Small tribute to Andrew Kerr

I deliberated about writing this as I did not know Andrew Kerr. Unlike some of my friends who are understandably deeply saddened by his loss and doubtless reflecting on their own happy memories of this extraordinary man, I can't lay claim to having spent any time getting to know him. 

At the funeral of my uncle, some years ago, I heard my father give an amazing speech about the life of the man he had hero worshiped. It was uplifting, moving and the message that I took from it was this: Celebrate the man. Tell each other stories about him.  And that is all that this blog is. It's a story and a happy memory of someone incredible who I had the privilege of meeting on a sunny Sunday morning in July in a barn in Wiltshire. 

I have been to Glastonbury a couple of times. It was nearly 20 years ago now. Back in the days when people gathered up behind the fences at the Greenfields and stormed them on a Friday night. I don't remember a lot about it because it was a long time ago and, well, it was a festival. I remember it rained. I remember feeling a sense of freedom. I remember feeling lucky to be there. I remembered the rain. And some more rain. Some mud. And the Pyramid Stage. By far the best bands that I saw performed there and I remember that being one of my favorite places around the Glastonbury site. I didn't know then that I was going to spend the best part of a Sunday morning talking to the man that was responsible for it. 

Skip forwards 20 years to a small festival on a farm in Wiltshire. The Cock and Bull Festival is much more 'me' as I hurtle towards middle age. Glastonbury was fun but I don't have the money, the time or the patience with large crowds that I once did. This little festival is run to make money and raise awareness for charity organisation Jamie's Farm. A worthy cause if ever there was one. You can learn more about it here http://www.jamiesfarm.org.uk/. 

It's my little haven, where I get to see some of the people that matter the most to me and generally behave like a kid again all whilst learning about ethical farming, throwing eggs at people, singing sea shanties and dancing on rickety tables. I was introduced to this festival by Don Shades, a friend from many years back. He and his friend Mikey had spent a great deal of time making a film about Andrew Kerr and had become good friends with him in the process. Don has a million little stories about Andrew. I hope he gets to tell them a lot. They paint an almost mythical picture of the man behind the vast projects and achievements, someone with a deep sense of spirituality that he wanted to share with the world but so very much human, with his own quirks and habits. 

A glorious hot Sunday morning after a sweaty and silly Saturday night. It was a festival, you don't have to use too much imagination to know how most people were feeling. I'd wondered on to the farmyard in search of a strong coffee and an egg roll. Don had said he was meeting Andrew that morning and I found them sitting in the barn drinking such strong coffee as I had been looking for I had been looking for. Andrew had managed to get a fried egg roll which had apparently exploded all over him just before I got there. I'd met him briefly the previous year but to be honest I'd been a bit overawed at the thought that this man, one of the original Glastonbury organisers, a man who has realised dreams that I envy almost every day of my adult life,  wanted to sit down and drink tea with us mere mortals was too much. That Sunday though, I was feeling worse for wear and my sense of awe was largely aimed at the fresh faced legends who were on hand to serve the coffee and food I so needed at that point. 

The weather was hot and the world had taken on a slightly surreal feeling (festival, remember?) as I sat down with Don, his sister Ruth, his significant other Rey and Andrew. People peeled off , either to get more coffee or cakes or to dance to the first band of the day that had started playing in the lambing shed. So I was left with Andrew and suddenly didn't know what to say. I mean I didn't really want my opening gambit to be anything as naff a "So. Glastonbury, eh? How was that crazy shit?". If he knew I was feeling a bit overawed he didn't show it. He was quite happy to sit there and take in the atmosphere of the festival. He laughed about the egg covering his clothes, talked about the music, how much he liked the Cock and Bull festival. He told me that this was the idea when he organised Glastonbury - that it would encourage other people to create celebrations of their own. 

He looked frail, he was using a walking frame ("It's great, I can keep all my stuff in it and it doubles up as a chair. I think it's fantastic), was softly spoken and though he was withered by age, he wasn't daunted by it. His eyes still had a cheeky glint but there was no arrogance or boastfulness about the things he has done or seen. And this was a man who had done and seen a lot. 

I felt an amazing sense of calm just chatting to him. Mostly it was just random stuff. He told me about dousing ("That works?" "Oh yes"), about driving a car whilst on LSD - but not in any effort to make himself sound cool, it just sort of, came up in conversation (it was a festival, remember?). He was genuinely interested in everything going on around him, the people, the place, the band. There was no mention from anyone about how crazy our previous night had been. There was no need. It would have seemed wrong somehow, and besides, it wasn't like it would have impressed him. 

The couple of hours I spent just speaking with him really made that day special for me. And I couldn't tell you why. They just did. Eventually I went off to look at some piglets and dance in the lambing shed. 

I met him a couple of hours later in a small stone barn where everyone had gathered to watch a screening of a documentary about bats. Once everyone had taken their seats, one of the organisers announced that they were privileged to have one of the organisers of Glastonbury in their midst. Andrew received a huge round of applause. He smiled warmly at everyone and the documentary started.

Afterwards, as he was leaving the stone barn he said to me "I wasn't expecting that at all. I'm almost embarrassed". I wasn't really sure what to say. In the couple of hours we'd sat and chatted I hadn't had the guts to say "you are a hero!". Yet here he was, slightly confused as to why anyone would applaud him and genuinely touched that people afforded him so much respect. "But you inspired...well...all of this." I said. "You're a legend" (I had to say it. It sounded as stupid as it..well, as it sounds, but I had to say it). He just shrugged and said how nice it was of people to think so and went off to sample some of the local food. 

I didn't speak to him much after that except to say goodbye. 

It's not an interesting story, perhaps. It's not one that in years to come I'll be saying 'Did I ever tell you about the time I met Andrew Kerr?', that's not really the point. But it's a few hours of my life that I really enjoyed and I'm glad that I got the chance to spend them with this man who has done so much in his life.

I didn't know him and my heart goes out to all of those who are missing him today. Celebrate the man. Tell each other stories about him. 

Tube strike - yeah, whatever

There was a day when we all threw up our arms at the very mention of a tube strike. "NOOOOO!" we cried "WHY BOB? WHY??". We all called off of work for the day and bemoaned the humanity of it all. 

Since then, however, what with 'planned' engineering works, part closures, delays, overcrowding, faulty ticket machines, staff shortages, unplanned engineering works, cancellations due to rain, cancellations due to wind, cancellations due to snow, cancellations due to sun, cancellations due to planned engineers pouring quick drying cement into a control room, signal failures (faulty lightbulbs incidentally) - and those are just the ones I can think of in a few minutes. There are better ones - it just doesn't make much of a difference anymore. 

Thus it is that the vast majority of FB posts I have seen about the tube today haven't been the cries of those stranded and unable to get to their low paid jobs (where they also face the threat of losing hours, pay and even their jobs) but put the strike down to being yet another minor inconvenience. So well done Bob, Borris and everyone else involved. You have made public transport so shit that a strike is not a political statement but just another thing in a long list of things that make the daily grind a bit more rubbish for everyone. 

It means that gobshite Bob Crow no longer holds London over a barrel, but it's a hollow victory. Ultimately it means that we all just accept that the service is shit, the journey to work is going to be a ball ache and we may as well just get on with it cause we need the money.