awareness that linking ourselves with live music does make sense.” We became the darlings of the music press because of our efforts.

My Festival Musical Director and I first visited Oscar Peterson backstage at Ronnie Scott’s where he was appearing. He turned us down, not knowing the Sanyo name. That prompted us to bring over acts especially for the 5 day, 7 concert gig. So we hired Woody Herman (and his Orchestra) Sarah Vaughan, Stephane Grappelli, Ronnie Scott, Humphrey Lyttleton, Stan Tracey (all featured on the event’s poster and programme) and Bud Freeman and others. We created the first commercially-sponsored Jazz festival in the U.K.

The event was a musical success, not financially though because October fog at Chichester and elsewhere somewhat reduced the audience. The Japanese directors wouldn’t sponsor the event again and London’s Capital Radio took up the option the following year and staged it at Alexandra Palace, (‘Ally Pally’) North London where the world’s first Television broadcast had occurred. After which Peter Boizot of Pizza Express orchestrated the event in its Dean Street premises and other London venues in the month of October. It continued – at least while I was in London – up to three years ago. That included Shampers wine-bar in Soho where my cartoons were displayed and sold.

Every October I have cherished memories of Woody’s performance. Fauré’s Pavanne and Aaron Copland’s Fanfare for the Common Man are special favorites. Divine Sarah had the audience in the palm of her hand which made up for her complaining about the sound system on her first appearance. If she’d turned up for the Bose sound check – it was the professional debut of their 802 series of speakers – she could have avoided that.

With the recent News of the World debacle and closure, I have another memory. Journeying back to the office with Derek Jewell, the Artistic Director and compère, I said I had letters to sign, what would he be doing in his other role as a director of the London Times? He replied in a matter-of-fact way, “I’m going back to vote on whether we close the paper down.” Which as wikipedia states it: An industrial dispute prompted the management to shut the paper for nearly a year (1 December 1978 – 12 November 1979). My letter signing paled into insignificance. (The 1979 energy crisis and union problems subsequently brought about the sale of the Times and Sunday Times to Rupert Murdoch.)

So October brings mixed memories – the disappointment of that lasting fog that affected the potential pleasure of many jazz fans; the multitude of jazz events spawned from the original October event and of course the joy of being responsible for the original commercially sponsored jazz festival. Long may jazz reign!

Stephane, Woody & me

Kicker - soccer dude - 'Stalker'

2011-10-03T10:07:00.000-07:00

On a day after Spurs beat Arsenal - always a joy to behold, a celebration is in order! So here's a week of the cartoon strip featuring Kicker and introducing 'Skins' and 'Didi'. Any comments welcome.

Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie and Me

2011-09-27T16:59:00.000-07:00

No it wasn’t a threesome and I didn’t meet either of them but indirectly I did have contact. Here’s the story:

Spy Game was a Tony Scott directed spy thriller starring Brad Pitt and Robert Redford. It was a 2001 movie and 20 of us extras were involved on a wet February Saturday that year. The scene was supposed to be set in and around CIA’s Langley, USA headquarters, hence the car being filmed sported Virginia state number plates. But the much more mundane truth was we were spaced out along the pavements of London’s Regent Park - more world famous for its Zoo. And the driver wasn’t driving because the car was resting on a low loader (followed by a posse of other vehicles) so he could concentrate on his lines.

Much of the time we were waiting around as is the usual case with being an extra – while the crew removed all signs of London and replaced them with US signage on the other side of the road. Then the London park traffic was stopped and Spy Game took over the park’s roads with its film shoot. The main action of note was the inclusion of red fire hydrants and steam pipes to imitate sewers in a cold Virginia climate.

We didn’t see either of the stars that day and it was disappointing but more so for one of the young female extras whom I overheard hatching her plot in the Extras bus that morning. She confided to her friend that as soon as Brad was near she was going to fall down in front of him so that he would ‘just have to help me up’. Unfortunately for her, his non appearance meant that her best laid plans came to naught. I guess she gets a star for trying.

Where Angelina Jolie’s concerned I was much more involved. Two weeks after The Spy Game I headed towards Pinewood. The guard directed me to R stage. I was there to be killed. Stars like Jon Voight don’t want to waste time being shot in the head and a Second Unit Director could handle my death. I was to match Polaroids of Voight’s death scene in Lara Croft: Tomb Raider and given an outfit including size 11 boots for my size 9 feet (with added socks). The Hairdresser added blue to my silver-white hair which turned it blond and added a crepe moustache. My brown leather jacket had a history. Pierce Brosnan had worn it as James Bond in Tomorrow Never Dies. My killer was doubling Iain Glen. We were led to a three-foot high wooden platform fronting a vast blue screen. Our actions would later be superimposed over a location shot. The second unit director filmed us from a twenty-foot crane. The assistant director clicked the trigger to show us that the gun held blanks. Rael was instructed to fire just above my eyes. The skin crawled on my forehead. The director called, ‘Just jerk your head back and drop like a sack of potatoes, Peter.’ Behind the platform were inflatable mattresses. I made sure my heels were nudging them. ‘Three, two, one, bang!’ Rael shot me. I fell. We did it once more for luck and the director called it a wrap. Two hours work for £110 ($165). It isn’t every day you get shot between the eyes and live to tell the tale.

But my proudest moment was explaining it to my then nine year old grandson Christopher. His response? ‘Cor cool, Grandad!’ as he gave me a two-handed thumbs up sign. It was worth every moment of staring into that gun barrel.

The first pic shows me at Pinewood being shot in the Jon Voight death scene against a blue screen – one of the tricks of the trade. The following stills are from the film sequence where (the baddie) Iain Glenn is about to shoot Jon Voight. After close-ups the long shot is of my adversary about to fire at me. And yes I did check that the gun contained no live ammo'.

Kicker - a soccer dude cartoon - 'Bottled'

2011-09-05T09:25:00.000-07:00

It's Labor Day so here's my labor of love: 'Kicker'- Soccer Dude. I mentioned him in my Blog: World Cup Fever. The day after the LATimes in 'Underrated' recognised and recommended English Premier League Soccer airing every weekend on ESPN2 and noted the 'raucous energy in the stands' (and don't forget outside) deserves a celebration. Here then is a week of daily cartoons featuring Kicker and 'Fwedwicka' - one of his coterie of friends. Any comments re the silliness or otherwise will be welcome. I like to think that these cartoon strips may be considered humorous, but who knows they may be too British.

So here goes, first day of a week's cartoons...

Coming To America - in search of the dream

2011-08-22T10:38:00.000-07:00

“So what kept you?” asked the looming Immigration Officer as he studied my documents at New York’s Kennedy Airport. It was the culmination of a long-winded series of papers with numerous questions requiring precise answers (black ink only) from the time I first applied to Homeland Security at The US Embassy in London.

My American wife and I had decided that the time had come to make a serious change in our lives. It began with a Petition, then an Application followed by a Biographical form. I thought I’d dotted all the i’s and crossed the t’s but it was rejected when I handed it in. “No, no,” I was told. “We’ve got a new form now.” Not my fault. But it meant a new form of police certification to show that I had no ‘past or previous’. Trudging back to the police station in London for another signature; then, a protracted search of establishments to find the form concerning my RAF discharge. (I’d completed my two-year National Service back in 1956. Any evidence would by now, have gone AWOL.)

Finally in June the correct corrected form arrived. Next a medical exam, followed by an interview. We were able to prove we were above the poverty line but not above forking over £380 ($570) for the application, another £170 ($250), (and don’t forget the tax) for the medical exam - in London’s Harley Street, no less. The All Clear arrived on July 18th and to validate it, required that I appear in the U.S.A. within six months or stagger through the whole malarkey again.

So there I stood confronted by that benign Immigration Officer who’d noticed we’d been married eleven years ago and wondered why I hadn’t applied to immigrate immediately. What kept me? Life!

To put the picture straight - my American wife had lived in England longer than in her homeland. Pat came over with her (late) screenwriter husband in the early 60s to write as a team among other things such iconic programs as The Avengers, Danger Man, The Saint, etc., and just stayed on to write a film or eight. Barbara (Pat Silver-Lasky’s her writing name) and I met sixteen years ago. With no encumbrances like small children or animals, we could look towards the silvery sunset together, though in wintry Britain the sunsets are mostly gray. And we of the gray brigade wanting a bit more sunshine in our still active lives, decided to head for California. Neither of us have any intention of retiring since I’m a cartoonist/artist and Pat’s a writer/screenwriter though I’ve warned her screenwriters never die - they just fade out. Unless of course the director inserts a jump cut.

Pat's latest novel, available from Amazon IS N978-1451510188

Our friends spoke in wonderment at our ‘bravery’ at picking up sticks for fresher fields despite the credit crunch and a deflated Pound. And what besides friends did we leave behind? Free bus passes, free medicine, free hearing aid batteries and hospitals, museums, expensive restaurants, theatres and heating bills.

“California? Oh, you’ll miss the seasons. All that eternal sunshine!” David said. True, in our beloved London we had experienced four seasons in a day: sun, rain, fog and snow. It was time for a change so here we are now on the glorious coast of Orange County with its earthquakes, floods and forest fires in what began as an upbeat USA with a new President. We wanted to be part of the Obama excitement…Boy did we get it! But the 'excitement' these characters below (plus political and financial others) have created, is not quite what we had envisaged. So, we too, are waiting for a revival of the great American dream.

Schwarzenegger, Obama, Bernanke & Paulson by Peeby

It’s not my first time in this country. That was 1973 during the oil crisis, and England was enjoying working three-day weeks. America saved energy by burning one string less of lights at the gas stations. Saving my holiday entitlements for two years afforded me a seven weeks break. (The boss never allowed that again!) My son and I were strolling down the street in Sacramento having already been stopped by a policeman who’d asked why Graham wasn’t in school. I assured the cop that he was getting an education.

He was. Around the corner Graham noticed a wino lurching unsteadily in our path. My fatherly advice: “Just ignore him. He’ll only beg for money.” As I strode steadily ahead, the wino mumbled something. When Graham caught up with me I frowned. “You see? You see? Asked you for a handout, didn’t he?”
“Dad, you didn’t hear him, did you?” he replied with the hint of a smirk. “He said ‘Tell your father his flies are undone!’”

Needless to say, he was right.
Thank you America. You care.

Klinsmann, U.S. soccer coach: his Spurs connections & my memories

2011-08-02T13:09:00.000-07:00

Jurgen Klinsmann’s appointment as U.S. soccer coach stirred up many memories, beginning with his days as a favorite Tottenham Hotspurs (Spurs) player. I picked out one of my son’s many books and noted his comments. Klinsmann ‘had also acquired a reputation as something of a diver, quick to fall to the ground inside the penalty area when touched by a defender. At his first press conference after signing for Spurs, he disarmed the assembled media by politely asking where the nearest diving club was.’ So thwarting the ‘typical German stereotype’ - Klinsmann proved he had a sense of humor and allied himself to the club’s fans, my son and me alike. He’s spent enough time in the USA to understand what they expect of him – and has had the experience of managing the German national side. We wish him well.

The book featured is ISBN 978-1-906229-13-9.

My father’s team had been Spurs and so it became mine and later my son’s and his children’s. The very first game I saw was a testimonial for one of the players who’d lost both his lower limbs through the sport. It was a sobering sight to see Willie Hall hobble onto the field on crutches before Spurs played the Combined Services XI, this being just after World War II. That memory remained with me when I considered if I were good enough I could get paid £12 ($18) a week during the winter and £8 ($12) a week during the close season. And for that I might get permanently injured. Nevertheless I was a soccer-mad kid throwing myself on the graveled street getting dirty and scuffed in the course of playing in goal.

My antics were noticed by a neighbor who worked at Spurs and asked my parents if I would care to accompany her as she needed help. Would I? I didn’t hesitate for a moment. And so it was that I would take pots of tea to the players at half and full time. I got to sit in the press box or at the front of the ground. Lovely memories. And I was there every match whether it was the first team or the reserves, third team or very occasionally, the juniors.

This time I was in the stands watching the juniors and yelling for the tall center half. ‘Come on Marchi’ (March-ee). In exasperation a woman behind me cuffed my ear and yelled ‘It’s MarK-EYE… I’m his mum.’ So she should know and I obediently started yelling for Mark-EYE, not at all troubled or thinking about her laying her hands on me. It wasn’t done in those pre-PC days.

Years later I told the story to my son. When he met Tony Marchi he recounted the story only for Tony to refute it with ‘My mother never came to see me play.’ To this day I’ve not been able to convince my son that it really happened. If you’re reading this, Graham take it from me- it was true! Listen to your dad…!

Another time, one of Marchi’s fellow junior players Derek Possee knew my marketing background and wondered if I could help his desire to start a soccer school in California. It had been done before by the great Stanley Matthews. Nevertheless Derek was grateful when I flew over and first met him in Los Angeles where his team Vancouver White Caps had just tied a match with the LA Aztecs which included another great dribbling wizard, George Best. It meant that Vancouver needed to win against the Seattle Sockers to reach the playoffs. Is there anyone out there who remembers these times? So I traveled to Vancouver, who won the game and as I departed I said “I’m currently on a roll – shake hands and share my luck.”

It seemed to work. They next met New York Cosmos and beat them which created a great furor. New York didn’t like being beaten by the underdogs – who does? – and in frustration literally ‘wanted the head’ of the association, Phil Woosnam – who despite much pressure, kept his job. The White Caps went on to win the 1979 Soccer Bowl 2-1 against The Tampa Bay Rowdies with another footballing legend Rodney Marsh.

Subsequently I read that Derek had great success as Head Coach with Canada’s under 16’s team and later was the driving force behind British Columbia Soccer Association Program of Soccer Excellence. It’s good to see the professionals passing on their knowledge to good effect. Well done Derek!

Now I’m off to read other relevant facts & trivia from my son Graham Betts’ 35 books listed on Amazon. All entertaining reads. So until the new season may the Force (and the passion) be with us…

Swindon, England 1960s - a burgeoning artist

2011-07-19T08:54:00.000-07:00

Taking my wife and toddler to a new home in a new town that we hadn’t seen before and for which we had to head to the council offices to get the keys shows our naiveté, our immaturity and our boundless belief that good things would happen. And they did. Of course, during our six years there, life à la Swindon was not without its fair share of ups and downs.

The estate was on the edge of the town. It was a green-field site and its inhabitants were a motley collection, made up of people from Rotherham (in the North), Swindon (in the West) and Londoners. The Plessey company was merging two factories and Rotherham-based ‘Plugs and Sockets’ workers were asked to move to Swindon and merge with the Wiring division. Rotherham types who declined, left housing for Londoners alongside Swindonians entitled to community housing. So we were a mixture of white collar and blue collar workers from diverse backgrounds.

On my left was Harry Millard, ex London, a marketing manager for Square D, a company associated with Plessey. On my right was (we’ll call him) Sid from Swindon, who kept down 9 jobs in 13 weeks and who at the sight of us digging over the ground removing cement and odd bricks in order to plant daffodils matched us by going to Fine Fare and buying a handful of plastic ‘daffs’ and salting his plot with them. Job done!

I started out as a technical clerk. ‘Technical’ meant a half guinea (ten shillings and sixpence, 53p new money, $0.70) more per week. Then this Grammar school boy went to night school to earn an electrical engineering certificate. At the same time I moved over to a drawing board (Plessey’s Aircraft wiring division) and in between drawing plugs and electrical diagrams for Concorde, English Electric Lightning aircraft and other diverse projects, I morphed into the office’s cartoonist.

They look just like scribbles now but they were the forerunner to later cartoons

On Whit Sunday 1960 I was sitting out in the sunshine, working from a 6” x 3” newspaper cutting and copying the picture below: ‘Wild White Horses’ as a present for my wife. Harry next door saw it and pointed out that my version omitted the three horses on the horizon. He had seen the actual picture in a window in ‘Old’ Swindon – the elite part of town. Having to see for myself I had to drive there and note the element I had nearly missed, before I could finish the picture.

The picture in the Daily Express and my (now-weatherbeaten) version

Once completed, Harry said ‘Let’s sell paintings’. He was to make the frames, I paint the pictures. We made our first sample. When I went among the factory workers I got orders for ten pictures the first day and Harry said ‘I can’t spare the time’. So that left me to painting pictures, making the frames, painting the frames and hiding the drying frames from my ‘touchy feely’ baby son.

What was on the showcard’s reverse - my first Chinese horse painting

The picture that started out on the back of the promotional showcard ultimately became the mainstay of my more than 400 pictures which I painted over the next few years.

Of course the pictures didn’t have such an illustrious backing and the buyers would have been surprised if there had been a bathing beauty on the rear side, but they bought them nevertheless. Cats, dogs, kittens, puppies made up the numbers – even pictures of the Beatles.

We eventually bought our first house and moved away; Harry (who became godfather to my future daughter) and his family also moved elsewhere. Where are you Harry? I read that Carl James a later inhabitant of his house was murdered in 2007 by a friend – some friend!

And when I passed through the town many years later it had changed immeasurably. In fact I got lost. The estate had expanded so much that I didn’t recognize it. Even as the town had been growing and aiming for city status, I had got itchy feet, wanting to head back to ‘the smoke’ – London.

I see from a recent birthday present from my son that he and I saw our first football match together in 1966, when he was 8. It was about the time we were to leave the ‘wilds of Wiltshire’.

My son’s reminder to me of our first father and son football outing.

I see from the programme that the February match was against Swansea Town, who like Swindon had been relegated to Division III that year. And when I Googled the website for the result I was amused at the subhead to Swindon Town FC.co.uk which read ‘A history of the 56^th best football team in England’. You could have fooled me. I was sure they were 57^th. Oh the match ended 2-2 by the way and another 3 years before they caused the upset of the year by beating Arsenal 3-1 in the Football League Cup Final. That alone would have upgraded them to being number 1, I would have thought.

But by then my career had taken another turn and painting and soccer-attendance were temporarily on a back burner.

To be continued…

Newspaper Days - the beginnings of a love of Art.

2011-07-11T12:46:00.000-07:00

I wasn’t always an artist, nor a cartoonist. But it was as a lowly office clerk that I was introduced to various art styles of legendary painters. Putnam, or ‘Put’ as we called my colleague, was a mentor, without possibly realizing it in those early days at the Sunday Dispatch newspaper.

The Sunday Dispatch was the Sunday edition (with a then-circulation in excess of 2 million) of the London Daily Mail. It was a paper owned by the Rothermere family that continues to this day as an ‘institution’. The Mail’s 1.2 million circulation) has always battled with the Daily Express (now just over 600,000 circulation) which was once owned by the Beaverbrook family.

As circulation clerks our job meant being in attendance alternate Saturday nights ready with brush and paint (printer’s ink) to dash off ‘screamer’ headlines on posters.

There was plenty of time as the evening dragged on, waiting for the ‘call to arms’ to discuss love, life and everything in between. The subject on Put’s mind often was art and during those discussions he pointed out to me that we were copying the Chinese style of painting by taking a loaded brush and creating our works of art as the brush discharged its contents.

‘Bamboo’ my first attempt at ‘Chinese’

We weren’t required to create illustrations; but we did paint ‘pictures in words.’ Mainly the headline would be simple and brash to tempt the readers to buy the paper. ‘Fire’, ‘Murder’, ‘Scandal’ were often the teaser. Sometimes the posters were pre-printed when the newspaper wished to promote a serial. In fact the Sunday Dispatch was notable for first serializing Forever Amber – considered ‘very saucy’ for its time. And whenever a flagging circulation needed to be revitalized, the paper would revert to The Royals’. And there was invariably a story to tell. Nothing salacious, it didn’t need to be - the proprietors knew their audience enjoyed reading about the Royal family.

On occasions the posters were pre-printed for an upcoming event and the most ironic of which was The CHURCHILL IS DEAD printing in readiness for the great man’s demise. Ironic because Winston Churchill’s journalist son Randolph wrote for the Sunday Express – the rival paper – and made detrimental comments including that the Sunday Dispatch didn’t look like the Sunday version of the Daily Mail. The proprietors took umbrage at that and chose to change the format as well as the editor. Unfortunately it didn’t work. While the CHURCHILL IS DEAD posters were stored away for a future occasion after ‘Winnie’ recovered from his illness, the Dispatch finally succumbed to failing circulation and expired in 1961. I had moved to greener pastures – the green belt in fact and would return to London years later as did the paper which eventually resurfaced as The Mail on Sunday in 1982.

But it was in that newspaper environment that I learnt to copy in the style of Chinese paintings with printer’s ink via a felt tip on the end of a piece of wood.

Miss Great Britain Contest.

I see I experimented using the back of the then current promotion! The Miss Great Britain national beauty contest staged by the Dispatch in conjunction with Morecambe and Heysham Council. The grand first prize for that first heat was the princely sum of 7 guineas ( $12) – and a basket of fruit.

The subject that I painted on the reverse side would resurface later in my new job. Check that out in my next Blog. See you then……to be continued

London Blitz - what's to celebrate?

2010-09-08T09:45:00.000-07:00

In view of the current celebrations, my son, who fortunately hasn’t experienced war first hand, thought my infrequent blog ought to feature my memories of the London Blitz. They are sparse as I was 4 at the time but I do remember the night sky lit up red from the burning buildings pierced by roving searchlights. They were invariably ineffective as they attempted to pinpoint the intruders but their presence as with the anti-aircraft balloons were intended to give us Londoners confidence that we were not being beaten by the Nazis. Our propaganda was as good as their propaganda.

We lived in Wood Green, North London and in September 1940 Hitler’s bombers began attacking London before other cities and as soon as the sirens went off alerting us to the imminent arrival of waves and waves of opposing Luftwaffe aircraft – we headed for the Anderson shelter in the garden. In one night for instance, although we didn’t count them – 1,000 bombers and fighters sent down high explosive and incendiary bombs.

Shelter was a euphemism – it consisted of a cement dugout some 9 feet by 7 feet, covered by a rounded sheet of corrugated iron. Any near hit would obliterate everything in its path. But limited as the shelter was – we quickly headed for the dark, dank space in our pyjamas armed with candles -necessary if we hoped to see anything as the ‘tomb’ had no ‘mod-cons’.

And there we stayed listening to the scream of the bombs heading earthwards and the explosive crunch as they made contact. We stayed there until we heard the all-clear siren. But sometimes it meant rushing out again in the middle of the night if another wave of bombers arrived. This continued on consecutive nights until May 1941. I understand that a million London homes were destroyed and only some 43,000 Londoners died.

My dad was in the AFS (Auxiliary Fire Service) later to be the NFS (National Fire Service) so he truly earned his medal for fighting the fires. He was unassuming as always and when I later asked him what memories he had – he only commented that once he’d fallen off the fire engine as it rounded a corner and he was picked up by the Station Commander and reached the fire before the fire engine. But the movies made of that event show only a part of the heroism and sacrifice made by all who were involved at the time.

Later in the war having gone with my mother to Yorkshire to escape the continual bombing we stayed only three months as my mother said ‘we can’t leave your dad on his own’. So we came back – just in time for the buzz bombs (V1 flying bombs) and V2 rockets which added another 9,000 civilian deaths. Then, I do remember the drone of the buzz bombs; the silence as the engine cut out; the counting up to ten as the bomb silently angled down towards the ground and the sigh of relief we breathed when the crunch we heard didn’t include us. V2 rockets gave no warning. Next morning at ‘Assembly’ we schoolchildren would look around at the spaces left by the missing children.

Hitler didn’t dent our morale and the figure of 600,000 deaths by bombing that were predicted fortunately didn’t happen. Ultimately Britain defeated Germany... again. Now the countries’ rivalry extends to the soccer pitch with much emotional pain but with much fewer deaths.

To sign off, I attach a youngster’s view of the war. My father’s as a 13 year old at the time of World War 1. It’s one of few pieces of memorabilia I have of him and reminds me that any artistic talent I may have emanated from him. What do you think, Pop?

World Cup Fever

2010-06-06T15:26:00.000-07:00

More about this little guy, later...

The World Cup Fever is about to start in earnest - or should I say in South Africa? To every other country that has taken the sport to its heart and feet it's Football - apart from where I'm newly domiciled - USA where it's Soccer. So, in the hope that US-based readers will understand me, forgive me if I refer to it as Soccer, for now...

The book alongside was written by my son. Since he's 8 hours adrift from me - in less-sunny Aston Clinton, England I can't ask him if it's still in print - but it's published by Sutton Publishing, ISBN No. 0-7509-4490-0.

Even the US papers are picking up on the forthcoming event, giving more coverage in one day than they have practically in the rest of the year. An exaggeration - but not much. It gave the LA Times, being the paper in the 'company town' meaning Hollywood - an opportunity to discuss 'Cinematic Soccer' and we all know what a farce 'Victory' was starring Sylvester Stallone. They also mentioned 'Damned United' which I thought was excellent, equally Michael Sheen who took time out from looking like Tony Blair to look and speak like 'Cloughie', Brian Clough.

They also spent a good part of the article on Gurinder Chadha's 'Bend it like Beckham'. I was interested in that having not only seen the film, but was in it as an extra - playing an onlooker. The photos here are a reminder for me.

I see it was way back in 2001 and I remember it was at a park in Hounslow - a Pakistani enclave outside London. The two old 'biddies' in the rear are actually Tottenham Hotspur (Spurs) supporter, Gurinder Chadha and her mom. The two front runners are Keira Knightley and Parminder Nagra before Keira became very famous and especially rich from Chanel and Parminder starred in ER - after George Clooney moved to films. The shot never made it to the big screen although the director had intended that one shot of the two oldies would morph into the two youngsters. The film also starred Jonathan Rhys Meyers long before he became Henry the Eighth.

So back to the little guy. he's my creation - a soccer nut. But as many as 20 weeks of cartoon strips have been drawn when I was in London, I'm having to update his dialogue because when I used the expression 'dummied his opponent', one young US reader was perplexed. So if there's anyone out there reading my blog, help me out will you? I need to be sure the words make sense to my new-found American audience.

Let me introduce Kicker and his Friends:

Kicker - This soccer dude lives the game, both playing and watching. A typical fan - never satisfied with the team. Reckons he knows more than both coach & chairman. He’s sure he could do both their jobs. Always ready to voice an opinion to his gang whether they want to hear it or not.

Left to Right

Trevor - His friend is a computer nerd, & a walking soccer database. Always has his mobile/Ipod on hand to fill Kicker in. That’s why he’s ‘Trivia Trev.’

Freddie - They call him ‘Fweddie’ - that’s what his little sister calls him. Often joins Kicker for the team’s games. He walks & wears clothes a little oddly, but usually has the measure of Kicker.

Fredricka - ‘Fwedwicka’ is ‘Fweddie’s’ little sister. Only five & already a fashion victim. Knows nothing about ‘footie’ but insists on being part of the action. We never see her face.

‘Skins’ - Kicker’s soccer playing friend ‘Skins’ looks tough but is really a softie. Loves his mom and idolizes Kicker.

Left to Right

‘Didi’ - Candide - ‘Didi’ is a tomboy girl of Mexican origin. Maybe more fanatical & a better player than Kicker. This galls him intensely especially as she thinks he’s ‘cute’.

‘BritKid’ - So newly arrived, he still speaks ‘BritSpeak’. His soccer terms amuse his U.S. friends.

‘Pepi’ - Another soccer-mad youngster, Mexican. origin. On the fringes of Kicker’s crowd but his passion for soccer bonds him to Kicker.

More cartoon strips to follow later. Please send me your comments.

Thanks

Peeby

The movie Young Victoria - memories for me

2010-03-08T20:23:00.000-08:00

I’m so pleased to see the success of the British film, Young Victoria that won a costume design Oscar for Sandy Powell. I well remember being inspected by her before we went on set. It was one of the last films I was in as an extra and be seen by the camera for miniscule seconds. Emily Blunt was excellent and deserves success with her name above the title – building on her work after The Devil Wears Prada with Meryl Streep and Anne Hathaway.

Here I'm centre stage complete with whiskers and a concerned air.

Emily Blunt played opposite my wife’s favorite actor Paul Bettany as Lord Melbourne and various British stalwarts including Jim Broadbent. Julian Glover was hiding behind the Duke of Wellington’s famously prominent nose and Michael Maloney played Sir Robert Peel. Both were in this scene and there being only three of us extras included, entitled us to an extra £25 ($40). It all adds up...

About the same time I was in Sherlock Holmes that featured Robert Downey Jnr and Jude Law. No close up this time just strolling up and down Baker Street which incidentally was on the back lot of the Harry Potter set at Leavesden. Now, whenever I see these films I'm naturally looking out for all my co-SAs (supporting artists). They had been regulars for many years before me but I was surprised when I counted up over 150 jobs in the dozen or so years I spent traveling to Pinewood and Shepperton film studios extremely early in the mornings.

Talking of Sherlock and Watson, my interpretation of the once-considered 'best joke of all time' is below. Anyway, it was good to see how successful the new approach to Sherlock Holmes proved to be. I understand that Downey Jnr will be happy to continue just making the Holmes and the Iron Man franchises. Can't be a bad life when it's that successful. Good luck to him.

Cars: Loss of Life, Loss of Face.

2010-02-03T11:00:00.000-08:00

As a Toyota owner I'm understandably following the unravelling of the case of the 'sticky pedal' with interest and concern. Especially to see how they overcome their 'loss of face'. It's an important aspect of Japanese culture. I experienced it when I was Marketing Manager at Sanyo in the U.K.

I was particularly pleased that we were to get a new Managing Director, one with whom I'd had excellent dealings on my visits to Sanyo Japan. We held a welcoming cocktail party at our Watford, England offices for Mr. O (we'll call him) and I overheard that he now lived in the same village as I did. "I live in Abbots Langley as well", I said. "Ah so, where you live?" he asked getting very close and personal. "Abbots Road" I replied. "Ah so" he responded looking very downcast. "Where do you live, Mr. O" I enquired. No answer. I asked again and under his breath he muttered "Kingfisher Drive". At the time I didn't understand his reluctance to reply.

The following morning I drove up to my allotted parking space which was alongside that of the Managing Director just as he drove up in his brand new BMW. He saw my car and was livid. Although his car was gleaming new, and my car all of six years old, mine was bigger than his. I admit it was 'a bit special' - a Fiat 130 Coupe. Elegant, Pininfarina-designed and with a Ferrari engine under the hood.

How I came to buy it is interesting. At the time I was a Scimitar owner. My third actually after totalling the first on a patch of black ice near London Airport on a cold October day. My son had referred to his friend's car - the friend being a part-time car salesman. "You should buy his car dad" he suggested. "It's a Fiat - and it's got a Ferrari engine" he added. Of course, dad knew better. "Fiats don't have Ferrari engines" I said, thinking of the usual small Fiats that I was familiar with. "This one does" he said. And there the matter rested until one Sunday lunchtime I had parked my Scimitar as he and I headed for the local pub. "There, that's the car" my son said pointing to a wonderfully sleek car that impressed me immediately. I spent the lunchtime haggling and exchanged my Scimitar and some cash for the Fiat.

It was an experience. A lovely drive but a so-and-so (I'm being polite) on damp winter mornings, when I'd often have to wait half an hour for the electrics to 'kick in'. But I wouldn't have missed the sheer joy of driving that Fiat 130 Coupe. Until Mr. O saw it. It gave him apoplexy because it looked bigger and thus better than his brand new car. Not only that but I lived in a street which his street led into. A double whammy! From that moment on my working life was sheer hell because in his eyes he had lost face. In my cartoon below, one person clearly couldn't care less.

Ultimately I left Sanyo and started my own company which I ran for twenty years during which time I encountered the same loss of face concern when I was working freelance for Hitachi. The Japanese M.D. happened to be looking out of his window when the Advertising Agency executive drove up in his Lamborghini. Shortly thereafter Hitachi parted company with the Ad Agency because this 'extravagance' was not acceptable in the M.D.'s mind. Thereby hangs a tale: There are times when one is best advised not to 'flaunt it'. Will we see anything like it featured in 'Mad Men'?

But back to today. In this current situation while some ponder 'loss of face' others reflect on loss of life. So to all drivers out there - go with care.

Peeby PAST AND PRESENT

2010-01-11T05:03:00.000-08:00

I didn’t start off as a cartoonist. But as I continue to draw my characters some little item or element jogs my memory to remind me of something in the past, often quite unrelated. But if you were to find my cartoons fun, why would you want to read about me - about what happened in some distant past? Well like many other people I’ve done lots of things in my life to ‘earn a bob or two’ as they would say back in Britain. That career has taken me to various parts of the world and I’ve met many interesting characters, not least my wife who’s an American and why we’re now here. Perhaps some of my experiences are sufficiently different to yours that you may enjoy my telling about some parts of my life whether as Peeby at www.peebycartoons.com or simply Peter Betts.

So in no particular order but linked as a memory to my cartoons I’ll give some reminiscences of being a film extra including working on a few Johnny Depp films; my time attempting to do business in Burma (now Myanmar); my days as a Marketing Manager in large Corporations such as Philips amongst other things.

And then there’s my family. My wife Pat Silver Lasky was an actress and is a writer of past successes such as The Avengers. Her daughter Lisa Hayden Miller is now writing cook books and her son Dr. Richard Niles is everything to do with music and orchestrated and arranged for the likes of Sir Paul McCartney. When I met Paul he serenaded me…but more of that later. My son Graham Betts is an A&R man in the music business and has written 25 assorted books on either soccer or music. His latest is out now…

ISBN 978 1904674 10 8- It’s out now and available on Amazon

And since it maybe relevant let me start on one cartoon that I drew for Michael Jackson and the story that evolved around that. The spoon bender, psychic Uri Geller is possibly better known in Europe than America. In 2001 when it came to renewing his wedding vows at his home near Reading, south west of London he wanted Michael as his best man. His home is delightful with a garden large enough for a marquee to house the 200 or so guests who were invited and for the odd helicopter to drop in. We were among the guests, my wife being a longstanding friend of Uri’s. He bent spoons for us at our wedding reception – but again, that’s another story… Below is the only photo I managed to get in the great melée that was Uri’s wedding with Michael Jackson (despite a broken ankle and the reason for my cartoon) surrounded by his bodyguards.

Michael Jackson left, rear view, Bodyguard front view, Uri Geller right, side view!!

When the Michael ensemble arrived via the back garden by helicopter he was over an hour late. By that time everybody had used up all the chit chat with little-known semi-celebs. That was despite there being British TV interviewer David Frost, David Blaine (the illusionist) and many others. To overcome the delay the hosts suggested we start eating the post-celebration buffet before the event. We practically leapt upon the waiters and waitresses and promptly devoured the nibbles. On arrival, Jackson and his bodyguards quickly entered Uri’s house and barred anyone else from entering. I had hoped that I might get his autograph on one of the three copies of the cartoon I had drawn. I was only able to pass them to a bodyguard on the other side of a one inch gap of the opened door. I have good memories of Uri and his wife Hanna’s reaffirmed vows. Next day Uri rang Pat and asked how she thought the event went. Pat mentioned the hour or more delay waiting for Michael Jackson. ‘Oh well’ said Uri ‘I guess it was worth a £1million of publicity.’ If I were a philosopher I’d say that means ‘accept fate’ or ‘out of bad can come good’

When Uri heard the terrible June 2009 news I gave him permission to display my cartoon on his website www.UriGeller.com. See it under About Uri/Uri’s tribute to Michael Jackson and remember the good times associated with Michael Jackson.

The cartoon shows Uri’s house and his famous Cadillac festooned with bent cutlery.

More soon. Watch this space… Your comments would be appreciated