Thursday, November 14/2013

A white Lamborghini of breathtakingly futuristic design is parked in Queensway, not very near the curb and more or less impeding traffic. Licence plates not UK but not diplomatic either. Arabic numbers on top and regular ones underneath. Easier to understand the sense of entitlement with a car like that than to fathom why the owner was oblivious to possible damage to his own vehicle so imprudently positioned.

A brief visit to the British Library. Spend a little time with the Magna Carta exhibition. There.s also a small display of children's book illustrations. Actually, I'm most taken with a little book in the shop featuring quirky places to see in London, but unwilling to spend £11 ($18.35 CAD) adding a non-electronic book to my suitcase. 

Supper at the little cafe at the Mary Ward Centre, an adult education facility. It's an easy walk from the British Library but a bit awkward to find, hidden behind Clerkenwell Road. A lovely little find, though. Gourmet quality vegetarian food at student prices. J has a lentil and vegetable stew and I celeriac and mushroom pie with rice and cheese topping. We share a green salad. Delicious.

Our final stop is at the London School of Economics for a lecture (passing on the way our second interesting car of the day, a GWiz electric at a free charging point - electric cars are also exempt from the daily congestion charge for driving in central London). 

The speaker is Roberto Mangabeira Unger, Professor at Harvard and former minister in the da Silva government in Brasil. The event is being broadcast for BBC Radio 4, and it's very interesting. Unger's vision is of a society that moves beyond the "poisonous" confines of economic nationalism: It's intolerable that we should embrace globalisation where goods  and money are free to move but people are imprisoned within the nation state. He sees a world in which each adult is responsible not only for a productive job but for caring for someone outside his or her own family and insists that this is not an impractical utopian ideal but a way of life that would be embraced for the deep satisfaction it provides. The proposals, he says, don't depend on the view that we can radically change ourselves. We want ordinary activity gradually to expand. For example, suicide dropped during WW II and rose afterward because people were engaged in something bigger than themselves. We want that enlargement not only in crisis: nobody who has tasted a larger life will want to abandon it.

Wednesday. November, 13/2013

South Bank again and Tate Modern. The gallery is being renovated and expanded on a large scale, so there's no exhibition in the turbine hall and won't be until some time next year. There is a Paul Klee exhibit on, but we're reluctant to come up with the £16 each ($26.70 CAD) to see it and settle for some of the free galleries. Interesting photographs by Syrian born Hrair Sarkissian, who displays a set of pictures of squares in Syria that have been used for executions. The forty year old photographer says that executions were usually held about dawn but bodies left until nine or so, and he can remember seeing some hanging once as he walked to school. The photos are themselves taken at about 4:30 AM, and the squares are peaceful but....

Then back to Kilburn High Road, where we end up having supper at The Bell. Their seafood and chips basket, two for £7 ($11.70 CAD). Along with a pint of bitter each, it's comfort food, if not health food. The pub itself is rough and ready, with a regular clientele that provides plenty of unscripted entertainment. Though you're best seated well away from the loos if you don't want to find yourself thinking of cat boxes. I'm assuming those at the bar have had a great deal more to drink than we have, though they're probably more extrovert to begin with. The colours are nailed to the wall, in the form of a huge poster in support of Celtic football team, a reminder that Kilburn was once mainly Irish, though it's now largely West Indian and Asian. The conversation would make for good theatre of the absurd: a long dialogue about having a bath, with many reminders that nakedness is not sufficient - it 's also necessary to run the water. And there's song as well: a bit of Don't Cry for me Argentina, sung by a Caribbean man of indeterminate age. As we came in a customer was being loudly ordered out, but this turned out to be another patron's wish and not management edict. It's pretty friendly though, and I ask J if ut reminds him of Winnipeg's North Main in his student days.

Tuesday, November 12/2013

To Canada House, our High Commission for a discussion between Canadian journalist Doug Saunders (Globe and Mail, etc) and British journalist Yasmin Alibhai-Brown on the subject of the myth of the Muslim tide, also the title of Saunders' latest book. We're lucky to have noticed it was on, lucky in that Saunders is one of the journos we follow on Twitter and he referenced it. So we emailed our request to the government and were duly informed that our names had been added to the list. We've often been to Canada House before, mostly in the old days to check our email and once, during the volcanic eruption no-fly time to be provided with rather superior biscuits and lukewarm advice, as well as internet access. This is a rather better part of the building, still undergoing lengthy renovations and expansion than we've been invited to visit before. It's the same location on Trafalgar Square, but this time we're taken upstairs to reception rooms with leather furniture and served wine as we wait for the discussion to begin (although it's still impossible not to think that for less than $10,000 we could do considerably better for them in the way of Canadian art for the walls).

The talk is a bit late starting but the time happily filled chatting, in part with Rouben Khatchadourian, political affairs counsellor at the High Commission. He's had various Middle East postings following a military career that took him to Bosnia and has a quiet, modest style and a commitment to the low key work of diplomacy that lasts beyond the length of a single parliament. 

The discussion is interesting and works quite well unmoderated. Doug's basic thesis, backed up by many stats, is that there is no tide of "them" taking over "us". Numbers of Islamic immigrants are not enormous, most don't come from poor and overcrowded areas, and high percentages are well educated, committed to their adoptive countries and (within a generation) fairly typical citizens of their new homes in all respects including birth rates. Yasmin is, as always, more scattered and more passionate, equally distressed by racism in the west and by western over-optimistic tolerance of practices she regards as dangerous, such as the wearing of the hijab. Her point is that the growing insistence on having small children wear it is essentially a form of sexualising them. It's an interesting and valid point, but I can't help feeling some reluctance at the idea of identifying an ideal and then insisting that everyone adopt it. And there are practical difficulties. What precisely is a hijab, and will the queen be forbidden to wear a kerchief to the racetrack? There also seems to be no sense that there may be a protective social value in pluralism. Societies can go rogue and secularism is neither value free nor inevitably positive. Provocative though.

Monday, November 11/2013

There seems to be a steady trade in umbrellas, trade being the operative word. They're for sale at little shops all along the high street for £3 ($5 CAD). But only in a downpour should one pay that, because pound shops sell identical ones for only £1. Still, trade is what we seem to do - leave one on a bus, find one on a train. Sometimes trading up and sometimes down. The best of them I lost in Paphos, of all places, last year. We're one up at the moment, having found an extra on a District tube carriage Saturday, but it may not last. Nothing wrong with the umbrella, but they do tend to take their leave.

Remembrance Day, but we're in Starbucks at eleven, and if there's silence it's accidental.

To the Museum of London for a Gresham lecture, this one entitled "Is Man Just Another Animal." Steve Jones, the presenter, is an appealing personality, and entertaining as well as informative, with a gift for putting information in perspective. We may share 95% of our DNA with chimps but we share 50% with bananas. The differences are significant. We are the only primates unable to survive on raw food alone, requiring cooking to compensate for short intestines, small mouths, reduced teeth and a modest stomach. Those who try to survive on raw food alone eventually starve - a man does not live on what he eats but on what he digests. Only in brain size do humans come off superior to the other primates. But human brain size is smaller than that of Neanderthals and no larger than it was 100,000 years ago. 

Back to Kilburn High Road for dinner - our first time at Roses this trip. It's always good comfort food at prices the fast food places along the road can scarcely match, and always locals eating there. We start with large bowls of potato leek soup. Then I have roast lamb, roast potatoes and gravy, and J fish and chips. They do fish better than any other place we know, the perfectly cooked fillet longer than the ample plate. 

Program on telly tonight on speeches that shook the world. Most original hint (used by Enoch Powell amongst others): don't pee before you deliver the speech - it provides that extra sense of urgency.

Sunday, November 10/2013

Stroll along Bayswater Road for the weekly Sunday art display, a mile or so of mostly paintings hung on the fence that marks the north side of Hyde Park. Some are clearly for the tourist market - sketches of Tower Bridge or Big Ben - but there's quite a stylistic variety as well as a range of quality. And wit - a portrait of Her Majesty reading The Racing Post, cigarette grimly held between clenched teeth. We're charmed by a bright composite of central London with the iconic spots juggling for space like the illustrations in a child's book, and chat with the artist about travel as a way of life. I've been remembering the first time I came here on a Sunday nearly twenty-five years ago and was captivated by the work of a young Polish Englishman - and suddenly spot works that I'm sure are his. Wenczka - that must be the name. It is.

Then a walk along the South Bank, also Sunday busy. They're building little wooden kiosks, happily Christmassy, along the pavement. It's reminiscent of the frost fairs held on the ice centuries ago when the Thames froze over, though the crowds then were Londoners and most of these people aren't. Westminster Bridge is almost clogged with camera wielding tourists.

Last stop is Greenwich, at Goddard's Pie Shop (established 1890 but sadly relocated a couple of years ago to a rather less charming building a block or so away from its original home). The crumbles are still large and delicious and overflowing with custard, though (£2.90). Their specialities are pies - steak and kidney, chicken, mushroom, etc - and eels, but having no room for two courses we're always forced to choose, and opt this time for apple and black currant crumbles.

Saturday, November 10/2013

To Somerset House for an exhibition,

linked vaguely to next year's hundredth anniversary of the beginning of WWI. Somerset House itself initially difficult to access, as the Strand is closed fore annual Lord Mayor's Procession - an impressive affair with ancient coach, and guilds and much period costuming. We only catch a glimpse. The Worshipful Company of Joiners and Ceilers. What on earth are ceilers? All very cheerful.

Stanley Spencer, eccentric painter, near mystic, and sometime war artist is featured in a collection of war paintings completed between 1927 and 1932 and showing scenes of ordinary, even domestic, military life, based on Spencer's experiences in Macedonia and at Beaufort Military Hospital - scenes including daily routines like sorting laundry and filling water bottles. The paintings are normally housed at Sandham Memorial Chapel, purpose built for Spencer's work. The major piece in the chapel is The Resurrection of the Soldiers, a vision of the end of the war in which heaven has emerged from hell and stunned, rather than ecstatic, soldiers are rising from the subterranean. It's reminiscent of the resurrection painting at Cookham parish church in Spencer's home village, where recognisable local residents are shown stumbling from their graves on the day of judgement. A painting we saw on a day trip to Cookham a few years ago.

Supper at The Indian Veg, our standby vegan buffet. The food is as good as ever, probably a little better, but nothing remains the same forever. After years of serving an eat-what-you-like meal for £4.99, they've gone to £5.50. Still an incredible bargain, and no charge for bringing your own wine or beer.

Friday, November 8/2013

Bit of puttering along Kilburn High Road and then over to Bishopsgate to see Owen Jones interview Tony Benn about the last of his many diaries - A Blaze of Autumn Sunshine. We're lucky to get a train as there's been a fire in one of the stations and somebody under a train at Victoria (an almost daily occurrence), causing major delays. As it happens, though, we're in plenty of time, largely because I have mistakenly written down six instead of seven as the starting time, which gives us front row seats.

Benn is in good form for an increasingly frail man of eighty-eight. He has had a long and  honourable career as a Labour MP (fifty years in the House of Commons, for which he gave up a peerage), a campaigner for social justice and against war, and a compelling speaker and political diarist. In his prime there was nobody to match him in the last categories, and it is to his credit that so uncompromising a socialist maintained friendships with people of all walks of life and political persuasions, from Billy Bragg to former Conservative Prime Minister Edward Heath.

Physically Benn is showing his age, but he's sharp, and is, of course, delivering narratives and analyses that he has formulated well already - probably in the same words. So when Jones suggests that in his old age some may have recast Benn as a grandfatherly character rather than a major dissident - a harmless, kindly old gentleman - the reply is immediate and practised: I am kindly, I am old, I could be a gentleman - but I'm not harmless. And he's comfortable with the thought of death (a great adventure) and with a religious framework, though he's no longer orthodox in belief. Of the Old Testament he says "My mother taught me that the kings had the power and the prophets had the righteousness - and I believed her and it's got me into a lot of trouble".

Jones does a lovely job of shepherding - compensating for Benn's deafness by fielding and rephrasing questions from the audience and shaping the interview with an attractive energy and wit. He's got a book of his own for sale too - Chavs: The Demonization of the Working Class. Very tempting, but books are heavy and for the first time we're travelling entirely electronically. 

So happy to have finally gone to one of Benn's events. There may not be many left.

Should have been bedtime at midnight but Deric Longden's film, Lost for Words, starring the incomparable late Thora Hird, another national treasure, is on the telly. We've seen it before, but it's brilliant, if sad, and we can't resist. Is the other star, Peter Postlethwaite, gone now too? Yes. And so, this summer, is Longden, the script writer. We must be getting old.

Thursday, November 7, 2013

Out to West Harrow to see Jean - timing influenced by the fact that we've had Bishopsgate Institute mail her our tickets for tomorrow night when Owen Jones will be interviewing Tony Benn on the last of his published diaries. Benn says it's the last, not just the latest, and as he's eighty-eight now he's entitled to a retirement that he doesn't seem inclined to subside into. In fact he decided not to stand again for parliament in 2001 after spending over fifty years as a Labour MP - very much Old Labour and not New Labour - saying he wanted to have more time for politics. Fortunately we bought the tickets online weeks ago, as the event is sold out. Benn's diaries rank among the best political diaries and many of non-Labour political persuasion still remember him as the best political speaker they ever heard.

Lunch with Jean, whom we last saw, briefly, in New Brunswick in September, and, as always, four hours of talk passes almost instantly. 

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Despite a slow start, we arrive early and circle London until it's six a.m. And we can legally land - first in the queue. Tube to Bayswater and a slow coffee and internet stop at Starbucks to allow the little hotel time to have a room ready. Starbucks has done some room changing. Gone is the seedy and probably unhygienic comfort of the basement cave. All clean, square, desk-like little wooden tables. Neat and cold. Same friendly staff but gone too are the characters - the man who brought his own toast and the mentally afflicted man who sat for hours with a single cup off tea his ticket to warmth. Gone where? Miss the cosy muddle.

Small jetlag nap and then out to Camden High Street. By half past three it's getting dark. So much farther north than Winnipeg.

BBC announces that Yasser Arafat may have been poisoned, while Al Jazeera says almost certainly poisoned - 83% probability. Interestingly they're both reporting on the same set of findings by a Swiss forensic team and choosing totally different quotations from the findings. The BBC feels obliged to point out that the polonium poisoning verdict was one that Arafat's wife would have wanted. Undoubtedly true, but irrelevant, one would have thought, to the findings of the (presumably unbiased) Swiss team.

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Bus from St Vital to Winnipeg airport, where I pick up two cups of coffee from Starbucks. The girl asks if I want a receipt. Must have mistaken me for a senator. 

The flight to London is completely full as they've cancelled a direct flight from Calgary and added the resulting bodies to our flight. Seems to happen increasingly with Air Canada - reminiscent of China twenty-five years ago. The food is deteriorating as well. Do Air Canada's caterers ever actually eat their own offerings? Salad involving dark yellow kernels of corn and pale yellow (once green?) leaves of cabbage in a container with no actual dressing but a little water in the bottom. The container itself is about two and a half inches squared, which is more than enough. Maybe they look at the uneaten portions and conclude that nobody eats salad so they needn't bother. Fortunately the wine is quite adequate.

Read, electronically, the whole of James Bartleman's memoir of a childhood in the other Muskoka, the one inhabited not by wealthy holiday makers and cottage owners but by day labourers living hand to mouth and natives existing on the fringes of white society. It's funny and moving and inspiring. Partly the story of any boy growing up in a northern Ontario town in the forties and fifties - fishing and reading comic books and splitting firewood, partly social commentary, and partly the account of a boy of imagination abd vision and integrity - and luck - who went from an uninsulated shack and half-breed status to the lieutenant governor's residence.  Called Raisin Wine in honour of Bartleman's father's favourite home brew production.

Tuesday, April 23/2013

Shakespeare's birthday and the Feast of St George. Only in the year of volcanic ash were we here this late. And today it's spring - warm and flowery and alive - so off we go to Canada tomorrow, to the land of endless snow.

Monday, April 22/2013

Second visit to Autograf, the wonderful Polish restaurant in Tottenham. More perogies, cabbage rolls (this time with mushroom sauce - a good idea) and goulash. Probably the only people in the restaurant who ordered in English - although even with us there were a few words of Polish thrown in.

Sunday, April 21/2013

Meet Jean and Shanthi for lunch at a little cafeteria serving Malaysian students. To prevent its being swamped by tourists and non-Malaysian students, admission is accorded to those speaking a Malaysian language and their group. So Shanthi is our admission card. Interesting food, and quite a variety for such a small space. Jean says it reminds her of the food they ate when she was teaching in Singapore. So we have curries, brinjal, samosas, sweets, ginger tea. Very nice. London is such a rich place culturally.

Saturday, April 20/2013

Rubens Ceiling centre panel

Third time lucky - Banqueting House is open, as promised on website, finally prudently consulted. Very interesting. The execution spot of Charles I. We've often wondered at which window, and there is a bit of uncertainty, in part due to some rebuilding. Despite the name, the banqueting house was largely used as a reception place for foreign dignitaries, the Rubens ceiling intended to impress - and no doubt succeeding. Charles I was beheaded on a scaffold outside the window, and always makes me think of the line from Macbeth - nothing in his life became him like the leaving it (said of the previous Thane of Cawdor, not Macbeth). Charles prorogued parliament for years (sound familiar?) and insisted on the divine right of kings, but he died bravely, wearing a warm shirt lest his shivering be mistaken for fear. One can only imagine his children, aged nine and thirteen, being sent in the morning to say good-bye to him - horrific for both parties.

Friday, April 19/2013

Attempt number two at the Banqueting House. Closed again. But you said yesterday it would be open today. So it was - until one o'clock. Fortunately the National Gallery is nearby. Head toward a room that promises a Hogarth. It does have one not-particularly-interesting Hogarth. But also a great horse by Stubbs. It's prancing and magnificent and must have been quite hard to do, in that there would  have been no photographs at the time and no possibility of asking the horse to pose mid-prance. Contrast with a large painting by Van Dyke showing Charles I, easily recognisable from the next room, on a horse that is hideously disproportionate, and not, one assumes, for any symbolic reason. Maybe court painters just aren't willing to say that they don't do horses.

Thursday, April 18/2013

Serendipitous day. The plan was to go to the Banqueting House, scene of Charles I's execution. Should have googled first, of course. It is closed for some function. We'd planned to be indoors because heavy showers were expected, and as we walk down the Strand they arrive following great gusts of wind (also predicted and the reason we haven't bothered with umbrellas). Shelter for a bit in the doorway of a coffee shop and then hop a bus that's going a long way. Actually West Hampstead. By which time we've had a rethink and take the tube one stop over to our usual favourite spot - Kilburn High Road. Lots of browsing along the charity shops (rain stopped by now). We're thinking dinner when we remember that Roses has lamb kleftiko as its Thursday night special. That seals it. And happily so, because it's the best lamb kleftiko either of us has ever tasted - butter soft and folding back from the leg bone as it's done to total perfection. Better than we've ever had in Cyprus, and, we reflect, for less money that we could possibly buy the raw lamb in Canada. So happy postponement to the Banqueting House in favour of the banquet.

Wednesday, April 17/2013

It's sunny and much warmer. Men sitting smoking shishas along Queensway. We skip the crowds for Maggie Thatcher's funeral. The funeral itself is highly controversial. A state funeral in all but name, minus the lying in state. The cost is supposed to be £10 million. Which many regard as scandalous. Others are cynical about the opportunism in a grand Conservative funeral as the coalition is faltering along with the econmy and the IMF is highly critical of the Chancellor of the Exchequer (shown in tears aat the funeral, presumably engendered by  the occasion and not the IMF). There`s an interesting question of protocol regarding the assessment of greatness. Defined by policy, by longevity, by tenure as prime minister, by international activity? Any PM who served more than ten years? If Blair were to die accidentally would he be accorded the same sort of funeral? Of course Thatcher won her war and arguably didn't start it. And who decides? Not the House in this case, but a PM who happens to be from the same party. Yes, she was the first woman prime minister. Would the apply to a first black PM? A first disabled one? The only comparable funeral was Churchill's but Churchill was much less controversial and his government, happily, a wartime National Unity government.

Speculation: Invited guests, many of them elderly, had to be in St Paul's by ten for an eleven o'clock service. And to leave their homes or hotels much earlier. How many loos are there in St Paul's and how many in the congregation went without morning coffee?

We to the National Portrait Gallery in the afternoon. Another look at the portrait of Richard III, after rereading Josephine Tey's Daughter of Time when R's body was discovered and identified this year and then visiting York on Sunday. A painting of Elizabeth I that looks like a death mask attached to the top of an elaborate dress. Presumably the sitter only had to pose while the face was being painted and the rest could be added later. In this case the shoes peep out from under the hem at an angle that seems not quite right. Also view an interesting set of busts by Epstein.

Walk down Whitehall, where there's a protest on regarding a coming execution in India. Then tube and DLR to Greenwich for our semi-annual visit to Goddard's Pie Shop (same family since 1890). Can never hold both pie and crumble (eels also available) so we now go for crumble. Today's choice apple and black currant with massive amounts of custard.

Tuesday, April 16/2013

We're not up early but get to enjoy Jasmine (4) and Leila (nearly 2) after Giles drops them off to be looked after for the day. Jasmine is very self possessed, talkative and socially adept. Leila is quieter but self-reliant in a different way, talking to herself while she plays with the toys. Interesting to watch her analysing how a toy works (some of Grandpa's genes?). She has very good fine motor co-ordination. Doug's sister Kathleen stops in with her grandson Johnny, an active, happy little boy (10 months old?).

We take train and tube back. Genie has saved us our old room and it feels like home now.Time for a little shopping in Camden Town, including a bottle of ruby cabernet which we take with us to Indian Veg, where the owner is happy to provide us with wine glasses. Good as ever.

Monday, April 15/2013

We're off and so are our very gracious and generous hosts. Phil and Elaine have a newly acquired motor home and are heading off Liverpool way to try it out and visit friends. It's both airy and compact - really nicely planned. I could quite happily live in a space like that, at least for half the year.

We stop at Leeds on our way and take a look at the house where D and J lived when their girls were little. Very nicely located in a dead end road across from parkland, and they sound a little wistful. Lovely big house too.

As we reach London, we can see that the weekend sun and warmth has done its best and cherry blossoms,magnolias, forsythia and camellias have joined the daffodils. Late but lovely.

Sunday, April 14/2013

Lazy Sunday breakfast with back bacon and sausages from the excellent local butcher. Mushrooms, scrambled eggs, cherry tomatoes and pancakes. More than holds us for an exploration of York. York was a Roman town and parts of the wall round the old city are Roman. It's windy but warm and we walk a section of the wall, then stop to admire the cathedral, York Minster, famous as the largest medieval cathedral in Europe. It is enormous, but more important, it's beautiful, and should really be the burial place of the much maligned Richard III, though it doesn't look as  if that will happen. There's a lovely dignity and grace about the older centre of the city, and E and P take us to the Shambles, the oldest section, its name derived from the benches on which butchers displayed their meat and not from the appearance of old buildings that almost lean on each other (the oldest 14th century). Then along the river for a brief stop at a pub and we're off. On the way back we stop at Knaresborough to see the castle ruins and the stunning view below. York and its surrounds were royalist in the civil war and paid a price for it afterward.

Phil and Elaine surpass themselves at dinner. A stunning roast of beef (local butcher again). Roast potatoes, leeks (home grown), carrots, parsnips, broccoli, cauliflower, and a delicious dish that Elaine has made with butternut squash, almonds and pine nuts. Beautiful. Also Yorkshire pudding, courtesy of Jenny. Barely room for dessert, but we do make some because it's a crumble made with their own gooseberries. they have a lovely garden that goes back endlessly, with a fish pond and greenhouse and even a little summer house with electricity - to say nothing of the view over the fields. The house itself is lovely too,
following loving renovations. Beautifully designed.

Saturday, April 13/2013

Lovely drive cross country. Pass a village bus saying Ilkley - of Ilkley Moor fame. We're in hilly pasture land on our way west to Keighley, where there's a little steam railway linking half a dozen towns and run by enthusiastic volunteers. Our tickets are good for its whole length, so on board for Oxenhope, the other end of the line, where there's an exhibition shed with a variety of old steam locomotives, complete with provenance. There are even some teenagers, on their school break, with paint brushes, helping out with restoration. Great fun for all of us - most of us old enough to premember steam engines in regular use.

We have just enough time for lunch. The nearby pub is being refurbished and isn't doing food, but this may be to our advantage as there's a busy little local fish and chip takeaway - fish and chips £3.50 ($5.40) and delicious. We take them to benches on the edge of the adjacent playing field.

Then one stop down the line to Haworth. There`s a steep walk uphill to the village - lovely, quaint shops and the parsonage in which the Bronte sisters were raised, now turned into a museum on the edge of the moor. There are quite a few original items - letters, clothing, photographs - as well as period furnishings and some historical background, such as the high death rate in the village due to poor sanitation and the number of villagers (up to 24 families) sharing one privy. The church nearby has been rebuilt in the nineteenth century but it`s the congregation where the sisters` father, Patrick Bronte, was rector and the Bronte family tomb is under one of its pillars.

We`re back at the little station in time to see a man erase the next train from the blackboard with the listings, so repair to the pub across the road, sussed out by Phil, to tests its bitter before the last train back. If any of the run looks familiar there may be a reason. Damems Station was used in the series Born and Bred, and Oaksworth in the film version of The Railway Children.

Lovely meze style supper followed by a hot drink (Lamumba?) made with brandy and chocolate, the latter brought back by E and P from their South American cruise. Very nice.

Friday, April 12/2013

Jenny, Doug, Joe and I drive to Yorkshire. It's a theoretical four hours but actually closer to six. Roads fairly clogged in places, largely because it's Friday afternoon. And, as Doug says, because they let northerners drive cars. A bit hard on D, who does all the driving, but not bad for the rest of us. Lots of fields with sheep, many of them with tiny lambs scampering or feeding or huddling with a twin. Daffodils and crocuses out and, as we get further north, dry stone walls and rolling fields.

Elaine and Phil live in Hampsthwaite, just outside Harrogate. They kindly welcome us with tea and cake and then we go for a walk in the country. As we look at the pretty river running through the village it starts to rain a little, so we wind up at a village pub where we enjoy the local bitter. Then home. Phil has made a superb cassoulet with beans and two different kinds of sausage - chorizo and Sicilian.

Thursday, April 11/2013

Out of the Baron's and over to Starbucks for coffee and wifi. The tube to Wimbledon and train from there to Thames Ditton. Everything with us as we'll be gone until Tuesday before moving back to the hotel. Nice to know it does still all fit - if only just.

Jenny has invited her cousin Elaine and Elaine's husband Hugh to dinner - generous and ambitious as she's been at a training session for Community Advice Bureau counsellors. Lovely, though. Moussaka and creme caramel and good conversation as Doug and Hugh wind each other up about the merits or otherwise of the Thatcher regime.

Wednesday, April 10/2013

Last day in Bayswater.Time to excavate the room - all the papers with articles we planned to read but....Our rose has been in a wine bottle. On Thursday, as we were going out to the Barbican, there was a young man standing on the front steps with a large plasticised carrier bag of roses. Sheltering from the snow? Hoping someone with a key would let him into the hotel? In any case he handed me a rose. I was going to go back and put it in the room before we left but he said it would be bad luck. So, ridiculously, I took it with me - on the tube, to the Barbican Library, back on the tube, to its wine bottle. Never really opened up, but had a beautiful scent.

On the platform at King's Cross we arrive to screams and see people trying the impossible - to force open a carriage door. Fear the worst, but it turns out that no-one has been crushed. A woman's children are in the carriage but the door has closed before she could join them. Someone pulls the emergency alarm and eventually the door opens to admit her.

Tuesday, April 9/2013

With Alexander and Flora to Autograf, the Polish restaurant in Tottenham. Just barely on time as the Central line has been sseriously slowed after someone threw themself under a train - roughly a weekly occurrence on the London Underground.

The restaurant turns out to be a keeper. Tiny and informal, but nice staff and really authentic Polish food. In fact the menu is bilingual, but with the Polish first, and signs on the wall are in Polish only. Bigos, cabbage rolls, goulash, potato pancakes, and some of the best pierogies we've  tasted. We begin with a mixed plate of them as a shared starter. One, that J says was delicious, has a spinach filling. Cheesecake and apple pie for dessert - one of each but four plates - we're pretty full by then. and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.

Monday, April 8/2013

Neighbourhood gentrification is a mixed blessing. Not rescuing slums and tending window boxes, but the more commercialised variety that seems to take all the quirky character out of a street. So Kilburn High Road still has tiny restaurants with local customers and no chain affiliation. Pubs that have history - in one case 525 years of it. Architectural idiosyncrasy. But yesterday we saw that, the Junk Shop not withstanding, Greenwich is going upscale. Goddard's pie shop is still there, albeit in new premises, after over a hundred years in the same family, but wine bars and little boutiques are slowly displacing small cafés and second hand bookshops. And Queensway, in Bayswater, when J and I had our first meal there - our first meal together ever - twenty-four years ago, was funkier, less ''expensive, more real. Will Kilburn suffer the same fate? What about Brixton?

The news today, of course, is that Baroness Thatcher has died. Tributes of course - and many who view her legacy with some bitterness as well. An amazing number of interviewees on television, but then, whether or not anyone expected the death right now, it has been inevitable for some time and the media have had lots of time to prepare.

Sunday, April 7/2013

Another sunny day - and the breeze is a warm one. Queensway happy again with cups of coffee and pints of beer. Restaurant touts handing out their cards as usual but people lingering. A good day to go over to Greenwich.

The main covered market is too crowded to enjoy, especially at the good end, which is so packed that actual eating looks hazardous. Lots of crafts for sale. More fun though at the open air antique market up the road. Not all antiques but retro jewellery (from the '70's!), old books, gramophones, vintage clothing, metal signs. And then there's the Junk Shop - yes, that is its name, though the letter slot has a notice saying no junk mail. The shop is an astonishing warren of collectables - everything imaginable, from sheet music to tin boxes, antique dolls, an Edwardian school desk not that different from the one I used in grade one, books, old postcards, china. I love the antique chemist's bottles, in part because I remember the village doctor's office in my early childhood. There was no pharmacy and the doctor prescribed medicines from the dark brown and deep blue bottles lining his shelves - ones that looked much like the ones we saw in Cuba half a century later, or here today.

We have a couple of small bottles of our own in our coat pockets - airplane size wine bottles refilled with wine and ready for our stop at the Indian Veg. they're happy to supply wine glasses - and unlike Ontario there's no corkage fee. Actually, when we stopped once at a village in Quebec there was no corkage fee either - and it seemed to be more than the quality of my French preventing the waitress from understanding the concept. Very civilised. And the food here always good.

Saturday, April 6/2013

Sun is out and the east wind gone and it`s the weekend. On Queensway the people are out as if they`d crawled from underneath rocks into the sun. Jackets unzipped, glasses of beer on the tables outside the cafés, no longer the sole preserve of desperate smokers.

And we across to the South Bank and the river walkway. Families, couples, young skateboarders, an open air food market with ethic foods, and even a man cutting up a whole roasted free range boar and offering samples. As we pass a café we`re offered a sample of spiced chai - very good. the tide is out and on the sands below the walk there are buskers at work. a guitarist has spread out a blanket for his audience to throw down coins. Perhaps luckier than the Irishman who sang and played the guitar onn a crowded tube carriage the other day and got off saying ``Sod the applause - I can`t pay bills with applause.`` A little sad, but then he was, in undoubted contravention of local bylaws, competing with legitimate buskers who had to audition for their pitches in the the underground tunnels. Here on the Southbank`s tidal sands there are also the sand sculptors taking advantage of low tide.

Our semi-annual visit to tate Modern. It`s been a while since there was an impressive installation in the huge entrance hall, but there are always other exhibitions to visit. I`m taken by an oil of Ernst`s - made by placing the canvis over planks of wood, scraping paint across and then working with the image - ``The Entire City,`` 1934.

Friday, April 5/2013

To the Saatchi Gallery, always a favourite. Not only always free but very friendly - nothing ever roped off, just a reminder to parents to prevent children touching. The featured exhibitions today are contemporary Russian. Some wit and quite a lot of despair, with a set of black and white photographs by Vikenti Nilin showing people perched precariously, if not suicidally, on window ledges and balcony railings - the floor centre occupied by a splatted humanoid form in black plastic. There`s also a truly disturbing exhibition of Boris Mikhailov's photographs portraying a degraded segment of the population - abused, alcoholic, sexual but scarcely arousing. Exploitation or documentary? The whole exhibition is entitled "Gaiety is the Outstanding Feature of the Soviet Union" - heavily ironic and very sad, in a post-Soviet Russia where there is not even the Communist safety net and a great many marginalised people staring into the abyss. But some wit as well - the statue of a woman who is rounded off like a Russian doll, to the fascination of a very small girl.

Thursday, April 4/2013

Last of the tablet purchases. Irresistibly priced at £129 (VAT reclaimable) a 64 gb Blackberry Playbook, including sleeve and three months Times subscription. Other than the keyboard, it`s hard to compare the convenience of a netbook with that of 7 inch tablets. Two fit in my handbag, which isn`t large. Hard to imagine that ten years ago we travelled with no computer, tablet or mobile phone and thought we lived in a remarkable age because there were internet cafés. And now rumour has it that Norway is going to scrap landlines and go entirely with mobiles. Cheaper to maintain networks than phone lines? Perhaps in the end that will give us decent coverage at home.

Back by bus and tube in blowing snow. For the first time in our memory the flower sellers at the corner have closed down early. A miserable job standing there in the cold wind and sleet, and not wonderful for the flowers either. Then back to the Barbican to set the Playbook up.

Wednesday, April 3/2013

A block away from us the New Dawn Hotel has turned its tiny courtyard into a Middle Eastern garden, featuring a bamboo screen, relaxed seating, a canopy and sheeshas - bubble pipes. Supposed to be much harder on the lungs than regular cigarettes but always intriguing, with hints of opium. Not cheap either - featured at a restaurant round the corner for £9.95 ($15.32), rather more than their advertised meal. Not doing too well in this cold weather though.

Outside the 99p store in Camden Town a BMW sedan pulled up and being loaded by two Asian women with box after box of purchases from a shop where nothing costs more than 99p ($1.52), although many items - brand name shampoos, 3 tins of brand name beans, packs of 12 AA batteries, brand name deodorants, etc - are surprisingly good value for a pound. Noticeably better than Canadian dollar stores, particularly in that many of the things on sale are necessities that would otherwise have to be bought elsewhere at higher prices.

Tuesday, April 2/2013

Checking out central London theatreland. The number of theatres reserving cheap tickets for same day early queuers has expanded. It's no longer only the National on the South Bank. However the central theatres (where regular seats are often sold out) tend to reserve fewer seats (10-14) and the queues begin anywhere from 5:30 to 7:00 a.m. for box offices that open at 10! Given the bitter weather we have no intention at all of waiting four hours on the pavement from a pre-dawn start. Sunny and not too cold by afternoon though and a nice wander through Leicester Square and China Town.

The supper plan was to go to Autograf, a northeast Polish restaurant with stunningly good reviews. It's not as accessible as it might be, but a longish bus ride gets us there - almost to the door. Only to find it's closed for Easter week, opening again on Friday. It's tiny and located in a mixed Turkish and Polish neighbourhood, but the reviews are proudly displayed inthe window, and we discover a slightly shorter way of getting there via Archway tube station and a bus. Which is the route we take back to Chapel Market and our old standby the Indian Veg.

A young man, twentyish, on the platform at Edgeware Road tube station wants to be sure the train he's taking is to Victoria, and it is a bit confusing. We show him the schematic and assure him it's the right train. How many stations? Eight stops. Then he shows us his ticket. Will it still be good. We assure him it's good all day, and he explains that he can't read - hence the heavy reliance on verbal assurances about the number of stops. His English is fluent - possibly first language - and he doesn't do any explaining about broken glasses, etc. Can he really be illiterate? A scary thought where everything relies on reading at least signs.

Monday, April 1/2013

April Fool`s Day. Could this be referring to the weather?  A day mostly poking around the shops on Kilburn High Road, which ends, predictably, with our eating at Roses (spelled rightly or wrongly without the ubiquitous apostrophe). It's not only wonderful prices for home cooked meals but, as far as we can tell, almost entirely local clientele. A very mixed lot it is. The earlier settlers of Kilburn were Irish and there are still Irish pubs and Irish newspapers sold, but the street now is full of Asians, Caribbean blacks and Moslems and the ethnic restaurants and window signs are highly multicultural. My favourite still is:

NAJLEPSZY KEBAB
[unknown word in Arabic writing] HALAL

Najlepszy the Polish for best.

As to the local clientele at Roses, the waitresses are East European and when Joe admires  the baby at the next table both J's compliment and the mother's thanks are in Polish.

Sunday, March 31/2013

The time changes here - and in most of Europe - today, making it slightly harder to get up for Easter Mass. There’s not much point in going to Westminster Cathedral late and expecting a seat, but we’re actually earlier than need be so have a cup of coffee while overlooking the square in front of the church. Interesting bits of minor drama as (homeless?) men gather. One cadges a cigarette from two others, who later share a doughnut. It’s a very inner city location and at one point a staff member in the coffee shop sits down with two very loud men and calms them - a talent probably needed frequently around here. Outside we passed a man in a sleeping bag on the sidewalk.

Standing room only at Mass, as was undoubtedly the case at the vigil Mass last night. The boys choir is in attendance as well as the senior choir and the Mass begins with Palestrina, unaccompanied by organ, whch comes in later. Archbishop Vincent Nichols is the celebrant.

After Church to Kilburn High Road for a pub lunch. There’s a Sunday carvery with a choice of roast pork or roast beef (or a mixture, which we opt for), with oven roasted potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, dressing, carrots, cauliflower, green beans and plenty of gravy. Plates heaped for £4.95 ($7.65). Pints of ale (or lager if you prefer, which we don`t) for £1.99. Makes us think how long it`s been in Canada since we ate anything at a restaurant that was oven-cooked. Hence roast potatoes, which don`t nuke well, virtually unknown. Lovely Easter dinner.

The street market is on and many of the smaller shops are open. We buy five oranges for a pound to take home. Pick up a Sunday Times on Queensway and home with a week`s reading. The 159th Oxford v Cambridge boat race is on. Pretty chilly for watching outside and we have a better view on the telly anyway. Oxford, with Canadian Olympic gold winner Malcolm Howard in the stroke seat, wins.

Saturday, March 30/2013

We brave the morning cold to queue at the National Theatre,arriving about eight, which puts us near but not at the front of the queue. It's cold - around zero - but not windy and we're in a particularly sheltered bit. Chat for the hour and some with the man behind us - theatre, travel, politics, education - and the time passes quite quickly. He's here to get tickets for "this House" and we for Alan Bennett's "People". Early queuers can get two tickets each from the £12 tickets held back for same day release, and belatedly it occurs to us that we can get two tickets for one play for the matinée this afternoon and two more for tonight`s performance. So we do.

Quick trip home for late breakfast and then back for the afternoon. London always so visually stimulating. Opposite us on the tube sits a young man wearing black leather jacket, white dress shirt, bow tie showing a map of the underground, red tartan vest, black jeans rolled up to the length of plus fours, heavy woollen socks meeting his trousers, and platform shoes that are a combination of leopard spots, black spots on white and black spots on dark red. En route to a party? Maybe, but his female companion is dressed quite conventionally.

“This House`is our matinée choice. Brilliantly staged, fast paced and fun. It follows the finely balanced and sometimes minority British parliaments of the mid-seventies, focused entirely on the Labour and Tory whips and set mostly in the whips’ rooms. The only character we actually recognise is a young Michael Heseltine swinging the mace to the incandescent fury of the speaker (as he actually did in 1976). But that is the point. The drama and chaos of the whips’ offices always is much of the story, despite having protagonists whose names no one later remembers.

There’s not really time to go home between plays, so a quick burger and we take coffees from Starbucks back to the National where there’s a jazz trio performing in he foyer. The singer is very good and it’s a lovely way to spend the time before the evening performance. “People” is also enjoyable. Not absolutely prime Bennett, but some wit and some interesting questions. It takes us a while to recognise the female archdeacon as Selina Cadell, who plays the pharmacist in Doc Martin. Not recognition based on memory, either. We google on the Blackberry tablet during the interval.

A long day, but fun.

Friday, March 29/2013

Good Friday. We go down to Starbucks for coffee. Still doing setup things. There's one man who seems to be a regular. Well, rather more than that. Regardless of the time of day he's always there, a paper cup (probably long since empty) in front of him. He smiles, often sleeps, sitting on a hardbacked chair, occasionally talks to himself. Obviously there are mental health difficulties, but it's a pretty tolerant place and he doesn't bother anyone - with the exception of the time when he sneezed at least twenty times and clearly needed a handkerchief but didn't have one. For a while I wondered if he was homeless, walking the streets at night and sleeping in the chair in the daytime, but it seems more likely he stays in a room or hostel where he is turned out for the day. A very difficult life.

The tube is pretty disrupted due to repairs scheduled for the long weekend, but we go over to the British Library, joking that her majesty is unlikely to be there today - thinking of the last time we had gone and found it closed for a royal visit. The queen isn't there but it is closed - something the googling failed to show. So a bit of a bus tour and we're back in Islington looking at the antique shops in Camden Passage and, finally, having a vegetarian supper at Indian Veg. Couldn't be more different from the crowded party atmosphere of Wednesday. It's quiet and almost empty. Same good food, though this time we haven't brought wine. the owner tells us he's run the place for twenty-seven years, during which time the price of the buffet has risen from £2.99 ($4.63) to £4.99 ($7.33). The dhal is made fresh every morning and what`s left is given to the homeless every night. For, as it says on the inside door of the loo, if your home has a roof, windows and more than one room, you're in the world's top 20%. If you also have a fridge you're in the top 5%.

Thursday, March 28/2013

Theoretically a very busy day. The intent was that I would go to West Harrow to help Jean find and possibly buy tickets to visit Fredericton at the end of next month. Then we were to go out to dinner with Alexander and Flora. For different reasons both cancelled, so we  head to the Barbican library for a quiet and reasonably secure place to set up the new tablet and to search. Does seem a bit of a waste of London time but the time is so much better spent when we can check places, events and opening times first.

Cypriot banks finally open today after being shut for twelve days. All kinds of restrictions as to amounts that can be taken out (three hundred euros a day) and electronic transfers or use of Cypriot credit cards.

Wednesday, March 27/2013

Take advantage of the surprisingly better prices on some electronics in the U to acquire an Ipad Mini at John Lewis, after endless comparison and debate. VAT refundable at Heathrow. Don't know if we'll reach the point where we travel with tablets and no netbook, but it would be lighter and simpler - but no real keyboard. Out to the Indian Veg in Chapel Market. It's crazy busy and we end up sitting at the end of a long table of young (thirtyish) people clearly celebrating something. They're lovely about it - and I apologise for not having brought a prezzie. Not a pretense of a free seat anywhere.

Tuesday, March 26/2013

There's a new app, shown on the television news, which allows young doctors to practise surgical techniques as restrictions on the once horrific hours they worked have left them with less experience. The doctors they interview are enthusiastic ans say it gives them more confidence. so now, as well as asking a surgeon how many times s/he has done a particular operation, one can add "and how many of those were virtual?"

Monday, March 25/2013

Camden Town in the morning. Then in the afternoon out to Jean's in West Harrow. Happy to have brought my black pashmina. Some shortage of glamorous opera evenings draped in it, but the cashmere is warm and I'm quite willing to appear in a babushka/hijab cross in the cold wind, especially as it retreats to being a scarf when the wind dies down.

But warm at Jean's - tea and wine and then curry and good conversation catching up. Also she has Kieran's and Katy's school pictures, as  Rachel was afraid of missing us in Cyprus, given their erratic mails. Shanthi joins us after work, her big news that she's being loaned to the cabinet office for two years (still as civil service policy advisor).

Sunday, March 24/2013

Palm Sunday but definitely not weather for parading with palms. There's a race, the Malaysian Grand Prix, at 8 a.m. but unfortunately it's only on radio not TV - or at least not on any channel we get. In the afternoon down to the electronic shops on Tottenham Court Road and then to John Lewis. For the first time many electronics are cheaper in the UK than in Canada.

Saturday, March 23/2013

Wake up to listen to a London radio host taking calls about bizarre government surveys and letters. there's the Birmingham council's survey regarding garbage bins which asks the gender and sexual orientation of the respondent (with a surprising range of choices). Why, asks one resident - if I say I'm gay do I get a pink one? There's a complaint that the form at the GP's office asks what colour you are (that's right, not race but colour). As one man says, can't they tell by looking? The strangest probably from a man who got a letter from the council referring to his wife's recent sex change. It was news to him.

Morning visit to Starbucks office to catch up on the email/internet. While the coffee is good, there's nothing very upscale about this particular venue - but the basement lounge does have a comfortable, slightly seedy feeling. Soft, if worn, seating, good music and no hurry.

Down Oxford Street in the biting cold to look at tablets at Curry's. The salesman is very enthusiastic about the Nexus 7, but his own has a cracked screen, and a bit of research turns up the info that this is a very common problem and not one Asus is too keen on fixing. A new screen is not much cheaper than a new tablet.

Dinner at the Indian Veg, the mostly vegan buffet near Angel tube station. The street market outside is just shutting down and the men look chilled through. As the canopies come down frozen slush slides onto the road to join the cabbage leaves and a wet abandoned glove. A surprisingly cheerful man tells us he's been up since four. It's warm inside the Indian Veg, though. It's warm and bright with signs advocating vegetarianism and providing bits of associated trivia. The young couple at the next table are happily affectionate and ask us to take their picture with his mobile.

Friday, March 22/2013

Two hour time difference means we don't sleep in. First priority, given the nasty weather forecasts, is a stop at the 99p store in Camden Town for a 99p umbrella to replace the one I lost in Paphos, which regrettably was rather better than the 99p variety, although it was one that we found abandoned on a train. Nice poking along the shops but there's a bitterly cold wind. Temperature about 0 but the kind of wind that makes you want to pop into shops of even minimal interest just to warm up. Do get a jar of crunchy peanut butter at Lidl. Actually the umbrella is relatively useless in weather like this - if it were to rain it would snow and there's too much wind anyway.

The north of England is much more unpleasant, with snow drifts, blocked roads and school cancellations, while tens of thousands of people in Northern Ireland are without power. They seem to have got Canadian weather by mistake. We stop at Nottinghill in the afternoon and encounter a wind we can only barely walk against. At the tube station is a sign we've never encountered in London before:
SEVERE WEATHER EXPECTED. Severe weather may cause disruption to transport services over the next few days. We have contingency plans for this and will make every effort to run a full service. However please check before you travel using the contacts below.

Tiny ice pellets in the air as we walk up Queensway on the way home. The flower seller round the corner from us is huddled against the wall of the pub and the flowers a are just above the freezing point. Daffodils three bunches for a pound, but will they survive?

Thursday, March 21/2013

Moving day. The things  that are to be left behind in boxes and hauled down to the box room on the mezzanine - awkward as the lift doesn't stop there, but a pretty secure storage spot. And our cases stuffed to the bursting point - well, they are pretty small suitcases.

Bus to the airport. We're waiting at the stop across the road when a plain white van drives up onto the sidewalk followed by a police car with flashing lights. A policeman waves us to move over. A little annoying as we feel more entitled to the sidewalk than the vehicles. Out of the van a man emerges in helmet and bullet proof vest bearing a package and all becomes clear We're standing outside a bank and this is a delivery of much needed cash from the equivalent of an unmarked Briks van. (The man who emerges from the police car is wearing a black tshirt with logo and army style camouflage trousers). Across the road a man has been watching and is first over to make a withdrawal.

The bus, when it comes, is a minibus but everyone squishes over obligingly and insists that our luggage is not in the way - which it is. Picnic lunch at the airport. An elderly couple in the lounge near us are well equipped for the wait. He has a bottle of whiskey and one of water in a plastic bag as well as clear plastic glasses. Once he's poured generous drinks he takes out a crossword book and she a novel.

Flight not overfull and pretty quiet. Shrimp salad, chicken curry and chocolate cake for dinner. The wine's not bad either.  Pretty good for the $22 we each paid for the flight after redeeming the air miles with BA. Canadian air mile redemptions always seem more like a down payment on a flight than the acquisition of one.

The usual meeters at Heathrow holding up placards with the names of the passengers being met. One man is holding a sign reading "Silence" - presumably a name not an instruction. Pounds at the cashpoint and the tube to Bayswater. It's cold, and windy, and beginning to spit a little. But we're only a couple of blocks away from the little hotel and our usual room looks like home.

Wednesday, March 20/2013

J and I to say good-bye to Margaret at Terra Santa nursing home, taking some chocolates, the last of the lemon curd and a Maeve Binchy novel with large print. J has the best present though - he shows her how to change the language of Euronews from Greek to English, when previously she only had access to ten minutes a day television news in English

Then I meet up with Ailsa for coffee and catch up as we seem not to have got together this winter, one way and another. And home to pack.

Tuesday, March 19/2013

Day one of the extraordinary bank closure. Rumours abound. Some people seem able to access money from the ATMs and others not, probably in accordance with whether individual bank branches still have cash. Although Maggi tries moving money from one account to another online and is unavailable to do so, confirming statements that electronic transfers have been stopped. The Troika (EU, IMF, and European Central Bank) have insisted that there is no option other than Cyprus raising 5.8 billion euros itself, an argument that the government seems to have bought. But by the time the vote takes place in the evening it is 36 opposed with 19 abstentions (this latter the governing party). So now the desperate search for a plan B, with a fair bit of hysterical euphoria in the streets - they told us we had to take a measure that no one else has been forced to - and we refused.

Monday, March 18/2013

Coffee down at the beach which is not busy this morning, though the odd costumed child can be seen and there are leftover bits of ribbon from some celebration yesterday.

The emerging news from financial analysts is mostly negative, taking the view that a line has been crossed in failing to respect the sanctity of the principle of deposit insurance and also suggesting that this will lead to distrust of banks and social unrest in other EU countries. It also emerges that the decision to tax small depositors was made by Cyprus - i.e. the president - rather than imposed. The calculation is that a tax of 15.4% on amounts over the EURO 100,000 would have raised the same amount of money but the assumption is that Anastasiades was unwilling to anger the Russians. Though he's not likely to be forgiven by his own electorate as it's only four weeks ago that the now president campaigned for election swearing, as he did until a few days ago, that there would be no haircut.

Most stores are shut, but we stop at Metro and the bakery for milk and bread (last loaf of the season) and head home. We're passing a house about three blocks from home when we're halted by the beauty of a luxuriant bougainvillea. J is setting up an angle for a photograph through the gates when a young woman comes to meet us. we tell her how beautiful the garden is and she insists that we come in and meet her parents. There's an extended family gathering for the holiday and a barbecue taking place and in no time we're handed plates amid insistence that we join in. This is traditionally a meatless day - but not exactly penitential. There's a great spread of cooked and raw vegetables, pickles, humus, breads, kalimari, octopus, salads, wine, pastry. It's magnificent - and delicious. I sit at a table with the women while J joins the men and some of the grandchildren out near the enormous stone barbecue. There must be a dozen and a half people, including a couple of Asian women clearly working for and eating with the family. And a happy atmosphere despite the weather eye on a television screen as there are reports on the financial crisis. The vote on the levy, it turns out, has been postponed again (in fact it has been moved to Tuesday while there is an attempt to command a majority, possibly through renegotiation of the terms, though that could only be a juggling of the percentage points with few for small depositors and more for large).

After we've eaten, one of the daughters, and then two lovely teenage granddaughters, show us the rest of the house. It's quite extraordinarily beautiful in a baroque way. Elaborate gilt ornamentation and statuary and mirrors - a cross between a museum and a palace with rooms that truly would have been at home at Versailles - as well as photographs of the grandparents in their youth and the various daughters and grandchildren. The girls, cousins both named Andrea, talk about their country, their schools, their hopes - and translate fluently for their grandfather - though everyone's English is much better than our negligible Greek. They're being educated in English at the American Academy and the older one will be off to university this year. She alludes briefly to the financial levy - they take students' savings for university. we must have been with the family for two hours before we leave - with invitations to stop any time for coffee.

The final news of the day is that the banks will remain closed until Thursday. For years we have thought it ironic that the Greek word for banks is trapeza, and never has the finance here been a more precarious high wire act.

Sunday, March 17/2013

First race of the F1 season, the Australian Grand Prix at 8 a.m. Cyprus time. No luck in getting a televised version but it is covered by BBC 5 radio, which we get through the British forces. The Sunday papers full of the bank levy, of course. Seems like a pretty crude mechanism, and pretty hard lines that depositors with under EURO 100,000 would have been covered by deposit insurance had the banks failed, but as they have been the means of preventing the failure they're not covered. The rewards, of course, go to spenders rather than savers, as money is the only asset to be taxed. And, as one Cypriot man says sadly of his savings - "It's one working life, that."

Maggi's birthday, so she comes to supper. As she's now a Cyprus resident she has a Cypriot banking account which will be affected. Parliament was to have meet today as the levy must be ratified before it can take effect but that has now been postponed til tomorrow, presumably in an attempt to shore up a majority.

Saturday, March 16/2013

Wake early in the morning to the news that the much discussed Cyprus bailout deal has been struck. And it's quite horrifying. A levy on all Cypriot bank accounts, higher on larger accounts than smaller. The news gets worse as the day goes on. Six and three quarter percent levy and accounts under EURO 100,000 and 9.9% on those over. This first seems incredibly hard on small savers who have modest savings for their old age, prudently (they thought) placed in savings or deposit accounts rather than under the mattress. The pharmacist gives J a different view, though. Cyprus, he says, has an economy based on services and investment. Yes, there's big Russian money in the banks, but if assets are seized who will invest here in the future? Meanwhile the fury grows as queues form and some ATMs fail to deliver. One Limassol man parks his bulldozer beside the bank and threatens to break in to access his "stolen" money.

Friday, March 15/2013

Our last weekend here and, as always, where did the time go? Long weekend begins today as Monday is Clean Monday(sometimes known as Green Monday for reasons that are unclear but probably not related to rhyme). It's the run up to Ash Wednesday, celebrated in the Orthodox church on Wednesday of next week. Children often wear carnival costumes and Sunday is sometimes a day of parades, though not on Latin American scale, and Monday is traditionally a time for picnics in the country as well as kite flying.

Thursday, March 14/2013

A little more emerges re Pope Francis - he's a Jesuit, lived in an apartment instead of a bishop's palace, used public transportation, did his own cooking.

Maggi, J and I to Vlachos Taverna in the evening to meet Jane and Bill for our last meal there this season. Bountiful and delicious as always. I order moussaka and J the lamb kleftiko, not always available here. The place is full, humming with happy locals - and with good reason. The starters at the beginning and fruit plates at the end, as always, plentiful and free. Don't think to take photos until there is, unfortunately, little left on the table.

Wednesday, March 13/2013

Back to the dentist re J's x-ray. Not good news. Broken root one side of the bridge and a problematic tooth on the other. Maximum damage two implants plus a short bridge. Too late to begin now, but a bit of a dental time bomb.

The papal election brought to us via a comedy team from Euronews who seem to have been on air for long enough that they're punch drunk and babbling. As the relevant smoke rises from the chimney they pronounce it black but revise their opinion just as J and I are saying it looks white to us. If the pope were to be Italian, they say, he would be the first in thirty-five minutes - no, that's thirty-five years. And so it goes. The band strikes up strains from the Italian national anthem (familiar to us from Formula One, though we're not Ferrari fans). Is this a sign? The commentators speculate on the band and the need to keep trumpets dry in the light rain. One says that it's been an unusually short time to think about a campaign. Well, consider that most elections are triggered by a death, sometimes an unexpected one. Then on to papal names: what about Frank one suggests. No one mentions the long tradition of opting for a saint's name. Ah, it's been over an hour since the white smoke - but yes, now there are lights being turned on behind the balcony. Let's hope, says one of the comedians, that it wasn't the cleaner going into the wrong room. Excitement mounts  in the square. Well let's hope, says the other presenter, they're equally enthusiastic once they see who it is.

And, as a red-garbed figure emerges, looking ancient and tottery, it takes us a few seconds to register that it won't be the new pope but Cardinal Jean Louis Tauran, the proto deacon who is to introduce him. He's flanked by two priests who ook as if they may have to provide physical support. Will he survive to the end of the announcement? (Turns out later he was born in 1943 - not so very ancient!) Habemus papam. And there he is, as the presenters are still struggling to decode the Latin names: the archbishop of Buenos Aires. More bits of the Italian national anthem. Well, he is bishop of Rome, and it seems the band knows the tune. He has chosen the name Francis. Small bit of debate between the comedians - no, he's not Francis the first til there's a Francis the second. But it does seem a positive beginning, as do the modest robes and the quiet "good night" in Italian.

Tuesday, March 12/2013

Quite a number of young people staying here, often without visible means of support though they must be able to afford it. The two young Latvian men worked previously in Denmark and have gone for interviews for jobs at a bar in Agia Napa. Meanwhile much time in reception using the wifi. A warm ane relatively inexpensive spot for the interim. And J chats with a girl who is doing her teacher training here. In English?

Monday, March 11/2013

The day improves as it goes. Starts with dental appointments as we each have a filling in need of repair. There are half a dozen old National Geographics in the waiting room which we're slowly working our way through in the years we've been going to Xenia. J has a bridge covering a break of some kind, so we're sent off to get a panoramic x-ray - at a lab around the corner. Done on the spot for 45 euros ($60, £39). Oddly, the receptionist says "Fifty euros - you pay forty-five."Not sure whether this price reduction is for cash or because they don't have to bill. Presumably not the Thailand custom of "special price for you" on everything.

After coffee and a stop at the bakery for rye bread we walk into the Sunflower just as Maggi is about to leave and are invited to her flat for lunch - "we'll see what's in the fridge." What's in the fridge proves delicious, including a vegetable mix of kohlrabi and a wild green gathered by the next door neighbours and tasting a little like asparagus. All with a bottle of Merlot. So lovely leisurely all-afternoon lunch on the west balcony more than makes up for beginning the day at the dentist.

Spend most of the evening (successfully) getting rid of a bit of malware that had lodged itself on the netbook. After which a visit to Facebook shows the photos Klaus has taken of our house and truck under heaps of snow. Not time to go home yet. And is it time to go to London? Late night radio brings telephone interviews with people who are stuck in their cars on the motorway between London and Brighton and have been for the last seven hours, unable even to sleep as every once in a while there's a tiny bit of movement, as snow covers the south of England.

Sunday, March10/2013

Sign of the times: during the papal election the penalty for tweeting from the conclave is excommunication.

Saturday, March 9/2013

Down to the animal shelter charity shop with the plastic supermarket bags we've been saving. If they don't have to buy the bags for people's purchases they ccan buy more dog food for the rescued dogs. We also have an Ian Rankin novel and a couple of items of clothing to donate, as we weed out our winter's possessions with our two small suitcases in mind.

We're early for our coffee date with Maggi, so poke around the Saturday market first. Heaps of oranges gleaming in the sun, deep purple aubergines, ripe tomatoes and dark green cucumbers, brilliant lemons. It's a jewel toned market. Some exotica as well, at least by Canadian standards. Artichokes are now in season, adding their green tulip shapes, and there ae plastic boxes of snails, sustained by a leaf or two as they await their fates. Then Greek coffee in the sun outside the café with Maggi, who has biked over. Sketo - one of our few Greek words - without sugar. Each cup individually brewed in a tiny long handled metal pot known as a briki, heated three times almost to the point of boiling, traditionally on hot sand. And, oddly enough, costing half the price of Nescafé.

Friday, March 8/2013

Not cold, but very windy. Meet up with M for coffee. J back from the greengrocer's with a large bag containing about 15 fresh artichokes (€1.70, $2.27, £1.48). So pasta with caramelised onion and sautéed artichoke hearts. In Canada it's usually more than that for one artichoke - and it looks long dead.

Thursday, March 7/2013

Over to the convent nursing home (Italian Franciscan sisters) to see Margaret, taking a jar of lemon curd, which, she says, is impossible to buy in Cyprus. Once again the convent seems peaceful but very lonely. And, as Margaret points out, the cupboards in the rooms have locks but the same keys open everyone's. A cheerful girl comes by and brings us all tea. There's a fridge in the room covered with magnets - mementos of all her travels with her late husband Charlie. Most of the rest of her things, she says, disappeared after her accident - furniture, coats, and even money. She doesn't know how to pursue it - nor, really, do we.

Wednesday, March 6/2013

Googling now for the time in London - theatre, lectures, restaurants.  Lovely that one can google "London - restaurant - 'ridiculously cheap'" and get over 170,000 hits. Some of them real winners.

Tuesday, March 5/2013

High today in one spot in Wales is 17.5, so there's hope for spring when we go to the UK in two weeks - though that temperature is not, probably, typical.

We're in the reception area using the wifi in the evening when four young men in casual trousers and jackets come i. We hear them say that they're from the Larnaca police station and want to see someone's passport and speak to him. Another man - from the restaurant? - goes with them, heading to the hotel rooms. I'm thinking that they don't look much like cops and that I'd want some ID before handing over my passport. But after they've gone, some twenty or so minutes later, Kikki, who's on the desk, says tht they wer undercover (plain clothes?) police and did show their identification.

Monday, March 4/2013

The bailout that Cyprus requires is not the largest EU has seen in absolute terms, but it is in terms of national economy. The €17 billion needed is equal to Cyprus' annual GDP, a horrific amount for the coutry to repay. The concern here, apart from the usual blame attacks, seems tobe that good terms be negotiated - no "haircut" and no real suffering. Understandable preferences but a little unrealistic. This is the largest bailout ever given as a ratio of bailout to GDP and heads are placed firmly in the sand. It's the same with the oftheard EU complaint about Cyprus as a haven for money laundering. The defence is three-fold. We have never had any money laundering, we've already cleaned up all the money laundering, and anyway it's not just us - other countries do it too.

J and I to the dentist this morning. Teeth cleaned and inspected (€45 each) and one filling each  needed next week.

Sunday, March 3/2013

If evidence were needed of the provincial nature of the Cypriot press - the headline of the Cyprus Sunday Mail is "Boarding Pens Fury at Airport" refers to the rage of passengers in Paphos who are being kept, nominally for twenty minutes or so but allegedly for over an hour, in outdoor pre-boarding areas to facilitate quick turnaround times for low-cost airlines. There is an issue, and one which would clearly infuriate passengers, the more so as the airport blandly denies any problem. But Cyprus is in a state of economic crisis, with negotiations ging on re an EU bailout. It's also a divided country with UN troops still patrolling the green line. On the positive side there are great hopes of the offshore oil (the difficulty being that it's off a number of other  mid East shores as well). So maybe the headlines aren't indicative of a provincial view but of a preference for dealing with the manageable. Or unmanageable as the case may be.

Saturday, March 2/2013

Make lemon curd with Kikki's lemons (from the tree in her garden). Right up there with fresh strawberry jam as one of the world's great tastes.

Friday, March 1/2013

"The grand object of travelling is to see the shores of the Mediterranean. On those shores were the four great Empires of the world; the Assyrian, the Persian, the Grecian, and the Roman. --All our religion, almost all our law, almost all that sets us above the savages has come to us from the shores of the Mediterranean." - Boswell's The Life of Samuel Johnson (though looking a little less PC than Boswell may have seen fit to worry about).

Thursday, February 28/2013

The Cyprus Tourist Organisation is appalling. Stop to pick up timetables for bus routes 430 and 431 re our outing tonight at Vlachos Taverna - and mention Vlachos to the girl at the desk. She is immediately (and unasked) on the phone and, after a little Greek, informs us that  it is opposite the Palm Beach Hotel. Fortunately we know that it is on the same side of the road as the Palm Beach but half a km further on. I say to J that I'm going to apply to the CTO, saying that I speak no Greek but that my information and research skills are vastly better than present staff. Ah, he says, but you have forgotten the last question on the application form asking who you are related to.

Duly take the bus out to Vlachos. Fortunately J has opted for more than due prudence and we are out by the bus stop just after five for a bus that should leave Pervolia - a village on the far side of Larnaca - at five. Impossibly, it arrives at our stop at 5:10 - which can only mean, even if there were no passengers at all, that it left its end point early. As there are no buses between five and seven, this is rather awkward for anyone attempting to plan - but entirely typical of Cyprus. So the good side is that we arrive while it's still daylight, so our exploratory walk (as we're not meeting for dinner until 7) is more interesting.

We're dining with Jane and Bill Curtis, whom we haven't seen for nearly a year, as they left just after we arrived in Larnaca for Christmas in England, followed by a six week cruise to the Caribbean and the Amazon. So much to talk about. They highly recommend both the cruise and the line and were pleased to be in a small ship rather than a city block at sea. Dinner as good as usual at Vlachos, with multiple meze style starters - salad, tahini, tzatziki, pita, olives, pickled beetroot, pilaf, eggs - before the main courses. They do a nice moussaka here and J and I both have it. Enormous portions and I bring more than half of mine home. J and B kindly give a lift back.