The tourist information office is, conveniently, at the end of our block, not that the information itself is up to much. And it should be pretty well from source, as the building itself appears to be the Ministry of Tourism. Train times are posted on a bulletin board just a little too high to be readable, but we're not going anywhere today anyway. We do aquire a brightly coloured but not especially useful map of Sousse centre, showing our hotel as well as the post office, train stations and souq. Could be worse, but seems mainly designed to feature telephone numbers for sponsoring hotels and restaurants. Across the street from the tourist info is Claridge's Hotel, which had always interested me, despite a certain scruffiness, mainly because of its upmarket name. That is until I read online that the rooms have open showers but toilets are off the corridors. Not on next year's short list.
There's a nice park between the roundabout and the souq. Lots of benches, some in the sun and some in the shade of tall palm trees. A bit of an oasis, close to fast food vendors, shops and taxis - who park opportunistically across the ends of crosswaks which serve to funnel pedestrians into their ambit. Crossing the street here is a bit like doing so in Beirut. The crosswalks don't seem to be particularly protective but drivers are quite aware and don't regard pedestrians as targets. We sit on a part sun part shade bench for a spot of people watching. There's quite a variety, more local than tourist, though with plenty of both. Young local women seem almost equally likely to be wearing or not wearing the hijab. Obviously there's no pressure either way and groups may include both. Noticeably the locals of both sexes wear more clothes than the Europeans, presumably a combination of modesty and sensitivity to cold. What do they make of shorts or bare shoulders? Do they seem scandalous or just silly? We're much more conservatively dressed than that, but this is not a country in which we'd ever be mistaken for residents, everything from hair and skin colour to clothing proclaiming our otherness.
JAWORSKI TRAVELS
We live our lives forever taking leave - Rilke
Counter
Tuesday, 23 November 2010
Sunday, 21 November 2010
Friday, November 19/2010
Still in sleep mode, and lucky in that we have a fairly long stay and can afford to take a leisurely approach. We inquire about a map. Of Sousse? Non. Would there have been maps of anyplace else? I'm not sure whether it matters much whether one communicates with the reception desk - actually a sweeping bar rather than a desk - in English or French. Miscommuication seems inevitable. Thus J inquires about the posssibility of a remote control for the television - not really of overwhelming concern as there is only one English chanel - and is told that the guide has been waiting for us and had phoned our room but we weren't there. Heaven knows who we've been mistaken for. I give it a try and am asked what our room number is. Sixty? Oh yes - it's been sent. Untrue. Determine that the French for remote control is télécommande. But is language the essence of the problem?
Thursday, November 18/2010
Breakfast buffet the cholesterol special we remember from 2008 in Monastir. Theyère happy to put as many eggs as you want in an omelet cooked ias you watch, but how many eggs does one want in a three week period? It's an east (or in this case south) west mix. There's the presumably local yoghurt, cheese, olives, sausage slices and onions. Or the eggs, croissants, baguettes (whole wheat ones if you're quick but these are prized by the Germans too), sliced cake, jam. As well as two breakfast cereals - one cocoa coloured and one bleached ghost white. Neither attracting much attention. And coffee, various teas, cocoa, hot milk. The usual sugar water "juice" substitute. Last night's oranges are gone, though, leaving the elderly apples. Do too many people pocket breakfast oranges?
We should be exploring but we've both been hit by fairly miserable colds, so we catch up on sleep instead.
We should be exploring but we've both been hit by fairly miserable colds, so we catch up on sleep instead.
Thursday, 18 November 2010
Wednesday, November 17/2010
Four alarm beginning. That is, the alarm on the mobile goes off at four, so that we can leave at ten to five. The street is smoother than the sidewalk, which gives us a good surface to wheel the suitcases on as there's no traffic yet. First train out of Swiss Cottage gets us to London Bridge station in time for the 5:50 train to Gatwick, actually ahead of the morning rush hour.
Our flight is at nine from Gatwick's north termminal and it's not at all full. I've booked - with some difficulty online 24 hours before - the window and middle seats on exit row 12. Had I known that the plane would be half empty I'd have gambled on booking the window and aisle seats. But visions of conducting conversations over the girth of a stranger seated between us who might be, unaccountably, not willing to trade seats. It's supposed to be a three hour flight - therefore short haul, meriting only a cold bun with cream cheese and tomato, and a cup of coffee.
We're in to Tunis early. Long queues at unprepared immigration desks and a hand baggage x-ray on exit. Well, of course there was the time a man flew in to Gatwick with a live grenade. Checked luggage still not unloaded forty inutes after landing, but that leaves time to find the WCs and take out some Tunisian dinars from the cash point. The transfer man is waiting for us. We seem to be his only passengers, but a man with two silver coloured cases, who clearly hasn't booked a transfer but wants a ride to Sousse, turns up. Much loud dispute in French, but in the end he comes. The driver is a young man in a dark suit - the car an extremely dirty (outside) five seater. Interesting. In Canada - outside Toronto - the driver might have worn jeans but the car would have been clean. It's a good hour and a half drive, on six lane highway past spiky little palm trees, olive groves and flowering shrubs.
Sousse is a spreading city, Tunisia's third largest, on the coast, the signs mostly in Arabic or French - though there is the Amen Bank as well as The English Pub for those who don't qute want to get away from it all.
We register at the hotel, on a form that wants all the info on the immigration form and then some. I leave some blanks - our date of marriage, for instance. Why do they want to know that anyway? It would be easier to invent a date than to buy a gold ring if decency is their concern. The hotel itself (Sousse Palace) seems fairly large, though there are only three storeys of rooms, most if not all with sea view. We're on the second floor, looking out over the key-shaped pool and, immediately behind it, the Mediterranean beach. Downstairs the lobby is enormous with endless marble, massive crystal chandelier and loud sports TV screens and thick cigarette smoke, though some tables - it would seem individual tables rather than areas - are marked no smoking. The happy discovery after dinner is that the lobby area, though not the rooms, has free wifi.
Dinner is from seven to nine, with lots of choice, none of it especially exciting. In spite of the fact that the time is an hour later than GMT, we don't last long after dinner but fall asleep watching BBC World, another happy surprise.
Our flight is at nine from Gatwick's north termminal and it's not at all full. I've booked - with some difficulty online 24 hours before - the window and middle seats on exit row 12. Had I known that the plane would be half empty I'd have gambled on booking the window and aisle seats. But visions of conducting conversations over the girth of a stranger seated between us who might be, unaccountably, not willing to trade seats. It's supposed to be a three hour flight - therefore short haul, meriting only a cold bun with cream cheese and tomato, and a cup of coffee.
We're in to Tunis early. Long queues at unprepared immigration desks and a hand baggage x-ray on exit. Well, of course there was the time a man flew in to Gatwick with a live grenade. Checked luggage still not unloaded forty inutes after landing, but that leaves time to find the WCs and take out some Tunisian dinars from the cash point. The transfer man is waiting for us. We seem to be his only passengers, but a man with two silver coloured cases, who clearly hasn't booked a transfer but wants a ride to Sousse, turns up. Much loud dispute in French, but in the end he comes. The driver is a young man in a dark suit - the car an extremely dirty (outside) five seater. Interesting. In Canada - outside Toronto - the driver might have worn jeans but the car would have been clean. It's a good hour and a half drive, on six lane highway past spiky little palm trees, olive groves and flowering shrubs.
Sousse is a spreading city, Tunisia's third largest, on the coast, the signs mostly in Arabic or French - though there is the Amen Bank as well as The English Pub for those who don't qute want to get away from it all.
We register at the hotel, on a form that wants all the info on the immigration form and then some. I leave some blanks - our date of marriage, for instance. Why do they want to know that anyway? It would be easier to invent a date than to buy a gold ring if decency is their concern. The hotel itself (Sousse Palace) seems fairly large, though there are only three storeys of rooms, most if not all with sea view. We're on the second floor, looking out over the key-shaped pool and, immediately behind it, the Mediterranean beach. Downstairs the lobby is enormous with endless marble, massive crystal chandelier and loud sports TV screens and thick cigarette smoke, though some tables - it would seem individual tables rather than areas - are marked no smoking. The happy discovery after dinner is that the lobby area, though not the rooms, has free wifi.
Dinner is from seven to nine, with lots of choice, none of it especially exciting. In spite of the fact that the time is an hour later than GMT, we don't last long after dinner but fall asleep watching BBC World, another happy surprise.
Tuesday, 16 November 2010
Monday, November 15/2010
We have a wander past the old book and print shops between Charing Cross Road and St.Martin's Lane, and find ourselves growing covetous. There's a large Hogarth print of Gin Lane. Can it be original? How many were there? And hand coloured Shepard illustrations of Winnie the Pooh. Then to the Portrait Gallery where we limit ourselves to the modern gallery, which changes frequently. We're both taken with a portrait of Sid James - painted with his face on a television screen, with the Radio Times and a Woodbines cigarette packet incorporated as collage elements. There's also an interesting exhibition of photographs by Dmitri Kasterine, including portraits of a young Margaret Drabble, Tom Stoppard, Kingsley and Martin Amis, Graham Greene, and a long-haired elderly Robert Graves.
Before we go out to dinner Maggi phones from Norway, her call coming through on the Cypriot mobile, which has fortuitously been left on. She'll meet up with us in Cyprus in January.
By tube again to Soho to have dinner with Alexander (just back from a whirlwind tour with Nigel Kennedy) and Flora. As we take the lift at Belsize Park underground station, two other women are as amused as I am by the didactic tones of the recorded message. "You have reached the lower level," the voice says, with pedantic slowness. "Exit, turn right...." As if we would otherwise have hit the wall as we turned right without exiting the lift.
We meet at the Gay Hussar on Greek Street. It's in what was once, quite literally, a red light district, immediately next to a Church of England refuge for women in distress. The Gay Hussar is a Hungarian restaurant dating back about sixty years. (When A first gave me its name over the phone I misheard it as "gay bazaar" - or bizarre? - and googled with predictable results. It has a long history as a meeting spot for left wing intellectuals, and the scene of many political plots. The two rows of tables are elbow to elbow, so that it's easy to be drawn into the next table's conversation, though the noise fosters intimacy at one's own table as we lean in to hear each other. The walls are lined with political cartoons featuring the left wing cast and the bookcases over the doors to the kitchen are spilling over with signed copies of works by former habitués. The food is mostly Hungarian and the wine list, A points out, divided into "Hungarian Wines" and "Wines from Other Countries." The house Hungarian red is quite good, though. Flora and I have the roast duck, A duck liver, and J stuffed cabbage. After dinner we head a couple of streets over to a spot A knows that does indeed, as promised, have excellent coffee. So we part with plans for a next meeting.
Quote from Baronness Kennedy in the New Camden Journal, as she pays tribute to the late Michael Foot, a man with integrity seldom found in contemporary politicians: "to spin is to deceive and to deceive is to fail."
Before we go out to dinner Maggi phones from Norway, her call coming through on the Cypriot mobile, which has fortuitously been left on. She'll meet up with us in Cyprus in January.
By tube again to Soho to have dinner with Alexander (just back from a whirlwind tour with Nigel Kennedy) and Flora. As we take the lift at Belsize Park underground station, two other women are as amused as I am by the didactic tones of the recorded message. "You have reached the lower level," the voice says, with pedantic slowness. "Exit, turn right...." As if we would otherwise have hit the wall as we turned right without exiting the lift.
We meet at the Gay Hussar on Greek Street. It's in what was once, quite literally, a red light district, immediately next to a Church of England refuge for women in distress. The Gay Hussar is a Hungarian restaurant dating back about sixty years. (When A first gave me its name over the phone I misheard it as "gay bazaar" - or bizarre? - and googled with predictable results. It has a long history as a meeting spot for left wing intellectuals, and the scene of many political plots. The two rows of tables are elbow to elbow, so that it's easy to be drawn into the next table's conversation, though the noise fosters intimacy at one's own table as we lean in to hear each other. The walls are lined with political cartoons featuring the left wing cast and the bookcases over the doors to the kitchen are spilling over with signed copies of works by former habitués. The food is mostly Hungarian and the wine list, A points out, divided into "Hungarian Wines" and "Wines from Other Countries." The house Hungarian red is quite good, though. Flora and I have the roast duck, A duck liver, and J stuffed cabbage. After dinner we head a couple of streets over to a spot A knows that does indeed, as promised, have excellent coffee. So we part with plans for a next meeting.
Quote from Baronness Kennedy in the New Camden Journal, as she pays tribute to the late Michael Foot, a man with integrity seldom found in contemporary politicians: "to spin is to deceive and to deceive is to fail."
Sunday, November 14/2010
Many options this morning. Regretfully we pass up the high mass at Westminster Cathedral and the choir. And we don't join the royal family at the cenotaph for the Remembrance Sunday service. It's a moving ceremony with veterans and bands and wreaths laid by the queen and all of her children as well as the prime minister and other political party leaders. We do get to follow on television though, remembering that when we watched two years ago there were still a very few World War I veterans left - but no more.
The program we've been waiting for, though, comes at noon, just after we've had brunch - the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, final race of the season, with Red Bull's Vettel on pole. Great coverage, with lots of pre and post commentary. It's good to have a final race where the driver of the year is still undecided. There are four statistical possibilities for the championship, with Spain's Alonso - not our favourite - the statistical favourite. But the race is a good one and the new champion is a tearful young Sebastian Vettel.
The program we've been waiting for, though, comes at noon, just after we've had brunch - the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, final race of the season, with Red Bull's Vettel on pole. Great coverage, with lots of pre and post commentary. It's good to have a final race where the driver of the year is still undecided. There are four statistical possibilities for the championship, with Spain's Alonso - not our favourite - the statistical favourite. But the race is a good one and the new champion is a tearful young Sebastian Vettel.
Saturday, 13 November 2010
Saturday, November 13/2010
We'd thought about going down to the City to see the golden coach and procession - parade really - for the new lord mayor of London, but we wouldn't have been back in time to see qualifying for tomorrow's Formula 1 Grand Prix, and it's the last race of the season. Besides, we get quite a good view of the parade, commentary included, on TV. And then of course there's qualifying itself - with Vettel on pole for the race tomorrow and the championship up for grabs. We barely see the final result before it's time to leave for Jenny and Doug's.
Out by train to Thames Ditton to visit the extended Clarke family. Emma and Giles and little Jasmine are staying with Jenny and Doug while their house is being remodelled. Doug takes Joe over to see the renovations of their place and also Laura and Nathan's loft conversion. A more than full time job for him, as well as plenty of work on the parts of Giles and Nathan. Jenny's mum is there and Laura and Nathan arrive with the three boys. Cody and Jasmine aren't babies any more. Cody is quite a self-sufficient little nearly two year old with a sweet smile - and a tendency to put things he finds in the bin, including, Nathan fears, his missing wedding ring. Jasmine, a few days younger, is very chatty now, explaining that Daddy is in their "holey" house - uninhabitable as the construction is still in progress. She's missed her afternoon nap and is tired enough that she suggests brushing her teeth - the usual preliminary to bedtime. Jenny brings in fish and chips from the neighbourhood shop and there are thirteen of us round the enormous dining room table and much laughter.
Home by train with a borrowed guide to Tunisia in hand.
Out by train to Thames Ditton to visit the extended Clarke family. Emma and Giles and little Jasmine are staying with Jenny and Doug while their house is being remodelled. Doug takes Joe over to see the renovations of their place and also Laura and Nathan's loft conversion. A more than full time job for him, as well as plenty of work on the parts of Giles and Nathan. Jenny's mum is there and Laura and Nathan arrive with the three boys. Cody and Jasmine aren't babies any more. Cody is quite a self-sufficient little nearly two year old with a sweet smile - and a tendency to put things he finds in the bin, including, Nathan fears, his missing wedding ring. Jasmine, a few days younger, is very chatty now, explaining that Daddy is in their "holey" house - uninhabitable as the construction is still in progress. She's missed her afternoon nap and is tired enough that she suggests brushing her teeth - the usual preliminary to bedtime. Jenny brings in fish and chips from the neighbourhood shop and there are thirteen of us round the enormous dining room table and much laughter.
Home by train with a borrowed guide to Tunisia in hand.
Friday, November 12/2010
Over by tube to King's Cross. I'm now used to not feeling too old if a young man offers me his seat. It's almost always an Asian boy, and part of the whole Asian culture of respect for older people. Today, though, a Chinese girl insists that J take her seat. I always wish I could sketch the random collection of six or seven people sitting opposite me on the tube - such an amazing cross-section of the very multicultural city that London is - bless them all. Today there is a girl wearing rhinestone slippers and ring with a (presumably fake) pearl the size of a marshmallow.
At the British Library we see an exhibit on the development of the English language. There are 400 million people with English as a first language, but 1.4 billion for whom it is the second language. Does that include those for whom it is 3rd or 4th? We've noticed in the winter that it is many people's second language. When a Norwegian speaks to a Greek Cypriot, it's almost always in English. Or as one Dutchman said, "Of course I speak English - who speaks Dutch?" The exhibit does contain some of the earliest works in English, I'm more interested in some of the other aspects. There are maps showing how the waves of immigration supplanted the native Celtic, especially the early Scandinavian influences. Both Kent and the Isle of Wight, homes of my great great great grandparents, had early Jutish settlements. For example Rolvenden, home of the Kentish ancestors, takes the "den" in its name from the Jutish for swine pasture. Thus also Benenden and Tenterden in the same area. It seems pretty likely that some of the untraceable ancestors were Jutes. There are also tapes to listen to with different accents - such as recreations of the Shakespearian period - and different slang. Thieves' argot and gay slang - the latter the origin of the term "naff". Before leaving I read the sample passage to add my own accent to the study.
At the British Library we see an exhibit on the development of the English language. There are 400 million people with English as a first language, but 1.4 billion for whom it is the second language. Does that include those for whom it is 3rd or 4th? We've noticed in the winter that it is many people's second language. When a Norwegian speaks to a Greek Cypriot, it's almost always in English. Or as one Dutchman said, "Of course I speak English - who speaks Dutch?" The exhibit does contain some of the earliest works in English, I'm more interested in some of the other aspects. There are maps showing how the waves of immigration supplanted the native Celtic, especially the early Scandinavian influences. Both Kent and the Isle of Wight, homes of my great great great grandparents, had early Jutish settlements. For example Rolvenden, home of the Kentish ancestors, takes the "den" in its name from the Jutish for swine pasture. Thus also Benenden and Tenterden in the same area. It seems pretty likely that some of the untraceable ancestors were Jutes. There are also tapes to listen to with different accents - such as recreations of the Shakespearian period - and different slang. Thieves' argot and gay slang - the latter the origin of the term "naff". Before leaving I read the sample passage to add my own accent to the study.
Thursday, 11 November 2010
Thursday, Novembe 11/2010
Remembrance Day and as dour a day as it seems usually to be. We're still at home when the television takes us by surprise at 11 o'clock wit Remembrace observances. Two years go we were in Waterloo Station as people came to a stop for two minutes. Now the news shows buse and cabs a well as pedestrians stopped for the silence. We're wearing Canadian Legin poppies from Canada House. They're noticeably different from the British ones - brilliant red with a felted surface as opposed to a muted red paper with a green leaf.
Alexander texts with a suggestion that we meet Monday for a meal.r
Alexander texts with a suggestion that we meet Monday for a meal.r
Wednesday, November 10/2010
To Jean's in West Harrow. Happily, it's dry, though there's a chill wind. Warm inside, though - and a lovely Asian feast as well as good conversation. We're lucky Jean could fit us in, as she has extra practices for a coming concert. Shanthi joins us after work. She's lucky to have her new jog, having survived the swingeing civil service cuts that saw out many of her colleagues, but the new position is pretty stressful, involving the design of further cuts and redundancies. She's brought aubergine and chicken korma to add to the lamb cury and all the vegetable dishes - sweet potatoes, green beans and leeks - as well as dhal and cucumbers in yoghurt and fragrant rice. The table looks like it's set for Thanksgiving - and we're nearly, but not quite, too full for the apple crumble and custard.
And to top it all off, we leave with a borrowed book by Alan Donaldson one of my old professors. And yes, he does look old in the photograph at the back, but probably hasn't aged any more than the rest of us over the last 40 odd years. I didn't think of him as being especially young when I was a student, but he must, actually, have been only in his mid-thirties.
And to top it all off, we leave with a borrowed book by Alan Donaldson one of my old professors. And yes, he does look old in the photograph at the back, but probably hasn't aged any more than the rest of us over the last 40 odd years. I didn't think of him as being especially young when I was a student, but he must, actually, have been only in his mid-thirties.
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
Tuesday, November 9/2010
Visit the Natural History Museum. We've tried before,but it's usually more crowded. This time there's no school break, though there are plenty of excited children in bright school pullovers, clustering aroun the many dinosaur reconstructions and trying all the hands-on exhibits in the human perception area. There's plenty of info, much of it presented in visually impressive form - e.g. the rati of hormones to blood shown as a cylinder of quite realistic blood coloured fluid accompanied by a teaspoon of white liquid. Or the poster indicating thesize of a dinosaur by showing it stretched out over a double-decker bus.
Over to Asda or ine anda look at the mobiles. Some pretty good prices but, despie the assurances of the helpful young man, nne of the Nokias prove to be tri or quad band - thus they're unusable in North America.
Mushroom and aubergine spaghetti for dinner.
Over to Asda or ine anda look at the mobiles. Some pretty good prices but, despie the assurances of the helpful young man, nne of the Nokias prove to be tri or quad band - thus they're unusable in North America.
Mushroom and aubergine spaghetti for dinner.
Monday, November 8/2010
W et and chilly - and we note that this is not the case in Sioux Lookout, where temperatures seem to be hitting the teens.
Dave has a meeting just off Trafalgar Square, so we head down to the National Gallery and meet him on the steps. Time for a quick visit to the gallery. Interestingly, Dave is intrigued by the changes in men's dress over the centuries.
Then jam-packed tube to Paddington. Dave has found a nice Victorian-looking pub with fireplace, local clientele and good food - fish and chips (J), chicken and leek pie (me) and beef brisket sandwich (D. Good bitter. Tea afterward in Dave's hotel room - the Cardiff. We work off the meal by climbing the four storeys to his room. Good view from the top though. Dave calls home on Skype and the kids have a great tie making faces and hamming it up.
Dave has a meeting just off Trafalgar Square, so we head down to the National Gallery and meet him on the steps. Time for a quick visit to the gallery. Interestingly, Dave is intrigued by the changes in men's dress over the centuries.
Then jam-packed tube to Paddington. Dave has found a nice Victorian-looking pub with fireplace, local clientele and good food - fish and chips (J), chicken and leek pie (me) and beef brisket sandwich (D. Good bitter. Tea afterward in Dave's hotel room - the Cardiff. We work off the meal by climbing the four storeys to his room. Good view from the top though. Dave calls home on Skype and the kids have a great tie making faces and hamming it up.
Monday, 8 November 2010
Sunday, November 7/2010
We've bought a week's wifi from the Welby, which enables us to make arrangemets with Dave, who flew in to London early this morning. We go down to Mass at Westminste Cathedral. Choir lovely as always, with boy sopranos. Now up to three collections (!). Though it is a pretty expenive place to maintain and, unlike Westminster Abbey it (and all the Catholic churches) is free to the visiting public.
Meet Dave at the Marble Arch Marks and Spencer. Then we go for coffee and take the tube back to our place for some supper and a pint. Nice relaxed meze, and Dave doing quite well in the face of jetlag.
Meet Dave at the Marble Arch Marks and Spencer. Then we go for coffee and take the tube back to our place for some supper and a pint. Nice relaxed meze, and Dave doing quite well in the face of jetlag.
Sunday, 7 November 2010
Saturday, November 6/2010
Take the netbook over to Swiss Cottage Library, which is meant to be free. Fifteen minutes' confusion as the password of the day fails to work. Turns out that someone has misspelled the password card on the library desk - misinforming the public in letters six inches high.
We go down to St. Katharine's Dock to see the launch of a full-sized boat made of heavy paper. The giant origami exercise is to begin at 12:30, with launch time set for 3. We're there a couple of minutes after 3, in time to see a white boat close to 20 feet long but not much more sophisticated than a child's paper boat, a little lopsided and dented but strong enough to hold a man who is risking not death - he has a lifejacket - but a pretty cold dunking. The paper boat is towed slowly past the dock by a small motorboat, to the clapping of a few dozen spectators.
Down to Queensway by tube. A little sad, as we remember it - scene of our first meal together - as a quite different road. It was gritty and alive - full of tiny shops spilling out onto the pavement and aromatic little family owned restaurants. A street that didn't sleep until the early hours of the morning. It's still busy but now there are fast food chain restaurants and much less sense of village where people live.
Dark by five and the staccato of fireworks left over from last night.
We go down to St. Katharine's Dock to see the launch of a full-sized boat made of heavy paper. The giant origami exercise is to begin at 12:30, with launch time set for 3. We're there a couple of minutes after 3, in time to see a white boat close to 20 feet long but not much more sophisticated than a child's paper boat, a little lopsided and dented but strong enough to hold a man who is risking not death - he has a lifejacket - but a pretty cold dunking. The paper boat is towed slowly past the dock by a small motorboat, to the clapping of a few dozen spectators.
Down to Queensway by tube. A little sad, as we remember it - scene of our first meal together - as a quite different road. It was gritty and alive - full of tiny shops spilling out onto the pavement and aromatic little family owned restaurants. A street that didn't sleep until the early hours of the morning. It's still busy but now there are fast food chain restaurants and much less sense of village where people live.
Dark by five and the staccato of fireworks left over from last night.
Friday, November 5/2010
Guy Fawkes Day, though rain is predicted later in the day, so we probably won't head out to Clapham Common for the fireworks. Jenny texts to suggest we meet up at Waterloo Station late this morning. First to the bank to sort the card problem and then, with a bit of extra time, to Canada House on Trafalgar Square, pausing on the way to admire the model of Nelson's ship in a large bottle (4 tons in all) on the fourth plinth. Lucky stop as it happens, as there's an email from Dave saying he'll be in London Sunday.
Collect Jenny and we head to the Museum of London for coffee and a look at some of the new displays, many based on recent London excavations. There's a movingly attractive and modern looking bust of a woman based on a skeleton found in a lead coffin. We're interested to learn that when the Romans left in the fifth century London fell into deserted ruins until the Saxons began to arrive.
Then lunch at the Olde Cheshire Cheese. None of us has been here for years, and it would be a classic pub even without the astonishing sign proclaiming it to have been rebuilt in 1667 after the Great Fire. Good chat and catch up time. Jennycatches a bus to Waterloo and we go home via Camden Town.
Rain and bonfire night fireworks beyond the trees outside our window as we make dinner.
Collect Jenny and we head to the Museum of London for coffee and a look at some of the new displays, many based on recent London excavations. There's a movingly attractive and modern looking bust of a woman based on a skeleton found in a lead coffin. We're interested to learn that when the Romans left in the fifth century London fell into deserted ruins until the Saxons began to arrive.
Then lunch at the Olde Cheshire Cheese. None of us has been here for years, and it would be a classic pub even without the astonishing sign proclaiming it to have been rebuilt in 1667 after the Great Fire. Good chat and catch up time. Jennycatches a bus to Waterloo and we go home via Camden Town.
Rain and bonfire night fireworks beyond the trees outside our window as we make dinner.
Thursday, November 4/2010
Tube to Camden Town for setting up part two. The intent is to go to Inverness St. market, but we never actually get there because there's a new Lidl store on Camden High Street with some fairly impressive sales - a kilo of bananas for 40p.
Over to the South Bank. It's seventeen degrees and a warm breeze off the Thames. Antique prints for sale at an outdoor stall (prices between £15 and £75). There`s a nice one of Hungerford Market, which was bought in the 1860's for the construction of Charing Cross Station. Collect the schedule for the plays at the National Theatre.
On Finchley Road, near the station, a young chalk artist is quickly completing a crucifixion picture with a sky blue background. When we come back past it, he's gone, but there's a cup beside his work saying "homeless soldier".
The HSBC bank card, which worked yesterday, fails to work twice at Sainsbury's and once at Waitrose - so it will be locked now.
Over to the South Bank. It's seventeen degrees and a warm breeze off the Thames. Antique prints for sale at an outdoor stall (prices between £15 and £75). There`s a nice one of Hungerford Market, which was bought in the 1860's for the construction of Charing Cross Station. Collect the schedule for the plays at the National Theatre.
On Finchley Road, near the station, a young chalk artist is quickly completing a crucifixion picture with a sky blue background. When we come back past it, he's gone, but there's a cup beside his work saying "homeless soldier".
The HSBC bank card, which worked yesterday, fails to work twice at Sainsbury's and once at Waitrose - so it will be locked now.
Wednesday, November 3/2010
Oddly enough, the day begins, technically, with last night's dinner, so to speak. That is, it's past midnight Tuesday when we board and are served our meal. The extra money from this year's fair increase has clearly not been spent on the food - a bland, overcooked penne with chicken and a strange salad involving peas and bits of what looks, but doesn't really taste, like peach. The Cabernet is quite all right, though.
We arrive to mild weather (we wear jackets only because it's easier than carrying them) - and a partial tube strike. But not much hassle with the revised route. Rates at the Welby have risen, though, a hefty 16%. We are supposedly getting an upgraded room, but it looks reasonaably basic - though extremely clean. Full stove, though; not just two burners with a mini oven.
Down to Sainsbury's for a few basics - and the pleasure of a huge range of cheeses. We pick a Stilton, an extra-old cheddar and one identified as Parlick Fell sheep's cheese, lucky to have similar tastes. Also olives, yoghurt, bananas, peanut butter and seeded bread.
The leaves have turned orange and bronze, and we're shuffling through them, but there are plenty of flowers still blooming, including beautifully scented roses.
We arrive to mild weather (we wear jackets only because it's easier than carrying them) - and a partial tube strike. But not much hassle with the revised route. Rates at the Welby have risen, though, a hefty 16%. We are supposedly getting an upgraded room, but it looks reasonaably basic - though extremely clean. Full stove, though; not just two burners with a mini oven.
Down to Sainsbury's for a few basics - and the pleasure of a huge range of cheeses. We pick a Stilton, an extra-old cheddar and one identified as Parlick Fell sheep's cheese, lucky to have similar tastes. Also olives, yoghurt, bananas, peanut butter and seeded bread.
The leaves have turned orange and bronze, and we're shuffling through them, but there are plenty of flowers still blooming, including beautifully scented roses.
Tuesday, 2 November 2010
Tuesday, November 2/2010
Janet picks us up at one and we have a leisurely lunch at Smitty's before the airport. It's been ages since we've seen her, so a nice visit. At the airport discover that I've failed to take the penknife off my keychain and put it in the checked suitcase. It's a little Swiss Army one - losing its red paint but of sentimental as well as practical value since Dad gave it to me, so J acquires an envelope from the currency exchange people and I mail it to Ian.
The airport in Toronto has free wifi - a fair drawing card when choosing airports for transfer. A page of limited liability terms, but it works well.
November 1/2010
Alarm goes off at 4 am. Telephone proves to be disconnected, as we suspected. An hour's worth of last minute jobs - antifreeze in the plumbing, scraps to the birds, pull the main power switch.
In town we pick up coffee to take to the train station. Station is overstating it considerably. It's next to the nice building that was once a station, but is a prefab about 24 feet squared. A chatty worker explains that he has to leave to help with the hospital's move to its new quarters. Translation: he is leaving us in charge of the waiting room. It is warm enough, heated by construction heaters fixed to the ceiling. There's even a sink, which has been clearly used as an ashtray. The coffee, as 5:30 becomes 6 and then 7, seems not to have been a brilliant idea. Two small compartments, neither of which appears to be a washroom, one padlocked and the other with a fist-sized hole underneath the doorknob. There's a bag of recycle tins in the corner and, interestingly, about a dozen and a half empty wine bottles. Signs of solace for the night crew or salvage from the dining car for a home winemaker short of bottles? No decor as such, but 6 copies of the same notice re scheduled time changes for trains from Hornepayne, as well as a bilingual no smoking notice, the French part carefully amended by hand to read "il n'est pas interdit de fumer dans cet Ètablissement."
At 7:30 the train arrives, and it's not crowded, so we get to spread out a bit. The sun has just risen and the first ponds we pass still have a partial film of ice on them, giving way to open water as it warms up. At Ottermere and Malachi there are boats still in the water and cottagers heading back from rail-only access spots. Two golden eagles soar off on our right.
The car is less than half full and we're sitting near two Chinese men, one young and busy with a computer and the other older. They've made themselves thoroughly at home - the older man heading off to the washroom with his coffee and the younger spreading out the snacks. We debate their origin. The book the young man is reading is in Chinese, as is the writng on the crisp packet, and all their conversation is in Chinese. On the other hand the travel mugs and the resealable plastic container full of peeled oranges suggest a domestic journey. Or is this a Leonard Cohen moment - tea and oranges that come all the way from China?
Bus to Ian and Susan's and then over to Jennifer and other (boyfriend) Ian's place. Lovely meal but almost asleep in front of the tv later - maple liqueurs or the 4 am start?
In town we pick up coffee to take to the train station. Station is overstating it considerably. It's next to the nice building that was once a station, but is a prefab about 24 feet squared. A chatty worker explains that he has to leave to help with the hospital's move to its new quarters. Translation: he is leaving us in charge of the waiting room. It is warm enough, heated by construction heaters fixed to the ceiling. There's even a sink, which has been clearly used as an ashtray. The coffee, as 5:30 becomes 6 and then 7, seems not to have been a brilliant idea. Two small compartments, neither of which appears to be a washroom, one padlocked and the other with a fist-sized hole underneath the doorknob. There's a bag of recycle tins in the corner and, interestingly, about a dozen and a half empty wine bottles. Signs of solace for the night crew or salvage from the dining car for a home winemaker short of bottles? No decor as such, but 6 copies of the same notice re scheduled time changes for trains from Hornepayne, as well as a bilingual no smoking notice, the French part carefully amended by hand to read "il n'est pas interdit de fumer dans cet Ètablissement."
At 7:30 the train arrives, and it's not crowded, so we get to spread out a bit. The sun has just risen and the first ponds we pass still have a partial film of ice on them, giving way to open water as it warms up. At Ottermere and Malachi there are boats still in the water and cottagers heading back from rail-only access spots. Two golden eagles soar off on our right.
The car is less than half full and we're sitting near two Chinese men, one young and busy with a computer and the other older. They've made themselves thoroughly at home - the older man heading off to the washroom with his coffee and the younger spreading out the snacks. We debate their origin. The book the young man is reading is in Chinese, as is the writng on the crisp packet, and all their conversation is in Chinese. On the other hand the travel mugs and the resealable plastic container full of peeled oranges suggest a domestic journey. Or is this a Leonard Cohen moment - tea and oranges that come all the way from China?
Bus to Ian and Susan's and then over to Jennifer and other (boyfriend) Ian's place. Lovely meal but almost asleep in front of the tv later - maple liqueurs or the 4 am start?
October 31/2010
The trip hasn't quite begun - but the travel hazards have. We have an email from VIA rail informing us that the train that should have left Toronto heading west at 10 pm last night will be leaving at 7 this morning instead. Keep phoning VIA for updates. No Hallowe'en prank, unfortunately. The real problem is not that we will be leaving tomorrow instead of just after midnight tonight. It's that the telephone has been cancelled as of November 1 - which the phone company will probably interpret as one minute after midnight. So as of midnight we will have no telephone, no pathetically crap dial-up internet, and no idea how late the train will be or when we should leave for the station. We can (and do) keep checking throughout the day. The last estimate is 6 a.m. tomorrow - but will this change during the night? Memo to self: next year suspend the phone from the day after anticipated departure.
Monday, 26 April 2010
Friday, April 23/2010
Packing up day. Down to Camden Town in the morning for last minute errands and packing in the afternoon. Dinner at The Garden Gate pub just off Pond St. near Hampstead Heath. It's busy, more because it's Friday than because it's St. George's Day. We have fisn and chips and a fish pie - quite nice with shrimp and smoked haddock - and bitter. A nice finale.
Would have been good to go to the concert with A and F, but packing takes precedence.
Would have been good to go to the concert with A and F, but packing takes precedence.
Thursday, April 22/2010
Walk up Haverstock Hill, which becomes Rosslyn Hill and then Hampstead High Street, full of little shops and cafes and bakeries. Then turn down towards the Heath and past Keats' house. It's only open afternoons and this is still moroning, but entrance is a bargain - £3 for concessions, which allows admission for a year.
Down to trafalgar Square in the afternoon. J sits in the warm sun - along with many others - in front of the National Gallery while I go into Canada House. They're staying open in the afternoon again and letting people make telephone calls so I call Dorothy to say we're flying back thorugh Calgary with a 3 hour stop, so she's going to come out to the airport.
Along Oxford Street. We stop at John Lewis to look at the Itouches and netbooks. More interesting, they're demonstrating a new 3-D tv. A small knot of people gathers and we put on the glasses. Quite impressive really. Forty inch screen for £1800 ($2700). But of course there's not really much to watch on 3-D yet. what we do buy, somewhat to our surprise, is 10 m of downproof cambric to line the duvet ticking, as we salvage the original feather duvet that Joe's mother brought with her from Germany. I've seen the material online but never live, so to speak. We come home to find a tall thin man accompanied by his dog, whom he introduces, rescuing a couple of fancy dress hats from the bins. He's a little abashed, but they were on the very top and scarcely dusty - one black top hat style and one gold sparkles. We have to agree that it would be a shame to waste them. In fact the next time we're out I'm pleased to see that the red sparkled one has been salvaged as well.
We meet Flora and Alexander at Rosslyn Hill Chapel - really walking distance from us, though we take the bus, as it's door to door. Alexander is delivering a fortepiano for a concert tomorrow evening, a beautiful instrument that he and J move in across the crunchy gravel on a small wooden dolly. The church itself is larger than it looks from the front - 19th century stone with stained glass windows - two of them by William Morris and Burne Jones. It's Unitarian but with strong evidence of Christian heritage.
The fortepiano delivered, and the young pianist, a Ukrainian girl, left practising, we head off to find a spot for dinner, stopping almost immediately when Alexander sees an Italian restaurant, Carluccio's, which has a famous chef. Chicken liver pate starter (or mushroom soup in A's case). A has calf's liver and the rest of us pasta - j with tomato sausage sauce and F and I with seafood. Nice Montepulciano as well. A good little bonus with our delayed flight, this chance to see A and F again.
Down to trafalgar Square in the afternoon. J sits in the warm sun - along with many others - in front of the National Gallery while I go into Canada House. They're staying open in the afternoon again and letting people make telephone calls so I call Dorothy to say we're flying back thorugh Calgary with a 3 hour stop, so she's going to come out to the airport.
Along Oxford Street. We stop at John Lewis to look at the Itouches and netbooks. More interesting, they're demonstrating a new 3-D tv. A small knot of people gathers and we put on the glasses. Quite impressive really. Forty inch screen for £1800 ($2700). But of course there's not really much to watch on 3-D yet. what we do buy, somewhat to our surprise, is 10 m of downproof cambric to line the duvet ticking, as we salvage the original feather duvet that Joe's mother brought with her from Germany. I've seen the material online but never live, so to speak. We come home to find a tall thin man accompanied by his dog, whom he introduces, rescuing a couple of fancy dress hats from the bins. He's a little abashed, but they were on the very top and scarcely dusty - one black top hat style and one gold sparkles. We have to agree that it would be a shame to waste them. In fact the next time we're out I'm pleased to see that the red sparkled one has been salvaged as well.
We meet Flora and Alexander at Rosslyn Hill Chapel - really walking distance from us, though we take the bus, as it's door to door. Alexander is delivering a fortepiano for a concert tomorrow evening, a beautiful instrument that he and J move in across the crunchy gravel on a small wooden dolly. The church itself is larger than it looks from the front - 19th century stone with stained glass windows - two of them by William Morris and Burne Jones. It's Unitarian but with strong evidence of Christian heritage.
The fortepiano delivered, and the young pianist, a Ukrainian girl, left practising, we head off to find a spot for dinner, stopping almost immediately when Alexander sees an Italian restaurant, Carluccio's, which has a famous chef. Chicken liver pate starter (or mushroom soup in A's case). A has calf's liver and the rest of us pasta - j with tomato sausage sauce and F and I with seafood. Nice Montepulciano as well. A good little bonus with our delayed flight, this chance to see A and F again.
Wednesday, April 21/2010
Canada House lets us use the computers and phone. They're actually nicer about it than we expected - providing coffee and biscuits and staying open to five instead of their usual 1 pm. J notifies the insurance (on Mastercard) which begins by claiming no knowledge of him....Actually most travellers have more problems than we do - they're paying much more for accommodation, can't cook where they are, and, in some cases, are running out of money or prescription drugs. There are stories about hotels tripling their prices.
Back to the throbbing life along Kilburn High Road. This time we try The Bell pub. Seafood platter (minorly upscale version of fish and chips) and other specials are 2 for £6 ($9 CAD/US). And nice. A pint of bitter each.
Back to the throbbing life along Kilburn High Road. This time we try The Bell pub. Seafood platter (minorly upscale version of fish and chips) and other specials are 2 for £6 ($9 CAD/US). And nice. A pint of bitter each.
Tuesday, April 20/2010
Over to the National to queue for £10 theatre tickets, this time for Really Old, Like Forty-Five. We go to the matinee. It's at the Cottsloe, their more experimental theatre, which is a pity because the same day seats have a somewhat restricted view and the accoustics aren't as good as the other two theatres. The play takes p\a darkly comic look at the position of the elderly and it has its moments, but we'll go back to choosing plays by the playwright.
The daffodils are pretty well finished, as is the forsythia and most of the magnolias. The camelias as well. But there ae still more flowers coming along - mimosa still in bloom and lilacs and hyacinths as well as cherry and quince blossoms.
Dinner at Roses on Kilburn High Road. Kilburn High Road being our great neighbourhood discovery of the year. We're there for the Polish menu - and the perogies are amazingly good - enormous and bacon covered. The cafe is full of locals, cheap, good and large platesful, with most of the dishes £4 to £5 ($6-7.50)
The daffodils are pretty well finished, as is the forsythia and most of the magnolias. The camelias as well. But there ae still more flowers coming along - mimosa still in bloom and lilacs and hyacinths as well as cherry and quince blossoms.
Dinner at Roses on Kilburn High Road. Kilburn High Road being our great neighbourhood discovery of the year. We're there for the Polish menu - and the perogies are amazingly good - enormous and bacon covered. The cafe is full of locals, cheap, good and large platesful, with most of the dishes £4 to £5 ($6-7.50)
Tuesday, 20 April 2010
Monday, April 19/2010
Over to the Welby in the morning with the news that we're not leaving today. Marty now back from her mother's funeral. She says it was a nightmare - from her mother having been given a year to live and dying 2 weeks later to having to deal with Spanish laws and language.
Then out to Jean's to use a secure internet and rebook. Get a flight for Saturday via Calgary. Also email VIA to cancel our train from Winnipeg. Air Canada's London phone line so full of crackle as to be pointless - and recorded message anyway.
Then back to pick up a day's groceries and pay for another five days at the bedsit. Meanwhile Alexander has texted to ask - very kindly - if we need somewhere to stay and if we'd like to go for a meal if we're here for longer. So call Flora, who repeats the invitation and we agree to a meal. A texts and suggests Wednesday or Thursday.
Very nice coq au vin for two courtesy of Waitrose's markdown corner (£1.49 instead of 7.99).
Then out to Jean's to use a secure internet and rebook. Get a flight for Saturday via Calgary. Also email VIA to cancel our train from Winnipeg. Air Canada's London phone line so full of crackle as to be pointless - and recorded message anyway.
Then back to pick up a day's groceries and pay for another five days at the bedsit. Meanwhile Alexander has texted to ask - very kindly - if we need somewhere to stay and if we'd like to go for a meal if we're here for longer. So call Flora, who repeats the invitation and we agree to a meal. A texts and suggests Wednesday or Thursday.
Very nice coq au vin for two courtesy of Waitrose's markdown corner (£1.49 instead of 7.99).
Sunday, April 18/2010
Should be our last day in England, but we wake to the news that the flight ban is now extended to 7 pm tonight. That's now 17 hours before our flight.
It's the Shanghai Grand Prix this morning so we watch with the Sunday Times spread out across the bed. In the afternoon we go down to the south bank. It's sunny and warm enough so we shed our jackets and enjoy the breeze in our shirtsleeves. The Globe Theatre is celebrating Shakespeare's birthday with free tours of the theatre and various activities on stage. We also find ourselves at a talk about Henry VIII (play not monarch), part of this season's repertoire. We've been here before but not for years and its a real delight seeing the stage even without a performance.
Stop at an internet cafe to check on our flight tomorrow. It's cancelled, so we'll have to see about rebooking, though it's hard to know when would be good.
It's the Shanghai Grand Prix this morning so we watch with the Sunday Times spread out across the bed. In the afternoon we go down to the south bank. It's sunny and warm enough so we shed our jackets and enjoy the breeze in our shirtsleeves. The Globe Theatre is celebrating Shakespeare's birthday with free tours of the theatre and various activities on stage. We also find ourselves at a talk about Henry VIII (play not monarch), part of this season's repertoire. We've been here before but not for years and its a real delight seeing the stage even without a performance.
Stop at an internet cafe to check on our flight tomorrow. It's cancelled, so we'll have to see about rebooking, though it's hard to know when would be good.
Saturday, April 17/2010
The volcano is still erupting and the flight ban continues to be extended. So we go over to the Welby where one of the co-owners assures us there will be no problem extending our stay should our flight not go on Monday. In fact we're not the first to present the same problem. Ahead of us is a young man whose Air India fight to Toronto has already been cancelled who now appears to be paying a day at a time to extend his stay.
The day is sunny and warm and the sky, ironically considering the volcanic ash problem, is blue and cloudless. So we decide to go to see Dr. Johnson's house as we've always intended to and have a 2 for 1 voucher. It's jjuust off Fleet St. near Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese pub (rebuilt in 1666 after the Great Fire of London!) A four story house containing (despite some war-time damage to the garret) some original panelling and floorboards and quite a few paintings and engravings of Johnson and his associates. The front door is remarkable for its security devices - security clearly as much a problem in the 18th century as in the 21st. There's a small glass fanlight window above the door with a metal rod across it to prevent the lowering in of a child thief through the small opening. The door itself is crossed by a massive chain, its links bigger in diameter than a man's thumb. To prevent anyone from lowering a hook through the fanlight to life the chain rom the hooks on which it rests, the hooks themselves are corkscrew shaped.
Hop a bus on fleet St, a number 11. It's a stunning day so we get the greand tour from the top deck - past Trafalgar Square, Westminster Abbey and Victoria Station and along King's Road in Chelsea. At the end of King's Road is World's End pub, recommended by Shirley, but it proves to be closed for renovations so we head home.
By evening there are stories of people taking extraordinary means to get back to the UK despite the flight ban. Thus one man, on being told that there is room on the channel ferry for vehicle but no more foot passengers, buys a second hand bike in France, pedals it up the ramp as required, suitcases in hand, and is home. And John Clese spends £3000 to take a taxi from Oslo to the UK - all right if you have the £3000 and if your mourney doesn't involve crossing the Atlantic. By the time we go to sleep the flight ban has been extended to 1 pm tomorrow.
The day is sunny and warm and the sky, ironically considering the volcanic ash problem, is blue and cloudless. So we decide to go to see Dr. Johnson's house as we've always intended to and have a 2 for 1 voucher. It's jjuust off Fleet St. near Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese pub (rebuilt in 1666 after the Great Fire of London!) A four story house containing (despite some war-time damage to the garret) some original panelling and floorboards and quite a few paintings and engravings of Johnson and his associates. The front door is remarkable for its security devices - security clearly as much a problem in the 18th century as in the 21st. There's a small glass fanlight window above the door with a metal rod across it to prevent the lowering in of a child thief through the small opening. The door itself is crossed by a massive chain, its links bigger in diameter than a man's thumb. To prevent anyone from lowering a hook through the fanlight to life the chain rom the hooks on which it rests, the hooks themselves are corkscrew shaped.
Hop a bus on fleet St, a number 11. It's a stunning day so we get the greand tour from the top deck - past Trafalgar Square, Westminster Abbey and Victoria Station and along King's Road in Chelsea. At the end of King's Road is World's End pub, recommended by Shirley, but it proves to be closed for renovations so we head home.
By evening there are stories of people taking extraordinary means to get back to the UK despite the flight ban. Thus one man, on being told that there is room on the channel ferry for vehicle but no more foot passengers, buys a second hand bike in France, pedals it up the ramp as required, suitcases in hand, and is home. And John Clese spends £3000 to take a taxi from Oslo to the UK - all right if you have the £3000 and if your mourney doesn't involve crossing the Atlantic. By the time we go to sleep the flight ban has been extended to 1 pm tomorrow.
Friday, April 16/2010
We stop at the Barbican and acquire a London telephone number for Air Canada as well as registering with BAA Heathrow's flight advisory service - for what that may prove to be worth. The service says it's for UK residents, but one assumes that this is in order to avoid long distance telephone calls and our mobile number is UK. The no fly looks like being extended.
Then a visit to the Guildhall. We've been before but not for years and it's free on Fridays. The most interesting bit is the excavation underneath, showing a partial wall of a Roman arena - now close to 2000 years old but once the scene of gladiatorial combat. There are also art galleries, including a current exhibition of large photographs of the heart of ondon taken from above. As well as the permanent collection, with quite a few royal portraits and Victoriana. A portrait of Victoria herself shows her at 18 - very formal but very young.
Then a visit to the Guildhall. We've been before but not for years and it's free on Fridays. The most interesting bit is the excavation underneath, showing a partial wall of a Roman arena - now close to 2000 years old but once the scene of gladiatorial combat. There are also art galleries, including a current exhibition of large photographs of the heart of ondon taken from above. As well as the permanent collection, with quite a few royal portraits and Victoriana. A portrait of Victoria herself shows her at 18 - very formal but very young.
Friday, 16 April 2010
Thursday, April 15/2010
Out to Lewisham, far end of the Docklands Light Railway line. Once, of course, it was a separate Kentish village and not part of greater London. The coming of the railway line in 1857 made it commuter territory for those working in the city, as it still is. There's a Tesco near the terminal but not a giant one - food but not mobiles, clothes, etc.
Out to Jean's in West Harrow. The wind is from the east but it's warm in the sun. We're to have dinner with Jean, which we do - lovely salmon en croute. The plan is that we'll then go to shanthi's for dessert, this being part of Hindu New Year's festivities (actual NY being yesterday). However S phones to say that there's been a minor crisis at work and she'll have to cancel.
This does have the result of leaving us watching the electoral leadership debate on television together. Fairly good format, allowing for bits of clash but little shouting or repetition. Nick Clegg was quite winning, probably stealing some of David Cameron's charismatic thunder. Brown a bit ponderous but still carrying some heavyweight authority, and Cameron with engaging (and well rehearsed) opener and closing speech but spending a good deal of time looking as if his opponents were emitting a bad smell. Interesting and quite amusing at times - not always intentionally. Then goodbyes - always a bit sad, but we'll be back in November.
The real news of the day, though is not electoral and is harder to assess. A dark cloud of volcanic ash from the volcano erupting in Iceland has caused the closure of all airports in the UK - to say nothing of Denmark, the Netherlands, etc - until 6 p.m. Not horrific in itself, but the eruption is continuing. By the time we get home, the flight ban has been extended to Friday morning.
Out to Jean's in West Harrow. The wind is from the east but it's warm in the sun. We're to have dinner with Jean, which we do - lovely salmon en croute. The plan is that we'll then go to shanthi's for dessert, this being part of Hindu New Year's festivities (actual NY being yesterday). However S phones to say that there's been a minor crisis at work and she'll have to cancel.
This does have the result of leaving us watching the electoral leadership debate on television together. Fairly good format, allowing for bits of clash but little shouting or repetition. Nick Clegg was quite winning, probably stealing some of David Cameron's charismatic thunder. Brown a bit ponderous but still carrying some heavyweight authority, and Cameron with engaging (and well rehearsed) opener and closing speech but spending a good deal of time looking as if his opponents were emitting a bad smell. Interesting and quite amusing at times - not always intentionally. Then goodbyes - always a bit sad, but we'll be back in November.
The real news of the day, though is not electoral and is harder to assess. A dark cloud of volcanic ash from the volcano erupting in Iceland has caused the closure of all airports in the UK - to say nothing of Denmark, the Netherlands, etc - until 6 p.m. Not horrific in itself, but the eruption is continuing. By the time we get home, the flight ban has been extended to Friday morning.
Wednesday, April 14/2010
To Camden Town in the morning on minor errands - AA batteries, toothbrushes, etc.
In the afternoon we take the train to Thames Ditton to see Jenny and Doug before they leave on their Caribbean cruise and, especially, to see Jane and David, who are sailing from Southampton with them. Nice visit with Jane. We stayed at their house in Cumbria for two weeks four years ago while Dave (and Jane) was stationed in Cyprus, having met them on the same Nile cruise as Jenny and Doug. Dave is now in the process of retiring from the army and is looking at a job in Glasgow, in the interests of which he is writing an exam in Bath today. But he joins us for a cup of tea and in time to see Jasmine demonstrate her new skill - as of today she can walk a few steps.
In the afternoon we take the train to Thames Ditton to see Jenny and Doug before they leave on their Caribbean cruise and, especially, to see Jane and David, who are sailing from Southampton with them. Nice visit with Jane. We stayed at their house in Cumbria for two weeks four years ago while Dave (and Jane) was stationed in Cyprus, having met them on the same Nile cruise as Jenny and Doug. Dave is now in the process of retiring from the army and is looking at a job in Glasgow, in the interests of which he is writing an exam in Bath today. But he joins us for a cup of tea and in time to see Jasmine demonstrate her new skill - as of today she can walk a few steps.
Tuesday, April 13/2010
Day for pottering about. we wander through Selfridge's food hall - posh and attractive and expensive. An older man with a leather shoulder bag and full sized black umbrella orders his meat and says he'll be back in a few minutes when the butcher has trimmed the fat off it. And that's Selfridge's. If you're willing to pay for it you can have beautiful food and service. Though we note that the peanut butters they carry are Skippy and Jiffy, which isn't too impressive. Maybe it's what they believe American expats want. Perhaps they're right.
In the afternoon we go over to Abbey Road - not actually that far from us - to have a look at Abbey Road Studio and the famous Beatles crossing point. Not far from St. John's Wood tube station and instantly identifiable by the knot of people staring at the rather unremarkable square white building as well as the graffiti on the wall, much of it quotations from Beatles songs. We're probably the only people here old enough to remember when the Beatles were together.
Then wander along our section of Finchley Road checking out the little charity and card shops. Minorly interesting, though in some cases the second hand price is perilously close to the new.
In the afternoon we go over to Abbey Road - not actually that far from us - to have a look at Abbey Road Studio and the famous Beatles crossing point. Not far from St. John's Wood tube station and instantly identifiable by the knot of people staring at the rather unremarkable square white building as well as the graffiti on the wall, much of it quotations from Beatles songs. We're probably the only people here old enough to remember when the Beatles were together.
Then wander along our section of Finchley Road checking out the little charity and card shops. Minorly interesting, though in some cases the second hand price is perilously close to the new.
Monday, April 12/2010
We've discovered that the Courtauld Institute - famous for its paintings and infamous for its former director, Anthony Blunt, exposed as a Communist spy, is free from ten until two on Mondays. Lucky timing as there's an exhibition of Michelangelo's drawings, some of them quite moving - and a number lent by the queen.
There's lots in the permanent collection as well. Manet's A Bar at the Folies Bergere could, apart from style of dress and decor, be a very modern work - the weary and distracted girl tending bar thinking of anything but the gentleman she is serving. And there's Monet's Antibes - a single tree against the water - and one realises that the painter was still alive after the first world war and that without the ornate gilt frame the painting could look contemporary.
There's lots in the permanent collection as well. Manet's A Bar at the Folies Bergere could, apart from style of dress and decor, be a very modern work - the weary and distracted girl tending bar thinking of anything but the gentleman she is serving. And there's Monet's Antibes - a single tree against the water - and one realises that the painter was still alive after the first world war and that without the ornate gilt frame the painting could look contemporary.
Monday, 12 April 2010
Sunday, April 11/2010
Mass, as we might have done last week had there not been a race. The boys' choir, sadly for us but no doubt not for them, has a break after their Easter duties and there's a guest choir from Ireland. Nice enough, but not the same. The first time we've ever seen empty seats at Westminster Cathedral. Is this down to the scandal in the Church?
The flat is, as almost always, too warm, although we leave the heat off unless we're drying clothes on a radiator. We do keep the window open, but not very far, except when we're home in the daytime, as it's at ground level and central London, like many other cities, is home to rats. We've seen them in the past, though not outside this particular building.
The flat is, as almost always, too warm, although we leave the heat off unless we're drying clothes on a radiator. We do keep the window open, but not very far, except when we're home in the daytime, as it's at ground level and central London, like many other cities, is home to rats. We've seen them in the past, though not outside this particular building.
Saturday, April 10/2010
Go early to the National to queue for tickets. There are probably forty people ahead of us, and more behind, but we've brought the Saturday Guardian and our place in line is by a convenient sitting step, so it's not bad. There are three plays on that we'd be pleased to see, but we opt for London Assurance, both because it's had excellent reviews and because Nicholas Hytner is the director.
Back in the afternoon to see the matinée. This time we're back row instead of front - a different experience but more comfortable seats. It's an excellent production, witty and well-timed. Impressive sets and costumes. Just classically 19th century - lots of clever lines and twists but not something one goes home thinking about.
Back in the afternoon to see the matinée. This time we're back row instead of front - a different experience but more comfortable seats. It's an excellent production, witty and well-timed. Impressive sets and costumes. Just classically 19th century - lots of clever lines and twists but not something one goes home thinking about.
Friday, April 9/2010
Out by tube to North Greenwich where we take a look at the enormous O2 Centre, concert and film venue and erstwhile Milennium Dome. Many of the restaurants are open, though the shops mostly aren't, but we look around and then take a bus out to the Thames Barrier. As we board, I ask the driver if he can tell us where to get off for the Thames Barrier and he simply nods. But sure enough, when the time comes he bellows loudly enough to be heard upstairs, so we get off at what turns out to be the edge of the Thames Barrier Industrial Estate. There's a garage and I no sooner have my mouth open to inquire than the man there is giving directions - he's been asked this before. Sure enough, at the end of the road we're at the Thames Barrier - the huge set of metal clad moving dams that control the water level and prevent flooding. We have 2 for 1 tickets for the interpretive centre, so we look at the info and models, J more taken with the clever design of the project and me, as usual, with the words - for example the description of rowboats inside a flooded medieval Westminster Hall or the information that the invading Danes came downsteam along the thames taking villages as far as Reading before being stopped by alfred the Great. We have memories of our Thames walk four years ago and fill in one gap by walking back from the barrier to North Greenwich along the path past the Greenwich Yacht Club as well as a number of industrial yards and moored boats.
Then tube to Kilburn. We check out the Tricycle Theatre for later and are impressed by the Polishy shop and, more so, by the multi-ethnic Eastern European and mideast shop. Also marked for later. Then Alexander texts to suggest a Turkish restaurant on Kingsland for dinner.
We plan the route but.... Part of the overground isn't running, and, not wishing to be grounded at Gospel Oak, we go with Plan B. Tube to Liverpool followed by bus, which we get off too early. Though, as Alexander kindly says, we still have the whole evening.
Turns out their car has been stolen recently, so we head for Testi, the restaurant recommended by Dominic, by alternate means. Flora very generously takes the bus while J and Alexander and I fold into the G-wiz, our first ride in one. It's electric and not subject to the congestion charge. Also road tax benefits and very cheap to run, and Alexander is delighted with it.
The restaurant is a pleasure - small, but nice if noisy. Flora, Alexander and J have succulent lamb shish kebabs while I have stuffed aubergine. All very nice, and the starter taramasalata the best we've ever had. With a bottle of Italian red. We've opted against the sheep's testicles, on the menu at about £10, though clearly we could have dined out on the story for years.
Alexander has a job orchestral tuning in the morning and Flora deserves a ride home, so we say goodbye at the restaurant and hop on a bus for Liverpool St.
Then tube to Kilburn. We check out the Tricycle Theatre for later and are impressed by the Polishy shop and, more so, by the multi-ethnic Eastern European and mideast shop. Also marked for later. Then Alexander texts to suggest a Turkish restaurant on Kingsland for dinner.
We plan the route but.... Part of the overground isn't running, and, not wishing to be grounded at Gospel Oak, we go with Plan B. Tube to Liverpool followed by bus, which we get off too early. Though, as Alexander kindly says, we still have the whole evening.
Turns out their car has been stolen recently, so we head for Testi, the restaurant recommended by Dominic, by alternate means. Flora very generously takes the bus while J and Alexander and I fold into the G-wiz, our first ride in one. It's electric and not subject to the congestion charge. Also road tax benefits and very cheap to run, and Alexander is delighted with it.
The restaurant is a pleasure - small, but nice if noisy. Flora, Alexander and J have succulent lamb shish kebabs while I have stuffed aubergine. All very nice, and the starter taramasalata the best we've ever had. With a bottle of Italian red. We've opted against the sheep's testicles, on the menu at about £10, though clearly we could have dined out on the story for years.
Alexander has a job orchestral tuning in the morning and Flora deserves a ride home, so we say goodbye at the restaurant and hop on a bus for Liverpool St.
Thursday, April 8/2010
Train from Paddington to Cookham in the morning. We change at Maidenhead and are in luck, because a woman going to Marlowe to walk the Thames path to Henley tells us "platform four" and we follow her and make it with no more than a minute to spare - the next train on the Marlower branch line being an hour later. At Cookham the kind station master tells us how to reach the Stanley Spencer Gallery, a straightforward and pretty walk through the village. It's about ten minutes and the sun is warm on the cottages and the tiny moor we cross.
the gallery is in a house at the end of the high street, not large and surprisingly full of viewers. The price for concessions is £2, probably possible because the gallery, which gets no grants, is staffed by volunteers. It has a permanent collection of over 140 paintings but what is on view now is an exhibition commemorating the 60th anniversary of the death of Hilda, Spencer's first wife. Thus there are a number of paintings of Hilda and their two daughters as well as paintings done by Hilda and the younger daughter, Unity, both artists in their own right. The work is interesting, as is the biographical reminiscences on a video upstairs. There's even the original pram that Spencer used to wheel his painting materials, complete with the large sign asking that he not be distracted from his work.
What we don't see is very many of his fascinating religious paintings, such as the resurrection painting showing the people of Cookham rising from their graves in the village churchyard. There is a last supper as well as the enormous but unfinished painting of christ preaching at the Cooiham Regatta, but some of our favourites aren't here, either because the gallery doesn't own them or because they aren't included in the current exhibition.
It's sunny and warm and we walk down to the river, near where christ preached at the regatta in Spencer's last painting. Then along to the churchyard, where we sit on a bench and eat our bread and cheese and listen to the birds. Back on the high street past Spencer's old home and along to the Crown, a pub at the edge of the little common. We take our bitter to an outside table and watch the passers by.
There's a little more time and we go past the war monument down school lane, which is home to a marvellous old brick house with inset beams, so old that neither walls nor windows are straight. Round the corner there's a beautiful house with thatched roof and thatched porch cover. ~Then train back to Paddington.
the gallery is in a house at the end of the high street, not large and surprisingly full of viewers. The price for concessions is £2, probably possible because the gallery, which gets no grants, is staffed by volunteers. It has a permanent collection of over 140 paintings but what is on view now is an exhibition commemorating the 60th anniversary of the death of Hilda, Spencer's first wife. Thus there are a number of paintings of Hilda and their two daughters as well as paintings done by Hilda and the younger daughter, Unity, both artists in their own right. The work is interesting, as is the biographical reminiscences on a video upstairs. There's even the original pram that Spencer used to wheel his painting materials, complete with the large sign asking that he not be distracted from his work.
What we don't see is very many of his fascinating religious paintings, such as the resurrection painting showing the people of Cookham rising from their graves in the village churchyard. There is a last supper as well as the enormous but unfinished painting of christ preaching at the Cooiham Regatta, but some of our favourites aren't here, either because the gallery doesn't own them or because they aren't included in the current exhibition.
It's sunny and warm and we walk down to the river, near where christ preached at the regatta in Spencer's last painting. Then along to the churchyard, where we sit on a bench and eat our bread and cheese and listen to the birds. Back on the high street past Spencer's old home and along to the Crown, a pub at the edge of the little common. We take our bitter to an outside table and watch the passers by.
There's a little more time and we go past the war monument down school lane, which is home to a marvellous old brick house with inset beams, so old that neither walls nor windows are straight. Round the corner there's a beautiful house with thatched roof and thatched porch cover. ~Then train back to Paddington.
Wednesday, April 7/2010
We give some thought to trying to get into the House for Prime Minister's question period - the last before the election - but the thought of wasting ages in a queue and then not getting in decides us against. Do go to the War Museum, but it's swarming with children on school break, so we settle for going through the submarine and opt instead for the Victoria and Alberta (Museum), which is probably less of a kiddy drawing card despite some excellent hands-on exhibits. This proves to be right as the tube is crammed with families but most are siphoned off before we reach the V&A.
Victoria and Albert is hosting 3 special exhibits, one of which, Decode: Digital Design Sensations, we saw reviewed in a newspaper in cyprus some time ago. So we buy our concessions tickets and head in. It's a very nice collection of digital decor, some of which is interactive. So we see a tree in silhouette on the wall that moves in response to the wind blowing outside the museum and scatters silhouette leaves on the floor. Other digitally programmed screens have abstract patterns that respond to the viewers movement or sound. It's a fascinating exhibition with a hint of the possibilities of future decor.
Stop at Waitrose at the mark-down moment (around 5 p.m.) on the way home and acquire a packet of spinach falafel to add to our chicken and vegetables for dinner. Delicious.
Victoria and Albert is hosting 3 special exhibits, one of which, Decode: Digital Design Sensations, we saw reviewed in a newspaper in cyprus some time ago. So we buy our concessions tickets and head in. It's a very nice collection of digital decor, some of which is interactive. So we see a tree in silhouette on the wall that moves in response to the wind blowing outside the museum and scatters silhouette leaves on the floor. Other digitally programmed screens have abstract patterns that respond to the viewers movement or sound. It's a fascinating exhibition with a hint of the possibilities of future decor.
Stop at Waitrose at the mark-down moment (around 5 p.m.) on the way home and acquire a packet of spinach falafel to add to our chicken and vegetables for dinner. Delicious.
Tuesday, April 6/2010
To the Barbican to use the internet (me) and catch up on papers and magazines (J). Check the Cock Tavern theatre and can see that we're not going to be going to La Boheme. It's a fundraiser, no concession prices, and even the champagne, nice though it would be, would not compensate for paying a hundred quid each for the tickets. Also check times and prices for some of the day trips we have in mind. By comparison with La Boheme, train tickets to Cookham look very reasonable at £10 each.
In the afternoon we take advantage of the fine weather to follow the Thames east from Tower Bridge. So we get off the tube by the Tower of London and follow the river round by St. Katharine's Pier. We've never been here before and really aren't in the right income bracket to have done. The harbour is full of the most amazing yachts. Quite a pleasure walking and admirinig though. We follow the cobbled street past warehouses and water front flats, some fairly old marine facilities, and some buildings recreated as upscale accommodation. follow Wapping High St. and then Wapping Wall until we come to the Prospect of Whitby, arguagly the oldest pub in London. In its earliest period it was the scene of cockfights and bare knuckle fights. Somewhat later it was frequented by Turner and Whistler, who used it as a vantage point for painting the Thames. We pick a window table and enjoy a glass of bitter. Looking out over the river as boats - from river cruisers to a barge to a small but very fast speedboat - and birds - gulls, ducks and coots - go past. The water itself is hypnotic, and there's the sound of the waves underneath our small-paned window.
We've passed two other pubs, survivors in a Wapping High Street that once was home to 36 pubs in a rough dockside neighbourhood. There's the Town of Ramsgate, with a bloody history of its own as the "hanging" Judge Jeffreys was captured there and later executed after the overthrow of James II. We also pass the Captain Kidd pub, named after the pirate Captain Kidd who was executed nearby in 1701. Execution Dock gave pirates what was known as the Grace of Wapping when they were tied to a stake until the tide covered them three times.
In the afternoon we take advantage of the fine weather to follow the Thames east from Tower Bridge. So we get off the tube by the Tower of London and follow the river round by St. Katharine's Pier. We've never been here before and really aren't in the right income bracket to have done. The harbour is full of the most amazing yachts. Quite a pleasure walking and admirinig though. We follow the cobbled street past warehouses and water front flats, some fairly old marine facilities, and some buildings recreated as upscale accommodation. follow Wapping High St. and then Wapping Wall until we come to the Prospect of Whitby, arguagly the oldest pub in London. In its earliest period it was the scene of cockfights and bare knuckle fights. Somewhat later it was frequented by Turner and Whistler, who used it as a vantage point for painting the Thames. We pick a window table and enjoy a glass of bitter. Looking out over the river as boats - from river cruisers to a barge to a small but very fast speedboat - and birds - gulls, ducks and coots - go past. The water itself is hypnotic, and there's the sound of the waves underneath our small-paned window.
We've passed two other pubs, survivors in a Wapping High Street that once was home to 36 pubs in a rough dockside neighbourhood. There's the Town of Ramsgate, with a bloody history of its own as the "hanging" Judge Jeffreys was captured there and later executed after the overthrow of James II. We also pass the Captain Kidd pub, named after the pirate Captain Kidd who was executed nearby in 1701. Execution Dock gave pirates what was known as the Grace of Wapping when they were tied to a stake until the tide covered them three times.
Monday, April 5/2010
We'd thought of Easter Monday as a public holiday observed more in the public than the private sector - as in Canada - but it's more widely observed here. Thus the planned engineering works disrupting the underground continue, the Barbican is pretty well silent and the streets in The City, commercial heart of London, are deserted.
But not the museums, so we spend a couple of hours in the Museum of London, a favourite. The pre-historic section includes bison horns and spears thrown as an offering into the Thames. There's also a presentation in the medieval gallery. A woman in period dress talks about medieval medicine. She's done quite a bit of reearch and it's interesting, and frequently disgusting, e.g. sitting in a bath of pigeon dung to cure a fever or tasting urine for diagnostic purposes. Some odd things did work. Rubbing chicken brains on the gums of a teething infant worked because it softened the gums.
But not the museums, so we spend a couple of hours in the Museum of London, a favourite. The pre-historic section includes bison horns and spears thrown as an offering into the Thames. There's also a presentation in the medieval gallery. A woman in period dress talks about medieval medicine. She's done quite a bit of reearch and it's interesting, and frequently disgusting, e.g. sitting in a bath of pigeon dung to cure a fever or tasting urine for diagnostic purposes. Some odd things did work. Rubbing chicken brains on the gums of a teething infant worked because it softened the gums.
Tuesday, 6 April 2010
Sunday, April 4/2010
Could actually have watched the Malaysian Grand Prix rerun this afternoon and gone to Easter Mass this morning, but my reading of the tiny type in the telly guide proves inadequate, and, thinking there is no rerun, we opt for the race. And it's a good race, followed by brunch.
In the afternoon we take the bus up to Hampstead - not very far actually - and hop off once the shops look interesting. Happens to be opposite a lane that we follow through to the next street and round the corner to a little alcove full of shops, about half of which are open. There's a quilt shop and one with delightful miniatures for dollshouses, including a tiny cat with a paw in a goldfish bowl. And there are jewellery shops - where I fall for a delicate old silver and amethyst ring that J buys for me. It's a lovely little spot with older, if not necessarily antique, jewellery, and the old lady minding it for her friend tells us about suffragette jewellery - if a piece had gems in purple, white and green, such as amethyst, diamond and emerald or jade, then it identified a suffragette.
Then further by bus to Golders Green, where we browse through a Polish food shop - they have pickled herring but not the sort we want. And a bookstore where we find a double cd of Vera Lynn and Gracie Fields songs. The sunny weather has held.
Back by bus for our Easter dinner - trout fillets, baked potatoes and vegetables and sticky toffee pudding.
In the afternoon we take the bus up to Hampstead - not very far actually - and hop off once the shops look interesting. Happens to be opposite a lane that we follow through to the next street and round the corner to a little alcove full of shops, about half of which are open. There's a quilt shop and one with delightful miniatures for dollshouses, including a tiny cat with a paw in a goldfish bowl. And there are jewellery shops - where I fall for a delicate old silver and amethyst ring that J buys for me. It's a lovely little spot with older, if not necessarily antique, jewellery, and the old lady minding it for her friend tells us about suffragette jewellery - if a piece had gems in purple, white and green, such as amethyst, diamond and emerald or jade, then it identified a suffragette.
Then further by bus to Golders Green, where we browse through a Polish food shop - they have pickled herring but not the sort we want. And a bookstore where we find a double cd of Vera Lynn and Gracie Fields songs. The sunny weather has held.
Back by bus for our Easter dinner - trout fillets, baked potatoes and vegetables and sticky toffee pudding.
Saturday, April 3/2010
Begin by watching qualifying for tomorrow's Malaysian Grand Prix. it's quite interesting as there is intermittent heavy rain, creating an unpredictable starting grid.
It's on the edge of rain when I go out for a Guardian before qualifying, but bits of sun crep through and we decide to walk over to Kilburn, about a mile away, to explore and also to check out the Cock Tavern, which incorporates a small theatre, currently host to a production of La Boheme - tecommended to us by a man on a bus in Camden Town. Kilburn high road is a pleasure, with some of the rough vibrancy that Queensway had twenty years ago and has lost. There's the Bell pub - where one can have fish and chis and a pint for £6 ($9.25 CAD or €6.60). There are plenty of small shops, some with produce spilling out onto the street, and little street corner markets. At one point we pass a group of exuberant black singers, singing gospel music out of sheer exuberance - no hat out for collections. We find the Cock Tavern. It's a stately brick building, licensed in 1486 and rebuilt in 1900. Upstairs there's a theatre that seats 40, while the downstairs is, apart from the tile mosaic in the entry, a reasonably unprepossessing pub - bare wood floors, a scattering of male regulars and even, as we come through the outer doors, a faint but unmistakeable smell of piss. No refinement, but like Kilburn High Road itself, very real. Unfortunately, it's not possible to buy tickets - or even get prices - here. That has to be done online or by phone.
Take the 31 bus to Camden Town where we get a whole chicken at Somerfield Co-op and then bacon, pitas, milk and trout fillets at Sainsbury's. Then home by tube.
It's on the edge of rain when I go out for a Guardian before qualifying, but bits of sun crep through and we decide to walk over to Kilburn, about a mile away, to explore and also to check out the Cock Tavern, which incorporates a small theatre, currently host to a production of La Boheme - tecommended to us by a man on a bus in Camden Town. Kilburn high road is a pleasure, with some of the rough vibrancy that Queensway had twenty years ago and has lost. There's the Bell pub - where one can have fish and chis and a pint for £6 ($9.25 CAD or €6.60). There are plenty of small shops, some with produce spilling out onto the street, and little street corner markets. At one point we pass a group of exuberant black singers, singing gospel music out of sheer exuberance - no hat out for collections. We find the Cock Tavern. It's a stately brick building, licensed in 1486 and rebuilt in 1900. Upstairs there's a theatre that seats 40, while the downstairs is, apart from the tile mosaic in the entry, a reasonably unprepossessing pub - bare wood floors, a scattering of male regulars and even, as we come through the outer doors, a faint but unmistakeable smell of piss. No refinement, but like Kilburn High Road itself, very real. Unfortunately, it's not possible to buy tickets - or even get prices - here. That has to be done online or by phone.
Take the 31 bus to Camden Town where we get a whole chicken at Somerfield Co-op and then bacon, pitas, milk and trout fillets at Sainsbury's. Then home by tube.
Friday, April 2/2010
Over to Waterloo and then, by train, to Thames Ditton where Jenny and Doug have invited us to good Friday breakfast - hot cross buns. Jenny's mother is here and Emma and Laura and their families, so the table, which can hold twelve easily and more at a squish, is quite full. and the hot cross buns lovely. Babies on their fathers' knees and talk and laughter.
J finds the small blue bag of things accidentally left behind after our trip to Cornwall. Which is just as well, because it includes a piece of blue cheese that he had carefully wrapped, so it would eventually have made its presence felt. But it's fine.
Goodbyes. Jenny and Doug are going on a cruise to the Caribbean the week after next, so we probably won't see them again until next year. Or, technically, much later this year. Cool on the way back, but the cherry blossoms are out and the magnolias are budding.
J finds the small blue bag of things accidentally left behind after our trip to Cornwall. Which is just as well, because it includes a piece of blue cheese that he had carefully wrapped, so it would eventually have made its presence felt. But it's fine.
Goodbyes. Jenny and Doug are going on a cruise to the Caribbean the week after next, so we probably won't see them again until next year. Or, technically, much later this year. Cool on the way back, but the cherry blossoms are out and the magnolias are budding.
Thursday, April 1/2010
Our time in London is half over, so we go down to Victoria to collect the April London planner to see what we shouldn't be missing and to Victoria Coach Station to check on day trips - though here most of the pamphlets are unimformative or missing. Increasingly brochures refer one to the net - and the prices are often cheaper there too.
Home to the bedsit. When we first moved in there was, incongruously, a large brown (presumably) faux leather recliner and a small off-white footstool sitting outside the door to the lower level. There's nothing obviously wrong with them - one supposes they just didn't fit inside someone's tiny bedsit - but they must be filling up with rain water. There was also a bar sized fridge (not working?) which has recently been topped with a television set (also not working?). Interesting collection, a little like a prop room for a drama taking place elsewhere. Most Londoners have no basement and little spare room, so one quite often sees things in skips or left for the binman that look quite salvageable, but can see why they aren't salvaged.
Minor disaster over dinner - not the food. J turns wrong burner on and I have left a glass dinner plate on the now hot burner. when I notice, I remove the glass and it promptly shatters. Had I turned off the burner and left it to cool, the plate would probably have survived. As it is, bits off hot glass embed themselves in the carpet - and are eventually removed by J. Quite dramatic.
Home to the bedsit. When we first moved in there was, incongruously, a large brown (presumably) faux leather recliner and a small off-white footstool sitting outside the door to the lower level. There's nothing obviously wrong with them - one supposes they just didn't fit inside someone's tiny bedsit - but they must be filling up with rain water. There was also a bar sized fridge (not working?) which has recently been topped with a television set (also not working?). Interesting collection, a little like a prop room for a drama taking place elsewhere. Most Londoners have no basement and little spare room, so one quite often sees things in skips or left for the binman that look quite salvageable, but can see why they aren't salvaged.
Minor disaster over dinner - not the food. J turns wrong burner on and I have left a glass dinner plate on the now hot burner. when I notice, I remove the glass and it promptly shatters. Had I turned off the burner and left it to cool, the plate would probably have survived. As it is, bits off hot glass embed themselves in the carpet - and are eventually removed by J. Quite dramatic.
Wednesday, March 31/2010
Up as early as we can manage and over to the National Theatre by eightish to queue for tickets for Alan Bennett's The Habit of Art. It's cold, and while the overhang protects us from rain it's surprisingly windy. But we're third and fourth in line, so we know we'll get tickets. The man ahead says that when the weather is really bad we're sometimes allowed in early, but he supposes it's not that bad.
Tickets pocketed, we go over to Canada House to check the email, exchange rate, etc. They no longer carry Canadian papers "because they're available online" - read economy measure.
The Habit of Art is no disappointment - Bennett's plays never are. This one chronicles an imaginary meeting between Auden and Benjamin Brittain at Oxford in the '70's, both of them past their prime (Auden vulgarly and outrageously so) but persisting, movingly, in the habit of art. Wonderful messy set, casual staging and witty lines. And a good two and a half hours. Never anything thin about what Bennett provides.
Tickets pocketed, we go over to Canada House to check the email, exchange rate, etc. They no longer carry Canadian papers "because they're available online" - read economy measure.
The Habit of Art is no disappointment - Bennett's plays never are. This one chronicles an imaginary meeting between Auden and Benjamin Brittain at Oxford in the '70's, both of them past their prime (Auden vulgarly and outrageously so) but persisting, movingly, in the habit of art. Wonderful messy set, casual staging and witty lines. And a good two and a half hours. Never anything thin about what Bennett provides.
Tuesday, March 30/2010
Out in the afternoon to West Harrow to see Jean. It's been a while as we were in Cornwall and then she had rehearsals for her choir's performance on Saturday night. Good visit and lovely lamb curry with rice, aubergine, dhal, leeks, and green beans. And then apple blackberry crumble with custard. Lovely. Good conversation too - we're not all greed.
Monday, March 29/2010
Up early and over to the National Theatre to queue for tickets to The Power of Yes. The National Theatre is a pleasure for a couple of reasons. It stages plays that are more than spectacle, sometimes experimental or classical, often popular, but usually with genuine artistic merit. And it holds back several of the least expensive (£10) seats until the day of the performance. The doors to the building open at 9:30 and we're there at about 8:20, putting us 8th and 9th in line. Some of the others are better prepared, with folding chairs and cups of coffee and novels, but we've brought newspapers and the wait is worth it.
Then over to the Barbican to use the internet and check the magazines. Stop in Camden Town on the way back and home for late lunch. In the evenings it's back to the theatre for the performance. The Power of Yes is an examination by playwright David Hare of the 2008 (and following) financial crisis in a serious of dialogues and incisive comments with characters ranging from Alan Greenspan to George Soros to a bemused playwritht. It's a fast-moving examination, and, in the words of the New Statesman, "not only enlightening - financially and psychologically - but biting, witty, fun." No spectacle at all, but we really enjoy it.
Then over to the Barbican to use the internet and check the magazines. Stop in Camden Town on the way back and home for late lunch. In the evenings it's back to the theatre for the performance. The Power of Yes is an examination by playwright David Hare of the 2008 (and following) financial crisis in a serious of dialogues and incisive comments with characters ranging from Alan Greenspan to George Soros to a bemused playwritht. It's a fast-moving examination, and, in the words of the New Statesman, "not only enlightening - financially and psychologically - but biting, witty, fun." No spectacle at all, but we really enjoy it.
Monday, 29 March 2010
Sunday, March 28/2010
Up very early a)because the time has changed in the night to daylight savings and b)because the Australian Grand Prix begins at 7 (old time 6 of course). Not only hard to wake up but hard to stay awake, so some brief lapses, but a much better race than two weeks ago. Chorizo sausage and red pepper tortilla for brunch, courtesyof Waitrose's mark down.
In the afternoon we go by tube to Spitalfields Market. Its origins are in the mists of time, but in recent times, i.e. the past few years, it's been moving upscale, with prices to match. Still a good browse. My favourite is a long rack of men's jackets labelled bespoke (North Americans read custom made) but nontheless available off the rack. At another stall some wit has made a sign saying that MPs may put goods on their expense accounts but House of Lords memebers must pay cash.
Then to Covent Garden, which is always fun on weekends. Lots of crafts and a lady singing opera, as well as entertainers such as the man on a tightrope juggling knives. Home by tube. A young Asian man kindly offers me his seat, a courtesy I'm not really accustomed to. Have I begun to look old?
In the afternoon we go by tube to Spitalfields Market. Its origins are in the mists of time, but in recent times, i.e. the past few years, it's been moving upscale, with prices to match. Still a good browse. My favourite is a long rack of men's jackets labelled bespoke (North Americans read custom made) but nontheless available off the rack. At another stall some wit has made a sign saying that MPs may put goods on their expense accounts but House of Lords memebers must pay cash.
Then to Covent Garden, which is always fun on weekends. Lots of crafts and a lady singing opera, as well as entertainers such as the man on a tightrope juggling knives. Home by tube. A young Asian man kindly offers me his seat, a courtesy I'm not really accustomed to. Have I begun to look old?
Saturday, March 27/2010
Over to the British Museum for the talk - ancient Egypt and the Island of Cyprus. There are about thirty of us gathered in the Cyprus Gallery. The talk is interesting - before Cyprus was Roman, and long before it was Greek, it was Egyptian, and the museum has a cuneiform tablet recording trade needs. The speaker is informative - about the Egyptian Empire, reaching to the Levant, the Kingdom of Alasiya, centred in the north of Cyprus at Enkomi (near Famagusta), and Cypriot style artefacts found in Egypt and the evidence from shipwrecks, much of this predating the existence of coins.
Trail up Tottenham Court Road looking at the netbooks in the electronics shops. This is where we got J's camera a few years ago. Then up to Camden Town market, which is so busy it's hard to move along the pavement. It starts to rain, so we get on a bus, and off on finchley Road. Look in Waitrose, and hit the mark down moment. So dinner becomes a sweet potato and bean chilli with jalapenos, brown rice and spinach, which proves delicious. the instructions are fun too: "once opened use staight away or we'll come round and get you" and "no vegetables were harmed in the making of this product (apart from a little light chopping)".
Trail up Tottenham Court Road looking at the netbooks in the electronics shops. This is where we got J's camera a few years ago. Then up to Camden Town market, which is so busy it's hard to move along the pavement. It starts to rain, so we get on a bus, and off on finchley Road. Look in Waitrose, and hit the mark down moment. So dinner becomes a sweet potato and bean chilli with jalapenos, brown rice and spinach, which proves delicious. the instructions are fun too: "once opened use staight away or we'll come round and get you" and "no vegetables were harmed in the making of this product (apart from a little light chopping)".
Friday, March 26/2010
Over to the British Museum to check out some upcoming talks. Drool in the ikncredibly expensive shops and stop to see an amazing sculpture. It's probably a little less than a foot long and no more than two inches across and is the oldest sculpture known to exist in the world (about 13000 years), a carving of a male reindeer swimming after a female, done with detail out of a mammoth tusk and discovered in france. Astonishing even to think of reindeer and mammoths in France, let alone in this delicate carving.
Then over to the National Theatre to get the schedule. We badly want to see Alan Bennett's new play, The Habit of Art, but a couple of other plays look really good as well, including David Hare's The Power of Yes.
It's sunny and nice, so we stroll along the South Bank to the Tate Modern. We always look forward to the major installations in the great hall and this one doesnt disappoint. It's by Miroslaw Balka, from Poland, and is a huge black container that the viewer walk into, feeling their way in the dark. Sounds a bit simple, and it is, but there are bits of light, or must be, as you can see subtle smoke effects along the floor. And are those the other people we hear or electronically produced sound? It's surprisingly unnerving - although you can turn around at any point and see clearly enough to navigate.
Then up to the fifth floor, where there's lots of interest, incljuding a roomful of Andy Warhol cows and a collection of old Soviet posters, as well as one of the few copies of Rodin's The Kiss cast in the artist's lifetime. I'm taken with a map of the world by an Italian called Boeti. Each country is shown in the colours of (actually fragments of) its flag, but there are curious distortions of size and shape that are hard to understand.
Then along by bus over Blackfriars Bridge and walk along to Chancery Lane tube station, passing Staples Inn on the way, partly restored to its 16th century origins, the face on Holborn St. looking much as it must have in Tudor times. Off the tube for a quick stop in Camden Town and more tiny tomatoes and onions from Inverness St. market. Lucky to nab them as the stalls are packing up. Then home for the pea soup J made yesterday and pitas with pilchards and tomato, onions, cucumber and strained yoghurt.
Then over to the National Theatre to get the schedule. We badly want to see Alan Bennett's new play, The Habit of Art, but a couple of other plays look really good as well, including David Hare's The Power of Yes.
It's sunny and nice, so we stroll along the South Bank to the Tate Modern. We always look forward to the major installations in the great hall and this one doesnt disappoint. It's by Miroslaw Balka, from Poland, and is a huge black container that the viewer walk into, feeling their way in the dark. Sounds a bit simple, and it is, but there are bits of light, or must be, as you can see subtle smoke effects along the floor. And are those the other people we hear or electronically produced sound? It's surprisingly unnerving - although you can turn around at any point and see clearly enough to navigate.
Then up to the fifth floor, where there's lots of interest, incljuding a roomful of Andy Warhol cows and a collection of old Soviet posters, as well as one of the few copies of Rodin's The Kiss cast in the artist's lifetime. I'm taken with a map of the world by an Italian called Boeti. Each country is shown in the colours of (actually fragments of) its flag, but there are curious distortions of size and shape that are hard to understand.
Then along by bus over Blackfriars Bridge and walk along to Chancery Lane tube station, passing Staples Inn on the way, partly restored to its 16th century origins, the face on Holborn St. looking much as it must have in Tudor times. Off the tube for a quick stop in Camden Town and more tiny tomatoes and onions from Inverness St. market. Lucky to nab them as the stalls are packing up. Then home for the pea soup J made yesterday and pitas with pilchards and tomato, onions, cucumber and strained yoghurt.
Thursday, March 25/2010
Down to the Barbican where I catch up on the internet. Discover a ton of hits on Google for "free lectures+London" just before my time is up. Next time.
Thinking of going to Greenwich, but there's a signals failure and Docklands light railway has severe delays, so head back instead.
Thinking of going to Greenwich, but there's a signals failure and Docklands light railway has severe delays, so head back instead.
Wednesday, March 24/2010
Down to our bank - HSBC at charing Cross - to collect our new debit cards, which we've had mailed here rather than home where they would languish until we got back. The waiting area has big screen tv with a news channel, newspapers and real hardcover books. Does anyone ever have to wait that long? Well, not us. They ask for our passports and check my signature, but the cards are here so we can use the account.
Then to Piccadilly to the Visitor Centre to pick up an amazingly heavy lot of brochures covering all the plays, walks, day trips, etc that we can avail ourselves of for the rest of our stay. And to Camden Town where we pick up an umbrell for 99p (at the 99; store) to replace the one left on the bus yesterday, and stop at Inverness St. market for bananas, apples, peppers, onions, broccoli and cucumber - usually both nicer and cheaper at the market than in the supermarket.
Then to Piccadilly to the Visitor Centre to pick up an amazingly heavy lot of brochures covering all the plays, walks, day trips, etc that we can avail ourselves of for the rest of our stay. And to Camden Town where we pick up an umbrell for 99p (at the 99; store) to replace the one left on the bus yesterday, and stop at Inverness St. market for bananas, apples, peppers, onions, broccoli and cucumber - usually both nicer and cheaper at the market than in the supermarket.
Tuesday, March 23/2010
Moving day. We pack up and say our goodbyes - Jasmine joining in the waving. Train to Waterloo and then tube to Belsize Park. Marty is not in the office as her mother has died and she's gone to Spain for a couple of weeks to settle things. But we're remembered and they even let us pay in two lots without taking a deposit.
So we move in and head out for a paper and the basic supplies and settle down. A nice ground floor flat at number 20. No remote for the telly but a huge shower and an ironing board and iron - should it ever come to that.
So we move in and head out for a paper and the basic supplies and settle down. A nice ground floor flat at number 20. No remote for the telly but a huge shower and an ironing board and iron - should it ever come to that.
Monday, Marc h 22/2
Reluctant departure for the drive back. We'd thought of going by Dartmoor, but there's too much mist and some rain so we go the more direct route. Home to thames Ditton by dinner. Spaghetti with Doug and Jenny - greetings from the dogs and to bed.
Sunday, March 21/2010
Relaxed start and then the tour continues. At Carbis Bay we actually see swimmers in the sea, though the winds are pretty chill. A gig lands with its crew of rowers as well, greeted by enthusiastic dogs obviously belonging to the rowers. The term gig apparently dates to the time when these slim boats took pilots out to incoming ships needing local pilots in the harbour, each competing for the job. Same origins as musical gig?
St. Ives itself is bigger than I expected but every bit as charming. Andy settles himself in the sun at a waterfront pub, the Sloop, established, astonishingly, in 1312. The rest of us split up and explore. The church looks interesting (who was St. Ia?) but says iti's open most weekdays. To prevent interference with worship, one supposes. Anyway it's locked now. Lots of shops, galleries and boutiques open though, but with nothing all that underpriced - compared, say, with Mousehole.
Lots of children on the beach, with spades and buckets and happy dogs. We pick up Cornish pasties (Andy, Jenny and me) - that are streets better than Falmouth's - and Cornish homemade ice cream (Joe and Jenny's mum) and sit on a beam on the edge of the beach eating and watching the man who makes traditional lobster pots out of what looks like willow.
Then a visit with Andy's younger daughter, Olivia, in Penzance. She's seventeen and at a sixth form college, sweet and a little shy. She's not sure about next year's courses but is planning a holiday in Spain in august with her friends. finish up with a drive along the huge Hayle tidal estuary and a view out over the high cliffs to seven miles of unbroken, and almost unpeopled, white sands. So home with visions of rugged cliffs, fine sandy coves, elaborate victorian holiday hotels, and harbour beakwaters in our heads.
Andy makes us dinner - a lovely stirfry with shrimp and a very nice bottle of red wine - whose name I promptly forget. His shelves are lined with fascinating books but it proves impossible to stay awake long enough to read much. I do threaten not to re-emerge from the upstairs loo while reading Steven Pinker's The Stuff of Thought, though.
St. Ives itself is bigger than I expected but every bit as charming. Andy settles himself in the sun at a waterfront pub, the Sloop, established, astonishingly, in 1312. The rest of us split up and explore. The church looks interesting (who was St. Ia?) but says iti's open most weekdays. To prevent interference with worship, one supposes. Anyway it's locked now. Lots of shops, galleries and boutiques open though, but with nothing all that underpriced - compared, say, with Mousehole.
Lots of children on the beach, with spades and buckets and happy dogs. We pick up Cornish pasties (Andy, Jenny and me) - that are streets better than Falmouth's - and Cornish homemade ice cream (Joe and Jenny's mum) and sit on a beam on the edge of the beach eating and watching the man who makes traditional lobster pots out of what looks like willow.
Then a visit with Andy's younger daughter, Olivia, in Penzance. She's seventeen and at a sixth form college, sweet and a little shy. She's not sure about next year's courses but is planning a holiday in Spain in august with her friends. finish up with a drive along the huge Hayle tidal estuary and a view out over the high cliffs to seven miles of unbroken, and almost unpeopled, white sands. So home with visions of rugged cliffs, fine sandy coves, elaborate victorian holiday hotels, and harbour beakwaters in our heads.
Andy makes us dinner - a lovely stirfry with shrimp and a very nice bottle of red wine - whose name I promptly forget. His shelves are lined with fascinating books but it proves impossible to stay awake long enough to read much. I do threaten not to re-emerge from the upstairs loo while reading Steven Pinker's The Stuff of Thought, though.
Thursday, 25 March 2010
Saturday, March 20/2010
We drive cross-country - well, really cross peninsula tip - to Jenny's brother Andy, who lives in the country near Hayle, actually walking distance from St. Ives, across the fields. More flowers out here than further north, including fields of daffodils grown commercially. Andy lives on a narrow country road in the end cottage of a row of old stone miners' cottages. His place is wonderful - originally it was two units, each wih a single large room downstairs and the same up. This has become a large kitchen, living room and study downstairs and three bedrooms upstairs with added bathrooms. It's a beautiful combination of original features - the thick stone walls and fireplaces - and modern touches like the bathroom skylight.
Andy is welcoming, with coffee around the long wooden table and J, looking around at the hob in the original fireplace with its massive single stone top and out the deep stone window to the heather and the birdfeeders, warms him we may never leave. And then we get the grand tour, as Andy drives us all over he ti end of Cornwall. Starts with St. Michael's Mount, impressive mansion topped island - at high tide - accessible by causeway at low. Through Penzance and along the coast to Mousehole (pronounced Mousel).
Hard competition for the most stunning spot of the day, but Lamorna Cove is a strong contender. Through narrow, twisting lanes (back up if you meet another car) to a little coastal cove surrounded by rugged cliffs, with huge waves crashing against the rocks. There's a massive breakwater and Jenny points to a sign on it warning of uneven steps - eroded into non-existence would be more like it. There's a little restaurant as well, with a pretty impressive local menu. Jenny's mum and Joe and I have crab sandwiches with salad while Jenny has a smoked haddock pasty and Andy seafood soup. The crab sandwich is the best we've had - enormous and thick with fresh sweet crab on granary bread and a plateful of salad.
Then to Minack Point, home of a theatre, where we look down on an amazing cove - whilst nearly being blown off the cliff. Through Zennor, where there's an old stone with a hollow where, the sign says, there was a vinegar dip in times of plague and coins from outside the community were dipped to disinfect them before being taken by a local. A quick look at St. Ives, promised for tomorrow, and home. Andy's booked us at his local for seven.
Andy's loca, the Engine Inn at Cripplesease, is a bit of local history itself. Cornwall is tin mining country and the stack remains of the engines are scattered through the country like small ruins. The Engine Inn was the counting house where miners were paid. Lovely stone building - with good Cornish bitter and nice meals - mine a roast vegetable quiche with a lovely salad. The treat of the evening is readings from the poetry of a now deceased local (well, not local as Cornishmen reckon it as he moved here as an adult), Arthur Caddick. His daughter and others reminisce and read from his poems, some of which are quite funny.
Andy is welcoming, with coffee around the long wooden table and J, looking around at the hob in the original fireplace with its massive single stone top and out the deep stone window to the heather and the birdfeeders, warms him we may never leave. And then we get the grand tour, as Andy drives us all over he ti end of Cornwall. Starts with St. Michael's Mount, impressive mansion topped island - at high tide - accessible by causeway at low. Through Penzance and along the coast to Mousehole (pronounced Mousel).
Hard competition for the most stunning spot of the day, but Lamorna Cove is a strong contender. Through narrow, twisting lanes (back up if you meet another car) to a little coastal cove surrounded by rugged cliffs, with huge waves crashing against the rocks. There's a massive breakwater and Jenny points to a sign on it warning of uneven steps - eroded into non-existence would be more like it. There's a little restaurant as well, with a pretty impressive local menu. Jenny's mum and Joe and I have crab sandwiches with salad while Jenny has a smoked haddock pasty and Andy seafood soup. The crab sandwich is the best we've had - enormous and thick with fresh sweet crab on granary bread and a plateful of salad.
Then to Minack Point, home of a theatre, where we look down on an amazing cove - whilst nearly being blown off the cliff. Through Zennor, where there's an old stone with a hollow where, the sign says, there was a vinegar dip in times of plague and coins from outside the community were dipped to disinfect them before being taken by a local. A quick look at St. Ives, promised for tomorrow, and home. Andy's booked us at his local for seven.
Andy's loca, the Engine Inn at Cripplesease, is a bit of local history itself. Cornwall is tin mining country and the stack remains of the engines are scattered through the country like small ruins. The Engine Inn was the counting house where miners were paid. Lovely stone building - with good Cornish bitter and nice meals - mine a roast vegetable quiche with a lovely salad. The treat of the evening is readings from the poetry of a now deceased local (well, not local as Cornishmen reckon it as he moved here as an adult), Arthur Caddick. His daughter and others reminisce and read from his poems, some of which are quite funny.
Friday, March 19/2010
Our last day in Falmouth, though already we can imagine staying forever. We separate after breakfast again and Joe and I start off in the direction of the castle. Styop to buy an umbrella - two pounds something - at Trago, a fascinating overgrown general store with everything from shortbread to solid oak tables (£90!! but too heavy to lift, let alone bring home). J's old umbrella has broken and it's starting to rain. We get a little farther this time, but the rain gets heavier and the wind picks up, so we abandon the castle and go for ta at the little aquatic centre - not much to look at on the outside but a pleasant club inside and situated in a boatyard, so interesting views out the windowed front. Interesting Cornwall newspaper as well, with surprisingly good prices on used boats - and some laying hens and cockerels free, or nearly so. Jenny and her mum, meanwhile, have beaten the rain by hopping on a bus to Truro and visiting the cathedral there.
Mystery drive south of Falmouth, past the castle and a Victorian hotel and along the coast, getting happily lost on narrow roads. The signposts seem always to tell us that Gweek is four miles away no matter which way we turn. Then pick up fish and chips for supper. Haddock and mushy peas. Seems to go well with our harbour front home.
Mystery drive south of Falmouth, past the castle and a Victorian hotel and along the coast, getting happily lost on narrow roads. The signposts seem always to tell us that Gweek is four miles away no matter which way we turn. Then pick up fish and chips for supper. Haddock and mushy peas. Seems to go well with our harbour front home.
Thursday, March 18/2010
We have to tear ourselves away from the hypnotic window over the harbour to see the rest of the town. We separate, with Jenny and her mum heading off to see Pendennis Castle, built by Henry VIII as part of a line of southern defense against the Spanish, while Joe and I explore the little shops and lanes in the old town. There aren't many tourists about, so we get a fair view of the place as it is, busy and friendly and full of little shops with Cornish pasties or fis and chips, clothing shops, antique shops, bakeries, tearooms and pubs. We pick up a chicken and some salad and wine for dinner, leave it at the flat and head out toward the castle. But by this time it's raining, so we stop at the intriguingly named Oggy Oggy for Cornish pasties. I have a cheese and mushroom one and J the traditional steak, potato and veg. He's not overly impressed, in part because I described it in advance as somewhat similar to a meat pie, instead of as a substitute for a sandwich and he can see how much more he'd like it with gravy. Yes, he knows that miners used to take the pasties as a lunch, complete in one pastry, but couldn't they have let it evolve later? Would like to stop at the church, King Charles the Martyr (this was a royalist stronghold in the civil war), which is nestled in the crook of the street, but it's locked.
Meet back at the flat with Jenny and her mother, who have walked out to Pendennis Castle, passing little wild violets on the way, having had an earlier start in that direction than we did, and taken a taxi back once it got wetter. So more time in front of the magical window, and J roasts the chicken for dinner.
Meet back at the flat with Jenny and her mother, who have walked out to Pendennis Castle, passing little wild violets on the way, having had an earlier start in that direction than we did, and taken a taxi back once it got wetter. So more time in front of the magical window, and J roasts the chicken for dinner.
Wednesday, March 17/2010
We're off on our west country trip, stopping in Wimbledon to collect Jenny's mum. It takes a while to clear the city but we're out through Hampton Court and into rural Surrey, then Wiltshire. Stop briefly at Stonehenge. We don't take the time for the tour - Cornwall is a long way away - but get a pretty good look across the field. In fact its location in the midst of farmland is one of the most striking things about it. Though it's probable that the fields were woodland in the distant past - or would that have made importing the giant rocks not just amazing but impossible? Stop at a petrol station to pick up a little for lunch. Canadian highway stations come off very badly by comparison. The convenience shop here includes chicken Kiev and chardonnay, though we settle for bread and cheese and yoghurt.
Through fields and along Bodmin Moor, we avoid the motorways when possible and head down from Truro to Falmouth on the south coast of Cornwall. The directions break down a bit as there are road repairs in the town but a young woman gives Jenny extremely good, if complicated, alternate directions, which Jenny, impressively, remembers. So down the old cobbled high street and through an almost impossibly narrow lane, Old Church Yard, possible only with the outside driving mirrors retracted, and we're there.
The flat belongs to friends of Jenny's, originally the home of Jenny's friend Jessica, who now uses it for holidays and also lets it. And it's absolutely brilliant - would be the envy of anyone looking for a coastal film set. It's in the oldest part of the town, set on a harbour that has been a centre of ship repairs, fishing and travel for centuries. There is a flat below (currently being renovated) and one above, but they're all nestled into the rock of the embankment so that the one below is invisible and the top two look like separate little cottages. It's lovely inside as well - particularly the living room which has a large floor to ceiling window in front, incorporating French doors to a little balcony overhanging the harbour.
The harbour is quiet but alive, with dozens of sailboats, loading quays, freighters, and even a large military ship of some sort in battleship grey. It's equally fascinating in daylight, with the circling gulls and activity on the boats, and after nightfall when the shipboard lights come on.
A short exploratory walk along the harbour and its shops. We pass a restaurant where celebrity cook Rick Stein has a new fish and chip shop opening Friday - it's full today with "practice" customers eating and workmen finishing off the paint. No more volunteers needed, so we go home and Jenny makes an omelet and vegetables and we all turn in.
Through fields and along Bodmin Moor, we avoid the motorways when possible and head down from Truro to Falmouth on the south coast of Cornwall. The directions break down a bit as there are road repairs in the town but a young woman gives Jenny extremely good, if complicated, alternate directions, which Jenny, impressively, remembers. So down the old cobbled high street and through an almost impossibly narrow lane, Old Church Yard, possible only with the outside driving mirrors retracted, and we're there.
The flat belongs to friends of Jenny's, originally the home of Jenny's friend Jessica, who now uses it for holidays and also lets it. And it's absolutely brilliant - would be the envy of anyone looking for a coastal film set. It's in the oldest part of the town, set on a harbour that has been a centre of ship repairs, fishing and travel for centuries. There is a flat below (currently being renovated) and one above, but they're all nestled into the rock of the embankment so that the one below is invisible and the top two look like separate little cottages. It's lovely inside as well - particularly the living room which has a large floor to ceiling window in front, incorporating French doors to a little balcony overhanging the harbour.
The harbour is quiet but alive, with dozens of sailboats, loading quays, freighters, and even a large military ship of some sort in battleship grey. It's equally fascinating in daylight, with the circling gulls and activity on the boats, and after nightfall when the shipboard lights come on.
A short exploratory walk along the harbour and its shops. We pass a restaurant where celebrity cook Rick Stein has a new fish and chip shop opening Friday - it's full today with "practice" customers eating and workmen finishing off the paint. No more volunteers needed, so we go home and Jenny makes an omelet and vegetables and we all turn in.
Tuesday, March 16/2010
Wake to sun and silence. It's so quiet in Thames Ditton after the traffic of central Larnaca. You can lie in bed in the morning and listen to the birds sing.
Jenny is looking after Jasmine (14 months) for the day while Emma is at work and Doug and Giles off working on an electrical job of Giles's. Jasmine is lovely - round-faced, big-eyed and usually happy, though today she has a cold and is a little clingy. Still up for a joke, though, and thinks it pretty funny when she coughs and Joe says ah-choo. She's beginning to talk and knows quite a few words as well as some that she can sign, like bird. We take a morning walk round Thames Ditton admiring the flowers and, in the afternoon take Jasmine round Kingston in her pushchair as Jenny is visiting the dentist. She's quite happy to come with us and interested in everything. Later Jenny and I go round to the hall where Sam and Kai are being inducted into scouts. Laura and Nathan are there with Cody, who's the same age as Jasmine. When Sam and Kai put one hand on the flag and raise the other, Cody is quite interested and puts his hand in the air as well.
Jenny is looking after Jasmine (14 months) for the day while Emma is at work and Doug and Giles off working on an electrical job of Giles's. Jasmine is lovely - round-faced, big-eyed and usually happy, though today she has a cold and is a little clingy. Still up for a joke, though, and thinks it pretty funny when she coughs and Joe says ah-choo. She's beginning to talk and knows quite a few words as well as some that she can sign, like bird. We take a morning walk round Thames Ditton admiring the flowers and, in the afternoon take Jasmine round Kingston in her pushchair as Jenny is visiting the dentist. She's quite happy to come with us and interested in everything. Later Jenny and I go round to the hall where Sam and Kai are being inducted into scouts. Laura and Nathan are there with Cody, who's the same age as Jasmine. When Sam and Kai put one hand on the flag and raise the other, Cody is quite interested and puts his hand in the air as well.
Monday, March 15/2010
Last day, so we're up early. I to the hairdresser to get a cut to last until we get home. As usual, we have too much food left, but that does allow for good sandwiches at the airport. The bus goes at 12:30 to the new airport - larger than the old but without the nice open air deck where we used to picnic. Do find enough seating for our roast chicken and artichoke sandwiches though.
Thanks probably to the looming strike, the plane is only half full and very relaxed. Everyone who wants two seats has them. A very nice chicken curry for dinner with a fairly good Bordeaux. The little dishes seem too good to be throwaways so I inquire (thinking that the bedsit is sometimes underequipped) and the stewardess insists that I keep two - and in fact returns with some disposable cups and again later with two small brandies in case the beds should prove hard in the bedsit.
London's lights are warm and the bridges sparkle. We land at Terminal 5 and Jenny comes to meet us. As we feared, access to T5 is chaotic and not well signed but Jenny is cheerful and gracious about it - she's now had experience with Terminal 5 so next time she'll know. And home to Doug and the dogs - who seem to remember us (the dogs, that is, Doug clearly does).
Thanks probably to the looming strike, the plane is only half full and very relaxed. Everyone who wants two seats has them. A very nice chicken curry for dinner with a fairly good Bordeaux. The little dishes seem too good to be throwaways so I inquire (thinking that the bedsit is sometimes underequipped) and the stewardess insists that I keep two - and in fact returns with some disposable cups and again later with two small brandies in case the beds should prove hard in the bedsit.
London's lights are warm and the bridges sparkle. We land at Terminal 5 and Jenny comes to meet us. As we feared, access to T5 is chaotic and not well signed but Jenny is cheerful and gracious about it - she's now had experience with Terminal 5 so next time she'll know. And home to Doug and the dogs - who seem to remember us (the dogs, that is, Doug clearly does).
Monday, 22 March 2010
Sunday, March 14/2010
The suitcases don't hold much but take longer to pack for that as it's like a Chinese puzzle. Pause for brunch and then later a true break as we head over to the little sports bar to watch the opening race of the 2010 Formula One season. We'd checked earlier and the bartender had been helpful - but the timing was the same as a Rangers vs Dundee football match as well as a rugby match - would we mind watching on the little screen in the corner? No, we'd be delighted to watch at all. But when we arrive we find that almost everyone is here for the race - both big screens - with a couple of people seated at the bar following the rugby. Nice atmosphere and a pint of Guinness each. Sort of half way between watching at home and being at the race track. Clearer commentary and easier to identify the cars at home while the racetrack has the noise and excitement. Not a wildly exciting race though. New rules and cars finishing in more or less the order they started in. And the Bahrain track suffers from monochrome desert colouring.
Then over to the internet cafe across the back lane to choose the seats for tomorrow's flight. A half dozen computers with sticky keys (well mine, anyway) and full of young male foreign students. The one next to me is Romanian and he spends his hour chatting with a pretty girl (she fills the screen). I'd rather not be listening as it's a bit distracting but it's hard not to hear: No, don't take off your shirt - there are other people here, know what I mean.
M&M drop in for a last goodbye and the last of the g&t and artichokes, Magne so tired after a long day out that he falls asleep in his chair.
Then over to the internet cafe across the back lane to choose the seats for tomorrow's flight. A half dozen computers with sticky keys (well mine, anyway) and full of young male foreign students. The one next to me is Romanian and he spends his hour chatting with a pretty girl (she fills the screen). I'd rather not be listening as it's a bit distracting but it's hard not to hear: No, don't take off your shirt - there are other people here, know what I mean.
M&M drop in for a last goodbye and the last of the g&t and artichokes, Magne so tired after a long day out that he falls asleep in his chair.
Saturday, March 13/2010
Moving day. And the last minute nearly forgots as we note that the drying rack is still on the balcony and J threads an old t-shirt through the handle holes in an already sealed box. It looks too much, but everything packs into M's little hired car - except J himself, who walks the short distance. No lift to the mezzanine at the Sunflower but we get it safely stowed away.
Then off to Agia Napa - or rather the hills above it - to a little chapel accessible by dirt track. The Greek name translates as "St. Forty" - and we joke about Ali Baba and the forty thieves, as the chapel is actually a large cave that has had a whitewashed cement wall built across the front - blue wooden door inserted. Inside there is the usual icon and oil lamp - clearly a holy place for genertions, probably centuries. There is a visitors' book, hard covered with damp - soft pages drifting loose. It's been taking entries since 2002 and we're now on the last page. As that's pretty full, I turn to look at the inside cover, which turns out to be a double page schematic of the London Underground system, routes in full colour.
We sit outside for a while, eating crisps and sharing beer and looking over the fields to a haze covered sea. Maggi's been photographing the flowers on our walk along the path - stunning little purple flowers like miniature violets, poppy-like white ones, silvery stars, yellow daisies and golden mimosa bushes in full flower as far as the eye can see. Others we're not even sure of. Orchids? There are a lot in Cyprus, which has its own little ecology due to having escaped the ravages of the ice age but received deposits from glaciers moving south.
As we sit, other visitors come and go. A Greek man shows us the contents of his plastic bag. He's been picking something in the fields, and we suppose snails, as we've spotted some ourselves, but he shows us a green spiky thing about two inches in diameter. Yes, it's to eat - and a few minutes later a aboy comes back to us with something cut in pea sized pieces, and tasting somewhat like raw peas. So a wild artichoke of some sort. Not bad, but probably better sauteed.
Then a German couple arrive with backpacks and hiking boots. Not young but quite fit. They've been walking cross-country and Maggi points them on to St. Elias chapel, also on a hill. From there they'll be able to get a bus home. And we ourselves wander back to the car and drive on back, stopping at Agia Napa harbour - now beginning to bloom with tourists - for a sandwich and a beer. Lovely day - warm but not too hot. Agia Napa is more touristy than Larnaca, but it's also closer to the lovely hills and fields of rural Cyprus.
Then off to Agia Napa - or rather the hills above it - to a little chapel accessible by dirt track. The Greek name translates as "St. Forty" - and we joke about Ali Baba and the forty thieves, as the chapel is actually a large cave that has had a whitewashed cement wall built across the front - blue wooden door inserted. Inside there is the usual icon and oil lamp - clearly a holy place for genertions, probably centuries. There is a visitors' book, hard covered with damp - soft pages drifting loose. It's been taking entries since 2002 and we're now on the last page. As that's pretty full, I turn to look at the inside cover, which turns out to be a double page schematic of the London Underground system, routes in full colour.
We sit outside for a while, eating crisps and sharing beer and looking over the fields to a haze covered sea. Maggi's been photographing the flowers on our walk along the path - stunning little purple flowers like miniature violets, poppy-like white ones, silvery stars, yellow daisies and golden mimosa bushes in full flower as far as the eye can see. Others we're not even sure of. Orchids? There are a lot in Cyprus, which has its own little ecology due to having escaped the ravages of the ice age but received deposits from glaciers moving south.
As we sit, other visitors come and go. A Greek man shows us the contents of his plastic bag. He's been picking something in the fields, and we suppose snails, as we've spotted some ourselves, but he shows us a green spiky thing about two inches in diameter. Yes, it's to eat - and a few minutes later a aboy comes back to us with something cut in pea sized pieces, and tasting somewhat like raw peas. So a wild artichoke of some sort. Not bad, but probably better sauteed.
Then a German couple arrive with backpacks and hiking boots. Not young but quite fit. They've been walking cross-country and Maggi points them on to St. Elias chapel, also on a hill. From there they'll be able to get a bus home. And we ourselves wander back to the car and drive on back, stopping at Agia Napa harbour - now beginning to bloom with tourists - for a sandwich and a beer. Lovely day - warm but not too hot. Agia Napa is more touristy than Larnaca, but it's also closer to the lovely hills and fields of rural Cyprus.
Sunday, 14 March 2010
Friday, March 12/2010
British Airways cabin crew union announces strike dates but they begin five days after we fly. By bedtime we have everything packed - wrapped, boxed, taped and tied, except for the microwave and the drying rack for the clothes - the latter inherited at some point along the way. Actually most of the useful bits and pieces were inherited or from charity shops but they're all things that come in handy - like the soup pot or the serrated knife and the radio. It's rather an editorial "we" - the we that have finished packing. I've helped line things up but J has done all the slotting in as well as sealing all with hockey tape and tying up with cord.
Friday, 12 March 2010
Thursday, March 11/2010
The juggling begins. Maggi has kindly offered to drive our boxes over to the Sunflower on Saturday morning. this is actually two days before we leave, so we have to make decisions now before we're quite finished about what to store, what to take with us and what to discard.
Thursday, 11 March 2010
Wednesday, March 10/2010
The body of former Cypriot president Tassos Papadopoulis has been discovered covered with a thin layer of earth in a grave (already occupied as nearly as one can make out - where are the lurid tabloids when a story cries out for gory details?) in a Nicosia cemetery other than the one from which it disappeared. And arrests have been made of two cypriots (well, one was already in jail, for murder no less - the infamous "Al Capone of previous police humiliation) and a man of Indian nationality. It appears the Indian was paid only €200, much less than he says he was promised, to go back to India and start a new life. He'll undoubtedly be deported to India after prison (I'm inappropriately presuming conviction) but the new life he'd wanted won't be quite the same.
A warm day. The western end of the Mediterranean is still subject to snowstorms - in Spain and the south of France - but the eastern end has been unseasonably warm, with temperatures in Tel Aviv over 30 and ours reliably in the 20's, in part thanks to a blanketing of Saharan dust.
We're definitely in the clear now with regard to the flight on Monday. British Airways are still negotiating with the union representing cabin crew, but regardless of the outcome they can't strike before our flight as they must give seven days notice. So Monday night will see us in London. Jenny says she was at Hampton Court on the weekend and the crocuses are up but the daffodils are late this year.
A warm day. The western end of the Mediterranean is still subject to snowstorms - in Spain and the south of France - but the eastern end has been unseasonably warm, with temperatures in Tel Aviv over 30 and ours reliably in the 20's, in part thanks to a blanketing of Saharan dust.
We're definitely in the clear now with regard to the flight on Monday. British Airways are still negotiating with the union representing cabin crew, but regardless of the outcome they can't strike before our flight as they must give seven days notice. So Monday night will see us in London. Jenny says she was at Hampton Court on the weekend and the crocuses are up but the daffodils are late this year.
Wednesday, 10 March 2010
Tuesday, March 9/2010
Walk out to M&M's for a curry lunch. We stop on the way at the flamingo Hotel exhibit, still taken with the batik of Lefkara but unhappy about its ill-fitted framing. Have a chat with Paulina, the young Bulgarian receptionist. Would the artist consider selling it unframed for less. She promises to try to find out.
Lovely chicken curry - mouthwatering smells from the time we enter the lift. And we're all a little sad that our time in Cyprus seems to be coming so rapidly to an end.
Lovely chicken curry - mouthwatering smells from the time we enter the lift. And we're all a little sad that our time in Cyprus seems to be coming so rapidly to an end.
Tuesday, 9 March 2010
Monday, March 8/2010
J has a large bag of artichokes from Saturday's market (€1.70 for the bag - £1.53 GBP or $2.40 CAD). They're quite a bit of work as he peels down to the hearts, but incredibly good. Much too good not to share, so M&M stop to have an early lunch with the sliced hearts sautéed and other nibbles. Minus tablecloth as we've begun packing things away for the season.
There's an exhibition opening at the gallery on Stadiou, so we go. Turns out to be paintings by a man called rinos Stefani. We try to be appreciative but fail. It's not simply that the pictures are ugly - there's no reason that art shouldn't be ugly - it's that try as we might we can't spot any signs of talent. J points out that a high proportion of the paintings are dated 2009, and it's hard not to think that none of them has taken very long to produce - childish, charmless and devoid of impact. We've circled the gallery twice when it's time for the speeches to start and we decide that's our cue to leave. No real point in waiting for the wine and nuts. Lovely warm night for the walk back though.
There's an exhibition opening at the gallery on Stadiou, so we go. Turns out to be paintings by a man called rinos Stefani. We try to be appreciative but fail. It's not simply that the pictures are ugly - there's no reason that art shouldn't be ugly - it's that try as we might we can't spot any signs of talent. J points out that a high proportion of the paintings are dated 2009, and it's hard not to think that none of them has taken very long to produce - childish, charmless and devoid of impact. We've circled the gallery twice when it's time for the speeches to start and we decide that's our cue to leave. No real point in waiting for the wine and nuts. Lovely warm night for the walk back though.
Monday, 8 March 2010
Sunday, March 7/2010
Go to Mass and discover that Fr. Wilhelm has gone oon rest and renewal leave and been replaced by Fr. Andrew, a Canadian Franciscan of Filipino origin. This is his first parish, but he seems like a good choice, given the large number of Filipina workers in the parish. The public address system is not the clearest, so most of the specific wording of his first sermon misses us, but it seems that he has used up enough material for his first three homilies in one go.
In the afternoon Maggi cycles over and we play Scrabble.
In the afternoon Maggi cycles over and we play Scrabble.
Saturday, March 6/2010
Jane and Bill Curtis at coffee place as well as Maggi, so we thing of Jane's "coffee spot" painting.
One of the commentators on Gordon Brown's testimony before the Chilcot committee of inquiry yesterday: like a group of guinea pigs trying to tackle a brown bear. And, further on the prime ministerial theme, Stephen Harper makes the BBC news - unusual for any Canadian non-sports story. So we're informed that there was a suggestion that the words to "O Canada" be revised and I think that this could be a good thing, as the French words are brilliant but the English are pretty uninspired, not to say mindlessly repetitive. Turns out that's not it though. Harper has suggested that "all thy sons" might be replaced by something gender neutral - and been booed back into 24 Sussex.
One of the commentators on Gordon Brown's testimony before the Chilcot committee of inquiry yesterday: like a group of guinea pigs trying to tackle a brown bear. And, further on the prime ministerial theme, Stephen Harper makes the BBC news - unusual for any Canadian non-sports story. So we're informed that there was a suggestion that the words to "O Canada" be revised and I think that this could be a good thing, as the French words are brilliant but the English are pretty uninspired, not to say mindlessly repetitive. Turns out that's not it though. Harper has suggested that "all thy sons" might be replaced by something gender neutral - and been booed back into 24 Sussex.
Friday, March 4/2010
London's temperature hits double digits so there's some hope at the end of their worst winter in 30 years. And not a moment too soon, as we're to fly back there in ten days. Fingers still crosse that the threatened cabin crew strike at British Airways won't intervene. They have to give seven days notice, so if we make it through to Monday evening without strike notice we're in the clear. Actually there would be no difficulty about staying on here, probably in the same flat, and we're not booked in the bedsit util the 23rd. What's at risk is our much anticipated trip to Cornwall with Jenny and her mum.
Watch Gordon Brown testifying before the Chilcot inquiry into the invasion of Iraq, carried live by BBC World television. While in theory Brown's testimony ought to be as interesting as Blair's, this doesn't prove to be the case. Of course Blair testified on what ws a rainy day in Cyprus, whilst today is sunny, so there were fewer alternatives to viewing, but it's more than that. There's no performance art about Brown's delivery - just a bull ahead monotoone for hours, the gist of which is that the invasion was the right thing to do and the army was always as well funded as they wished to be during the invasion and occupation. The two positions are probably equally subject to dispute and equally lacking in humility, but with Tony the fascination (and much of the annoyance) was always in the dance, which earned a certain admiration despite any disapproval.
J, coming back from the bakery, squeezes his way past a parked car and finds himself facing the back seat, where a woman wearing a hijab is uncovered to breast feed her baby. J says her mouth opened in shock - and she instinctively covered her face.
Watch Gordon Brown testifying before the Chilcot inquiry into the invasion of Iraq, carried live by BBC World television. While in theory Brown's testimony ought to be as interesting as Blair's, this doesn't prove to be the case. Of course Blair testified on what ws a rainy day in Cyprus, whilst today is sunny, so there were fewer alternatives to viewing, but it's more than that. There's no performance art about Brown's delivery - just a bull ahead monotoone for hours, the gist of which is that the invasion was the right thing to do and the army was always as well funded as they wished to be during the invasion and occupation. The two positions are probably equally subject to dispute and equally lacking in humility, but with Tony the fascination (and much of the annoyance) was always in the dance, which earned a certain admiration despite any disapproval.
J, coming back from the bakery, squeezes his way past a parked car and finds himself facing the back seat, where a woman wearing a hijab is uncovered to breast feed her baby. J says her mouth opened in shock - and she instinctively covered her face.
Friday, 5 March 2010
Thursday, March 4/2010
We find Maggi's little old lady (probably no older than we are) who does dressmaking and repairs in a little shop near the market and she agrees to turn the collars on three of J's Tilley's shirts for €5 apiece, giving them a new lease on life. Ready tomorrow.
Thursday, 4 March 2010
Wednesday, March 3/2010
We have new neighbours in the building opposite, seen only, of course, when they are out on the balcony. The previous tenants had two cute little girls who appeared on weekends, sometimes permitted to use the laptop, which spent most of its time outside next to the ashtray. The new people have no children in evidence and fill the balcony with amazing amounts of wash. So far I haven't subscribed to J's suggestion that the woman takes in laundry, largely because I can't imagine there being any profit in it in modern times, but I'm beginning to think he may be right. It's hard to imagine how one small household could generate three or four lines of wash a day, day after day.
We walk out to M&M's in the afternoon. It's windy, but a warm wind and a lovely walk along the seafront. The waves are high enough that we get a little of the splash. There are plans for a new walkway out along Makenzy (spelling correct by local custom) and it will certainly make life safer for pedestrians, as for most of the way there is no sidewalk and walkers are caught between speeding cars and the crumbling edge of the roadway. Lovely and sunny on their balcony drinking g&t and looking at the shifting colours of the sea.
Then with Maggi over to the Flamingo Hotel, which is displaying the work of local artists, including Jane Curtis, whom we saw at Saturday's coffee. She has a number of paintings on the Cypriot theme, including a small water colour of a coffee spot in a typical Cypriot village which we all like . there is also a batik artist, identified only as Breda, with intriguing pictures, J's favourite being one called Lefkara.
Jacob Zuma, South African president, is visiting the UK, staying at Buckingham Palace with the newest of his three wives - leaving one to wonder what the facilities are at the palace for accommodating heads of state choosing to travel with more than one wife.
We walk out to M&M's in the afternoon. It's windy, but a warm wind and a lovely walk along the seafront. The waves are high enough that we get a little of the splash. There are plans for a new walkway out along Makenzy (spelling correct by local custom) and it will certainly make life safer for pedestrians, as for most of the way there is no sidewalk and walkers are caught between speeding cars and the crumbling edge of the roadway. Lovely and sunny on their balcony drinking g&t and looking at the shifting colours of the sea.
Then with Maggi over to the Flamingo Hotel, which is displaying the work of local artists, including Jane Curtis, whom we saw at Saturday's coffee. She has a number of paintings on the Cypriot theme, including a small water colour of a coffee spot in a typical Cypriot village which we all like . there is also a batik artist, identified only as Breda, with intriguing pictures, J's favourite being one called Lefkara.
Jacob Zuma, South African president, is visiting the UK, staying at Buckingham Palace with the newest of his three wives - leaving one to wonder what the facilities are at the palace for accommodating heads of state choosing to travel with more than one wife.
Wednesday, 3 March 2010
Tuesday, March 2/2010
M&M arrive unexpectedly mid-morning, having just delivered back their hired car after 3 months of freedom and mobility. So tea and biscuits and chat. They're not here much longer than we are - another week.
Lovely weather - sunny and warm with light breeze. Always the nicest weather is just as we're about to leave, though of course the better way to look at it is that we miss the nastiest weather elsewhere. J says many more tourists down at the waterfront cafes now that the spring weather is here. And the flowers are looking somewhat refreshed, though there have been beds of petunias, snapdragons and marigolds all winter.
Lovely weather - sunny and warm with light breeze. Always the nicest weather is just as we're about to leave, though of course the better way to look at it is that we miss the nastiest weather elsewhere. J says many more tourists down at the waterfront cafes now that the spring weather is here. And the flowers are looking somewhat refreshed, though there have been beds of petunias, snapdragons and marigolds all winter.
Tuesday, 2 March 2010
Monday, March 2/2010
J home with bags of grapefruit and oranges, the oranges with dark green leaves still attached, so we can sit in the flat and inhale citrus. It's spoiled us for oranges in England and Canada - they're so disappointing by comparison.
The storm that devastated Madeira has moved northeast through Portugal and Spain and into France, with heavy rains, coastal flooding, and winds as high as 175 km an hour. At least 45 people died in France, and the newscaster refers to them as having, in the majority of cases, drowned in their sleep. A chilling image, but the reality must have been so much more horrific.
The storm that devastated Madeira has moved northeast through Portugal and Spain and into France, with heavy rains, coastal flooding, and winds as high as 175 km an hour. At least 45 people died in France, and the newscaster refers to them as having, in the majority of cases, drowned in their sleep. A chilling image, but the reality must have been so much more horrific.
Monday, 1 March 2010
Sunday, February 28/2010
Wake briefly in the early hours to an horrific storm. Can't tell whether we're hearing hail or heavy rain, but the winds are violent and the lightning non-stop. Still wet and windy in the morning, so out to the nearest bakery for a loaf of round village bread, sprinkled with sesame seeds and still hot, and back with the bread and the Sunday paper.
Saturday, February 27/2010
Jimmy's Café for morning coffee/beer. M&M are there as well as Jane and Bill Curtis, a retired English couple who live in Pyla in the winter and on their boat in the summer. Lovely letting the sun sink in. M&M back later for tea and the second half of J's cake. by two the dark clouds are moving in from the north and later the rain starts.
We watch a BBC documentary on a re-emergent Stalinism in Russia and Georgia. New school textbooks ignore stalin's crimes and vastly underestimate the number of his victims in the interests of inculcating "positive history." And many citizens are happy to rethink the past in order to have heroes to admire rather than villains to regret. Thus the past is rewritten in accordance with a Russian saying that goes "You never know what is going to happen yesterday." And we remember driving across Moscow in 1991, three weeks before the coup attempt, and seeing an enormous bust of Lenin being carted away in the back of a truck.
Dubai news reports items seized by customs, including drugs and "materials used in witchcraft."
We watch a BBC documentary on a re-emergent Stalinism in Russia and Georgia. New school textbooks ignore stalin's crimes and vastly underestimate the number of his victims in the interests of inculcating "positive history." And many citizens are happy to rethink the past in order to have heroes to admire rather than villains to regret. Thus the past is rewritten in accordance with a Russian saying that goes "You never know what is going to happen yesterday." And we remember driving across Moscow in 1991, three weeks before the coup attempt, and seeing an enormous bust of Lenin being carted away in the back of a truck.
Dubai news reports items seized by customs, including drugs and "materials used in witchcraft."
Friday, February 26/2010
Starts out a cool but dry day, long enough for J to get in his exercise at the beach and for us to head over to the student centre for the internet and a look at the Friday paper. While we're at the student centre - umbrellaless - the rain starts, and the rest of the day is nasty, wet and very windy. A good day to hunker down with soup and television documentaries and reading. Now alternating our last two books, Gabriel Garcia Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude and Robertson Davies' Fifth Business. Happily, we're across the road from a little charity shop, so it's impossible to run out of books entirely - but that road quickly becomes three inches deep in water during heavy rains. Suitable only for waterproof boots.
Fall asleep watching the late night film on the swedish chanel - the original Little Lord Fauntleroy with Mickey Rooney - subtitled in Swedish.
Fall asleep watching the late night film on the swedish chanel - the original Little Lord Fauntleroy with Mickey Rooney - subtitled in Swedish.
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