Anne Mallinson – derrickjknight

Able Assignments To The Rescue

18th May 2013

A heavy deluge and a distant thunderstorm beset us yesterday afternoon and throughout the night. Intermittent rain and strong, cold, winds persisted today, so it is just as well that I continued cleaning, tidying, and hanging pictures.

After this I amused myself writing out a bilingual snagging list. I suppose the need for one was inevitable. Thierry is yet to return to finish off and the unlit back corridor, completed after 9 p.m., is less than brilliant.

What needs to be done here is nothing compared to that required by Beauchamp Lodge Settlement in the early 1990s. As Chairman I had a real problem on my hands. The charity had been forced to sell the beautiful early nineteenth century building in Little Venice it had occupied until then because we did not have, and could not raise the £500,000 required to bring it back to a safe standard.

The Greater London Council had owned the building and let it to us for a peppercorn rent. Through the intervention of Councillor Anne Mallinson, later to become mayor, we had been able to buy the building at less than market rate; sell it for a greater sum; and buy a far less salubrious terraced building on the north side of Regents Canal further west along Harrow Road.

Much work was required to make this address fit for our purposes and ready for occupation. A firm was engaged to carry out the work, and a deadline set. Nothing was done for weeks. Promises were made and excuses given. Progress was minimal. Six weeks before we were due to move in I sacked the building company.

What to do next? No-one wants to complete major works which have been fiddled about with by a predecessor. Least of all Michael, whose policy is never to touch another builder’s snagging, and who didn’t relish the two hour drive to North London, before and after each day’s work. Nevertheless he, Matthew, and the rest of the Able Assignments team came to the rescue and did me proud. We were able to move in on time and they continued the refurbishment with little inconvenience to the activities of the charity.

We must have had a removal firm to transport our furniture, files, and other equipment, but for some reason I only remember the moving of one desk. The Settlement’s original and subsequent homes were about a mile apart. In drizzling rain, Roderick Graham, a debt counsellor, and I carried this piece from one to the other. The next day I had a cataract operation in Nottingham.

This afternoon I began reading Susan Hill’s ‘The Service of Clouds’ before Maggie and Mike collected me and drove me to their home in Eymet where we tried a new Indian takeaway restaurant. Poppy’s produced quite the best curry I have tasted in France. The proprietors are an English couple, the woman of which cooks the food before your very eyes. A limited menu is rapidly and superbly produced. The phal was very much to my liking. With it I drank an excellent Chateau Laville Bertou reserve minervois 2010. I chose it because it bore the tag Reflets de France, and I have found that whatever the product this is always a very reliable label. Not only that. I couldn’t find any Kingfisher.

Dana, Sandrine’s husband who has joined the family concern drove me back to Sigoules where I was entertained for an hour or so by Jamie and the Crazy Hearts; the drummer barely discernible in a corner behind three guitarists, one being the energetic lead singer who announced the numbers in French and sang in his native English; performing a Country Rock concert in Le Code Bar. Having eaten with the Kindreds, I declined the barbecue that was on offer.

Derelict

My attention today was turned to Morden Park. Although it brightened up later, the morning was a good ten degrees colder than yesterday, blowing a gale, overcast, and occasionally drizzling.

Instead of circumperambulating (I just coined that) the park, I decided to ramble across it. This proved beneficial, although on what I thought was my return journey a discarded sweatshirt I had seen earlier alerted me to the fact that I was going in quite the wrong direction. I did an about turn and soon had the mosque (see post of 18th. May) in my sight, telling me I was on the right track.

I was to have a series of meetings. The first was with a scantily clad couple sitting on the grass attempting to have a picnic. Especially as the woman was wearing a strapless sundress I told them they were stalwarts. They were already regretting their decision and said they wouldn’t be staying long. Although the young lady declined to be photographed she did say I was welcome to write that I had ‘seen the mad couple’. On the far side of the park, at Morden Park House, a beautiful building which is now the Registry Office, a wedding had just taken place. The bride, also in a strapless dress, was, despite the danger of goosepimples, looking very happy and very lovely. The photographer, much more suitably clad in a warm coat, periodically dived into her bag to change lenses, advising her subject not to get cold. Some chance, I thought. I didn’t ask if I could take a picture.

Abutting the park itself is a now derelict former GLC (Greater London Council, an earlier governing body) sports ground containing disused tennis courts and cricket nets which are still used by young Asian men. Apparently there had been a long-running battle between the Council, who wanted to sell the land for a golf driving range, and the residents of Hillcross Avenue who opposed the plan. I was therefore amused to see a man with a golf club with which he was driving a tennis ball for his dog to chase. As I caught up with him and began to chat we realised we had met back in the real winter in Morden Hall Park. Then he had been smoking a pipe which he has recently given up after 40 years. His moustache was still nicotine stained. Further on I discovered that there is a Council-maintained nine-hole golfing range in the park. The man practising his putting whom I engaged in conversation told me that the masses of parked cars on a roped off section of the grass were occupying a supplementary carpark for Wimbledon tennis.

Seated on a wooded path cuddling her pet dog was an elderly woman I had met before. I asked her where were the treats she was usually feeding to Woody. She had forgotten them. This tiny animal is a Chihuahua/Jack Russell cross. (My attempts at spelling Chihuahua were so abysmal that I had to resort to Googling dog breeds beginning with C.) She had had 5 rescue dogs before, but was not allowed to adopt another because of her age. Given that she is in her eighties, this was clearly reasonable. However, this elderly person manages a fairly brisk daily walk with a rather fortunate little companion, the only substitute she would tolerate for her late husband of 60 years. As I shook hands with her on departing, I realised she was quite arthritic. Answering a private advertisement she had had to travel to Wales to obtain Woody. It wasn’t only Woody who was to be disappointed this morning. The woman’s grandson attended Hatfeild Primary school which lies alongside the path. At playtime he likes her to wait by the wire fence so he can see the dog. On this day she was late. (My spelling of Hatfeild is correct. It is the name of a landowning family who once occupied the area. I am grateful to Jackie for this information as she often has to tell her work colleagues that a number of streets have not been similarly named in error.)

Enclosed within an overgrown copse at the entrance to the former schools sportsground is a derelict house. This once attractive building, for as long as we have been in Morden has been seemingly securely boarded up and covered in graffiti. I have often wondered what it looked like inside; whether it was GLC staff accommodation; and whether it might be for sale. Today the thick plywood coverings had been removed from the ground floor windows and doors. It is now full of rubble, some of which someone has used to smash their way in.

As I left the area a cheerfully optimistic young Asian came through the broken down fence, through which I always gain access, wielding a much-used cricket bat. Other, traditionally attired couples were quietly making their way along the path for their regular trips to the mosque.

For ‘us tea’ I made a sausage and gammon casserole. It went down well with an excellent Cotes du Rhone – Terres de Galets 2011. The wine was from Sainsbury’s; the meat from Lidl, equally as good as anyone else’s finest.

As a footnote I might add that when it became defunct the GLC handed over its property to local Councils. The burden of maintenance then fell on the recipients. In that manner Beauchamp Lodge Settlement, the charity mentioned in yesterday’s post, received it’s eighteenth century building from Westminster City Council at a peppercorn rent of £1.00 per annum. Eventually, being unable to afford the considerable maintenance, the Committee, through the intervention of Anne Mallinson, was able to purchase the building, sell it on, and move elsewhere. This did prevent the building from becoming like the house in the former sportsground.

P.S. On 17th March 2015 the derelict building was to feature in the T.V. programme ‘Homes Under the Hammer’

Dinner with the Mayor

Setting off early this morning for coffee with my friend Carol, I took my usual route through Morden Hall Park and along the Wandle Trail to catch the tube at Colliers Wood. This was a dull, humid and rather unpleasant walk. Some of the fallen trees were being sliced up into large Swiss rolls.

By the time I left Carol’s, just before midday, the sun was out and we had a very fine day. The whole of London seemed to be basking and sweating in the heat . I decided to wander around the area of Victoria, which I know very well. I thought I might stop and read in Grosvenor Gardens, alongside Buckingham Palace Road, and did indeed settle on a bench there. I didn’t read, however. It seemed too much to struggle against the glare of the sun on the paper, and I was much more interested in what was going on around me. There were many other readers squinting away. It was then I noticed a young woman, shielding her eyes, lying reading from her Blackberry. She managed, despite being in the full sun, to look remarkably fresh. Seeing the potential for this day’s header, I photographed her. Now, of course, no way could I publish this picture without her permission. With trepidation I then approached her and sought her blessing, offering to delete the picture if she wasn’t happy. She was happy, and took the details of my blog. So, anonymous young lady with a Blackberry, I thank you.

Further along the side of Victoria Station I noticed another far less fortunate young woman. She lay in a doorway surrounded by her bedding and her bags; her head lolling; her eyes shut; her mouth open; motionless, with a soggy, unlit and unsmoked roll-up adhering to her bottom lip. Feeling rather guilty I moved on. Unhappily this is not an unusual sight in central London and most of us prefer to leave such situations to those in authority.

As often when I visit Carol, I had taken the route past City Hall, which holds many memories of my time in the 70s and 80s as a Westminster Social Services Area Manager. Some of this period was during the infamous Shirley Porter era. Those memories are best kept to myself.

I can, however, take this opportunity to tell another footwear story. For some 15 years or so I was Chairman of Beauchamp Lodge Settlement, a charity situated in Westminster. Sometime in the 1980s Anne Mallinson, who served on this Committee, and was at one time or another Chair or Vice-Chair, was the Mayor of Westminster. Anne was kind enough to invite Jessica and me to one of her mayoral dinners at City Hall. In those days, as part of my marathon training, I ran everywhere, carrying my working clothes in a backpack and diving into any suitable public toilet to clean up and change. Since there are very suitable facilities at City Hall, that was the plan on the evening of the function. Now, my attire for the event was to be formal dress wear which would not have been appropriate for my working day. Jessica was therefore delegated to drive to the City Council headquarters bringing my evening wear for me to change into and I was to meet her there. I arrived in as hot and sticky a condition as almost everyone was in today, grabbed my box of clothes, and entered the gents in City Hall.

Having had a good wash I then began to dress. Ah! No shoes. They must be in the car. No such luck. Jessica had forgotten them. All I had were my best New Balance running shoes. I wanted to go home.

Nevertheless I decided to brazen it out. During the pre-dinner drinks, when circulating among the guests, I vainly hoped no-one would notice. I found myself in a group with the rather important guest of honour. When his eyes, having strayed to the floor, rapidly looked up and swiftly focussed elsewhere, I said: ‘Congratulations. You’ve spotted the deliberate mistake.’ Of course I then had to tell the story, which turned out to be a most convenient ice-breaker.

Not to be outdone, Jessica managed to cap this. She was placed between two eminent elderly gentlemen. One of them, politely drew her chair back to help her into her place. With her back to this courtesy, therefore being unaware that her seat was no longer where she thought it was, she promptly sat on the floor.

This evening we visited Becky and Flo and partook of a Deshi Spice takeaway accompanied by Cobra Beer. Becky continues on good form and is wondering why she had been warned that this would be the worst week. Hopefully she will continue to wonder.