Amir Farhan

In 1994, I was looking for a marketing specialist for a two-week project. The agency sent me a few CVs and I selected one that I thought was a suitable candidate. His name was Scott Blatchley. We agreed a date for the interview. On the day, this chap appeared, tall with pony-tail hair, a gold tooth,  piercing eyes and American! Soon my reservations were dispelled. Scott certainly knew his marketing stuff. The 2 week assignment turned into a 4-year full time appointment with a directorship. Scott was instrumental in helping my company (IT Architechture) grow in turnover and profits. Once his job was done at IT Architechture, he moved on to larger organisations and assisted a couple of companies in going public on the London stock market.

However, it was not Scott’s professional abilities that made him one of my closest friends. Scott was an avid reader, a great conversationalist, a good public speaker and always up for a challenge. He set up what he called ‘Meetings for Men’, where a dozen or so of us (mainly business associates) would meet once a month for a drink and get into deep discussions about some world problem!

Unfortunately, Scott was diagnosed with lung cancer in 2000. This was a start of a long battle that I believe no one would have survived for so long. In the intervening 15 years, the cancer spread to his ulna bone and his brain (7 tumours in total). His doctors simply could not believe how he seemed to keep going despite all those operations and the intensive chemo therapy. We, however, remained in close contact throughout, not only through those delightful Meetings for Men, but also on a family level as our two families were pretty close. My kids in particular took a liking to Scott, he was marvellous at empathising with young ones. They particularly liked him when he played guitar for them. Scott was in another incarnation of his, the lead singer and guitarist for the 80’s band Congress.

All throughout his illness, Scott kept his consultancy business going and at times at such an intense level that was a real surprise (and worry) to his friends and clients. He also maintained an incredibly positive attitude to life, never once complaining about his condition. Indeed I always enjoyed meeting him for the pleasure of his company and the positive vibes that he gave. Scott was never short of marketing work and he never stopped coming up with new strategic ideas for his clients. To further keep himself fully occupied, he took on additional activities such writing children’s books.

But perhaps what sustained him most during that difficult time was his family and his unshakeable faith. He religiously went to the Christian Fellowship church in Richmond where he also acted as a lay preacher.

Scott Blatchley passed away just before Christmas 2015. Not a day goes by when his intelligence, humour and good nature isn’t missed. Scott opened peoples’ eyes to spirituality, different philosophies and the importance of having faith. In his memory, my daughter Lena and her fellow medical students in Italy (Rome Sapienza University) did a charity run which also helped raise money for the Princess Alice Hospice, who took such good care of him in his final days.

When we moved to our present home in 2004, we got to know our new neighbours, one of whom was Peter Fletcher. A gentleman approaching his 80th birthday, living on his own, having lost his wife to whom he was married for over 50 years, some seven years earlier. They unfortunately were childless. But despite that, Peter was a most contented, happy and positive man that you could ever know. Soon we became not only good neighbours but also good friends. I have greatly enjoyed the many hours listening to Peter reminiscing about his life, his service in the RAF, the Police force and the courts. In his service in the RAF he was posted to many places in the Far East and the Middle East. I have noted that all throughout, Peter had enormous respect for people and other cultures. In the late 1940s, he was posted to the air base at Habanyiah, a short distance from my home town Baghdad in Iraq. While he was in there, he visited those great Biblical cities of Babylon, Ur of the Chaldies and Nineveh where he took some wonderful pictures, which he presented to me. Valuable pictures as they depict Iraq of a very different era.

Peter was an accomplished mechanic and great at DIY. He willingly and freely gave his time and skills to others. He helped me put more that the odd shelf, paint a door or erect a shed. But two jobs really stand out. The first was when our house was broken into late 2008. The thieves apparently got onto our back garden by jumping over the low barrier between us and our immediate neighbours. Peter insisted and proceeded to put a proper solid fence in some really cold weather, so as to deter would-be thieves and to ensure the safety of the family. The other job that stands out is the sundial. This was a project that my daughter Lena was required to do for her GCSE astronomy. She turned to me for help, I turned to Peter, who working from paper design, came up with an amazing piece of art entirely from scarp material in his garage. Of course, we still treasure that sundial.

Peter’s willingness to help knew no bound. One wonderful gesture was when he once helped to fully restore to pristine condition, working daily over a six-month period, a 1960s Triumph Herald car that belonged to a friend of his. The restoration was so perfect that not only it immensely cheered his friend to no end, but the friend was actually stopped more than once by people asking if they could hire the beautiful red and white car for such events as weddings.

Peter and I shared our love for classical music. This started a Friday evening tradition when Peter would come to our house and we would listen to beautiful classical music which reminded Peter of his youth. I was amazed at his sharp memory and learnt a great deal about classical music from him.

Peter was a generous man, whenever he came to our house, he would never come empty handed. He would always bring some chocolates for the kids and sometimes other items like a book, greeting cards, the odd toy or a torch or whatever. From his garden he would provide me with properly chopped logs to burn in my chiminea, or he would bring beautiful juicy tomatoes, rhubarb etc. And he would also always get us stuff from a farm near to where his wife was buried whenever he visited her.

Peter was easy going and would strike a chat with anybody. It was a real pleasure seeing him singing melodies from his childhood to my youngest two. As for me, whenever the pressures of modern life got on top of me, I would call on Peter, where his calmness, his clear thinking, his sure advice that is drawn from his long experience, would soon perk me up and lift my spirit. Peter Fletcher was the complete gentleman and the epitome of a positive mind.

Peter passed away in 2012, aged 86.

In 1978, I was doing a Ph.D. in Electrical Metrology at the department of Electrical and Engineering and Electronics at UMIST (Manchester University) situated in the centre of the city. My supervisor was Dr John Rawcliffe. At the time his wife was receiving treatment at a hospital to the south of the city, close to where I lived. He on the other hand lived on the north side of the city. So to save him having to prepare a meal late at night after such a long journey -and by the way men were not then good around the kitchen-, I suggested that he could join me for the evening meal after visiting his wife. But he said ‘Oh, Amir you won’t be able to. You see I am vegetarian’. Now being vegetarian then was quite a rarity.

I was no great cook myself, but still managed to put together a few small Middle-Eastern dishes such as hummus, tabbouleh, baba ganoush, etc. John was most appreciative and took some notes for his wife to add to a vegetation cookery book that she working on. Then there were so few such books.

Vegetarianism has been gaining popularity over the years. Nowadays it estimated that 12% of UK adults are following some vegetarian diet. Among the 16-24 year-olds, it is much higher at around 20%.

In our household, it is a mixed but a representative picture:
1. The boys (myself and Zane) are meat-eaters.
2. My wife (Dawn) is now a flexitarian (cutting down on meat).
3. The girls: Faye is almost vegetarian, Rema (who is  temporarily staying with us while  on contract work nearby) is a vegetarian, while Lena (staying with us for the summer holiday before going back to Rome University in September) is vegan (no meat and no animal produts).

Now you can imagine the fun that Dawn has in preparing dinner, it could go along one of the following lines:
1. She cooks multiple dishes to cater for everyone’s different dietary requirements.
2. She cooks vegan/vegetation dishes while the boys perhaps do a barbecue.
3. She cooks a meet dish, the girls cook separately a vegetarian or a vegan dish.
The permutations could go on.

It is interesting to note that while young people are becoming more vegan/vegetarian, they also becoming more caring about the environment in general.  This is reflected in their political affiliations with more voting for the more environmentally-caring political parties such as the Greens and the Lib-Dems. In their manifesto, the Green party “supports a progressive transition from diets dominated by meat and other animal products to healthier diets based on plant foods”. The Lib Dems also care about sustainability and say they want to improve welfare conditions for animals kept on farms. However, the two major parties (Conservative & Labour) do not seem to have clear policies on vegetarianism.

In the summer of 1972, we have just finished our ‘A’ level exams. Having worked hard, we – that is myself and my good friends Walid & Saad -thought that we would reward ourselves with a 3-week holiday to Europe. To keep our costs down we decided to go driving in my old Austin 1100 and rather than staying in expensive hotels, we would be camping, for which we borrowed an old tent from friends of ours.

When we arrived at Dover at passport control prior to boarding the ferry to France, we handed in our passports to an officer, only for another officer to come out of that office and stare intently at us and the car. Oh dear, problems already?! Then he just mockingly said ‘you guys travelling to Europe in this CAR?’ Phew that was a relief. To which I replied  ‘we will be seeing you here in 3 weeks in this very car’  and everybody burst out laughing.

We spent a week camping around Paris, enjoying this magnificent city with its great monuments, steeped history, and high culture. Just simply wonderful. Then we decided to move to our next country – West Germany (Germany was still divided then). We drove on a Saturday morning, after some 400 km and 6 hour drive, we arrived at the German border. In those days you could get visas at the border crossing points. Anyway, this was what we were hoping for. The German officers were quite friendly and things were looking hopeful. Then an American officer came. He seemed to be in real command. He took our passports and had them stamped. When we asked what the stamp was about, which was in German, a  language none of us three spoke, he charmingly said that as they were not authorised to issue visas at the border, it was best to go back to Nancy (in France) and approach the German consulate there, the stamp will help.

So we drove back 100 km to Nancy, we headed to a nearby campsite. By that time it was already pretty late. We hit the bed (or the sleeping bag) as we were very tired. However, our sleep was soon interrupted as the rain came and it came hard. Water was seeping through the old tent and we had no choice but to abandon the tent and try and get some sleep in the car. Sunday came, of course everything was shut, so we had to survive on whatever left of our provisions. We were also low on fuel so we were stuck in this small nondescript town. We were waiting for Monday in anticipation.

When Monday came, we noticed that it was no different from Sunday. Everything was also shut. Oh dear, it turned out it was a bank holiday. At this point a deep sense of depression hit us. To make matters worse, we had no food left and the one or two shops that were open would not take our English Travellers Cheques (you need a bank then to change currency – this was the time when bank cards & ATMs were in their infancy). Now when Saad got hungry, he simply would lose it and pile more misery upon an already miserable situation. However, the day was saved when I remembered that a friend of mine in England gave me the equivalent of a couple of pounds in Belgian Francs (remember all this was before the EU and the Euro). A shop accepted the money in exchange for bread and cheese. What a relief.

Tuesday came, it was a sunny day, banks were open, and so we changed our pounds into French Francs. We headed cheerfully to the German consulate, who promptly refused to grant us visas, so much for the helpful stamps! Feeling disconsolate and looking for other options, we were then directed to the Luxembourg consulate. This turned out to be an old dental practice and the consul was none other than the old dentist himself, who without hesitation left his patients, went into the office and dusted his old files to find a visa stamp that he proudly applied to our passports for a mere £1 each. We left him feeling very happy and we proceeded to discover Holland (Netherlands), Belgium and Luxembourg (the three countries were known as the Benelux countries and shared the same visa).

By the end of our enjoyable and adventurous European tour, we headed back to good old England, unfortunately we failed to see that same officer at Dover, as we wanted to upset him with our triumphal return in the good old Morris 1100.

When I was a young lad, I remember my older brother telling me about this English football team, which was involved in an air crash, resulting in the death of many people including players. He went on to tell me that nonetheless the club managed to pull back, not only competing again at the highest level but also going on to win more trophies. I thought wow that was my kind of team and my heroes.

When I arrived in 1972 to study at UMIST in Manchester, a city where football runs deep through its veins, I soon realised that Manchester United was the team that my brother was alluding to. Needless to say I became a supporter of my childhood heroes. An ardent fan, following their news and regularly going to matches at Old Trafford.

Football then was different from now. It was very much about the fans. The players were almost entirely home-grown, there were no foreign players. The grounds were pretty basic with little entertainment, catering facilities were simple and please do not ask about the toilets! Tickets however, were really cheap: 40p standing, 55p seated.  The atmosphere inside was electric; the crowds were very passionate, perhaps assisted by some excessive drinking (you could then take your drinks inside). Indeed at times you felt that troubles were not that far.

Today the game in many ways has much improved. Violence is a lot less frequent, grounds and facilities are a great deal more civilised. But football now is big business; it is more about corporate hospitality. The fans themselves are secondary,  a useful income stream having to fork out in excess of £50 to see a match. In the meantime, players’ wages have rocketed spectacularly. In 1971, Kevin Keegan was paid £50 per week when he joined Liverpool. Now Paul Pogba earns a staggering £290,000 per week at Manchester United. But wait for it, Neymar has just been sold by Barcelona to Paris St-Germain for a world record transfer fee of £200m and apparently his wage will be £515,000 per week. For me this is not just ridiculous, it is frankly obscene.

Football I am afraid like so many aspects of modern life, has lost its true spirit and money has taken over. I am switching off football.