Category: Thoughts

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Still a boy racer in my RX7

My early introduction to cars as seen in the previous article My early introduction to racing cars had and still has an influence on me. In Saudi Arabia I had a Nissan 280ZX sports car, not very good for carrying diving equipment and driving in the desert. I replaced that car with a Toyota Celica. Still a little sporty, but I could just about travel in the desert with it.

Phillip Holt Nissan 280ZX
My Nissan 280ZX in Saudi Arabia.

It was my intention, my dream whilst working in Saudi Arabia to own a Mazda RX7. I wanted to drive the car from Jeddah, all the way back to the UK. That was not to happen.

But, syncronicity, the first garage I went to on my return to the UK looking for a car after years of working in the Middle East, was a Mazda dealer, and they were selling their managing directors wifes RX7 car, she had owned for six months and hardly ever used.

The car is still mine, all mine.

I have not used it, and it has not moved for nearly five years, as I have a Mercedes to carry all my sound equipment about in, but today I got the RX7 back on the road, taken it to a local garage for a full service, in the hope that I can drive it once again.

Phillip Holt Rotary engine Mazda RX7
Phillips’ Rotary engine Mazda RX7

Mazda introduced the RX7 in 1978, although my car was first registered in 1988. It has a twin rotor rotary engine, also known as a Wankel rotary which it had licensed from NSU-Wankel, rather than having the conventional piston engine.

The rotary Wankel engine, with few moving parts, is quite and smooth, so smooth that Mazda had to put a buzzer alarm in case drivers over-reved above 7000 rpm. But it is very costly in petrol, only achieving some 18 miles per gallon. *

Very few RX7‘s, styled on the Porsche 944 but looking more like the Porsche 928, were produced, and have since been replaced by the RX8, still with the rotary engine.

* 1 mile per gallon = 0.425143707 kilometers per litter

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My early introduction to racing cars

In my previous article, Brooklands, my first visit I wrote about my fathers’ Riley pre-select geared car, and I remembered some old photographs, and I still am a boy racer.

Phillip Holt Riley Car
Phillip on holiday and the Riley Car

Phillip Holt in the divers seat of Riley Car

Phillip in the divers seat of the riley with mother standing

Phillip's Racing Peddle Car
Phillip’s Racing Peddle Car
Phillip Holt in his peddle racing car, plus family. Kath, my father, Grand Father, Grand Mother and Uncle Fred
Phillip Holt in his peddle racing car, plus family.
Kath, my father, Grand Father, Grand Mother and Uncle Fred

The all metal racing car was the real thing to me, modeled on the racing cars of the era.

I loved that car, and still raced it around as I got older, even when I got too big to sit in the seat. I would sit on the back so that I could get my feet onto the peddles, but the center of gravity shifting back, way past the rear wheels, meaning I often found the nose of the car facing up to the sky, and me on the floor.

Great days.

Oh for those who did not believe me, see, I did have curly hair.

See I am still a boy racer article.

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Local history

Whilst researching information about the British World War 2 (WWII) fighter aircraft, the Supermarine Spitfire, I became aware that there was little information about the other fighter plane of that time the Hawker Hurricane. It seems that the Spitfire has all the limelight.

I needed to find information about the Spitfire initially, so I purchased and read books, and I visited the old RAF base, now The Imperial War Museum, RAF Duxford, to get a feel of one of the airfields the Hurricane flew from, to see an actual aircraft, to make contact with history.

Even at RAF Duxford, I had the impression that the Spitfire was the number one aircraft of its’ era. Why was the Hurricane in the shadows?

The appetite for facts started to eat at me, so I sought to follow a trail which was virtually non existent. Not much has been written about the Hurricane.

I visited RAF Hendon, the RAF Museum in North London. A free to enter museum, offering the visitor a close-up view of many aircraft flown throughout the history of the RAF, plus the Battle of Britain Exhibition, including aircraft of that time.

I can also recommend the restaurant at RAF Hendon, friendly staff and great food at reasonable prices.

    
            RAF Hendon Wings restaurant                                Good British food, Cotage Pie with Roast Veg.

I had been aware of the importance of the area I now live in, Kingston upon Thames, and the surrounding areas, in the development of aircraft and especially the Hurricane, but now as I delved deeper, more information emerged.

I had read how Hurricanes were built in Kingston and then shipped to a near-by airfield Brooklands, to be assembled, tested and distributed.

Brooklands was the worlds first purpose built motor racing track, plus airfield, now the home of the Brooklands Museum and Mercedes World, and only eight miles (5 km) from Kingston.

A visit was called for, and not for the first time, but this time I had a purpose.

    
The steep curve of Brooklands race track, all that is left of the worlds first purpose built motor racing track.

Brooklands, once the home of motor racing, has now only has a small concrete portion of the banked section of the race track remaining, and a small corner of the original site. This area holds a wonderful collect of history, of old cars, racing cars from the early days, motorbikes, bicycles, original buildings and workshops still in pristine condition, it is as if the mechanics had just popped out to lunch, and within minutes racing would commence upon their return. Then the aircraft museum, including Concorde, all staffed by volunteers, eager to impart information to the visitors.


Brooklands Concorde one of the many static aircraft.

The airfield runway has in the last few years, been ripped up and replaced by a car testing area, showrooms and offices for Mercedes World, pushing the Brooklands exhibits into the cramped area.

I wondered how many people know about what really had happened on this site only a few years previously. Just like the bloom of the cactus, memories of glory and history never fade away, but may be unknown to people who just pass-by.


The death of a beautiful cactus bloom (2c previous)

What was the history of the place. How was Brooklands linked to Kingston, and what happened there?

With the high turn-over of the population of Kingston, especially the influx of foreign nationals, Polish, Koreans, Chinese, Indians, the  students from the growing and popular Kingston University, and the ever increasing new housing, how many know about the history of the area they lived in?

I knew some history, but I needed to know more. Just like the research I did on Norbiton Hall, (click to read), the flats I live in, I will give some history for those interested.

See articles starting with Portrait of a Legend, Spitfire, The Hawker Hurricane.

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The End, All we have are memories.

It is all over. Finished.

After a period of happiness, beauty, things change so quickly.

I shall miss what was, but the memory will be here for me to remember. I will return many times to recall what was.

This afternoon the first bloom closed as quickly as it opened. Yes Jill, in your comment you said things are happening in two’s, and so the bloom lasted two days.

Could it be that I was the cause of death of the bloom, because I pollinated by hand the two blooms? Once the stamen had received the pollen, there was no need for the flower to attract bugs or insects, the aroma and flower had done their job.



The End. The cactus bloom dies.

As I watch, the second bloom is closing, dying off.

Walking down the shopping center of any town center in any country of the world, shops close down, disappear. 

Listening to our favourite CD music come to an end, the last track, as it surely will.

The film finishes.

We read the last word of the last chapter of a good book.

So everything will come to an end.

Just like the cactus blooms, the beauty, the memories will last with us forever.

See It arrived, sorry opened, Just like a bus, Little pieces of beauty and Another bloom coming.

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Just like a bus

We have a saying in Great Britain,
    

“You wait hours for a bus and then two come at once.“

Oh how true this seems to be, and there is a science which will prove it is true.

One answer as to why two buses come at once is not due to the fact that both buses left the start point or depot together, it is due to us, the passengers.

We do not space our travel time out, in other words, we all want to catch a bus at the same time.

What happens is that the first bus stops on-route at each and every busy bus stop.

Passengers will need to buy a ticket (pay for the fare), and there may be a mother with a pushchair, an old age pensioner, someone asking the driver a question. This delays the bus at the each stop.

Everyone gets on, no-one is left behind, the bus stop is empty.

The bus may be delayed at each bus stop for an extra minute or two.

The following bus leaves the start point or depot, and arrives at the first bus stop, no-one is there because the first bus has picked-up all the passengers. The bus arrives at the second bus stop, again there is no-one to pick up, and no-one to drop off, unlike the first bus, which is picking up and dropping off.

Therefore, the second bus does not stop gaining many minutes on the timetable, catching up on the first bus.

The first bus is packed to the gunnel’s, whilst the second bus is empty, and the bus diver thinking “it must be August, everyone has gone on holiday“, or “no-body loves me”.

And so it is with the cactus on the window ledge.

All year the cactus plants just sat there, slowly growing, well I think they do, then they flower. See the previous articles, Little pieces of beauty and Another bloom coming.

For a couple of days another cactus plant has been growing two stems from its’ bulbous body. Then yesterday, the tip began to open.

Within an hour the picture changed as the flower opened up, emitting quite to me a pungent smell, but to others a quite good perfume.


Cactus possibly Echinocactus grusonii

Perhaps the bloom will only last for a few hours or days, but the joy, the beauty it brings should be savoured, and held in the memory, to be remembered when times get hard.

I am still waiting for the second bloom to open. Perhaps it is not like a bus, I had to wait so far two days.

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The 2008 Beijing Olympics

At the moment we have the 2008 Beijing Olympics taking place.


Beijing 2008 Olympics Logo

It is a time when politics, religion, beliefs, cultures are put to one side, and that we get together in the name of sport to compete with each other on an even footing, the same field, and in friendship.
It reminds me of the film Cool Runnings staring John Candy. It is a story, based on fact (nearly), about some Jamaican sprinters, who get together to form a bobsled team. They had never seen snow before, nor been in a cold climate. A very funny film, but one that gave the spirit of the Olympics, to compete, to do ones best.

Eddie the Eagle, a British ski jumper, the only ski jumper from Great Britain. Eddie’s real name Michael Edwards decided he wanted to become an Olympian, and entered to represent his country, to compete in the Winter Olympics in Calgary in 1988.

Two years earlier he started to learn to ski, and with borrowed skis, no sponsor, Eddie the Eagle with no trainer, and no snow, learned to ski jump, mostly over buses.

                      Eddie the Eagle

His glasses were thick, bespectacled like bottle tops, he was getting thin on top, loosing his hair, a non sports man, over weight, and as was said to be a buffoon. Yet Eddie captured the hearts of the British nation and the world. He became a celebrity, a hero, an ordinary man wanting to represent his country.

The IOC said Eddie the Eagle was a comedian and made a mockery of the Games. Fellow competitors said that he was making a joke of their sport. But he became the center of attention, people tuned in from all over the world to see Eddie fly. He did not kill himself. He did not win, in fact he came 98th out of 98 competitors. But he competed.

In the Sydney Olympics 2000, Eric Moussambani, a swimmer from the central African nation of Equatorial Guinea, entered the 100 meters race.

                  Eric Moussambani

Eric Moussambani became known as Eric the Eel, and, he won,and he captured the hearts of the world.

He had only learned to swim nine months earlier, never having swam in a 50 meter pool. He was twice as slow as any other competitor in the competition. In his heat, the two other competitors were disqualified for false starts, so he swam alone, being cheered on by the crowds.

In the same Olympics, a fellow compatriot Paula Barila Bolopa, to become known as Paula the Crawler competed in the women’s 50 metres freestyle, and recorded the slowest time ever recorded for the event. In an interview after the race she said, “It’s the first time I’ve swum 50 metres. It was further than I thought. I was very tired.”

                  Paula Barila Bolopa

Philip Kimely Boit, entered the 1998 Winter Olympics in Nagano, Japan. Boit was from Kenya, a middle distance runner, and with no previous experience, and no snow in Kenya, entered the 10-kilometer classic ski race. He came 92nd out of 92 competitors, and was so slow, the medal ceremony was delayed for him to finish. 

                  Philip Kimely Boit

These competitors show the true meanings of the Olympics, to compete, to do ones best, be courageous, not to cheat.

I thought that the Olympics were an amateur sport, for non professionals. But then there are the David Beckham’s (football), the Roger Federer’s (tennis), why are these competing?. Should the Olympics be for the ordinary athletes? The stars mentioned above.

Then I read about the background of the athletes, and they are true professionals. They earn their living by the sports. They work from 9 – 5 as any factory or office worker, practicing, exercising, and they have a whole industry behind them, doctors, psychologists, physiotherapists, trainers, agents.

It is because they are becoming professionals that records are being broken, they are winning, sport is a money making machine.

Pity really.

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Thoughts Travels

Where has my school gone?

I was searching around or surfing the internet and came across an old favourite Google Earth. (click to download).

Google Earth maps the earth with images obtained from satellites, aerial imagery and what is known as geographic information system (GIS), or 3D images. You are presented with the Earth as a globe, and zoom into a particular place, seeing detailed pictures as if flying overhead like a bird.

I looked at my own home at the moment in Norbiton Hall, Kingston upon Thames, my home in Bukit Mertajam, Malaysia, then my old family home along Spring Hill, Chasetown, where my mother and father raised me.


 
Norbiton Hall, Kingston upon Thames, UK.                      Desa Palma, Alma, Bukit Mertajam, Malaysia

 
68 Springhill, Chasetown, UK

Memories came flooding back. The drive, the back garden with my own little patch which I cultivated, not very well, as it was out of sight behind the garage with a tree that continually produced shoots from under the soil making it impossible to grow anything.

Then there was the back shed where I would play and hide if my mother called me, and I knew I had done something wrong from the tone of her voice.

I wondered up and down the street, “Oh that’s the Bentons’ house.” “There’s were the Ormrods’ lived.” “My friends house, the Pascoe twins, David and Roger.”

Then I looked down at where my old school had been, Chase Terrace Secondary Modern. It was a long, single storey building, I think having been designed by an architect who had just played with the ink blob test.

Place some ink in the middle of a piece of paper, fold the paper in half, pressing the ink. When the paper is opened, the ink image may look like a butterfly, the image is identical on the two halves.

So it was with Chase Terrace Secondary Modern School. The two halves were identical, joined in the middle by the two assembly halls and the kitchens, then one by one the class rooms, ending with the out-buildings the toilet blocks.

In my early days at the school, one half was for boys and the other was for girls, and neither were allowed to meet. The boys started at a different time to the girls, had different play (break) and lunch times. It was only in my last year that the two schools amalgamated into a co-educational system.

Looking down at Google Earth, my old school had gone.

My toilet blocks had gone. I was “Bog Prefect” in my last year, looking after the toilets, and they had gone.

The school field was half its’ size, it now had buildings on it, and the long school building was a square structure.



Chase Terrace School, with a car park on the right where my toilet block was.

Oh Poo Poo, no bogs anymore.

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Thoughts Travels

Londons Wetlands Center

This visit to Wetlands Center London held its’ surprises till last.

Around the 43 hectare site are designated walks, with places of interest described well and plenty of chance to interact with the displays. Children were really enjoying themselves, probably seeing for the first time, insects and bugs living in water, frogs wallowing in the small pools.

At strategic places are hides overlooking the lakes, which enable birdwatchers, or as they are called twitchers, to observe wildfowl at leisure, with their binoculars and cameras with expensive high powered lenses.



A three story hide at London’s’ Wetlands Center

Enthusiasts dressed in their hiking boots, outdoor apparel and clothing, mixed with young children in their summer frocks and shorts flip-flops.

Away from the wild natural areas are small enclosures which house collects of different breeds of wildfowl.


 

Wonderful ducks at the Wettland Center, I did not get the breed

 
Eider duck

 
Wetlands Center Duck

 
White-Headed Duck

 
Whistling White-Headed Duck

 
Swan from South America

 
Ringed Teal

 
Black-necked Swan

 
Black Swan from Australia 

Great day out. But I did catch a bus back rather than walk.

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Thoughts Travels

Wetlands Center London

The London Wetlands Center, see previous article (click here), promised some wonderful sights of wild birds, rare and beautiful wildlife including Bitterns, Kingfishers and a colony of endangered Water Voles.

It is a great place to visit, and there are lots of birds to see, but they are a little scarce or low in numbers.

When you consider the numbers of swans in Kingston on the River Thames (CLICK TO SEE PICTURE), compared with one or two swans swimming in the lake or, with a signet resting in the grass with one of its’ parents in the Wetlands Center it, is a little disappointing.


Swans on the River Thames, Kingston upon Thames  A signet with its' swan mother at Wetlands, London
Swans on the River Thames at Kingston                           A signet with its’ swan mother at Wetlands

I did catch sight of an endangered Water Vole, and a couple of its’ young, but they are shy animals and difficult to photograph. Still I saw more than most people, as they just walked straight passed the area where the Water Voles were.


An endangered Water Vole at London’s Wetlands Center.

I had to smile at the small young birds following mother, or just floating there, not worried if I was watching them or not.

Young duckings with mother at Wetlands, London
Young ducklings with mother at Wetlands, London

White-headed duckling at the Wetlands Center, London
White-headed duckling at the Wetlands Center, London


Part of the London Wetlands Center, is devoted to as I call them “other makes” of wildfowl, and I found the experience of observing and learning about the birds, relaxing and absorbing.

Some of the pictures I will show in Londons Wetlands Center next.

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Thoughts Travels

Globe trotter, jet setter.

Globe trotter. Jet setter. Lucky.

Names I have been called for the type of work I do.

Yes I travel a lot with my work as an International Trainer. China, Malaysia, Sri Lanka, India, Bahrain, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, Italy etc. Then there are the holiday trips, Peru, Ecuador, the Galapagos Island, Iceland, Thailand, Spain, Bali.

Yester-year, travel or air fares were cheap, but with governments putting taxes on travelers and the cost of fuel, it is getting more and more expensive.

The major national carrier airlines, British Airlines, Alitalia, Turkish Airlines, Malaysian Airlines, Gulf Air, are cutting corners in trying to save money, and in the light of increased competition from start-up airlines and the low cost cheap carriers like Asia Air, EasyJet, Ryann Air, Onur Air, offering less and less.

Often, as you start looking for prices to get from A to B and back to A again, the low cost airlines seem to be cheaper. But, it is the hidden add-ons, to pay for a snack and a drink, to pay to put a suitcase or luggage in the aircraft hold, the cost of getting to an airfield, the taxes, that the true cost is revealed, and there is not so much difference in pricing.

For me, I live about twenty minutes from Heathrow, and by taxi, I would pay about £30 (Pounds Stirling). Luton Airport where most of EasyJet flight depart will take perhaps one hour thirty minutes by taxi at a cost of £80 (pounds Stirling). Stansted Airport where most of Ryann Air depart from is a good two hours away, and about £110 (Pounds Stirling) by taxi.

Then where do they land at the destination. Add that cost into the equation, and the scheduled, national carriers are often cheaper.

My trip to Verona (see article) required me to firstly go to Bergamo to work with and visit my colleague Alessio Roberti recovering from a knee operation.

There is an airport, Orio, which is 10 minutes away, but to fly to it would mean a 5:30am departure from Luton Airport. How would I get there. Too expensive for a taxi, no public transport at that time of the night, and I cannot drive and leave the car there, as I will not return to Luton Airport but Gatwick, the other side of London.

The best way to get to Italy was to fly from Heathrow’s Terminal 5 at 11:00am with British Airways, BA576.

A quick bus ride for £2 (Pound Stirling) to Heathrow, and a short underground/tube/metro ride to the new Terminal 5, my first visit. I left the tube station via the escalator for Departures. All well to the next floor level up with lots of signs for Arrivals, but once there, no signs for Departures located on the next floor (top floor). I could not find or see an escalator to take me up there, and I was not the only one. The only way I could get there was to take a lift down to the tube station and then a lift back up to departures. I was confused.

The flight to Italy, would take me to Milan’s Malpensa airport, an hours bus ride into the center of Milan. From the center of Milan there would be another bus ride to Bergamo where I would be picked up, another hours ride.

After visiting Alessio and his lovely family, I had to get to Verona, This involved a train journey from a small station called Traviolo, again about an hour. Riding the Italian railways is an experience, good clean trains, but the stations seem to only have name sign, so depending were you are seated, you either know where you are or not. Catching the 9pm train meant that there was no way I would see the sign of Verona anyway. The only way was to hope the train would be on time, and I knew the expected arrival time, so get off then. Trouble was the train stopped outside Verona station.

My flight back from Verona was BA2599 at 10 pm, it would mean an arrival at Gatwick at 11 pm, enough time for me to get across from arrivals to the train station, catch a train towards London, change at Clapham Junction for the local train back to Kingston upon Thames, the last train being 1am.  

Having been dropped off at the airport early by Raffaele Tovazzi at the airport, I had three hours to wait for my flight. Well that will be enough time for a meal at the restaurant, not quite up to the usual high standard and quality food of Italy, but I can sit and relax. I sit eating some sort of meat and my eye caught the departure screen, my flight BA2599 delayed 45 minutes.

Oh Poo Poo, not good. Not only that but a plane load of tourists had their flight delayed and were given vouchers for a meal in the restaurant, meaning I would have to leave.

I went outside and sat in the car park and watched the sunset, tired, fed-up and concerned if BA would actually get me home.



Sunset at Verona Airport

Eventually the flight left Verona at 23:00. Oh Poo Poo, would I catch a train?

I raced through the terminal upon arrival, purchased a train ticket, and then asked when the next train to London was.

Big Oh Poo Poo, it had gone, the next one would be one and a half hours later, and I would not get a train back to Kingston. Idiot, why didn’t I ask first before buying the ticket?

Nothing for it, order a taxi. £45 (Pound Stirling), and back home at 2:30 am.

Globe trotter, jet setter. Forget it. Stay at home.