Old time-honoured Gaunt, father of Henry IV, popped his sollerets today in 1399. I've always felt a bit sorry for this guy, what with the peasants being revolting enough to tear down his palace at the Savoy in 1381 and nobody being able to pronounce his name properly - it was actually Ghent, of course. Richard II also gave him a hard time and even when Gaunt's little boy became Henry IV, his reign was plagued by wars and rebellions. Which just goes to show that money, land, palaces, titles and getting a starring role in Shakespeare can't buy you happiness.
In other news ...
Thirty three years ago today, Yasser Arafat became leader of the PLO. A Head of Music at Leighford, now moved on to higher things - I believe he busks in Notting Hill most Saturdays - could never understand why so many people did as they were told by the erstwhile conductor of the Plymouth Light Orchestra.
It is looking as though Nolan might be going to be musical, one of those strange genetic quirks that sometimes happens. I for example can tell two tunes apart, if someone stands in front of me and shouts the name of one of them very loudly and repeatedly, while smacking me round the head. My good lady can tell all kinds of tunes one from another and can sing after a fashion. I wish instead of singing she would stop the shouty person coming into the house while I am trying to listen to music, though. But Nolan has the voice of an angel and is being taught the recorder by Mrs Troubridge; fortunately for Metternich's temper, the lessons take place chez Troubridge.
