All Cheeses Great and Small: A Life Less Blurry. Alex James

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      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      Dedication

      AUTUMN

       Chapter 1 - House with a Hundred Rooms

       Chapter 2 - Some People and Animals

Chapter 3 - Britain’s Best Village

       WINTER

       Chapter 4 - Country Christmas

       Chapter 5 - Hot Shots

       Chapter 6 - Cheese

       SPRING

       Chapter 7 - Music

       Chapter 8 - Food

       Chapter 9 - Love

       SUMMER

       Chapter 10 - Family and Friends

       Chapter 11 - High Days and Holidays

       Chapter 12 - Encore

       Acknowledgements

      Also by Alex James

      Copyright

       About the Publisher

       AUTUMN

       CHAPTER 1

      HOUSE WITH A

       HUNDRED ROOMS

      The end of the week, the end of summer: it was warm. Traffic crawling and brawling round the outside of Oxford. I stopped for fuel: the stench of petrol and the glare from the concrete apron.

      I’d watched the white van stagger to a halt as the driver slammed the brakes on. I’d watched as it began to reverse towards me. There was the moment I knew he was going to hit me, and then I was flying backwards as the van smashed through the front of the old BMW I was sitting in. I’d been reversed into at high speed. Strange. There was another dent to add to the collection on the back of the van and the front of the BMW had completely caved in. Steam was hissing out of the radiator.

      I wasn’t hurt, but I was furious that I might have been, and even more furious about the car. I leapt out onto the concrete and began to call the driver names. Many names. There were two of them in the van. They both got out.

      ‘Prove it,’ said one.

      ‘You just drove into us,’ said the other.

      It was hot and the roads were packed. I had the keys to my new life in my pocket. I bought half a dozen bottles of water from the cashier and stopped every five miles, every three, every one – as often as was necessary to top up the radiator while the temperature gauge hovered around the red. Crawling up the sides of apparently endless valleys. One more hill, one more dale until by fits and spurts I must have been pretty much at the middle of England: the very middle. Here, you might easily think that what is really quite a small island continues forever and ever. I coasted the last mile down the side of the last valley towards my new home. There were gypsies camping on the roadside at the top of the drive oblivious to the car doing ten miles an hour with steam coming out of the radiator. An old lady was doing some washing and was bent over with her backside hanging out of her full skirt.

      I knew the car was a write-off. I just needed it to get me home, or what I was about to call home. Because I’d just got married and swapped a London townhouse, with no garden, for a rambling farm. Why would I do that? It seemed straightforward when we were signing the paperwork. I thought that everyone wanted to move to the country and live in a cottage with the roses around the door. What I was doing was blindingly obvious to me, but when I’d started to try and explain it to other people it seemed no one else thought so. I had to answer lots of questions. My friends looked at me long and hard, like I’d started speaking a foreign language.

      It wasn’t until about the seventh time that Blur went to Japan that I managed to get out to the countryside there. ‘I’d like to go out into the country,’ I’d say hopefully, every time I arrived in Tokyo as soon as my hangover kicked in. It seemed to me a perfectly simple wish but it didn’t make any sense to my hosts. ‘Where in the countryside exactly?’ they would say, diligently, ‘what you want to do?’ I wanted to go to the middle of nowhere and do absolutely nothing. It was no more complicated than that. And that was what I was doing now, just on a larger scale.

      I had always been a man of leisure. I grew up in Bournemouth, a tourist resort, and was at my happiest fiddling about in the New Forest, on beaches, on the sea, in coves and quarries where there was nothing remotely particular to do: just magnificent scenery, a fantastic stage with fantastic lighting. The backdrop of the sea and the open sky that soaks that world right through is an open invitation to relax and play. But it was as if – to the Japanese, a conscientious hardworking people – the idea of just venturing off towards nowhere, going somewhere that is beyond the bump and grind, beyond industry, beyond the workaday, just didn’t really add up. At least, it took some explaining. ‘Well, I don’t really want to do anything: maybe walk around a bit, jump off some cliffs, throw some stones. You know, that kind of thing.’ They’d looked at me strangely then, and they looked at me strangely now.

      Around Blur’s fifth Japanese tour I eventually got as far as a little spa town in the mountains, and it was well worth waiting for. Doing things in cities can be hit and miss, but going anywhere in the country is always a safe bet because there is nothing in nature that is not fantastically beautiful. You know what you’re going to get. Even those parts of Iceland that smell a bit eggy are worth having a look at.

      Home, since I’d left college, had been Covent Garden. A one-bedroom flat when I was poor, and a house in the next street when the band sold some records. Claire and I fell in love one weekend in the Cotswolds and got married nine months after we met. We bought the farm on our honeymoon, at which point Blur promptly disintegrated. So I arrived in the country with a woman I didn’t really know. Well, kind of with her. She was at work. I, on the other hand, didn’t currently have a job. My friends were disgusted that I’d stopped drinking for a bit to get married, and now I’d appalled them further by walking out on them altogether. People said СКАЧАТЬ