Sunday, 27 November 2011

Letter from America, Part 2

It's now Sunday morning and I am writing this blog while I wait for Dad and Mum to get ready for church, they're the ones on the right, the guy on the left is Larry, one of the greeters at the church.
They attend Hollister First Presbyterian Church. Mum plays bells in the bell choir and dad writes a monthly column for the church's newsletter, not bad for 88 and 92 respectively. It is a warm, welcoming church, full of life and caring people, I thank God for the love and care shown to Dad and Mum during the years they have been members.

We had a quiet Thanksgiving, just the three of us, turkey, stuffing etc. I'd forgotten how much food gets consumed at Thanksgiving in the USA. Nob Hill grocery store had a two for one offering in pre-cooked 1/2 turkeys, plus mashed potatoes, stuffing and gravy, all for $10.00. I have enjoyed the endless football which started last Thursday and will continue through till tomorrow evening's Monday night football. The only disappointment was the 49ers lost their last game, still it looks like they will manage to be the division champions.

I pass this truck every morning on my way down to the doughnut shop, they do grow them big in the USA.
Talking of doughnuts, tomorrow will be my final day at the trough. The count so far is Days 11 - Doughnuts 16. So it looks like, even if I don't have any more, (fat chance) the Doughnuts have won the day.

Went over to Santa Cruz to spend a couple of days with Rich and Sandra, They have just moved out to California for work. The plan is for them to be here for two years. Rich's company asked him if he would like to work in the head office for a couple of years and Sandra's contract was ending, so they thought it was a good opportunity to see a bit of the world.

This is the famous Cameron's restaurant in Half Moon bay. Burgers beer and live music. The band playing the night we were there was not a Beatles band and they did not perform on the Ed Sullivan show, the band is called "Nigel and Clive" , never could figure out why the name. The band played lots of Beatles and 60's type of music, very well might I add.

Next day, Saturday, we went out for breakfast, can't remember the name, but the food was great. Across the road was this person, make up your own mind.

I leave Hollister tomorrow afternoon to go back to Santa Cruz. My sister is going to drive me to San Francisco airport for 05.30AM Tuesday, so I will stay with her and the family till it's time to drive to the airport.

Thursday, 24 November 2011

Letter from America

It's Thanksgiving in California today, tomorrow is Black Friday, more about that later. The reason for my presence here in California is my Mum. She had to go to hospital last week due to a mix-up in medication and I felt it was time to visit. I was supposed to fly out on the Tuesday morning at 0900 from Gatwick airport and you guessed it, no plane.

Delta's Boeing 767 was stuck in Atlanta, sick,  and another had to be found to replace it.

My flight eventually left three and a half hour late and after the standard one hour wait in immigration and customs I found I had missed my connecting flight, the second one of the day.

I went to the re-booking desk and explained to the nice lady behind the counter that the flight she was going to book me on would get me into San Francisco to late to get any connection to my Folks in Hollister. She said not to worry, they would put me on the first flight in the morning and to compensate they put me up in a 4star hotel. At least that's how it was described, shuttle, dinner and breakfast was included. It turned out to be OK, the bedroom was obviously a smoking room and the cleaners had sprayed the room with some kind of deodorant to kill the smell, making it worse.The flight to San Francisco was uneventful, especially because of my new Bose N/R headset.

 I took Bart north to San Bruno where I changed to the south-bound service to Milbrae and the transfer station for Caltrain. As  yet the link from San Francisco airport is not in full time service, although the tracks are in place and some maintenance trains use the tracks.

The Caltrain service starts at San Francisco and runs down the Penisula to San Jose with three times a day to and from Gilroy. Three north-bound trains in the early morning and three south-bound trains in the evening.

By the time I arrived in Hollister Mum was out of hospital and back home and ready to head off next evening to the bell practise at Church for the Sunday service.

I'm not getting used to the time-zone change, I usually fall asleep by eight in the evening and wake somewhere about three in the morning. I listen to KCBS on a tiny radio, tucked under my pillow so as not to wake anyone, till about five in the morning when I get up, dress and head down to the doughnut shop.

This is the morning selection I can choose from, if you look at my Facebook page you'll see my daily count, and my daily choices.

Sunday, 9 October 2011

Steam On

Had a wonderful weekend in Leeds celebrating Joyce and Malcolm's 50th wedding anniversary. We travelled up and back by train. As we were getting ready to depart from Leeds station two beautiful restored steam trains pulled into the station. It made me sit up and notice, I borrowed this picture from a scan on Google, I believe it was one of the two that I saw, thank you to whoever took this wonderful shot, sorry it didn't say on Google.
The reason for my excitement was twofold. It is always a joy for me to see working steam, for as a boy I spent many hours wandering round the Polmadie engine sheds in Glasgow, and the second is, for years I have dreamt of steam trains and railway lines and these dreams usually equate to my thoughts on where my career is going. On Sunday when I saw the two trains a startling thought charged through my mind,

'If you can Dream it, You can Do it.'

Sunday, 2 October 2011

Free choice.

When someone makes their "free choice" your "only choice", what will you do?

Friday, 30 September 2011


 Escape from Krasnoyarsk
Episode 2
The story so far. Tsarina, a free lance journalist, is in Kranoyarsk, a large Russian city in Siberia writing an article for Intourist and has got mixed up with a retired English army Major.

'It’s a long story—I’ll tell you later; first we need to escape.’
‘How are we going to get out? The door is locked, were on the first floor and there are eight of them downstairs.’
‘Relax,’ he said, ‘I’ve already thought of that. The window’s not locked, undo the catch and slide the window up.’
She did as instructed and looked out the window. They were on the first floor with a twelve foot drop to the ground below. The window opened on to a vista of white snow covered fields, edged by a thick forest of tall spruce trees.
‘We’re on the first floor with a twelve foot drop to the ground, now what do you propose?’ she asked Thornton.
‘Look it’s not that bad, climb out and hang by your hands, you’re a tall girl; you’ll only have to fall a few feet, the snow should break your fall.’
She was about to remonstrate with him about him calling her a girl, when the urgency of the situation took over.
She pushed the window as high as it would go then lifted her leg over the windowsill, ducked under the top sash and sat for a moment catching her breath. It had been years since she had played climbing games, though she quickly realised this was no game. Holding on to the top sash she lifted her other leg over the sill and adjusted her position till both legs hung over the edge. She wondered if she should just jump, the snow looked deep enough to break her fall, then just as quick changed her mind. She turned onto her stomach and carefully slid over the window ledge till she was hanging by her hands.
Pushing off with her hands as she let go and landed in a drift of snow, up to her waist, about two feet away from the wall. She stood up and waited for the bulk of Thornton to ease itself through the window and down on to the snow, he landed to the left of tsarina and gave a muffled cry.
‘What’s the matter, are you hurt?’ she asked.
‘’Not sure, landed badly, nothing broken, hopefully.’
‘Are you hurt badly?’ Tsarina asked as she saw Thornton limping as they worked their way around the building.
‘It’s nothing, just a scratch.’
‘But you’re bleeding; your trouser leg is wet with blood.’
‘Let’s get to the car; I’ll bandage it up there.’
They managed to get to the car unobserved and climbed in.
She glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw that Zhukovski and the others had come out and were standing huddled beside their cars, talking, unaware that their captives were fleeing.
She started the engine and eased the transmission into drive.
Zhukovski shouted something, ran to his BMW and jumped in to give chase.
She swore and stamped on the throttle. At Thornton’s direction she turned left through a side gate. The road sloped up and trailed into the forest. Glancing in the mirror, she saw no sign of Zhukovski.
The road then swung to the left and down into a stream. Sheets of icy muddy water flew as the car ploughed its way through and then bounced up the rutted track on the far side.
As they crested the hill she looked again in the mirror for Zhukovski and saw his headlights glowing orange in the falling snow. She missed a left-hand corner and the car ploughed straight into a snow bank. They burst through, bounced over a ditch, and then slithered sideways.
She turned to look at Thornton. ‘How are you feeling?’
He shook his head and grimaced. She glanced at his trouser leg and saw the blood was still oozing from his wound. He groaned, closed his eyes and fell back into his vodka-induced slumber.
The left rear wheel bounced off of a tree stump and spun the car violently to the right.
Turning into the skid and with a light touch on the accelerator, she motored gently out of the slide then accelerated.
The car shot out of the trees and leapt three feet down on to the track. The suspension bottomed, but quickly recovered and soon they were careering down a hill.
Zhukovski was nowhere in sight. With all the fresh snow on the road she wasn’t sure if he had passed her while she took the detour or whether he had given up the chase. Either way, she wasn’t going to hang around to find out.
She put the wipers on full and accelerated through the drifting snow. Halfway round the next bend she slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt.
They were standing line abreast, all eight of them, Kalashnikovs at the ready. She was back in the car park, that’s why Zhukovski had given up the chase so quickly.

What makes you tick.

1.       Normal is what we are used to, so if you are not used to what you hear or see you tend to reject it and stay where you are, not growing.
2.       Don’t be-little yourself. You are a unique creation; there is only one of you in existence, what an advantage.
3.       Believe in yourself; remember a long or short journey always starts with the first step.
4.       Be goal-oriented. See the end from the beginning; just fill in the bits in between as you go along, one step at a time.
5.       Don’t get bogged down by a problem, go around it and give the problem a swift kick in the arse as you go past.
6.       Don’t worry; worry is a negative emotion, it is destructive and non-productive. Remember worry never did a day’s work in its life.
7.       Have faith that what we see as an obstacle; can actually be an opportunity to learn and grow.
8.       The words we and others use against us can harm us, just as helpful constructive words can build us up.
9.       How do you start the day, dreading the start or looking forward to new opportunities that the day may bring?
10.   Your past is the fabric of who you are today; use it to your advantage.

Sunday, 11 September 2011

Thoughts on a special day.

And whenever you pray, if you are angry with anyone, forgive them, from your heart, that God the Father, who sees and knows all things and who also is the creator of all living beings, may forgive you your anger.
Anger, like fear and worry are negative emotions that debilitate the mind from thinking rationally, constructively and productively. We were not created to be destructive with our emotions; rather the message from day one of creation is that we are to build up, create and reproduce what God has started.
Your anger may not just be limited to being angry with others, you can be angry with yourself. For instance you may have some habit that you can’t overcome, or others around you may have an annoying habit that winds you up, or even simple things, like your spouse always forgetting something that they promised to do. Start now and forgive yourself your own failings, and see how your world changes. Never let the sun go down on your anger, bring the daylight of forgiveness into your life.
Being angry will not repair broken relationships, only the selfless act of forgiving the aggrieving party, regardless if they intended their act or not, can do that. For more information on forgiveness, see Luke 23v 34.  

Tuesday, 30 August 2011

Lovely day Sunday. I have been working long days, supposed to have retired last March, and had asked Nancy during the week what she would like to do on Sunday. She said a walk would be nice so I suggested that we walk to the De La Warr in Bexhill for a cup of tea, little realising just how far it was.

The weather was lovely, big fluffy white clouds floating in a sky of blue. So we set out along the marsh road, passing these lovely bovines. We stopped for a drink in Cooden then walked on to Bexhill and the De La Warr building for a lovely cream tea.

Since we had walked that far we decided to walk on to Hastings and get the train back home, 12.5 miles was enough walking for one day.

Friday, 26 August 2011


Just been working through some ideas for a new novel and thought I would share it with you, a section at at a time. Below is the beginning of the story, all be it in first draft mode. If I can get an additional 5 followers on my blog  I'll post the next section, hope you enjoy the adventure and please tell your friends.

Escape from Krasnoyarsk.

  Episode 1

Tsarina stepped out of her overfull bath, picked up the warm, fluffy bath towel from the towel radiator, wrapped it round her tall slender body, walked into the bedroom and stared at the window. It had finally stopped snowing. Grabbing her fur coat from the chair she dropped the towel and slid her arms into the ample bulk of her favourite coat and pulled it tight around her waist.
Stepping lightly over her clothes, where she had dropped them on the floor, she walked around the end of the bed to the window and flung it wide open as far as it would go.
            The stuffy warm air of her bedroom rushed out into the cold Siberian night. Leaning out of the window she filled her lungs with the pine scented air.
At this northerly latitude the sun set early and looking west she saw its red orb glimmering through the lingering clouds. Where the sun shone through, it turned their edges gold.
The storm had left a covering of snow on the spruce trees and blanketed the ground, obliterating the tracks of the evening travellers. Looking down to the hotel car park she saw the tops of the cars hadn’t escaped the onslaught of snow either.
She was glad to have rented the Mercedes 4x4, without it she wouldn’t have been able to get out into the countryside to do the interviews with the local businesses that her magazine had arranged; and now she was finished, articles typed double space, spell checked, emailed back to London and safely out of her hands.
Now what was she going to do with the next few days before she flew back to London and her dreary day job, if only the snow had been heavier and she could get snowed in, fat chance she thought.
Reluctantly she leaned back into the room and shut the windows, now sporting a fresh sheen of ice on the inside from the hot steamy air from the bathroom and got dressed for dinner.
Thankfully there was no formal dress code, so she pulled on her slacks and a thick polo necked woollen jumper, did her makeup, brushed out her long blond hair and went down to dinner.
 ‘Hello Tsarina, did you finish writing your travel article?’
‘Oh—good evening Major Thornton. Yes, I just emailed it to my editor in London.’
‘So now you’re free to do what you want?’
‘Not quite, I have to fly back on Sunday. I’m booked on an Air France flight Sunday morning.’
‘Well, that gives you tomorrow to do some sightseeing.’
‘After all the driving I’ve done this last week I doubt I’ll be driving very far, probably the only driving I will be doing will be to the airport Sunday morning and that will be that.’
‘Well how about a spot of dinner, that is if you haven’t already eaten?’
‘No, I was just going in to the dining room.’
‘Mind if I join you?’
She would have preferred to have eaten alone, she was well aware of travelling salesmen stories and Thornton fitted the bill exactly, even if he was Major Thornton.
‘No, not at all,’ she said reluctantly, ‘I do plan to turn in early this evening though.’
As the words were out of her mouth she realised what she’d said and quickly added, ‘I’ve my expenses to do and there’s a report I have to compile for Intourist, they’re who I work for in London and they’re sticklers for reports, typical bureaucrats.’
She was pleased to see the cloud of disappointment form on Thornton’s face.
‘Ready,’ she said, ‘I hear they do a superb venison steak.’
‘Sounds great, can’t speak a word of the lingo and just point at the menu, been drinking soup all week.’
Tsarina looked at his waistline and doubted he’d been drinking soup all week.
They walked into the almost empty dining room and stood waiting to be seated. The waiter placed them at a large table in front of a blazing log fire.
            ‘Should have eaten with you before, wouldn’t be so hungry,’ said Thornton laughing, ‘and it’s just plain John Thornton now—I retired a few years ago, just do a little private consultancy work now and again.’
            ‘Oh, I see.’
‘I expect you’ll be off home to your family on Sunday then?’ said Thornton.
‘You mean Pinkie and Perky.’
‘Pinkie and Perky?’
‘My cats—I live alone.’
‘Oh­—sorry, didn’t mean to intrude on your personal life.’
‘That’s OK; I’m resigned to the single life—I don’t mind anyone knowing.’
Mindful of her dinner date she kept to still water, while Thornton drank a whole bottle of Dom Perignon champagne with his dinner and finished with a large glass of expensive cognac.
They finished their dinner and walked out of the dining room, Tsarina to her bedroom and Thornton to the reception desk.
 ‘Tsarina,’ said Thornton stopping her halfway up the grand staircase, ‘I wonder if you would do me a favour, I realise you said you were going to turn in early, but I have missed my ride to the airport, reception says there are no taxis available and I have to catch a flight to Moscow, unfortunately there won’t be another flight till Monday.’
‘And you’d like me to give you a lift? No problem; I can always do my expenses and report when I get back, it’s only a twenty minute drive.’
‘Great—thanks! I’ll just get my case and meet you out front.’


Tsarina drove round from the car park and waited in her car at the front of the hotel, just as the snow started to fall again. She sat mesmerised watching the flakes slowly cover the car and windscreen
Thornton suddenly appeared with his case and climbed in beside her and said. ‘If the forecast is correct you won’t be using your car tomorrow.’
‘That’s OK—it’s got four-wheel drive, getting around shouldn’t be a problem.’
Thornton opened his briefcase and looked inside. ‘Damn.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I’ve left some very important papers in my customer’s office. I don’t suppose we could make a slight detour, could we? It’s almost on the way.’
‘Won’t they have gone home for the day?’
‘No, they always have someone who works late there, due to the time difference between here in Krasnoyarsk and London.’
 OK then, lead on McDuff
‘McDuff, my name’s Thornton.’ He said testily.
‘Never mind’ she said smiling to herself; ‘just give me directions as we drive.’
‘Stay on this road, I’ll tell you when to turn off.’
            They drove north, out of town till Thornton told her to turn off at the next driveway on the right.
‘Doesn’t look like anyone’s here,’ said Tsarina as they drove into the car park. A sign over the door read Zhukovski Limousines.
‘Turn round and park over by that gate, I’ll go in and see,’ said Thornton
Tsarina kept the engine running with the heater on full and stared through the windscreen at the falling snow.
She watched the flakes of snow drift to the ground and get blown sideways through the fencing that surrounded the car park. It didn’t take long for them to build little drifts against the tree trunks.
She could see Thornton in her rear-view mirror; he seemed to be having trouble opening the door. Finally, after a hefty shove the door opened and he went in.
He’d been gone about ten minutes when two black BMW 4x4s entered the car park and stopped outside the office. A passenger got out of one and went in to the office, Thornton’s customer contact she thought.
She turned back to watch the snow, it was falling very heavily now, completely obliterating their tracks.
‘Can I help you?’
She jumped as her door was opened by a mountain of a man.
‘Hey, close the door—it’s freezing outside. I’m waiting for someone.’
‘Come with me, you can wait inside.’
 He grabbed her arm, pulled her out of the car and half dragged her across the car park and into the office reception area. Seven faces turned to stare at her, all male— no sign of Thornton.
‘Found her sitting in her car Boss.’
‘Good work Yuri,’ said the tallest one among them
‘What were you doing?’ the tall one asked.
‘I was waiting for someone.’
‘A friend. Who are you?’
Tsarina looked at Zhukovski, he was dressed, head to foot in Savile Row’s finest. She could though, imagine him dressed head to foot in black leather, black fur hat, a Kalashnikov over his shoulder and a smoking pistol in his hand. He was never a chauffeur, she thought to herself.
‘What’s your friend’s name?’ Zhukovski persisted.
‘John Thornton. Is he here?’
‘He’s upstairs. He, err, had an accident.’
The others laughed.
‘Can I see him?’
‘Sure. He won’t make much sense though—he’s been given something to ease the pain.’
The brute that had dragged her from her car escorted her through one of the office doors and down a long, cold, dimly lit corridor and up a flight of stairs. Another short corridor, at the end of which he stopped at the last door, opened it and pushed her inside.
Thornton was lying on a settee groaning. He was holding a wet cloth to his forehead with one hand and a half-empty bottle of Stolichnaya vodka in the other.
Tsarina heard the door close and the lock click behind her.
‘Mr Thornton! What have they done to you? What’s going on? Who are these people, and why are we locked in?’
‘Hold on . . . give me a minute, my head feels like mush. I’m sorry I’ve got you involved, Tsarina. We must get out of here—they’re going to kill us.’

Tell your friends and get them to become followers. I will post the next part of the story as soon as five people have become followers.

Tuesday, 9 August 2011

Time to Pray

Last night I watched the news on the television and was shocked, horrified and stunned at the scenes from around my country, businesses being looted and others burnt to the ground, feral children running amok and laughing at the authorities.
Today I listened to a wide range of suggestions and solutions put forward on how to deal with the ever increasing lawlessness that abounds, from the army taking charge, water cannons and even rubber bullets. The trouble is not limited to this country, it extends from London all the way out to Afghanistan and down to the horn of Africa to mention a few.
Rabi Saul of Tarsis in his writings reminds us that we do not fight against flesh and blood, but against principalities and powers. The only way to bring true and lasting peace to this World that we live in is through prayer to the One that created it all in the first place.
So what can I or you do about it? I’m going to pray, the most powerful weapon in existence against evil, remember, as English philosopher Edmund Burke said, ‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil, is for good men to do nothing.’ 
What will you do?

Tuesday, 2 August 2011

Out into the fresh air.

For some time now I have been planning a long bike ride, so Friday, I went on to Map My Ride and worked out a suitable route from the house. The bike ride turned out to be 32 miles, Mostly flat along the coast road at the start, then some serious hills.
The start of the ride went past Pevensey Castle and then on across the marshes to the beach at Normans Bay. I started the ride at 0715 in the morning so the road was nice and quiet. After the ride along the sea front I was back on to the main road, the congested A259, very noisy after the beach road. I turned left at the first set of traffic lights and started the climb up Harvey Shute road to the roundabout, I did walk the first twenty meters. Here I turned left on to Crowhurst Road which becomes Queensway all the way up to the Ridge Way, the A2100. It was bottom gear and three miles an hour for the those three miles. At the top of the hill I turned left on to the A2100 and headed along the Ridge Way to Battle. This was the best part of the ride as it was either flat or slightly downhill all the way, I managed to get up to 38 MPH on parts of the stretch, I chickened out trying to ride faster. I cycled through Battle and took the A271, past Ashburnham place and on down the, bumpy in places, A271 to the junction of the A269. I turned right here and headed up the hill to Borham. Recovering from the climb up Borham Hill I was ready for the run to the junction with Wartling road and the downhill run to the flat marsh road and back to Pevensey. All together the ride took me just over two hours.
After the ride I baked some baguetts for sandwiches. I was exhausted for the rest of the day and went to bed early, what a luxury.
Sunday after church we picked the apples from the tree in the back garden then I spent the rest of the day coring and peeling them ready for freezing. We have so many apples that we have had to bring forward the purchase of an additional under counter freezer and I will probably be doing this till the end of the week, at least we will now have room for all the cherries we picked last month.

Wednesday, 6 July 2011

New web site for Alex Willis

I have just posted my new website, at least it's the Beta version. I will be working on it over the next couple of weeks. I have four new pages to add yet. The URL is

Sunday, 19 June 2011

Bread making, the traditional method.

Back to bread making this weekend. I am trying the Bertinet method, which I have been assured by his excellent book is the traditional way to bake real sour dough bread, so far it seams to be working, now to perfect the crust.
Spent the rest of Saturday working om my new web site, not making much headway, I will get back to it next weekend.
Spent Sunday morning at church, then on to daughter's to see grandson.
Sunday afternoon worked on my novel before going down to the allotment and doing some weeding In the fruit cage, surprised to find strawberries under the weeds, well they were growing quite high.

Saturday, 4 June 2011

Step by Step Guitar Making, GMC publishing ISBN 978 86108 696 9

As I have mentioned in an earlier blog, my ISP pulled down my Willis Guitar website yesterday, it was supposed to run until the end of July, sorry if you were going to be ordering a guitar through the website.
I have recently passed my 65th birthday and felt it would be a good point to retire from the hustle and bustle of both making and repairing musical instruments, especially since I am also holding down a part time job, five days a week. I will continue to make guitars and mandolins for my own pleasure and probably sell them on eBay.
I do have a couple of Brazilian Rosewood cutaway models available from stock, please get in touch to arrange to come and try before buying.
If you have questions about instrument making, repairs or my book Step by Step Guitar Making, either the first or the revised and expanded edition please contact me through my email address of "docguitar at". (address modified to beat the creeps that send out spam). I have a few copies of my book available if you would like an autographed copy at £15.00 plus P&P.
I am available to give talks on guitar making and would be happy to do masterclasses if there is enough interest. My guitar making course is fully booked at the moment, I will post information when the next class is giong to start.
As part of retiring I will now be concentrating on creative writing. I have just completed my first novel and am working through the non-ending revisions. As with guitar making I am available to give talks on my experiences in creative writing.

Ask not for whom time passes for it passes for me and thee.

This is an historic weekend, the first since our son Stephen got married to Veronica and we are  babysitting our lovely grandson William, eight months old and full of energy, trying to stand and walk unaided. Here he is with his Aunt Sandra at his Uncle Stephen's wedding.

First Post on the new blog

Welcome to the first post on this, my temporary blog page. I hope that over the next few weeks I will be refining the blog. If you have been looking for Willis Guitars, then I must apologise on behalf of my ISP, they've pulled my Willis Guitars website early, it was to expire next month. After the hassle I had with them charging me for a website I was going to let expire at the end of the contract, I have decided to just let it go and put them on a Strike2 status (that's a baseball reference, one more and they are out.) You can still get in touch with me through the link on this blog (Not yet working, in the mean time try "docguitar at", just replace "at" with @), I'll be happy to answer your guitar making/repair questions.

The new Mr and Mrs Willis, for both Mums and Dads, a very proud moment.

Stephen married the lovely Veronica last weekend at St Michael's mannor in Saint Albans. Fantasic organisation by the bride, her bridesmaids, Stephanie and Sandra, and who could forget the best man Rob Saman.