Family history

As you know, I'm doing quite a bit of research on the history of the Sheraton family: not just my branch of the family, but all of it (I imagine we're all related if you go far enough back, but of course it's difficult to get the evidence back in the 1700s and before).

Anyway, one particular branch of the family which I've inevstigated seems to have been quite wealthy, owning farms etc. They moved from Co Durham to Shropshire in about 1830, and had a house at St John's Hill, Ellesmere. Some of that branch went to Liverpool and became merchants. They then seem to have died out round about 1920.

The first thing which I found today is that there is a house called Sheraton House in St John's Hill, Ellesmere, and English Heritage have it on their books as a listed property. I'm sure it's the same house.

Then, amazingly, on looking for further information about the house, it turns out that it is currently for sale! £795,000 for a six-bedromed detached house, and it looks lovely in the pictures.

Of course, I don't have that sort of money to spare, but if I did, and if I was thinking of retiring to that part of the world, wouldn't it be wonderful to own a house called Sheraton House with a genuine family connection?

I can dream, anyway...

Stupid stupid stupid

I went to the gym the other week (that's not the stupid bit).

I felt a bit hungry, but I remembered that they had some sort of vending machine with sports drinks and snacks like cereal bars.

I thought I could manage a cereal bar, so put my money in the machine and pressed the buttons.

Unfortunately I must have pressed the wrong'uns, because what came out was something quite horrible.

It was from the makers of Lucozade, it aimed to provide energy, and it was a sort of gel, the basic content of which was glucose.

It came in a tube, and what you had to do was to cut the end off and sort of squeeze it into your mouth.

The taste was disgusting (just sweetness), the colour and consistency bland (think wallpaper paste) and overall it just provided calories to make you fat without any of the offsetting positives in terms of appearance, taste and feel of, say, a nice bar of chocolate.

Now here's the stupid bit: as I had spent good money on this rubbish, I consumed it.

No-one will ever read this (except me of course)

Just got back from holiday and back to work tomorrow: a pain, but it gets me out of the house.

Had to get the AA out to sort my car, as the battery had gone flat in our absence.

Next job is to replace the car, possibly with a Jag.

Memories (not the Lloyd Webber song)

I always travelled quite a bit on the Portsmouth to Waterloo line, at least between 1962 (when I first moved to Pompey) and 1988 (when I left for Bournemouth).

There's a part of the line a few miles from Waterloo where the line runs above the level of the surrounding land, so you can see into people's front rooms (if they live in a second floor flat).

At some time in that period, probably in the early seventies, and for I'd say a couple of years, it was possible to see from the railway line the top of a factory chimney (the base being out of sight) standing up above the level of the line. And incredibly (I swear I'm not making this up), sat right on top of the chimney was a wrecked sports car (I'd say a pink Triumph Spitfire, or something of that ilk).

Of course, I've never known how or why it got there, but I've always wondered.

Judy (not Collins)

In a similar vein I've recently been researching (and becoming a Facebook friend of) Judy Dyble (original Fairport Convention singer).

Not only is she still performing, it turns out she's related to my old boss Quentin de la Bedoyere...small world!

Buffy (not the Vampire Slayer)

Who should turn up being interviewed on the BBC World Service the other night but Buffy Ste Marie.

It seems she's still recording and touring.

Of course, the youngsters at work had never heard of her...

Fools (including me) on Facebook

As I've mentioned before, I'm keen on studying family history and, to this end, I've made a point of contacting as many people as I can who have the same surname as me (Sheraton, if you remember) and asking them to be my Facebook friend. The idea is that they may be able to give me useful information, and vice versa, and this has happened with quite a few of the Sheraton clan.

Anyway, responses fall into two main groups. Most (I'd say) just accept the request. A smaller number just ignore it.

But there's just one or two who take exception to my request.

"Who are you? I don't know you! Leave me alone!"-that sort of thing.

So for them I've created a Facebook group "I wouldn't be David Sheraton's Facebook friend if you paid me money".

Silly I know, but it amused me when I set it up (not under my own name, obviously).

The funny thing about it is that quite a few people have joined-most of whom I've never had any contact with (attempted or not) whatsoever.

Just goes to show there's quite a few people just as stupid as me out there.