Tuesday, November 13, 2007 6:35 PM

"It's all go at Bart and Bounder HQ. The book is selling well, thanks to
some of the best set of reviews that our publisher has ever seen - see one
below just in from Ronnie Corbett. Everyone who reads the book loves it as a
totally unique view of all that is best in the English countryside, and
spread the good news by word of mouth. It crops up on all sorts of strange
web sites for dog lovers, fishermen etc. and we have been out and about
spreading the word ourselves.

Last Monday we were interviewed by 12 separate radio stations. One of them,
Judi Spiers on Radio Devon, even invented us our own jingle "We're just a
couple of swells..." The Bounder managed to slip in a line which compared
his Mother-in-Law to the "Beast of Bodmin" and nearly fell off his stool
laughing. Local bookshops have been wonderful, once they see the potential.
The Bounder has even put a few copies behind the bar in his local. This
echoes the time when he was very pecunious (almost always), made a tape of
"Eskimo Nell" and put it behind the bar along with a pint pot for the
takings. It kept him in supplies for a long time.

We are planning a "Bart and Bounder" tour to start in a week or so. We have
a fantastic PR lady, Anya Noakes, who did both our own TV pilot which got
nearly 3 million viewers and the "Hairy Bikers" as well. She keeps on coming
up with all sorts of wonderful ideas. More later.

In haste!

B&B

Thursday, 13 September, 2007

The first fish I ever caught was a roach. I was four years old at the time but can vividly remember the dipping of the porcupine quill float, the over-enthusiastic strike and the retrieving of the fish from the stinging nettles where it had flown over my head. Later I took it into the kitchen and insisted that it be cooked for my supper. It was disgusting but I proclaimed it nectar. When children begin fishing it is vital that they catch something otherwise boredom sets in. How they catch their fish is immaterial but catch it they must. Hugh, my 10 year old son, caught his first salmon, as he landed his first trout, on a worm. I was thrilled. He was nine years old and was being taught by the greatest fisherman in the West Country, Charlie Bettinson about whom there is an entire chapter in our book.
 
This year I took him to Peter Power's Rynda river in Russia's North Kola Peninsula to learn to catch salmon on a fly. He was already adept at Spey casting, having been taught on the Kennet at Hungerford. Teaching one's son to fish is rather like teaching one's wife to drive: It should definitely be done by someone else. At Rynda I handed Hugh over to Petya, one of the Russian guides, whose skill and patience is legendary. On the first day, although Hugh cast a good fly, he caught nothing and learnt that salmon do not come easily. The following day the first pool to be fished was Peter's Pocket, a small fast rush of water where many a salmon has been caught. One beginner lost his virginity there to a fish of 38lbs. It is not an easy pool and casting from the top rocks nothing happened and Hugh moved down to the next place where the river is just as fast but with less turbulence. Suddenly I saw the line go tight and Hugh was into a salmon. He then proceeded to play it appallingly with slack line everywhere, his rod pointing at the fish and me in despair. However, Petya calmly talked him through it and, after a great battle during which I had hysterics, he landed a beautiful 10lb cock salmon. I think that I was more excited than he was.
 
We moved down to the next pool, Birch trees, another small and fast pool. At the fourth cast the line went tight and a huge salmon leapt out of the water attached to Hugh's fly. "Oh God," I thought, "He'll never manage that!" How wrong I was. Hugh had learnt all Petya's lessons from his first fish and played this one magnificently. At last it came to the net and was weighed. It turned the scales at 20.5lbs. Many fishermen go through the whole of their salmon fishing lives without catching a fish of that size.
 
Talking of Charlie Bettinson, who helped Hugh catch his first salmon, I have sad news. His great friend, Roy Kneebone has died in an accident on his stretch of the river Tamar. Charlie took me fishing on Roy's beat many times and Roy himself always appeared, usually with an optimistic bottle of whisky to celebrate a fish. He was a kind and gentle man with a wonderful sense of humour and will be greatly missed in the West Country. I once took a lady angler to Roy's beat. Inevitably she caught her fly in one of the many overhanging trees. Just as I was about to break the nylon Roy appeared in his rusting car. "Never you mind, me handsome,." he shouted, "I'll soon have it down." Whereupon he produced a twelve bore shot gun, took careful aim, and blew the offending branch off. My condolences go out to his widow, Vera and his two sons.

-Bounder

Tuesday, 11 September, 2007 3:09 PM

"Treasure Hunting" Freddie and The Bart.

Last Spring, I contacted Michael Poynder, whose extraordinary skills in solstice alignment and dowsing are described in the Irish chapter of "Endangered Secies' (now only a month away from launch and available for pre-order everywhere, even in Japan!!), to confirm a couple of details. Michael, as always, was keen to help, but proved to have moved to France. "You must come down to Rennes-le-Chateau, where I am staying", he said. "I've found something extraordinary." The name struck a chord, then I remembered. This was the spot that had inspired the "Da Vinci Code" and "Holy Blood Holy Grail". Something about a poor priest called Sauniere, who had become a millionaire through finding the lost treasure of Rome, looted by the Visigoth king Alaric, when he sacked the city. Could this be what Michael had found, I wondered. What an adventure, if this was true! I dusted off my Harrison Ford hat and sent Freddie out to buy some strong boots. A week later, we were met at Carcasonne airport by Michael.

He was bubbling over with excitement. It was indeed the Visigoth treasure that he believed he had found after 4 years using his ancient skills to search the area, but the spot where his solstice lines crossed were located in a rough stretch of mountain, too difficult for his 75 year old body to climb - especially after a recent, nasty bout with cancer. Freddie and I duly obliged and spent several days scrambling up cliffs and rocks. We had almost given up, when we decided to try one last spot, almost impossible to reach, up a steep cliff and buried in a ravine. We thought we had drawn a blank there too, then Freddie spotted a hole behind some overhanging roots, and to our amazement, there was an obviously man made lintel and doorway, long disused, but leading to a tunnel which could be seen stretching away deep into the mountain.

We did a little exploring, took some pictures and left. Michael was ecstatic, fully believing our tunnel would lead to the lost cave and piles of treasure. Freddie and I were not so sure, but checked out the pictures with an expert, confirmed we had found something of real interest, then registered the claim with the French authorities as law proscribes. Hopefully, we will be allowed to explore further. Watch this space!"

Tuesday, 21 August, 2007 7:57 PM

Last week, my son, Freddie, and I spent some time with a family of Gypsies, who still travel all the year round, using two traditional, horse drawn “Vardo’s”  - one a beautiful museum piece over a hundred years old. Joe and Emily (who is the daughter of Sid, “The Deacon”, who makes a colourful appearance in the book) made us very welcome and we pitched our tent amongst the wagons. Late at night we sat around the campfire talking about the misconceptions outsiders have for the travellers. A typical belief is that campsites are always full of litter. Ours was spotless and the farmer who owned it called in later to say how pleased he was and that they could stay as long as they liked. As the evening got darker, first the children went to bed, then the women, leaving just us men to stare into the flames and put the world to rights. It is the gypsy way, just another example of the centuries old traditions that makes these people so special in a world obsessed with the latest fad.

On the way home we called at the site, which also appears in the book, to re-visit our friends there. There was some good news. Nathan, the 15-year-old boy who had been having such a tough time at school had moved to college. Here, in a world now filled with Eastern Europeans and other newcomers who treated him as an equal, he had astonished his teachers by coming out top in his classes. Soon he will join his brother Terry in the Grenadier Guards stationed in Iraq, who is proud enough of his heritage to use “Pikey” as his radio call sign.

Fred and I intend to spend more time with our friends and create a “Fly-on-the-wall” documentary about what being a Gypsy in 2007 is really like. I look forward to it immensely. 

-Richard

Saturday, 21 July, 2007 10:48 AM

Bart has been invited to go travelling with a family of real Romany Gypsies, and celebrate afterwards with an evening of music and dancing in England’s only Gypsy pub. Freddie is filming both events and the result will soon be shown on the web site. Prepare for an unforgettable experience, which will change your views about the Gypsy culture forever.

Wednesday 18 July, 2007 7:03 PM

Today is the launch of the B&B website