Writing this in the glorious luxury of the economy-class cabin of Royal Air Maroc, having just finished the delicious in-flight meal. All around me the happy passengers are dozing quietly, snoring gently, or hawking and spitting into the airsick bags.
I am feeling somewhat jaded after eight days on the move, without spending two nights in the same hotel – irritatingly leaving a rather fine pair of trousers that I’ve become rather fond of somewhere along the way.
It all started last Monday in Geneva where we had been invited to make a presentation to the UNHCR. That is a big deal. The livestock strategy paper we’d been asked to produce for Chad has been somewhat stalled (could it be the three million pounds we reckoned it might cost?), so it was really exciting to get a chance to shake them all up a bit. Simon (our communications guy) and I had done a bit of work on a bi-lingual presentation and a bit of film (culled from our appearance on Channel 4 News and the BBC – but don’t tell them), and it looked pretty good. We got a pretty good reception too. We've always tended to find in our dealings with the powers that be that amazingly, (and from with people who’ve got more doctorates and degrees between them than Tony Blair’s had free holidays), they rarely twig that nomads and poor farmers in Africa depend on animals. Perhaps we’ve begun to lift the veil from their eyes.
Then I went on to Marrakech that night by Air France via Paris. Big Mistake.
France was on strike. And not helped by them being whupped by Italy in the football while I was trying to get from Charles de Gaulle airport across Paris to Orly.
Royal Air Maroc cancelled a couple of flights, and I finally crawled into bed in Marrakech at two-thirty the following morning.
Then we had an inspection tour of our various clinics and projects with a couple of trustees, before winding up in Tangiers, the other end of the country, on Saturday.
I must have driven at least a thousand miles in the three days, dodging the police speed traps wherever possible, or trying to schmooze out of trouble when caught.
It normally works – ‘Oh officer, was I really doing a hundred and fifty in an eighty zone ? Surely not ? And your country is so lovely – what a silly stupid little visitor to your lovely country I’ve been’.
‘Well, yes you were. But don’t you ever be so naughty again –now off you go’
Though I did come unstuck once.
Several years ago I was stopped coming out of Ben Guerir on the way down to Marrakech, doing some amazing amount above the speed limit.
One of Morocco’s finest invited me to step out of the car and requested my driving licence.
‘Your middle name is Ferguson I see’
‘Yes’ I replied.
‘That’s interesting’ he went on,’ I once had a Ferguson television’.
‘Yesss !’ I thought to myself, ‘That should do it’.
‘That was my uncle,’ I replied, ’he made televisions’.
‘Great!’ he grinned at me. ‘Revenge at last. You’re fined five hundred dirhams – the bloody thing never did work properly’.
So in Tangier yesterday we had our annual ‘out-of-this-world-experience’, when the original It-Girl, Annie Lambton, organises a cocktail party cum fundraiser on the roof of her house in the middle of a sumptuous garden. Tangier is famous of course for its, er, ’colourful’ people, and they come along in force for drinkies, and don’t seem to mind too much having their cash forcibly extracted from them.
Jeremy Hulme
Tuesday, 24 June 2008
Thursday, 22 May 2008
CHELSEA FLOWER SHOW 2008 - Day 4
Helen Yemm has done wonders for us with her article in the Telegraph about SPANA and gardens and Marrakech. It was first printed on Monday. And now again today. Can’t ask for better PR than that!
But from the comments from passers-by, we were hoping for big things from the BBC website ‘Vote for your favourite Garden’ competition.
Now we hear they’ve abandoned it (for technical reasons) and are going to decide the winner themselves.
Well, there’s a surprise. Touch of the Blue Peters?
Still, it’s lovely and warm, and there are still thousands of people pouring past our little SPANA garden…….
Jeremy Hulme
Wednesday, 21 May 2008
CHELSEA FLOWER SHOW 2008 - Day 3
Don’t know whether I’m actually going to survive this. Last three days, from 6.30 in the morning ‘til eight or nine o’clock at night. But we’re getting some wonderful publicity and a chance to recruit hundreds of new members.
We were even invited to have lunch with The Great and The Good of the RHS – so perhaps they’re not too cross with us after all.
First bit of warm sunshine as well, which makes all the herbs in the garden – thyme, rosemary, lavender and mint - give off great wafts of intoxicating perfume.
Everybody says it reminds them of their holidays!
We can hardly keep up with the demand for our bags and leaflets – lovely coming home this evening watching a stream of SPANA bags heading for the Tube.
Jeremy Hulme
Tuesday, 20 May 2008
CHELSEA FLOWER SHOW 2008 - Day 2
Hurrah hurrah.
Breathless runners have just arrived from RHS headquarters - we’ve won a silver medal!!! Not bad for a bunch of amateurs like us! (OK,OK, so we did have a teeny-weeny bit of help from one or two people – Chris O’Donoghue, Helen Yemm and others too numerous to mention). Tee-hee, it’s jolly nice hearing about all the bruised egos in the mega-gardening world who haven’t won anything. We’re feeling rather smug.
It was also great when the Royal Party – out in force – arrived yesterday evening. Of course they all wanted to know why Emma was not there. The Queen also enjoyed the story of her magnificent horses falling madly in love with a humble donkey.
The crowds are just fantastic, thousands and thousands streaming past, all congratulating us and asking about SPANA – the whole point of the exercise after all - and to see thousands of our SPANA bags being carried around is just great.
Jeremy Hulme
Monday, 19 May 2008
CHELSEA FLOWER SHOW 2008 - Day 1
Ye Gods, can it only be Monday? Knackered already and it hasn’t started yet.
We spent all last week frantically building, painting and tiling. I must have done two days on my hands and knees laying tiles and then grouting them – without getting any spots of cement or dirt on them. Tiles now OK, knees need replacement.
The plants came on Thursday – including an olive tree we’re hiring just for the week.
I must say it looks pretty good – the fountain from Marrakech despite weighing half a ton made it safely, and is even working – a miracle!
Last night we arrived at Knightsbridge barracks with Emma, our little donkey from our Trustee, Carl Boyd’s farm in Chertsey.
The Blues and Royals had arranged a nice comfy stall for her, but we had reckoned without the hormones in the troop horses. They all fell immediately head over heels in love with her. Silver Stick (the Grand Fromage of the Household Cavalry), and the Commanding Officer both had their huge chargers (17 hands or I’m a Dutchman), stabled just across the corridor. They became completely besotted with Emma, who just played hard to get. These great big softies spent the whole night stomping up and down, yelling and calling out to all and sundry. Nobody got any sleep, except Emma. Or did she? We will never know!
Next morning, she inspected the Queen’s Guard mounting in the Barracks Forecourt, before riding out to Whitehall. Great pictures – especially one with a trooper on a huge black mount who is looking down with horror and amazement at this strange looking thing standing beside him. Of course there were lots of cracks from the boys about Gordon Brown’s defence cuts, and the new cavalry mounts etc etc.
Now it’s Monday afternoon, freezing cold – the judges have been and gone – Clare Balding (very nice, very complementary about SPANA) and the BBC also.
Sadly, it was decided that Emma had not got security clearance, so would have to go, before HRH and the Royal Party arrive.
Jeremy Hulme
