Time to go!

I have moved this diary – it will now be part of my website at www.ukwatercolours.com.

If you wish to read more stories and have a look at my watercolour gallery online then I’ll see you there.

Regards Eric

Baths and Underwear

Sandown Park in Esher was always a good venue, we had some good nights out down there. The show was held at the race course and was well attended by fairly well off people who spent quite freely. We used to stay in a guest house in Surbiton, I can't remember the name but I do remember the lady who owned it had been on the game show '3 2 1' and proudly showed off her 'Dusty Bin' consolation prize. She also made the best breakfasts ever, her bacon was perfect ( I hate bacon that is so fatty that when you try to eat it the whole lump of greasy mix won't swallow, I'll have to stop I'm making myself sick ) and served with every sort of cereal and preserve you could imagine.

She had a room that had a large ornate bath standing in the middle of it, no seperate bathroom but it looked great. I caught sight of myself sitting in it through a mirror on the wall and couldn't stop laughing, I'm not that big ( tall ) and you could only see my head appearing above the bath rim. I needed a ladder to get out.
Anyway now all clean and ready to go out I knocked on Ian's door and we went downstairs to wait for the girls to come down. Annie, Sue and Helen were sharing a large room and were getting drunk, sorry, ready. We waited and waited and then I went and knocked on their door. ( I couldn't let Ian go or he wouldn't have come back out ).

Do you know what, they had gone, didn't bother with the usual 2 hour getting ready, just gone and never called for us. We had missed good drinking time while they were already three sheets to the wind, ( a nautical term meaning the boats sails were all astray, in other words they were pissed ) we caught up with them at the next pub giggling to themselves at our expense. Afterwards we all went for an Indian ( I have been in lots of Indians all over the country ) and then back to the digs where they asked if we wanted a drink in their room, how Ian got in the room a heart beat before the invite was issued was a testament to his previous occupation as a police officer.
Ten minutes later he was laid out on one of the beds with bras and panties over his head ( spare ones I must add in case Eilean his wife reads this ) grinning like a little boy who'd just found himself in a sweetshop. It took all four of us to finally drag him back to his room and lock him in, then I went to my room and was promptly sick in the bath.

I've had some good nights out with Ian and the girls and as I think of them I will let you know. I remember one night in Guernsey at 1.am in the morning when Annie and Jenny stood outside under my window singing love songs to me, I think they must have got the wrong window, Ian was next door to me. Also one night as we were leaving the hotel bar to go to bed Annie and Jenny grabbed my room key as I unlocked the door to my room. Jenny put the key down her bra, flung herself on my bed and dared me to get it back. I'd like to say its still there but that would be a lie, anyway Ian dived in to the room ( it was getting quite crowded by then ) and took photographs. It still costs me £20 a month for him not to send them to my wife.

Bad Shows

The worst craft fair I attended was with 'Live Crafts' at Peckforton Castle in Cheshire. This beautiful castle has featured in many film sets such as 'Robin Prince of Thieves' and also the new Dr. Who series.
We were there for a long weekend and I'd hoped to make some money for my upcoming holiday. As I've said craft fairs are not cheap to do. This one which was over 12 years ago cost £270 for a space, 3 nights digs in Chester £90 and fuel costs £30, not to mention food and drink.

The layout looked good inside the castle's large halls. Unfortunately I and one other stand were not part of that set up. In order for anyone to see my paintings thay had to cross a moat, climb 2 sets of stone steps up a tight circular staircase, have a sword fence with Prince John, and sneak past half a dozen Cybermen.
I was there for three days and only saw 2 people, and they only popped there heads around the door. I only made one sale at £32 that weekend and that was to the man on the other stand. The worst of it was that at the end I had to carry all my stock and stand back down the stairs over the moat and half a mile down the hill to the car park.

This is a problem with some craft organisers, if you are not a regular ( some people travel with the fair week in week out living in their caravans ) and part of the clique you end up with lousy spots in the fair.
I did a fair with at Badminton Horse Trials a few years ago. I had done 2 other shows with them and also had 3 more booked for later. I won't mention their name but it started with Rural and ended with Crafts. Rural crafts had two large marquees and when I arrived I was shown my spot in the second marquee. I had arrived on the Friday evening to set up ready for Saturday and as I was early there was no one else there when I left for my hotel.
Next morning I arrived to find that I along with 3 other crafts were in the food marquee. Whereas the other marquee was beautifully lit and looked great we were in the bottom dingy corner badly lit. But worse was to come when the food stalls started cooking. There were burger vans, bacon stalls, hot peanut vendors and various other stands all chucking out greasy smells and steamy fumes that had no where to go but back down on my pictures and some expensive coats on the stand next to me.
We complained but no use came of it. On the last day I'd had enough and dismantled my stand to go home early. Someone squealed because next second the organiser was there telling me to put it back up again. But I wasn't having any of it and loaded up my car, at one point someone moved a van across my car's way out but when they saw the look on my face ( I would have drove in to him ) they backed off. Needless to say I cancelled the rest of the shows.

The hardest fair was at Glasgow in 1990. It was a cold March when we opened on Friday morning. But the tragedy that was Dunblane had just taken place a few hours before that. No one was interested in a craft fair and to be honest neither was I.

I went to Glasgow a few years later with Ian to another show. On the Saturday night we had a few beers then went for an Indian meal. Inside was pretty full and there was a queue. Me being dead clever picked up a card with the phone number, went outside to a phonebox and booked a table under my name. I walked back in and asked if my table was ready so Ian and I were shown to a table. A bit later when some local lads who had been ahead of us in the queue finally got in, passed our table. One leaned over me and said 'Enjoy yer grub cos after A'm ganna put yer on the next train out of Glasgow'
We sneaked out while they were getting served and I didn't feel safe until I was in my digs. Looking back on it I had it coming.

A Rainy Night in Felixstowe

If you ever had to spend a Saturday night in Felixstowe then I have the greatest sympathy.
I was with The National Crafts Fair at Felixstowe and staying at a hotel along the front. Also staying at the hotel was Dudley and Margaret ( Hereditary Shields ), Richard ( Engraved glass ), and Anthony James ( beloved leader of the National Crafts Fair ), and his dog.
I wouldn't say the rooms were small but next to my wash basin ( no shower/bathroom ) was a towel on a roller. Every time I pulled the towel for a clean bit, someone in the other room pulled it back, I think it was Anthony as there were dog bites in the towel when it came back round.

Anyway it was Saturday night and I thought we would go out on the town, realising I had forgotten to buy any asprins I borrowed some pain killers from Richard. 'Do you suffer with Migraine as well?' asked Richard. 'No, hangovers' I replied, 'got to be prepared'.
Unfortunately Anthony had decided we would all go to an amateur 'End of the pier show'. He had bought the tickets and said he would meet us there. This was early days for me with The National Crafts and thought one had to go along with the boss, ( I soon learned different ).
We all stood outside the theatre for ages but eventually he drove up in his car, pulled up in front of the entrance and walked into the theatre. 'You can't leave that car there!' said the doorman. 'Do you know who I am?' spouted Anthony, 'I am the Director of The National Crafts Fair'. 'You can be the Director of every fucking craft fair in the world, but you shift that car or I'll stuff you back in it!' yelled the doorman.
Ten minutes later, with the car moved, we sat watching 'Songs from the musicals', with a chorus line that included every different shape of female possible shuffling along to keep in time. Dudley drooled over the fishnet stocking clad legs of one on the end, whose legs kicked the air half a second later than the rest.
Halfway through a quiet but tone deaf rendition of 'If I loved you' there could be heard the sound of loud snoring.
We looked around to find Anthony fast asleep snoring for England, and he'd been the bastard that had made us go.

Anyway the show ended at 9.30pm and I thought a beer or two would go down well. 'We are all going back to the hotel for a drink' said Anthony ( now wide awake after a good kicking, actually he was awake long before I stopped kicking him ).
Didn't bother me as long as we were in a bar. It was stotting down with rain so we ran like mad to the hotel. The bar was closed with a note on the door saying 'Gone out for the night but help yourself to drinks and leave money on bar'. All very well but she had forgot to unlock the door to the bar. 'Ah well' said Richard ' might as well go to bed', 'Aye I think your right' said Dudley and Margaret. 'Are you all mad' I yelled, 'Well it is chucking it down' said Anthony.
So at 9.30pm on a Saturday night in Felixstowe I found myself laid in bed listening to the rain and watching the towel rail being pulled through the wall by some mad dog.

Talking of Anthony's dog ( I can't remember its name, it must have been Fang or Ripper because it was a vicious swine, It actually bit the finger of the Hotel owner and she had to go to hospital. If I could have gotten my hands on her for locking the bar she would have needed more than a tetanus jab ), it was a Belgian Shephard that followed its owner as he wandered round our stands sorting out any problems. If you got on the wrong side of Anthony you would receive a loud dressing down and as he walked off his dog would look at you and give a snigger just like Mutley from Whacky Races.
I remember doing a fair where it was decided to raise some money for a local charity. Dudley and Margaret had a lovely Old English Sheepdog called 'Muffin', ( no jokes please ) and all the visitors to the show liked to stroke it. It was decided to let Muffin lie at the entrance to the show with a sign on the wall above him stating 'Give Muffin a pat on the head and drop a coin in his box for charity'
This went rather well until at some point, unbeknown to us inside, Muffin got up and wandered away. Quick as a flash Anthony's dog took his spot under the sign and waited, I swear I heard him sniggering like Mutley. The ensuing bloodbath was horrendous as bits of finger flew in all directions. Sales were noticeably down for the rest of that day.

Annie Stines

Annie, like Ian has been a wonderful friend over the last 20 years of craft fairs. She works harder than anyone I know at her craft, selling her fudge for all its worth. There is always a crowd around her stand in Jersey and some other craft workers get jealous, but if they put in half the effort Annie does then they would not be complaining. She also knows how to enjoy herself and loves a drink. Lets face it, she loves lots of drinks, Black Russian being a favourite.

If there was mischief to be up to then she lead the way. In one large hotel in Jersey, ( closed now, actually a lot of hotels closed down after we had stayed there ) she persuaded the rest of us to rearrange the breakfast tables in to another room. This was around 2 am and I was really hung over next day, and wasn’t around to see the mayhem at breakfast time.

Once we were staying in the same hotel ( seperate rooms ) near the M25 while doing a weekend fair so she left her car and went in mine to the hotel. On returning next morning to the show we pulled up alongside a queue of craft workers waiting to enter the hall, she left the car saying loudly ” Thanks Eric that’s the best night i’ve ever had”. The one thing I learned about Annie was at breakfast. She hogged the butter especially in the Channel Islands. The toast was only used as a carrier.

In the early days at Jersey and Guernsey she would end up with lots and lots of 50p pieces. When ever we went out to a restaurant, Chinese, Indian, French, Italian etc. ( it was a hard life ), she would take our money, usually there were about eight of us, and proceed to count out and pay the bill in 50p’s. Embarrasing was not the word.

And shopping, if the olympics had a shopping section Annie would get gold every time. As we didn’t start in Jersey until 2pm we would have mornings wandering by ourselves around St. Helier and then all meet at Fridays or Cafe de Paris ( local bistros ) for lunch and a pint. She would turn up with shopping bags from every main store, whereas Ian, Jan and I would have a newspaper or magazine. There was no room left in the bar after she put down all her purchases. Nor was there any air to breath because Ian had been to all the perfume shops trying the free samples. Every spare bit of skin had a different scent and when he moved, it wafted round the bar causing grown men to faint.

More of Annie, Jan, ian etc later.

Jan Smith

I’ve known Jan since the first visit to Jersey over 20 years ago, and she has become a close friend. She is a very talented artist who for some strange reason always felt her work was never as good as other artists who did the craft circuit. Her work is different as she paints beautifully in miniature on fossils or agate, so she thinks it does not stand out against the large oils of other wildlife artists. But the difference that sets her apart is her skill and vision as she portrays a leopard with its cubs in such detail, ensuring the finished artwork complements the particular piece of stone she has selected.

Her stand is an amalgamation of woods and supports that require the skills of a coal miner in order to keep a seam open. It has to be that way in order to support the heavy stones she uses, but she has to start an exhibition 3 days before the rest of us, and I’m normally home in bed by the time she has dismantled it. I’ve become so used to watching her set up the stand using a team of labourers and a low level crane that it doesn’t worry me now, although the chain saw scares me stiff when it starts up. When we were in Jersey it was always around the time of her birthday and she would get Workmates and electric drills as presents.

We used to all go clubbing and dancing in the early days but the last time we were in Jersey we spent the evenings being taught by Jan the art of ‘shirt folding’ Japanese style. As I said we knew how to live on the wild side.

Although I am tone deaf I will always break out into song, ( at this moment in my art classes I can’t get ‘Avenues and Alleyways’ by Tony Christie out of my head, much to the dismay of my students.) and one particular year in Jersey I spent all week singing the opening line of ‘ You must remember this’. There was a busker with an accordian who woud sit outside the exhibition every night playing for coins as we and customers left the fair. One night as we left Jan and the others had paid him to play the ‘in tune’ version of the song for me. I still think I sang it better and it has become a reminder of great shows and friends.

Jan, like the others, was an integral part of our group and I wish her and Mal all the best wishes when they marry this next week and a great future in Spain where they are about to emigrate.

Its no joke

 I was attending an Agricultural Fair one Spring at Lartington in Teesdale. It was the year we had the trouble with Argentina, no not the David Beckam incident but The Falklands War. The army enlistment team were at the fair looking for new blood and some were slightly the worse for drink. When it was announced over the tannoy that the Belgrano had been sunk a great cheer went up around the field and more drink was taken.
Some of the soldiers were looking at the watercolours on my stand, behind which I sat doing a demonstration. They were friendly and chatting away when  one of them asked if I could do a portrait of their Corporal.
"I'm not very good at Still Life" I said, which generally gets a laugh from people around.
The people around were laughing but I couldn't see for a large arm with 2 stripes on it had dragged me across the table by my throat and threatened to end my life there and then. I had the good sense to cry and whimper, which eased the situation and we parted best of friends, him clutching a free print and me clutching my testicals.

No milk today

In Jersey by the time you have worked all week until 10pm every night, Saturday's 6pm finish comes as a blessing. We still have to work the next day (Sunday), but this is a time to celebrate a good exhibition and relax . We all meet in the bar one by one as we get ready. As always its the girls who turn up last, usually with alcohol having been taken as they get dressed. Then its off to a nice restaurant and finish up at a nightclub.

By this time I'm ready to hit the sack and wander off to my room. Unlike Ian, who generally falls asleep fully clothed with the telly blasting, I just get undressed and straight to sleep. One particular Saturday night I was dragged awake at 2am by my room telephone penetrating the alcoholic haze. I laid there with the phone somewhere near my ear and heard one of the girls asking if I was still awake. She was making a cup of tea and had run out of those little milk capsules. Could she come to my room and get one of mine.
Now my wife will tell you when drink has been taken I can go from talking to unconsciousness quicker than a rat up a drainpipe.

Actually one night at home we had gone to bed at 11.45pm and I went straight out like a light. Our alarm clock is electric and set for 7am. Unbeknown to us there had been a short power cut that day and the alarm had reset itself. So quarter of an hour after we had gone to bed it went off at midnight. I struggled out of bed and made my way to the bathroom to get shaved and showered, with my wife watching incredulously. "you've only been asleep 5 mins you idiot"

So getting back to Jersey, it was not until the alarm went off at 8am that I noticed the phone laid beside me and replaced it. At breakfast the girl in question was really annoyed with with me and never spoke to me for the rest of the day. I didn't realise she needed the milk that badly.

Rivals

One thing you find out soon about Jersey and Guernsey is the intense rivalry between the islands. This dates back to the Civil War when Guernsey supported the Roundheads and Jersey was Royalist. Its still there now, though the helmets and swords have gone. On Jersey they refer to Guernsey people as ‘ donkeys ‘ being slow and dullard, whereas the donkeys call Jersey folk crapauds or toads, due to the fact amphibians live there but not on Guernsey. In fact I’ve never heard anyone on Guernsey speak of Jersey, calling it ‘the other place’.
Neither island has much to say of the island of Alderney, who they say are ‘two thousand drunks clinging to a rock’.

In the early 80′s Jersey introduced us to a new police sergeant who worked in the ‘Bureau des Etrangers’. Yes, when Bergerac hit the small screen, Jersey’s popularity grew, and millions of people were hooked to the sights of Jim in his red Triumph, registration J1610, driving round the beauty spots of the island.
Guernsey, who were not happy with this started a poster campaign saying that Bergerac took his holidays on Guernsey.
When I am in the Islands I will sit and do some painting while the exhibition is on. I found out to my cost that it does not pay to paint Jersey scenes while in Guernsey. One lady worked herself up into a right tantrum and gave me a mouthful of abuse. I’m glad to say she was the exception but I still get friendly jibes if I’m caught out.
I get my own back by suggesting they take their holidays on Jersey or vice versa as ‘it is a lovely little island’.

Jersey is only 9 miles by 5 and Guernsey even smaller but you can still get lost, especially on Guernsey. Drive around the inner valley on Guernsey and I swear you will not know which way to turn when you come to a junction. I think they took the sign posts down when Germany invaded the island and forgot to put them back up.
And 9 miles is a long way to any one on Jersey. When we moved the craft fair from St. Helier to a new exhibition centre in the middle of the island I asked the owner of our hotel if she had visited the fair yet. Her answer, and I’ve heard it said lots since, was ‘ Oh its a bit far out that’. Three and a half bloody miles, its not like they don’t have cars, there’s millions of them and at rush hour St. Helier gets just as snarled up as London.
One thing that Jersey has got right is its ‘Filter in turn’ junctions. When you approach them you cross, then the car in the other street crosses and so on. It is all very polite but you have to watch out for ‘Horror cars’. These are the cars with a large ‘H’ on them meaning they are holiday hire cars for the tourists, and is wise not to assume they will stop at a filter lane.
What Guernsey has over Jersey is its attitude to car parking. Its expensive to park on Jersey and you need to constantly buy books of parking tickets, whereas on Guernsey you are given a free disc and as long as you don’t go over the time limit there’s no charge. Mind you do have to find a vacant spot first.

First Jersey Craft Fair

The first time my wife and I went to Jersey to do the craft fair we didn’t know what to expect, having never done a fair before. We landed on the island at 10pm having set off at 1am that morning. we’d been told to go straight to the venue and unload our car before going to our guesthouse. The fair was held at Fort Regent which stands above St. Helier on a headland. Could we find a way up there, could we hell as likes. There is a tunnel which runs under the headland and if we went through it once we went through it ten times. On the last two attempts we were going through the tunnel strangling each other. Eventually we made it, emptied the car and went to find our digs, through the tunnel again, round the one way system, through the tunnel once more for luck and then finally arrived to find the guesthouse in darkness. The landlady wasn’t too happy to be knocked up, her breath was full of alcohol ( we discovered this was the same every night ) as she grudgingly showed us our room. I fancied a pint but there was nothing open.

The next morning was spent setting out our stand along with lots of others and then waiting for the fair to open. The man who ran The National Crafts Fair was Anthony James ( he will need a chapter to himself later ) who asked where our spotlights were. The stand was borrowed and had no lights. ‘You can’t possibly do a show without lights, get down into town and buy some now’ he bellowed. We did and he was right, the paintings suddenly stood out from the stand.
The opening 2 hours of our first show were tense, I had spent weeks painting scenes of Jersey and it had cost us quite a bit of outlay to get here. Joan was nervous and it showed when she tried to talk to potential customers so I told her to go and have a look around the rest of the show. Then all of a sudden we had our first sale, then another, and another, and then it happened, a crowd built up and Joan and I were pushed outwards as people tried to get a close look. We sold half of our stock that night and 2 days later it was all gone. We still had 4 full days to go so I bought paints and paper and sat painting all day and sold them on the night.
On the last day I was sat at the fair with a blank piece of paper when someone asked what I was going to paint. ‘What would you like?’ I asked. ‘Anything as long as it’s of Jersey, I’ll pay you now and come back tonight for it.’ he replied. And that’s the way it went for the next 15 years.

At the end of that first night we were high as kites and ready to hit the night life of Jersey. The show finished at 10pm and we, along with another couple, headed for the town. Into the first pub by 10.15 pm and bought our drinks. 5 minutes later I nearly choked when the landlord called ‘Time’. There was no drinking off time, at 10.30pm we and every other drinker in St. Helier were stood in the street. No where else to go ( that we knew of ) but back to the alcoholic landlady. I tried to inhale some of her breath but her fag was in the way. Two days on Jersey and one quick pint to show for it. From then on we booked hotels where the bar hours were more liberal. Its all changed now, I think Bergerac and his mates realised putting thousands of young men and girls out on to the street all at once wasn’t a good idea.