I was having my post-yoga swim in the pool at Kirkstall Leisure Centre this morning when a 10 year old dive bomber reminded me of Garston Baths and another lifetime. Nowadays, the swimmers like me are neatly cordoned off from school holiday mayhem and even that is 'health and safeteyed' into submission

In the 60s noone would have understood what a "leisure centre" was or going to a "pool" for a swim. Garston Baths was about a mile and a half from where me, Steve, Luke and Fizzy all lived at Aigburth. Outings to the Baths was a daytime escape for us from the age of 11 upwards. It's now been levelled and is being offered as a 'site for redevelopment'.

On a Saturday we would extract 2 shillings (10p) from our parents and catch the 82c bus down to Garston for an adventure. Garston was rough - still is. So it was with a mixture of excitement and trepidation that we entered the old victorian era baths with numerous nooks and crannies and changing cubicles, with wild west saloon style doors, running down the sides of the pool. No locks.

The noise was usually deafening and it was everyman (and woman) for themselves. Anarchy prevailed with only the occasional intervention by an attendant (who were usually the scariest people there) when an ambulance was needed or the smell of riot was in the air. There were two pools as I remember it and you could promenade between the two if you needed to chill away from the psychopaths.

Dive-bombing was de rigeur and I don't think it ever occurred to us to use this leisure opportunity for swimming. It was all so exciting and edgy for genteel Aigburth residents like us and we all emerged high as kites and starving.

Then it was decision time. An enormous and painful dilemma. Remember we'd started with 2 shillings.

Sixpence fare in each direction and a schilling to get into the Baths.
We had sixpence left, - just enough to get us home by bus.
We could either take the bus back home or, lulled by the siren smells of the chippy across the road and the prospect of Wooly's broken biscuits, blow the sixpence on food and walk it on our tired little legs.

Sixpence worth of chips usually won the day and I have no regrets. I've never tasted better or enjoyed better company.

OUR URBAN FOX

We have a fox's den at the bottom of our garden. It all started about 4 years ago when as we tumbled our way through getting dressed for work and having breakfast, we spotted a fox through the back window, patrolling around the sun lounger itself,as a couple of its young played on the lounger itself, totally chilled out and protected by Mum. As we gulped our teas with one eye on the clock along came a third, then a fourth, quickly followed by a fifth and sixth! It was the start of their relationship with each other, with their mother, and ours with them.
Sadly the six didn't last and in the days that followed they dwindled to three, before Mum sent them on their way, doubtless to find their own territory.
In the years since, each year we've had a little brood. Are we looking at more pups from the original Mum or her grandchildren. Who knows. Our part in the plan is to keep the ancient ancestral pile available. An honourable task.
They really ask no more of us and in return, there is the occasional spellbinding meeting as they saunter quietly and nonchalantly through the garden on the way to the woods across the road for a bite to eat. Don't ask. I just hope it's a grey squirrel and don't get me started on them. There are presently one adult and two kids in residence.
I was standing outside the garage one sunny morning about six weeks ago trying to make some sense of the confusion that is our garage, but also just enjoying the sunshine. Something made me look to my left and there was a fine-looking fox no more than 7 or 8 feet away from me, very cool, just watching me. I watched back.
There was such an air of calm and composure in the way it stood there. No nerves no darting glances to right or left, no threatening growls or frightened yelps. No indication of fright or flight about to take over. Just curiosity. We had a quiet unspoken exchange. Live and let live. And then, when the fox had had enough and remembered his main purpose today, as with every day, was to find enough food to survive, It moved on. Not at a pace or looking over his shoulder to see what I was doing, but with a quiet, unhurried dignity. Beautiful.
They don't push their luck. Not like those 'in your face' squirrels!
Meanwhile we leave them to their little wilderness at the back.

EDUCATION - A BROAD CHURCH WITH HIDDEN GEMS

We entertained on Saturday evening. We hadn't met our friend's female partner before but we're very interested to meet her as she started a 'Montessori' school about 25 years ago and it continues to thrive.
What is a 'Montessori' school, you may be thinking.

By coincidence, we had recently seen the french film, The Class, about the jungle and battleground that is secondary education in inner city french secondary schools. No different from many of our own. Defensive, unruly, demoralising, sullen environments in which no one is in control and there is a 'slow-burn war of attrition between teachers and a minority of disruptive kids where the few often manage to prevent the education of the many from reaching their potential. Brilliant film but with a dark message.

Montessori' is not a trademark or a brand, but a teaching method developed by the Italian physician and educator, Maria Montessori, who died in 1952. She believed that we should support children to explore and use thier inner natural guidance for self-directed development. The method can be applied to children from 2 years old up to 13 years of age.

We were intrigued and our guest, whom we will call 'Maria' without being preachy or sententious, fielded our questions impressively. The whole experience, it seems, of children in such a school is one where the child's true interests are focussed on and nurtured while the child remains interested in them and until the child wants to move on, not the teacher.

A recipe for disaster, you may think, but this is a school which has consistently been given top marks on inspection and whose children when moving on to secondary schools or higher education achieve high standards and are seen as well-rounded a extremely literate and confident young people.

This was a dinner party, not a press conference, and so we didn't linger too long on the topic but, having spent an evening with 'Maria' we were very impressed and both felt that we wanted to be whisked back 50 years in a time machine and implore our parents to get us into such a school. Simplistic? Possibly. However I have no doubt that there are many children for whom mainstream schooling is anathema and for whom this alternative would be a lifesaver, giving them a touchstone, some bedrock for their self esteem and confidence for the rest of their lives.

Our friend's school is clearly run on a modest budget but amazingly there are many volunteers, some of them professional people, giving expert help, support and guidance, for nothing, simply because of their belief in the project.

It was uplifting to hear such a hopeful message on a cold January evening as we extricate ourselves from another winter.

In our next lifetime, that's where we're heading!

INVESTMENT BANKERS - A SOLUTION

MY FIRST BLOG!
Retirement last October has set me thinking but without a real destination for those thoughts so here goes!
As we all stand, largely helpless, on the sidelines, listening with politely sullen resentment to the constant flow of news of million-pound bonuses for those who are already multi millionaires, what about this constructive solution to provide us with some quiet satisfaction.
It would also feel like some retribution for the havoc and misery that they have inflicted on all of us and their total lack of repentance.
OK. This is it.
Anyone who traded in sub-prime mortgages,credit default swaps, derivatives or any other 'mickey mouse' investment, prior to the credit crunch should be forced to do community service. It would require some fine-tuning, to reflect the individual's level of involvement but starting with a minimum of 50 hours and with a maximum of 500 although that's open to debate as some may think they are getting off too lightly! There could be an argument for making it 5000 for some.
The idea came to me about 5 weeks ago, when I spent a day volunteering with the British Trust for Conservation Volunteers (BTCV). BTCV carries out voluntary comunity-based work, mostly outside, with very little funding, and a handful of dedicated young staff.
They provide a venue for anyone who wants to volunteer. It's very informal for people like me. When I made my initial enquiries, they were very encouraging and helpful. Basically you just turn up.
About 12 of us spent the day coppicing willow at a nearby country park for use in creating 'Andy Galsworthy-style' bowers, shelters, mazes within the grounds of primary schools and elsewhere. On another day you could be doing dry stone walling or restoring a footpath.
Without invading anyone's privacy on such a short acquaintance, it was clear to me that the group was a diverse one, including some disadvantaged individuals and some with disabilities. The atmosphere was relaxed but also focused on getting the task done and everyone's interests were catered for. The group leader, and the volunteer officer under him (unpaid but full-time), both in their early 20's, had to assemble all the tools and equipment that was needed for the day's tasks, organise the loading of the minibus, get us to site, ensure everyone understood the health and safety issues, manage the relationship with the landowners, get the job done and get us back safely.
Despite limited resources, they did so with a lightness, commitment and joie de vivre that would put the average city trader to shame.
It was such a rewarding day's activity to be involved in
I wonder what this BTCV group could do with one, just one of those million-pound bonuses - or a tenth of it.
So it's community service with BTCV for the Canary Wharf mob - Or of course we could have the equivalent of carbon trading for the investment banking world. Say £ 20,000 for each hour of CS redeemed.
However I think they should do a minimum of 8 hours. It may change their lives to step out of the parallel universe in which they live - just for a day.
Until the next time.