As I was making jam (plum , of course) I was listening to good old BBC radio 4 when a half hour documentary came on air about the legendary, self appointed Prince, Prince Monolulu.  British friends of a certain age may well remember this flamboyant character from their childhood when the Prince could be seen at the racecourses where he became a well known tipster equally well known for his flamboyant clothes and his slogan “I gotta horse!”.  Mum, who is staying at The Gables this week, was at school in the West End of London with Monolulu’s son Peter and vividly remembers this unusual father who would turn up at the school gates with his brightly coloured clothes and feathers in his hair.  Mum has near total recall of her childhood and I have asked her to write down memories.  She has written of her life as an evacuee during WWII and also about her parent and grandparents.  Just last week I asked her to jot down some notes about life at the time of Dunkirk and today she began to write about her primary school and Prince Monolulu.  I used to beg my grandparents to “tell me about the old days” and I regret that their tales are haphazard snippets in my head.  I did not write them down at the time.  So mum must work to pay for her board and keep here….with jottings in a Poundland notebook.