RAIN AFTER THE SUNSHINE...don't you mean 'sunshine after the rain?'

Got back from seeing my Dad in the Midlands on a blistering hot Sunday afternoon so decided to walk from London's Marylebone Station to Shepherds Bush to see Jimmy Buffet. Only found out about the gig by accident and have always wanted to see him. He rarely tours the UK and so far as I could see this was his only date. Getting a bit footsore by the time the theatre hove into view and revealed an amazing sight: A huge queue of people dressed in Hawaiian shirts. Clutching inflatable parrots, sharks and beach balls. Women wore hula skirts and there were a lot of straw hats in evidence as well.
Met up with Al Booth who is Bob Harris' producer and in we went. No support act and on came Jimmy. Bare foot T shirt and Bermuda shorts. I think he had run out of shoes as he did throw flip flops into the audience from time to time. Over the years I have seen musicians throw drum sticks, plectra, roses in the case of Al Green. Rod Stewart kicks footballs into the audience. I have seen countless Panto Dames throwing sweets into the audience. However footwear was a first.
The place was rammed and it was wild from beginning to end. It was a wonderfully mixed crowd all ages and walks of life. Sitting next to us were two Rastafarians who like nearly everyone in there knew all the words. Jimmy spent the whole time smiling he must have been well pleased with his reception. I have been to concerts where the act has received a rapturous reception however I have never seen this level of fan worship. It wasn't a gig it was a big party. It was really uplifting. When I told Tim Smith about it he was apoplectic that he had missed it. He is a huge admirer of the man. So much so I think he counts himself as a "Parrot head" as he fans describe themselves. More on Tim later.

Tuesday another day and another concert. Normally I try not to go to see things on consecutive nights However sometimes there is no choice if you want to see artists who rarely appear on these shores.
Ry Cooder was a case in point. I saw him back in the mid 70's when I was a student he was appearing at Birmingham Town Hall. Guitarist friend of mine was an uber fan and arranged front row tickets. The man was a revelation playing virtuoso and understated guitar. I remember when he finished a gentle solo during "Dark end of the street". There was only a smattering of polite applause. The loudest noise came from the front row where I was sat. It was a collective sigh. I then recognised craning to see his fingers every guitarist from all the local bands in the area.
This time Ry was appearing with Nick Lowe and they did a selection of old and new stuff of their own and from when they had collaborated in the past. Not sure how many of the audience were from local bands but glancing up to one of the boxes at the Lyceum in The Strand I espied Eric Clapton. I mentioned on the show that the gig was only about two thirds full which was a shame and someone quite rightly pointed out that the tickets were very expensive which was true. However I think their rarity value must have inflated the price to between £50 and £85. Reminding me of a point remark I made on the show about the ticket prices for Dolly Parton a few months back which as I recall were more than £100. Someone on that occasion pointed out that if you were a true fan it made little difference as you HAD to see the artist. This was the case with Ry and if he is only going to tour the UK every 30 years or so there is precious little chance of him coming back! So money well spent. Every song was a highlight through to the encores of "What's so fun about peace love and understanding" and "Little Sister".

As I have mentioned on the show and on the blog before. No American Adventure this year due to the state of the economy and the exchange rate. So no month off for me this time However I am taking a couple of weeks out from Monday and will be spending it here although I may pop over to France at some point to see friends although not decided for definite yet. Simon my producer has been wheezing and coughing all week poor chap but still soldiered on even though he was feeling and looking (sorry mate but you did look slightly peaky) awful. Also the fabulous weather we have been having has suddenly become somewhat changeable. So if the Gods don't smile upon me I could spend two weeks in bed with swine flu listening to the rain beat down on the roof. Wow I am such a catch!

I am back on the 27th so look forward to talking with you then. In the meantime Tim Smith will be keeping you entertained. He will also be popping up on the Steve Wright Show. He is going to need a holiday by the time I get back.

PAINTING THE TOWN...BEIGE

One of my best friends from school Simon, who I have mentioned on this blog before, phoned me to say that his daughter was coming over from the U.S where she now lives with her boyfriend and wondered if they could see what middle aged reprobates get up to in the world’s most exciting capital city. As luck would have it I had intended to go see a band who I have featured on the show before, and although I am still unsure about their name due to my faulty memory and it being too difficult to remember, this act are beginning to make tentative forays to these shores and were due to play a gig at the legendary 100 Club in Oxford street on the Friday.

Normally we go see a band then head off to a pub in Camden where DJ's play interesting retro tunes on their wheels of steel and the place stays open until 1.30am. Then it’s burger time and a walk back to the flat feeling that even though we are middle aged we can still cut it with the young ‘uns.

Simon, Kate and her beau turned up at my flat mid afternoon and we headed off along the canal towpath pointing out sights such as Little Venice and the blue plaque for Guy Gibson of Dambusters fame (they vaguely remembered the film). Also Arthur Lowe. (They remembered "Dads Army"). We stopped off for a pizza then caught the tube down to the Thames embankment and walked across the bridge to the Festival Hall as Travis (for this is his name) wanted to see Big Ben, as this was his first time in the UK.

He knew it was named after the bell and not the tower. He is no stereotypical American tourist and has done his research as well as having a bone-crushing handshake. I remember Kate's mother saying to me years ago that children keep you young. I still feel the opposite as more and more things turn out to be off the radar as they were either eggs at that point in time or just too young to remember. Also I couldn't help feeling that they were: "nice intelligent fun er YOUNG PEOPLE. And a credit to their parents”. Just typing those words and I have grown a long white beard and my hair has turned grey.

Then we walked up through Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus, stopping in at a pub where the er "youngsters" opted for a half of Guinness each. Again Travis had done his homework and knew all about it and that it wasn't pronounced "GuyNess" as many of his compatriots did when I had travelled across his country with American Adventure One and Two. Many was the time in a bar in the Midwest when people found out I was from the UK: "Ah you mean England…that is where you have that beer….GuyNess".

Then it was off to the club for Gandalf Murphy and the Slambovian Circus of Dreams. Simon had had a peek at them on YouTube beforehand and the, er, children hadn't heard of them. They were a lot of fun and described their work as Hillbilly or Hippie Pink Floyd. They are going to be doing festivals this summer and hopefully coming over more regularly in the future. They have been booked for Celtic Connections 2010 as well as other gigs over the next two years. Go see them if you get the chance as they are a lot of fun with some unusual instrumentation.
Simon had been dubious but was won over by the performance and the um, kiddiewinks enjoyed them even though they were not sure about their image. They were engagingly scruffy, they thought.

Then it was the tube up to Camden and as the three of them were staying in Balham we asked when the last train went and were told quarter past midnight. That meant either a very swift pint as by now it was quarter to twelve, or a cab back. Into the pub we went and I asked what everyone was having. The youngsters said "Nothing, thank you". So I said to Simon: "Looks like you are on the 12.15 then". Then they were gone. I sat there nursing my pint and thinking: "Wee uns…no stamina".

Next day it was off to Hastings to meet up with my mate Clive who I have known since we were at college together and discovered a mutual interest in sitting in pubs talking rubbish to each other and we have continued pretty much in the same vein ever since. He was off to see a friend of his, Jacqui, perform in the pub. She has a big voice that filled the boozer. All the crowd pleasers and - rare for many pub turns - she had an act. She had banter and could really sell the songs. Here she is midway through "Big Spender". As Clive remarked when he saw the pic: "God, I look a lech".

TASTY TASTY...ER NOT VERY TASTY

Rather like my Xmas thank you letters that get sent off in mid February much to my long suffering Aunt's disappointment, a few days past but here is my "weekly" blog once again.

Lot been going on. It was a friend’s birthday last week and so, what to get her? I like to tailor the gift to the person. Something that is not necessarily useful although that helps. However something that shows some thought rather than the last minute supermarket chocolates, filling station flowers or an odd shaped ornament from one of the shops called "gift" shops because they are there for people who have no idea what to get anyone.

This friend is a rather good cook and when I visit always prepares fab meals for a greedy boy like me. However she has had one massive failure which being a nasty little chap I never let her forget. She eats healthily and is always making Butternut and ginger filling wholesome soups etc. Once she tried me on Celeriac. I am sorry, but that stuff is just vile. No amount of coaxing could get more than one bite past my lips.

With that in mind, I went to a very well known West End store in bustling Regent Street here in London. These shops have "greeters" who I assume like waiters in LA are all out of work actors waiting for their big break. It must be a hell of a chore having to smile like that each day. I was in a tearing hurry: "Excuse me where do I find "Mr Potato Head"? "Second floor in the pre school section". Marched up the escalator to find the music playing rather inappropriate for the under 5's. Blue Oyster Cult - Don't fear the Reaper. Snatched up a box of the aforementioned plastic parts and legged it home. Then some time was spent with my tongue protruding from the corner of my mouth as I stuck and glued new labels on the packaging. Finished! Now down the vegetable section of the supermarket. So along with a card that proclaimed "Chocolate Slut" she is now the (proud)? owner of the latest toy to sweep the nation: "Mr Celeriac Head".

People ask me from time to time: When are you going to get "promoted" to TV? As I point out they are different disciplines perhaps a little like the difference between a Vet and a Doctor. Superficially they seem the same but in reality they are radically different. There are a few who have mastered both but not that many. The traffic goes both ways on that one. So much to my surprise I was invited to take part in "Eggheads". Hmmm not really seen the show so needed to have a quick catch up on YouTube to see how it works. Ah, specialist subjects and general knowledge. This could be tricky if I get the sport round. Worse if I get the Music round. Everyone always expects DJ's to be brilliant at music questions however it is such a huge field that the questions can often go against you. "Seattle Post Grunge" anyone? Or Gregorian Chants and Medieval Church Music? I was on the Radio 2 team captained by Paul Gambaccini. Suzi Quatro Richard Allinson, Clair Teal and bringing up the rear….me. Think it is going out in December some time. I am sworn to secrecy as to the result although it was a lot of fun and took a couple of hours to record with all the shuffling of chairs and us fooling about. They work pretty hard at it, recording 5 shows per day over two 6 day weeks to get an entire series in the can. I think it went pretty well however along with my two memorable appearances on "Call my Bluff" (what do you mean you don't remember?) co presenting the Boat Show on BBC 2 one year and also being on "Water world" , the canal boat show not the post apocalyptic movie with Kevin Costner. This is still being repeated on the Discovery channel even now about 8 years after I did it. Now to sit back and wait for the Hollywood offers to roll in.







They are taking a bit of time.

'HERE COMES SUMMER'

The weather may be variable but that doesn’t' stop me from realising that summer is here. In one of my American Adventure blogs I mentioned that an obvious difference between our two ‘cultures’, is their insistence on looking for the good in things. - (Unless you are a gun toting white supremacist of course. In this case the glass is not half full or empty it is just plain empty and it is people with a different pigmentation who are obviously to blame for emptying the glass in the first place.)

We, on the other hand, jump backward through flaming hoops to wring the negativity out of events. With this in mind as we approach June 21st which is the longest day, we are ready for the onset of the gloomy thought process which begins with: "Ohh nooo the nights are drawing in, now it will soon be winter". However in the U.S their view is: "June 21st! Cool it’s now officially summer time". So as we have been saying on the show all this year, despite gloomy economic forecast and a terrible slump, MP's fiddling their expenses and don't even get me started on the BBC….! we are a beacon of light in a dark world and refuse to be downhearted no matter how odd it may appear. We are trying to see the good in everything which admittedly can be a mite tricky at times.

So as it’s now the onset of summer, I realised it was that moment where wardrobe change occurs in the Lester household and last years dodgy cheap sandals are replaced by the new seasons offering. (Trinny and Suzannah, Gok Wan et al take note; they are the same as last years. They are very cheap and I don't care what you think.)

I have taken the new shoes for a couple of trips in the park and they seem to do the job admirably however if I walk too quickly in them I can feel the onset of shin splints. Give me a few miles and they will be broken in and ready and raring until the autumn. The added advantage of this mode of footwear is there is no need to raid the sock drawer (unless you are a Vicar or Scoutmaster). So less washing and wear on the hosiery means the "Cotton Rich" can keep safely grazing in their fields before they are turned into "socks black for the use of" by a selection of sweat shop workers in the Far East.

Another advantage is that it’s less of an effort to climb into them at 01.30am. I have been getting up at this time solidly since 1992 and have been working nights in one form or another since 1986 so I think I have it down to a fine art. The concept ‘less is more’ - if you’re a night worker you may sympathise. Up and out the house with the minimum of fuss and unpleasant bending. So no laces, no buckles and no miles of buttonholes. If I was brave enough I would opt for a one-piece jump suit in say a modish and high visibility orange, along with the cheap slip on shoes. Hmmm now where have I seen that uniform before….?

One radio station I worked at years ago the Managing Director said that everyone had to dress smartly…. and in suits so as to create a good impression should prospective advertisers be shown round the building. It was very unlike another station I had worked where in my contract it stated: ‘Presenters are allowed some eccentricities of dress.’ The MD was adamant that suits it had to be. I can still see the look on his face when I arrived wearing an old brown boiler suit. I am sorry being childish and pedantic all at once, but I pointed out that he never said exactly what type of suit had to be worn. Soon afterwards that regulation was quietly dropped. Which brings me back to the BBC via my first ever report on my progress as a boy broadcaster in 1978 which stated: ‘Alex shows flashes of maturity that I hope he will develop’. 31 years later and err…. the jury is still out on that one.

Home at the weekend to a glorious sunny south coast so with the fleshpots of Hastings and St Leonards-On-Sea at my sandal clad feet there was only one or two options for a young man about town like myself: telly and the spare bedroom.


Fridays are always a bit of a wipe out due to the cumulative effect of 5 nights on the show. So the start of the weekend usually comprises a trip to the pub with the newspaper, takeaway and the TV. Trying to catch up with all the stuff I had recorded and not had time to watch during the week. I watched the third and final instalment of a weather documentary on BBC 4 this time "SNOW". Yes, back in 1991 I think it was, the railways came to a halt because of the wrong type of snow. Widely jeered at by the press and pubic alike, it was demonstrated that there are in fact many different types of snow and this particular type had short circuited the electric motors of the railway locomotives. So we now sit corrected. However, leaves on the line though we can still jeer at.

Not sure if you do this, but many is the time I wake up drooling on the settee with the TV suddenly tuned to "Sexcetera" or "Babe station". Not through choice, he added hastily. Although I am not entirely sure of the attraction of a selection of marginally attractive bottle blonde women exhorting blokes to part with their hard earned cash to get a mention on these programmes when the sound is appalling and echoey and a load of texts scroll along the bottom of the screen: "Gaz says show us yer bum". How did I get onto this. Ah yes I know. In the morning I return to the beginning of the programme I nodded off during and spool through it until I discover the bit where I don't recognise the plot any longer. It would appear I fall asleep in about 20 seconds. A recent documentary on the Blues had me nod-off within moments of a piece of archive footage of Son House.

Saturday and the sun was out so, as I have people coming to stay this weekend, I needed to tidy the house so I rushed around with a vacuum cleaner. White tiles in the bathroom show up just how much I moult! Then I realised I had to file all the CD's I had bought, been sent, and had played and not returned to the shelves. The little pile pictured above went back to March that is how lax I have been. How long did it take to file that little lot to its alphabetised place? Three long hours. I am realising also that I am running out of shelf space. By the end of the year it may be time to call Mr Tibbs the carpenter and get him in to make me a CD ‘island’ in the middle of the room. That should keep me going for another couple of years.

'MONKEY GITS'

Time to link up with Libido Boy again as I hadn’t seen him for a few days and he is always entertaining. He dropped by in between the usual round of wooing. He was wondering about hats in the sunshine thinking it would be a good idea to wear one, but he couldn't make up his mind which one would suit. Baseball caps he said made him look an idiot. Despite spending a year in the U.S where his children now live, he was never drawn to the baseball look.

Taking a straw poll of young things in the office (Lisa Smith). maybe one of those sunhat type canvas things that fishermen wear or maybe a flat cap in black or grey but not check she opined. He said he was thinking of heading in the direction of a straw boater. Noooooo! You will end up wearing a stripy blazer and white shoes looking like a chinless ninny from the 1930's: "Anyone for tennis oooh I say"! He admitted that he already possessed the shoes and the blazer! No Simon it is just plain wrong. How about a fedora or a big straw sunhat? Nope you will end up looking like an elderly cricket fan the type that stand at the bar jingling their car keys and talks about "the little woman" and asks "What's your poison?". He had a top hat when he was 15. I borrowed it for a photo that you can see on the MySpace page which was taken at the Reading Festival in about 1975. - when we were both slim enough to model the "Artful Dodger" look. Any suggestions as to what ‘Headgear He Should Adopt’ comments gratefully received.

He had arrived so we could go and catch Toots and the Maytals. (Pressure drop. Monkey Man. 54-46 that’s my number) We are both big reggae fans. Nice diverse audience at a very hot Academy in London's Islington. As a standing venue we were concerned as ever that we would not be able to see. However the stage is very high and we were leaning against the bar, so the view was pretty good. The sound was good. The beer was expensive and the atmosphere was electric. We suddenly noticed mid way through that there were two middle aged men skanking like good un's. It was us. We looked ludicrous but wearing Straw Boaters or top hats we would have look far, far worse.

Later that week I got the chance to link up with American Singer/songwriter Nell Bryden who breezed into town after a short and generally successful short tour around the UK. Although she said that one gig she did coincided with there being a hen night party in the audience. So she was forced to play as a crowd of drunken young women screeched and cackled and threw dildo's at each other and her and the band. Hmmm perhaps that is what they mean by an "intimate venue".

It was good to catch up with her as I have had a present to give her for several months now. Being a worldly wise New Yorker you would have thought she had seen and done it all even at her tender age. No he noticed that her 'Briddish' swearing was not up to par. So as all performers know there comes a time occasionally when there is the need to face down a restless crowd so she needed to be able to give as good as she got. With this in mind a friend of mine Rory McAllister from BBC Berkshire who is well connected within the world of comics, managed to get me a personalised copy of a spectacularly rude book from the lovely people that write, draw and publish VIZ. You may have seen a copy on a top shelf in your local newsagent. The people at the magazine had very kindly drawn some of their most famous characters in the flyleaf especially for her. She was very touched.



If you are of nervous disposition don't go and check it out you will be offended. I can still remember during the 80's when a friend of mine worked for "Mayfair" magazine a rather more obvious top shelf publication. One of his journalistic jobs was to compile the jokes page. My Dad told him a joke that he hadn't heard and he published it in the mag. My Father relayed this info to my Aunt and Grandmother with the words "don't go looking for a copy. It is not your sort of thing" fell alas on deaf ears. Shortly after that Granny sent a stinging rebuke to her son which contained the immortal words: "I was so disgusted that I felt like putting it at the bottom of the dustbin with quicklime on it and apologising to the bin men!”

The weather in most parts of the country has been exceptional in the past week and I have made full use of it walking too and fro across the park after the show, and when I come back into the office during the day, for as I outlined last week for some gossiping and Machiavellian scheming. I have had a chance to observe nature in all her glory. Which means squirrels magpies and acres of sizzling human flesh sprawled on the grass.

Popped home to Hastings on an early train. This is always a bonus as I can ‘scarf’ up all the newspapers that commuters leave behind on the inward journey. This meant that I had a free paper fest heading to the coast until I got to about Battle. I then promptly fell asleep. Missed my stop and ended up at the end of the line. This meant a mile walk along the seafront. It was glorious and it made me realise why I love the place so much. I toyed with the idea of having a swim. Dismissed that and then toyed with the idea of having a paddle. Nah. Went home and watched an episode of 'My Name is Earl' instead.

RUN...IT'S THE NERDS!

It’s amazing how one’s fortunes can change in the space of 24 hours. Thursday night, I spent a sublime evening at the Royal Albert Hall watching Jackson Browne run through his repertoire playing two sets that spanned his career. Now there was a value for money gig. He brought Californian sunshine to the old place and from where we were sitting still looks about 36 rather than 60. Must be a macrobiotic diet or something. He even did his version of "Stay" which I didn't expect. Went with my mate "Susan the Finance" (Remember her from the ABC concert? She is not in banking so don't hate her). She left her old man at home with her mother in law. The Mother-in-law had to be placated when she boomed "You are going to a concert unchaparoned, with another man?!!!!!" Swift but not very accurate thinking followed: "Don't worry, he's gay"!

Now I am not remotely concerned by this. Am totally unable to see what the fuss is with a valid and alternate lifestyle although one that is not for me. I try but can't understand the anti- gay "marriage" lobby. When you get to my age and you are not married people sometimes ask the "Gordon Brown question" , if you remember Sue Lawley asking him why he wasn't married years ago on Desert Island Discs. I remember at the time my late mother remarking on this and when I said that people sometimes made this assumption she chortled and shook her head and said "Ridiculous...........you're not are you?". When I explained that one of my friends had similar questions posed by his parents she said "Well I always knew he was". This wasn't the case either. When we met for a drink one night and I told him what my old Mum had said, he told me: "Well my folks always maintained you were gay despite you having a girlfriend". Seems people will find a way to make the case fit.

So I was "out" for the evening with Susan the Finance!

Friday night and it was time for another "Nerd Night". I have written about these in the past. People from the world of broadcasting get together eat and drink too much and bore the pants off each other with industry talk and slanderous comments. Good to see some new people along for this one which was held in London as well as some of the old faces. Made a new friend in Joel Ross, one half of the ex-Radio 1 duo JK and Joel. He won me over by slurring how fab the show was before he crashed to the floor. Andy Warrell my producer made an appearance and bummed £20 off me as he had drunk the contents of his wallet before he arrived. He said he enjoyed it and was looking forward to the next one......in London. This could be a year or more away. His diplomatic timing was perfect. Matthew Rudd, who travels so many miles in pursuit of radio work that Norman Tebbitt has a picture of him on his fridge stayed over at my place and after a rather less than successful breakfast as the local greasy spoon was shut so we had to go to a "cafe". I am sorry but you can't eat bacon, egg, beans etc off square plates. Its not...its not...British! We headed off to Heathrow where he was due to catch a flight to Manchester for one of his many radio shows and a nightclub gig. He is not scared of flying but terrified of ending up on the wrong plane. He is a big boy with a tongue in his head but is convinced that to the check in staff "Manchester" on the ticket may look the same as "Addis Ababa". On the way out on the tube deep in conversation (well he was talking about Hull City and their chances of staying in the Premiership and I was staring fixedly into the distance and trying to count the number of chimney pots on passing houses) we stopped at an above-ground station and a bloke got on with a guitar. "Hi I'm Gareth and I'm going to play a few tunes for you...unless anyone objects when in that case I won't." Now not wanting to deprive a busker of a chance to earn a living, being cooped up in a railway carriage with a bloke murdering "Knockin’ on Heaven’s door’ when you have a slightly sore head, wel,l some frightfully un-British action needed to be taken. Weighing up on balance the loud, probably off key cover versions and more football talk and suddenly "The Tigers" seemed the more attractive choice. Politely I said "I would rather we travel in silence if that is OK with you". A few people in the carriage smiled and I am sure many inwardly cheered. "Gareth" got off at the next stop.





Back in Central London I linked up with Martin Emery, yet another DJ who was left rootless and with time to kill before his flight on Saturday evening. So we met up for a sandwich and decided to take the Thames Riverbus down to the 02 Arena, formerly the Millennium Dome/White elephant/waste of taxpayers’ money etc. Those boats don't half go at a lick and we sat in the stern and let the wash flick up and drench us as tourists jabbered excitedly in a variety of tongues. Got off, had a saunter around and came back again. Squelched off in our separate directions and I headed back to the rental flat for a bath and a change into some dry clothes.

Whilst I was lying there I hatched a plan, as it was a sunny day, to walk the 4 miles from the flat to Shepherds Bush Empire for that evening’s concert. The Jubilee line on the underground was closed for maintenance so it was a faff to get there without walking a mile to the nearest working line and changing a few times, so I set off thinking. "If it takes about 90 minutes to get there, I reckon I should arrive about 8.15 so will get some of the support act, a drink and be ready for the headliner - Texas whippet-thin albino blues/rock guitar legend Johnny Winter. I should have read the ticket more carefully. When I arrived more or less to the minute of 8.15 he was already on stage. He is only 65 but has had a whole host of health problems maybe as a result of a much publicised heroin addiction in the 70's. At the risk of sounding like I am firing off a load of possibly offensive pigment related puns, the poor man was a shadow. His guitar playing was still pretty good mind. However he can no longer stand for long periods so played seated. He also scarcely acknowledged the audience, it seemingly being an effort to speak. He also wasn't helped by a thundering rhythm section that threatened to overwhelm what he was doing. The crowd was very thin too. Never seen the Empire so empty. When I visited the loo the bloke next to me remarked that he looked so ill that he may not make it to the end of the gig.The show was all over by 9.30pm and it was sad to see a man a pale imitation of his former self. I have been a big fan of his stuff for years and it was such a shame to see him obviously so unwell.