Return to Didcot

Didcot ( is one of those names that’s funny in itself, like Bognor, Cleethorpes, Chipping Sodbury and of course Cockfosters.  A Didcot (OH has just sneezed on me.  When I thanked him for that he said, ‘but we’re always exchanging mucus.’)  Anyway, a Didcot is a small circle of paper which springs out of a hole-puncher such as guards on trains used to have when they clipped your ticket.  According to where they punched it you could have a nice neat hole near the edge or else a semicircular bite taken raggedly from the edge as if a tiny and very hungry dinosaur had been at it (why a dinosaur?  Don’t ask me, I just write the stuff…)

But Didcot has a particular resonance for OH and me, because of a weekend away.  I don’t remember where we went but we were rowing (rowing in a boat, not having an argument).  At least, I was rowing and OH was trailing one hand languidly in the water, since I learned to row as a child and OH is absolutely hopeless: left in charge of the oars he would go round in circles before letting in water and slowly sinking.  Anyway, I quite enjoy rowing so there we were and it was lovely and languid and peaceful until… (cue sinister music) The Guides.

If you want to read the full grizzly story, it’s here:

I’m off now to paint the Forth Bridge… at least, that’s what it feels like

Kirk out

Mighty, mighty Didcot

When I woke up I thought it was Sensible o’clock but found it was Somewhat Silly o’clock ie just before six.

this morning I was remembering a time when Mark and I were on a break.  Not in the Friends sense – just having a weekend away.

Actually I have some sympathy for Ross in this scenario, because – let’s face it, they were on a break.

Oh!  Yes – anyway… I can’t remember where we were but there was a lake and we decided to get a boat out and have a romantic row on the lake (at least, is it still romantic if the woman is rowing because she learned how when she was a kid on Mewsbrook park lake and he never did?  Hell, yes – why not?)  So we pulled away from the quayside and out into the still water.  Unfortunately we were sharing said water with other boats, one of which proved to be full of Girl Guides on a Jamboree pack holiday or whatever it is they call it, who were singing.  It became impossible for us to escape these Guides, who followed us, singing this song indefatigably for at least half an hour.

Wherever we go

(wherever we go!)

people always ask us

(people always ask us!)

Where do you come from?

(Where do you come from?)

and we always tell them

(and we always tell them!)

We’re from Didcot

(we’re from Didcot!)

Mighty mighty Didcot

(mighty, mighty Didcot!)

mighty mighty Didcot

(mighty mighty Didcot!)

It did give us a laugh – not only the idea of openly singing about coming from Didcot, but the idea of Didcot being “mighty.”

The fact that I still know it by heart after all these years should give you some idea of what it was like.

This week and next I shall be finishing off my stories and sending off as many as possible.  Then I will be going up to the chalet to work on the novel.

Kirk out.

PS in “The Meaning of Liff” by Douglas Adams, a didcot is a little circle of paper cut out from a hole puncher.

So now you know!