Saturday, November 1/2014

Regent Street closed for the country's biggest free car show, attracting some 400,000 people. We've come for the cars from tomorrow's London to Brighton car run - all of them pre-1905. They're not all that's on display though. Thereare some pretty impressive new cars, luxury and concept, ranging from a bright red Porsche sports model to a sleek new black Tesla.

It's the vintage cars that take our hearts, though. Dating from the late 19th abd very early 20th centuries and no two alike. Many of them tiny and brightly coloured. Some familiar names like Oldsmobile amongst them and others long vanished into ancient automotive history. Most with unbelievably small engines - five horsepower, for instance, and two (or even ONE) cylinders. Wicker trunks attached, and squeeze bulb horns. Most roofless, though a prize winner has a fringed top. Many of the owners are in period costume, to the delight of the photographers amongst the throng.

Friday, October 31/2014

Hallowe'en, and a number of people on the street in costume, although Guy Fawkes Day is bigger here. To Kilburn High Road to renew acquaintance. Stunning afternoon. Temperature reaches 23, a record, and it's sunny. Take a break on Kilburn Grange and watch the children with dogs, the young boys with footballs, a young couple stripped down for sunbathing.

Supper at Roses. More or less as always, though the checkered tablecloths are new, and the young East European waitresses seem part of an endless sequence. J fails to identify the language as they chatter to each other, so not Polish, Russian or Ukrainian. Romanian? Not as busy as usual. Prices pretty much the same as usual, though the roast dinners have disappeared from the two course specials and found their way back into the menu proper.

Thursday, October 30/2014

Plane arrives at Heathrow at dawn. As we're in no hurry at all to get to central London any earlier than we can get in to our accommodation, everything conspires to speed us. Short immigration queue, suitcases on the carousel before J is out the loo, train on the platform immediately, no waiting for the transfer. All of which leaves plenty of time for coffee and internet at Starbucks before we can decently present ourselves to check in. 

Lovely weather. Nineteen degrees and sunshine, the best reset mechanism for jet lag. Surprisingly, the sim in the mobile works. Wouldn't work in Canada and should have expired after six months non-use, but it's been six  months and a week and all's well. Which is nice as there's still £7.90 left on it.

Tuesday, April 22/2014

Last day. We'll miss London, especially our little corner of it, just down the street from the flower sellers

Monday, April 21/2014

Last minute errands. Like 3 metre connector cable for the ipad mini, handy when staying in places where the sockets are few or badly placed - which is almost everywhere we stay. Overpriced, like everything Apple, but no more so than at home. Most but not all shops in Camden Town open, as it's Easter Monday. Funny division. Exit the tube station and turn left and it's all charity shops, supermarkets, discount stored, bakeries, pubs,  places that unlock mobile phones and sell second hand ones. Mothers with small children in tow buying groceries, people getting haircuts, young men handing out leaflets. But exit the tube station and turn right and you're into Camden Market. All counterculture and young energy. Street food, buskers, jewellery, incense, wall hangings, piercing  studios. The sidewalks almost too crowded to move. A division that is becoming more pronounced every year.

Bus from Camden High Street to Kilburn High Road. Past Abbey Road of Beatles fame. Last supper of the season at Roses.

Sunday, April 20/2014

Easter Sunday. First plan is to take the tube but The Circle and District lines aren't running from Bayswater due to a signal failure at Kensington High Street. Much less distressing than when a line is stopped because of a person under a train. But the 148 bus takes us almost door to door. At least from the corner of Queensway to Westminster Cathedral. 

Good thing we're early. By the time morning prayer, which precedes the Easter mass, begins at 10 there are no seats left for the 10:30 pontifical mass. In fact there must be well over a thousand people seated as well as over two hundred who stand for the entire two hours.  Cardinal Vincent Nichols is principal celebrant and there is a full choir, including the beautiful boys' choir, who will also have sung at last night's vigil mass. And we're lucky in the voices of the two men sitting behind us. One in particular has a strong voice and reads music well, a pleasure since much of it is antiphonal.

When we leave the promised rain has arrived. It's pretty light but chilly for the flower seller on the corner, who was probably counting on Easter being a busy day. No paintings along the Hyde Park railings on The Bayswater Road either, though some of the artists were setting up when we went by earlier. The rain gets heavier after we've  gone home and watched the replay of the Chinese Grand Prix, so a good day to stay in with the telly. And truly we've been amazingly lucky in the weather this year, both here and in Cyprus.

Saturday, April 19/2014

First stop The Portrait Gallery. There's a World War I exhibit on. Serious commissioned portraits of generals and kings, and one is reminded again how much Czar Nicholas looked like King George V, his cousin who didn't rescue him from the revolutionaries. Then photographs of young men who signed up, from poets like Wilfred Owen, Siegfried Sassoon and Rupert Brooke to a smiling underage boy who never came home. There are some early black and white films too, including the restaged one of soldiers going over the top at the Somme. Ironically the photographer risked his life in getting genuine live footage but the cameras of the day were simply not up to zooming and the men looked like ants. A woman watching tells us that her grandfather was at the Somme and at Passchendaele and came home.

There's also an exhibition commemorating Vivian Leigh, born in 1913, a hundred years before the portraits went up last year. Mostly film promos but some biographical info and interesting. Fairly broad repertoire.

Then down to Covent Garden. Full of tourists but there are buskers and street entertainers and a happy mood.

Friday, April 18/2014

By tube to Piccadilly as there are a couple of things we want to check out. Soho as jostlingly cheerful as ever. A couple of shops closed, presumably for Good Friday, but most establishments open. Then up to Oxford Street, which is crowded. A man on a small stand berates the throng for their sinful ways, sounding very angry. The only bit I catch seems to be a chastisement for smoking, but if that meets the category of major misdoing there must be much, much more. Another man has adapted an upside down bicycle with additions that form small steel drums. He's pretty good and has gathered a small circle round him. And outside Selfridge's there's a chap who has a genuine steel drum with a surprisingly pretty tone on which he is playing English Country Garden, sadly with no audience at all.

Selfridge's food hall is either high art or food porn, depending on your point of view. There's a champagne and oyster bar, which is doing happy business, and counters selling everything imaginable, including such luxuries as wild boar prosciutto and buffalo milk camembert. Everything artfully displayed, and nothing accidentally underpriced. Always as good as a gallery visit. Would like to photograph but not sure it would be appreciated.

Thursday. april 17/2014

I to West Harrow to visit with Jean while J spends time in Camden Town and Kilburn. Tea and talk for Jean and me. Then we meet up on Kilburn High Road for supper, made slightly easier by the fact that, briefly, we have UK sims in both mobiles. So incredibly much cheaper than similar in Canada. For £10 (roughly €12, $17.50 CAD) we can keep the cash balance for as long as it lasts, provided it's used at least once every six months. So 3p a text, 2p a minute for phone calls and 1p a mb for data. Meaning that 30 texts and 30 minutes on UK calls runs to  £1.50. At that rate the £10 investment lasts for years. 

Wednesday, April 16/2014

Another Turkish section of London. Actually, it's much more multicultural than that. We take the overground to Dalston Junction on Kingsland High Street and then walk past Turkish restaurants and shops up to Ridley Road Market. Fruit, vegetables, fish, clothing, handbags, trinkets, electrical goods. All at highly competitive prices and the food, at least, of good quality.  And the customers know it. It's happily crowded with people of every imaginable ethnic background, with a great variety of languages and dress styles. In many ways Petticoat Lane as it must have been decades ago before it existed largely to overcharge tourists. A feast for all the senses. 

Tuesday, April 15/2014

To south London and one of the oldest parts of the city. Ironically then we emerge from the tube at London Bridge station more or less underneath the pyramid shaped Shard - new, modern, and supposed to be the tallest building in Western Europe (does this mean that there is, improbably, a taller building in Eastern Europe?). At 310 metres it's tall enough that you really have to get a couple of blocks away to be able to see it properly. It is possible to go up to the top but at £29.50 we decide to give it a miss. There's a champagne bar, presumably to help one forget the entry fee. But by the time we get a couple of blocks away, by Guy's Hospital, the view of the Shard itself is quite good.

And then for the something old. We're not far from the Thames, and pass the Maze, once a pool by the Thames. Now drained, but the site where the remains of a Romano-British ship was discovered. And we're only a few blocks away from the George, an old coaching inn that's been on our list of pubs to visit for years. The George dates back to the 16th century, and was frequented by Shakespeare, but it was destroyed by fire and rebuilt  in 1677. The current building was visited by Dickens, who drank in a great many London establishments. As a coaching inn it provided accommodation for both people and horses and was a stopping point for those coming up from points south, like Kent, for business in London. An old sign hangs inside, its surface crazed with the cracks of time, giving the tariff for horses - shod at two shillings a hoof, stabling one and six. We stop for a drink and then admire the galleries. It's easy to see how Elizabethan theatre made use of the natural stage provided by inns with galleried courtyards.  

Monday, April 14/2014

To the Saatchi Gallery. Always interesting. Giant insects counterpoint to one of my all time favourites, also seen at the Saatchi, Tessa Farmer. Less intriguing than Farmer's work but still fun. Rafael Gomezbarros has giant insects congregating on a wall. Come close to disgracing myself by commenting on Ibrahim Mahama's untitled work involving an entire room covered with jute sacks. Not really, but there is a moment of wondering if one is about to comment on the work only to be told that one is viewing the sacking that is screening an unveiled installation.

Sunday, April 13/2014

Lovely sunny afternoon, with Hyde Park full of families with children and dogs, young couples, elderly people, and cyclists. There are rental bikes all over London, recognisable by their blue Barclay's logo. Return to any other set of rental bike stands.

To Roses for supper. On Kilburn High Road a hired double decker bus passes us, full of flag and banner waving protestors of Sisi's coup in Egypt. Give them the thumbs up. There are still Canadian journalists imprisoned there.

Saturday, April 12/2014

We have matinée tickets for Handbagged, at the Vaudeville. It's a transfer from The Tricycle, where it was sold out when we tried in November. A witty play imagining conversations, and the relationship, between Maggie Thatcher as prime minister and the queen, with whom she has weekly meetings. Two actors playing the queen and two Mrs Thatcher, enabling each character to have internal debates, reminiscences and asides on a minimalist stage. Two male actors play all the other parts - George Bush, Ronald Reagan (and Nancy!), Dennis Thatcher, Neil Kinnock, a butler, Michael Portillo, and more. Cleverly done, and with asides to the audience along the lines of I've a lot of parts to play but work is in short supply and you take the roles you can get. A real pleasure. And a bargain as well. To begin with we found £25 tickets on the Telegraph web site for £16. Then we arrive at the theatre to find that we've been upgraded to the stalls (and yes we do realise that's because it hasn't sold out). So excellent seats about ten rows back and in the centre.

Would like to say that the day concludes in the same vein, but it doesn't quite. We decide to picnic in, in front of the telly, rather than eat out, in the interests of which we go for Marks and Spencer's "two can dine for £10" deal. You get to choose a main dish - normally meat or fish - a side vegetable or salad, a dessert, and a bottle of wine for £10. The difficulty from the picnic point of view is that some of the choices are clearly designed to be eaten hot. No problem with the wine or some of the desserts, and the side can be a salad. Of the mains this leaves two chicken and leek pies, which would be good hot but should be fine cold and a rotisserie chicken, whose only problem seems to be that there will be too much of it - but then we needn't finish it. Well, that's its only problem until we get home and realise that it's uncooked, and of course uncookable. So we offer it to the kind couple who own the hotel (small, family run). And collect a couple of burgers which go fine with the salad, dessert and wine.

Friday, April 11/2014

London Overground again, this time from Whitechapel to Haggerston to see Alexander and Flora, for our postponed visit. They are fortunate enough to have - for the next two weeks anyway, as the house has been sold - a huge old fashioned basement kitchen (and three storeys above it), so they have moved a double bed into it, which still leaves room for two tables, one of them a long scrubbed wood one that would seat a dozen easily, and the aga. So Flora can recuperate in the heart of the house. She looks tired but seems in good spirits. Roddy, Alexander's brother, comes over. We saw him a year ago performing with his experimental group Quorn. And A goes out to pick up fish and chips round the corner on Kingsland. Our last visit before they move to Newton, just south of Cambridge.

Thursday, April 10/2014

Bit of exploring. London Overground to Surrey Quays. We've never gone before but fair size mall there, with large Tesco and a Poundland. Well short of fascinating but handy to know about. Then to Greenwich for our seasonal visit to Goddard's eel and pie shop. We're actually not going for the meat pies (steak and ale, steak and kidney, chicken and mushroom, etc) mainly because we remember them as they used to be - the pie shop has been in the same family for over a hundred years - and they've shrunk with time. Period decor is a pleasure though. 

Wednesday, April 9/2014

J asks what we're going to do today, and I don't know either. But as we're having morning coffee at Starbucks Laura Clarke messages to say that she and the children, off school for their Easter break are going to Southbank. Are we interested? It's a lovely shirtsleeves day and we meet up with Laura, her cousin Olivia, Jenny's au pair Jonathan, and seven assorted children at the little park underneath (almost literally) the London Eye. Lovely holiday feeling with tons of children, ice cream and candy floss, street performers, and the Thames full of boats of sightseers.

Cross on the Hungerford footbridge and pick up bits for a picnic. Minor complaints from the oldest of the kids re distance walked, so we stop ay Somerset House - royal palace if you go back 500 years or so but now civil service offices mostly - to picnic. Spot well chosen, Sam and Kai, as there's filming going on for a period TV program. J asks: Suspicions of Mr Pritchard. The building is good period background, though they're clearly avoiding including the arch that gives onto the Strand and passing red buses. A fair number of short takes with horses and carriages, crinolined women, top-hatted men and fetching children. And in between the sight of 19th century characters drinking from polystyrene cups and checking their cell phones.

Tuesday. April 8/2014

Ipad mini only half charged when we go to Starbucks, so I take the plug in for it. And, plugging it in at an awkward angle under the seat, create a small fireball and blow the circuit, although not, fortunately, the plug. Scarred, slightly blackened, and missing a tiny bit of metal on one prong - but it's a big, sturdy UK plug and still works fine. Which is good because ipad charger plugs cost £15, or equivalent elsewhere.

Out to West Harrow to see Jean. Four weeks since she had the cataract operation on the first eye and she's quite pleased with all the extra light and hoping for the second op soon. Good talk looking out at her little back garden and the blackbirds, and we go with her a couple of streets over to pick up some Chinese take away for supper - although as usual she has fed us enough starters that we could have managed without supper. But glad we didn't as it was very good.

Monday, April 7/2014

Back to the 3 store on Kilburn High Road. We bought a sim card (for £1) and a £10 top up voucher on Saturday because our Asda sim needs replacing at the end of the month and 3 has the best pay as you go deal going. With 3-2-1 you pay 3p a minute for phone calls, 2p a text, and 1p a mb for data. As long as it's used at least once in six months, even to send a text, the remaining money on it never expires. Compares pretty favourably with other UK plans, to say nothing of Canadian extortion.

The difficulty is that the sim isn't working - no reception. The first young man we speak to just shrugs his shoulders and says we need a new mobile, but his equally young manager solves the problem by changing the phone's internal settings from 2G to 3G and all is well. It's the mobile we bought in Damascus at the duty free last visit. So, oddly enough, both our phones have Arabic as well as English letters, the other one having been bought on a Qatar flight. 

Sunday, April 6/2014

The plan is that we will go to Alexander and Flora's and order in supper. F is recuperating from a "sudden overwhelming chest infection" which very nearly killed her. Not that there is a convenient time for such an illness, but this has been particularly inconvenient as well as scary as they have sold the house and have to be out by the end of the month. Worse, possession of their new house is not until the end of June, so there is a gap of two months which might have included travel but certainly won't now.

We're at the tube station and a loud train is arriving when A phones to say that son Dominic has been taken to hospital with tachycardia so our arrangements are postponed. A thinks he's ok but they're keeping D in, so he's on his way to the hospital. Fortunately A is a man of enormous energy, but it's been a horrific month.

So we go for a walk, but the mist turns to light rain, so end up having fish and chips at Roses. Always perfectly cooked - not easy as fillets are of uneven thickness. Plate is 14 inches - fillet longer.

Saturday, April 5/2014

We have tickets for The Kilburn Passion, last day of a three day engagement at The Tricycle Theatre. It's part of the youth "takeover" of the theatre. A commissioned play which we assume is Set in Kilburn - and it is - but it could be young adults interacting anywhere, at least in any urban setting. Well written, well acted. No looking at the watch midway. As engaging as any west end play. A pleasure. Small, intimate, alternate theatre - but could play in a larger one happily.

Friday, April 4/2014

Stroll down Charing Cross Road and bit of a wander in Soho, always alive day and night. Visit Gerry's Wines and Spirits in Old Compton Street. A fascinating collection, reasonably competitive with importing from France. Samples of rum from a very knowledgeable Asian girl. Then the more mundane purchases along Camden High Street. Home along Queensway. There's an oldish busker sitting on the pavement playing a long instrument that looks rather like a straight Alpine horn. Not perhaps the ideal solo instrument for attracting donations, but needs must.

Thursday, April 3/2014

Explore the Turkish community along Green Lanes Road, a little Istanbul of Turkish restaurants, food shops, hairdressers, jewellers, travel agents and such. Fast food like pide (pizza), and basins of aubergine stew in the windows that look exactly like what we would eat in Turkey or North Cyprus. The signs are in Turkish as well as (or instead of) English. There's also a (North) Cypriot community centre. We stop at a wholesale and retail shop and buy pul beber (J's favourite soft flaked red pepper), sundried olives, figs, dried apricots, and sundried tomatoes, all at impressively good prices. The olives and pepper are hard to find outside the middle east at any price.

Then back to Kilburn High Road, our old haunt.  Dinner at Roses, where the Thursday night special is, as always, the best lamb kleftiko we have had anywhere, including Cyprus. Totally melt in the mouth. And always astonishing prices and quiet local clientele. 

Wednesday, April 2/2014

Amazingly warm weather (low twenties) but with a haze in the air that, astonishingly, is in part dust from the Sahara. This is the part David Cameron refers to cheerfully as natural. The other parts are European and domestic pollution. They're not natural, and Cameron doesn't mention them, especially as London's is unacceptably high.

Tuesday, April 1/2014

April fool's day. BBC recalls a hoax of the fifties when Panorama presented a documentary in high seriousness purporting to show Swiss workers harvesting spaghetti from trees. Up to Kilburn in lovely twentyish shirt-sleeve weather. Wine, chocolate, bananas, cherry tomatoes. Hyde Park in the afternoon is bursting with life - budding trees, small children with scooters, dogs enjoying their freedom, elderly people with newspapers, cyclists, mothers and au pairs pushing prams, young lovers. We estimate that about 10% of the people who pass us are speaking English - a very multi-ethnic lot.

Monday, March 31/2014

Home to London. Make much better time than on Friday, probably largely because it's not Friday. Doug and Jenny to pack for Cyprus and J and I back through Wimbledon to Bayswater. Back to our regular room - feels like home. Picnic supper in the room and early night. 

Sunday, March 30/2014

Wake in time for the Malaysian Grand Prix, good race duly won by Lewis Hamilton. Then brunch and we're off to explore the Brimham Rocks. A National Trust site with a large number of striking rock formations, the work of glaciers and wind and water. They're  grist-stone, basically compressed fragments of quartz glued together with sandstone. The grist-stone is so named because it's hard enough for grist stones, and there are a couple on display. When the sandstone parts erode, some fascinating rock sculptures are left. The area is several acres and full today of families and dogs enjoying themselves.

Our farewell dinner is a Sunday roast special, with homegrown vegetables and a choice of apple pie or rice pudding. Or both, as Elaine offers - but sadly no one can hold both. If they hoped we'd all leave tomorrow they're doing everything wrong.  But there's not much choice about leaving, as Jenny and Doug are off to Cyprus and a Mediterranean cruise on Tuesday. 

Saturday, March 29/2014

Off after breakfast for a day in the Yorkshire Dales. It's a huge area of rivers, hills, dales and little villages with stone houses and lovely gardens. We visit the village of Middleham, home to 870 people and 500 racehorses at local racing stables, some of which we're lucky enough to see being exercised on the road outside the pub where we stop for coffee. They're not the only would be racers on the road. The Tour de France is coming to the area in July (we're well informed because Elaine has volunteered to help at it) and local cyclists are enjoying a Saturday out covering the same roads. Middleham' other claim to fame is Middleham Castle, built in the 12th century and one time home to King Richard III, who lived there as a child and later used it as his northern base. There are still pretty extensive bits of it standing on a hill overlooking the village.

The hills and moors are too misty for photography, which is a shame because the views would be spectacular. The moors are more subtle, but home to a great many nesting birds among the heather, not yet in bloom. We see curlews and lapwings, and hear clucking from many unseen birds. The area is protected and peaceful, the roads too slow for speeding traffic - sometimes single lane.

Lunch at a pub. The landlord warns that we're late, but the food is still on, and the bitter is good. Some of us choose Whitby scampi and some steak and ale pie. Both good, with very generous portions and plenty of accompanying vegetables. Afterwards a stop at an old mill on a stream with very pretty little waterfalls. The beauty here is enormously varied.

And then a stop at a Wensleydale cheese farm. Quite a large operation, and we get to sample enough of the varieties that Doug jokingly says that we could have done this for lunch. Plain Wensleydale and cheddar cheeses of various ages, as well as some delicious varieties, such as cranberry and (my favourite) balsamic and caramelised onions. And at dinner more delicious cheeses as well as salads and cold cuts and chutney (plum, made by E). They should be seriously worried that we may never leave.

Elaine and Phil are just back from a major cruise, starting in San Francisco and ending with an extensive tour of New Zealand. Lots of photos which we watch on the computer screen, inspiring the rest of is to thoughts of visiting New Zealand. Some year.

Friday, March 28/2014

Off to Thames Ditton by tube and train, as we're heading up to Yorkshire with Jenny and Doug. It's about two hundred miles but a slower drive than you'd think - probably about six hours as we change routes to escape traffic jams that stagnate the motorway in places. As we reach the Harrogate area we're treated to banks of daffodils reaching their prime as well as field after stonewalled field of sheep with newborn lambs, some tiny and barely standing and others romping about and giving their typical little sudden jumps, with all four feet off the ground as they hop straight up in the air.

Arrive in Hampsthwaite and begin immediately to be spoiled. Gin and tonic waiting, followed by blueberry and lemon curd cake, a happy combination. Which lets us chat with Elaine and Phil until dinner - chili with rice and guacamole and taco chips. Lovely being here again and nice arriving this time feeling that we know E and P. So wine and chat and laughter.

Thursday, March 27/2014

Check out at eleven, so we're pretty well packed by morning, and a better job than usual of having the end of the food coincide with the end of the stay. Final two eggs with toast for breakfast. Bus to the airport and then a longish wait as the flight isn't until 16:50,  A man with a car at the bus stop offers us a ride to the airport for €10 (roughly $15 CAD, £8), but there's not much point as the bus takes over an hour and we might as well kill the time. Chat with a retired couple who used to live in Sackville, New Brunswick, but now live near Newcastle.

We've done our occasional trick of booking the aisle and window seats in a bank of three. If we're lucky no one opts for the middle. If they do sit there sometimes I offer to trade for my window seat, as this time. So full it's astonishing that everyone gets a seat. Mild panic as we go to put the carry-ons in the overhead and I realise that I've left my jacket in the departure lounge. It's a small airport - say about the size of Regina's - and we weren't bused - just walked across the tarmac. The departure lounge is ground level with the door in plain sight from the plane. They won't let me go back, but are quite lovely about it. A man in high visibility jacket radios back and, just as they're starting the pre-flight patter another man comes down the aisle with it. Jokingly, I offer to kiss him and he is gallant: later, madame, when your husband is not around.

Flight is a little over three hours, which moves it from the sandwich to the hot meal category. Though not to the wine category. Odd encounter at Heathrow immigration. We get a young and friendly female officer, who asks a few of the normal range of questions - then wants to know how much sterling we have. I have no idea, as we have cards. But an estimate? My guess is £200 (haven't yet made the compartment switch with the euros as the oyster - transit - cards will get us in to central London). Will that be enough? No, of course not: we have cards. Was the hotel prepaid? No, they know us. She lets it go, but the odd thing is that neither we, nor I would assume our friends, normally land in a country with as much as £200 in local currency, nor have done since the advent of cash points. Additionally, we do have a UK bank account, but mentioning that could  raise questions of whether we ever intend to leave, not that the UK account would run to financing permanent residence. Have we, flatteringly, been mistaken for young backpackers? Has she, perhaps seen the weather reports for northern Ontario and concluded that no sane person would go back for several months?

Wednesday, March 26/2014

Our last day. Fair dramatic interest from the construction project opposite us. Although construction is not quite the right term as it's actually a demolition project, manned by the hardest working labourers J has had the pleasure of watching. They're taking down a multistorey building one floor at a time. Now, as the shrouding falls, they're busy using a jackhammer to break up the floor beneath their very feet. And thankfully they're sure footed. No EU fussiness here. No harnesses or guard rails, or protection from the attendant noise either. They're working only two or three feet away from a five storey drop, sitting on the edge with legs dangling when they take their break. I see one take a step backward, secure that he knows exactly how far it is to the edge. Plenty of dramatic tension here, but today, at least, a happy ending.

Tuesday, March 25/2014

New (to us) custom apparently part of a world wide trend. Instead of carving their names  on trees, bridges, etc, couples write their names on a padlock, affix it to some romantic or iconic spot and throw away the key. In Malta the key goes in the Mediterranean. Here we've spotted the locks in Tigné Point in Sliema as well as in St Julian's near our favourite café. 

Monday, March 24/2014

Would living permanently on an island feel confining? The word insular wasn't derived accidentally. Malta is attractive, but it doesn't have much area that isn't built on and over-built on. Gozo somewhat less so. The new high rises make this more apparent, especially in the southeast. It looks at times as if one could go for miles without seeing any naked land, let alone green space as each building attaches to those around it.

Sunday, March 23/2014

Pretty lazy day. Actually begins like every other day in retirement, somewhat luxuriously with coffee and the news. Sky TV is appallingly bad, although I gather that it's not the only news channel endlessly focused on the missing 777.  Interesting that even when there was virtually no news to report the same material was replayed ad nauseum and not because there is nothing else in the world to report - Crimea is getting short shrift and there's virtually no mention of the politically motivated death sentence of over five hundred Egyptians. Little sense of what things will matter ten years from now (Syria will and Oscar Pretorius won't). But with tablets, even with dubious and uneven wifi reception, we, like the rest of the world, have access to news and analysis from the best international sources daily. Amazing.

Saturday, March 22/2014

The traditional architecture in Malta is compelling, particularly the balconies. Some are in poor repair, and the sea air is not kind to sandstone structures. There's little room for green space but many buildings have been well maintained or restored attractively.

Friday and Saturday nights pretty loud here (here being Paceville in general and our building in particular). Night clubs across from and underneath us and young people exuberant enough to be high decibel even without the music. Mostly the rhythm can be heard, or more accurately felt, rarely accompanied by anything resembling melody. We're pretty sound sleepers, though, and can't say the reviews didn't warn us. Revs up about ten at night on the weekends and ends at about 4 AM. 

Friday, March 21/2014

Y

Second try at Mosta. This time we intend to go and have a better look at the rotunda as well as seeing the church's famous painting. However, when we arrive the church isn't open. Later look it up and see that it's only open 9-11 and 3-5. Surprising we hit it last time. Though we have been here before, in 2003. It's an interesting church in a couple of ways. For one thing, the rotunda is supposed to be the fourth largest in the world (depending on who you ask), the third largest unsupported dome in Europe, after St Peter's in Rome and St Paul's in London. Built in the 19th century around the existing parish church, which remained in use during the construction. The walls are nine metres thick and the internal diameter about thirty-seven metres. It was modelled on the Pantheon. In WW II a German bomb fell on it during an afternoon raid (April 9/1942) but did not explode and left the congregation of 300 uninjured. A replica remains in the church, the original having been disposed of at the time. A tough war the Maltese had. They were nearly starved to death, going eleven months with no delivery of food supplies, as all convoys were bombarded. And this on a small island country that is almost entirely rock, and that heavily built upon. When the first Allied ship finally made it through in August 1942, it was on the Feast of the Assumption, still celebrated as a national holiday. Six days after the bomb landed on Mosta church King George VI awarded the George Cross for heroism to the entire population of Malta.

Thursday, March 20/2014

Bus to St Paul's Bay, reputed site of St Paul's shipwreck as recorded in the book of Acts. I'm a little more tolerant of oral history than I once was. After all, historic events have to have occurred somewhere, so why not where local tradition says? On the other hand, personal experience is enough to suggest how rapidly truth becomes corrupted. As a child I met a man whose father had been killed (so I remember it) by suffragettes who mistook him for Lloyd George. However, decades later, when I realised that this must be a googlable event, it became clear that he must only have been injured, albeit by murderously inclined women. Obviously the man would not have described this as being killed; the shifting sands of memory must be the culprit.

There is a church built atop the prison in which Paul stayed, but we visited it last time we were in Malta and don't go again. We do stroll round the town of Bugibba, (g as in magic). It had been one of our hotel options this visit so we're curious. And not sorry we didn't opt for it. The coast is pretty enough and there's a friendly square with benches at visiting distance. Places to have coffee or a meal or a drink overlooking the sea. It's just that it's populated overwhelmingly by retired people speaking English. A high proportion of them making us look slim! May be my imagination but north of England seemed to predominate (overinfluenced by man with Manchester United t-shirt?). Don't know if our area is actually more genuinely Maltese - it seems very international and very young - but varied and alive. And it doesn't feel at all unsafe. Noisy, but we're pretty sound sleepers. And, interestingly, restaurant and café prices seem lower in Valetta.

Wednesday, March 19/2014

Feast of St Joseph. Celebrated not as J's name day but because it's a national holiday in Malta. As with Sundays, stores and supermarkets are closed. The construction workers opposite our building are silent.

Maltese is an interesting language, and we're not very good at it. It has early Semitic origins and is related to Phoenician. There are similarities to Arabic, which isn.'t surprising - we're not far off the coast of Tunisia. We pass a church called Marija omm Allah, easily recognisable as Mary, Mother of God. (Traditionally women are known as mother -"um" - followed by the name of the eldest son). Some words in Maltese are similar to Italian, again unsurprisingly as we're just off Sicily. Pronunciation is a challenge as well. G with a dot over it is soft, like the g in magic. C with a dot pronounced like ch in church. But odder things - gh, at the beginning of a word at least, not pronounced at all. X seems to have a sh sound. Judging by the announcements on the buses (pre-recorded and synchronized with the electronic ticker of information at the front of the interior re coming stops) the stresses are quite different from those in English. Words sound almost unrecognisably abrupt. 

Tuesday, March 18/2014

Malta is one of the most densely populated places on earth, so the cities simply run together, especially in the south. There are no gaps or visible shifts as you go from Paceville to St Julian to Sliema to Ta'Xbiex, and even to Valetta. Most of this southeastern area has a charming coastal walkway incorporating trees, gardens and park benches. We walk along the Strand in Sliema trying to find the hotel where we stayed eleven years ago, but it simply isn't there. Either demolished and replaced or so altered as to be unrecognisable. We get close, and at the corner where we used to by mushrooms we get a small container of ripe Maltese strawberries for a euro. Find our old supermarket up the hill and get some sundried tomatoes. Some of the shops must be the same as in 2003, but surely there were fewer of them then? And the fast food places are definitely new.

Monday, March 17/2014

St Patrick's Day. Ignore next door pub's offer of free Irish hat with purchase of undrinkable quantity of Guinness and head down to St Julian's for coffee. Tables overlooking the bay prove irresistable, so rashly decide that it will be worth it regardless of price, coffee not appearing on posted menu. Drink Americanos and bask in the sunlight until it is simply too hot to stay longer. Total cost €2.80 (£2.34, $4.32 CAD). Absolutely amazing.

Sunday, March 16/2014

Bus along the waterfront to Valetta. We remember a Sunday market here, but maybe that was morning. It's warm in the sun, though still a bit. Hill in the shade when the wind comes up. St George's Square has a St Patrick's concert in progress. And the singer accompanying himself on his guitar is pretty good. Fair crowd gathered, many wearing green.

Outdoor cafés are busy but not crowded. Prices seem to be no higher (or perhaps lower) than in the fast food places elsewhere in Malta; one place advertises pasta with rabbit plus a drink for €4.95 (rabbit being the national dish, appropriately for such a tiny country). 

Have been reading bits of An Account and Appreciation of Malta by Sir Harry Luke, picked up at book sale at St Helena's in Larnaca. Luke was the pre-war lieutenant-governor of Malta and the book has a lot of nuggets of historical information. Plan of reading a chapter a night and then proceeding, knowledgeably, to visit relevant sites seems to be faltering, though, due either to soporific qualities of very worthy book (so that chapters are rarely finished) or general indolence. Can't even pretend that it will be a good summary and reminder when we get home, as we don't plan to take it with us, considering the luggage weight problem.

Saturday, March 15/2014

Take the bus to the nearer Lidl in San Gwann. Theory, at least. Actually end up in Mosta, which we recognise from years back as the place with the enormous church dome modelled on the pantheon. Decide to save it for better appreciation on another day. On return bus actually spot Lidl at an impossible angle to see while travelling in the opposite direction. So milk, oranges, apples, aubergine, lettuce, cheese, honey, peanuts, mushrooms, coffee, pesto, oatcakes, courgettes, muesli, wine. The basics. 

The bus network pretty well covers the island and in a country that is 17 miles by 9 there's nothing that's more than a day trip. Actually Sicily is a day trip, but a pretty long day - up at five and home about midnight, so we're wavering. Spent six weeks in Malta eleven years ago, so no compelling need to revisit everything. Significant changes this time. Many new highrises of no particular aesthetic merit and many of the older buildings in dire need of repair. Charm still there but at risk.

Friday, March 14/2014

Early this morning the relatively useless Sky News channel, hitherto obsessed with highly repetitive info on the Malaysian Boeing 777 disappearance and the Oscar Pretorius murder trial (flavours of the day as Ukraine largely and Syria more or less completely disappear from their radar), brings us the news that Tony Benn has died. Not totally unexpected but sad. So glad now that we saw him in November, being interviewed by Owen Jones at Bishopsgate. We knew then that we were lucky and that it might well be our last chance. A beacon of the left, yes, but beyond that a man of overwhelming personal integrity. No quiet retirement, though he would have been 89 next month. Certainly no ossifying of ideas or principles. As Harold Wilson quipped, he immatured with age.

Thursday, March 13/2014

(www.piwigo.com - a vintage Maltese bus)

To Valletta, the capital. Somewhat accidentally as the bus we are on changes route number along the way and heads there. Which is fine as we have week passes. Many changes here too. There are still buses just outside the city walls, though not the old ones, of course. They were smaller and they weren't airconditioned, but they had personality, individually owned and operated and customised by the owners.

The buses aren't all that's changed. The tunnel type entrance through the city walls has been opened up to the skies and a new parliament building is being constructed just inside the city gate. We're not here for long - well, long enough for a coffee - today, but we'll be back.

Wednesday, March 12/2014

Back to the airport by "express" bus. Three reasons: we get to time the trip for our return flight, there's a tourist information office there, and we noted on the way here that the bus stopped at a Lidl store so we can get a few groceries. Timing proves to be a little over an hour. The tourist office is reasonably helpful and we have a longish chat with Caroline, who once visited Vancouver Island. And the stop at Lidl gives us as many basics as we can carry. Prices somewhat higher than Cyprus, but lower than the tiny supermarket round the corner from us. Though that shop does have surprisingly sophisticated offerings, probably because of the international nature of the clientele.

We're opposite a building that's being demolished. Less noisy than we first expected. I'd ticked the "sea view" box on the registration form but more or less as a joke as I knew the building wasn't on the sea. The shrouded demolition isn't very aesthetic but we're a block away from the sea and much of the coast has beautifully maintained walkways.

Tuesday, March 11/2014

Monday night or Tuesday morning? Well, technically Tuesday morning. About five o'clock we hear the man across the hall calling his partner to let him in. He seemed a nice enough bloke when we met him yesterday as we tried to get the key fob to turn on the electrics in the flat. (The fob had seen better days but J's substitute of a spoon handle worked well). He's not really losing it now, alternating between pleading and shouting Natalia, Natalia. Knocking, then pounding. Silence and more pounding. She's not in, or she's OD'd or she's punishing him. Almost I'm tempted to offer him a kip in our spare room. Then, as J has predicted, he breaks the door in. No sound from Natalia, who is presumably not there, and, admirably enough, some sound of repairs being made. So back to sleep.

The theory is that we share wifi with Berlitz language school in the same building and reception, on the fourth floor, gives us the code. Available in the tiny lobby by the always open front door. Reviews have said that it's available - and also that the availability is a lie. Not quite either. Berlitz seems to have pretty limited hours, but there are also some unsecured wifi sources around, of varying and uneven strength. So not cut off but not entirely satisfactory either. Many hotels in various countries seem slow on the uptake re wifi. It's rapidly becoming like hot water or television - should be standard.

We're in St Julian, or more accurately in Paceville (Pace bit not pronounced as it looks but as in the Latin for peace, paw-chay). It's one of the most densely populated places in the world at about 10,000 people per square kilometre (assuming it's more or less the same as adjoining Sliema). Most of them young, it seems. Vibrant, multi-ethnic and lively. Colleges, restaurants, bars, tiny shops. A happy feeling, studenty - so far - rather than the holidaying football yobs we'd been led to expect.

Monday, March 10/2014

Sleep with the curtains open, though we haven't yet (knock on wood) missed a flight, and this one isn't until 11:30. Can't tell within half an hour when the bus comes, but it's the Vlachos one going the opposite way. Takes the full half hour but arrives, with Elena, who used to be receptionist at the Eleonora aboard. She's on her way to wire money to her daughter who is starting work today as a teacher in Bucharest (tried working in Cyprus but fell victim to the old problem of being paid very little and having trouble collecting it).

Check in with Emirates. Originally booked on Airbus but switched to 777, much like the Malaysian Air one that has just vanished into thin air. Our current problem is all too solid, though.  J's suitcase is an unprecedented (for us) 24.5 k. I have my mouth open to suggest we repack - not easy as the chief problem is heavy bottles that can't be moved to the carry-ons - when J gives me a look and my mouth closes. And the woman at the desk tags his suitcase without comment. Which is all the more interesting because a robed Franciscan at the next counter is being asked questions about liquids, and even powders, and asked to weigh his carry-on as well as his suitcase.

Plane not full, lunch light but decent. Wine pretty fair too. Entertainment system the most sophisticated we've seen - takes us half the flight to figure it out. Just under three hours until we land in Malta. One week bus passes €6.50, which is hard to argue with. Pretty comprehensive network of buses, though they're now a modern Arriva fleet and not the motley collection of individually decorated 1930's British Leyland buses we remember from pre-EU days. But more efficient, I suggest to the young man who sells us  the tickets. He rolls his eyes. And indeed the express bus takes us over an hour to reach St Julian, which can't be much more than five or six miles - the island is only 17 miles long. 

Identifying our hotel isn't easy. There's a streetside map, but it's primarily an advertising venture, not that helpful for detail. I spot a florist shop and think that florists deliver everywhere, and indeed the florist, using his smart phone, and a customer, looking at the smart phone photo, get us pretty close. Then a passing young man with a painter's bucket suggests that the keys for Dragonara Court are usually given out at a hotel round the corner - as proves to be the case. We can see that it's probably not a place that gets many floral deliveries.

Our key is for 414 but the fourth floor proves to be entirely offices (as well as an area labelled reception with no desk or anyone looking receptiony. Eventually we ask. Oh, 414 will be on the third floor. Why not? And it is. It's a big flat. Main room 33x13 feet with kitchen at the entry end and beds and dressing table at the balcony end. Surprisingly, or "studio" has a small second bedroom, complete with two single beds, a desk, and a wardrobe. Two heaters, a two burner cum oven cooker, small fridge, and a reasonable assortment of dishes, though one pot and a frying pan have had violence done to their teflon and there is only one bowl, though lots of plates and glasses as well as two big mugs. We have a new home.

Sunday, March 9/2014

Packing day. You wouldn't think it would take all day, but there's a Chinese puzzle aspect to fitting things into small suitcases that is as difficult as moving house. Then there are the things that are almost left behind inadvertently because they look like part of the flat itself, like the thermometer tied to the balcony rail or the suction hooks on the wall or the small wash tub in the bathroom. Plugs that come and plugs that stay. Spices that go in the boxes but a starter amount of cheese and olive oil (rebottled in a small plastic wine bottle saved from Air Canada). The almonds come but the luggage is getting heavy so the raisins stay. A hundred little decisions.

Jane and Bill drop by with a print from the photo Jane had a waiter take at Vlachos on Friday. Came out well - everyone's eyes open and mouths all shut. Lovely memory. They stop for a cuppa and it suddenly pours outside, but we're done washing and drying clothes anyway. But pull the drying rack inside to keep it dry - it's ours and stays with the boxes. Then it's back to serious packing. Tapes, CDs and dying radio boxed, so we're down to Euronews for entertainment. Not much focused on entertainment anyway.

Then Maggi in late afternoon to say her goodbyes and take custody of the mini carnation plant, which has finally decided to bloom.

Boxes safely stored on the mezzanine - rather inconveniently as the lift stops at ground and first but not mezzanine and some of the boxes are heavy, e.g. The one with three bottles of wine. Some Norwegian neighbours' boxes there already. Bed at midnight. Packing all done so we can leave in the morning.

Saturday, March 8/2014

Know better than to complain about heat in the sun, as it's frigid in northern Ontario and won't be as warm as this in Malta, let alone London. But when we meet for coffee give serious, if brief, thought to choosing ice cream (excellent here) or beer instead of Greek coffee. In fact M does have beer, which comes with a large dish of nuts, and despite our having ordered only two coffees, there's a plate with three chocolate biscuits. Not much saving of calories by forgoing the ice cream.

Quite a lot of plastic bags plus a very fat book of Lillian Beckwith's Hebridean memories to the animal shelter charity shop. When they have to buy the bags there's less money for dog food and we're pleased to have something to do with the excess other than pollute the environment.

Then home to begin packing up after three months. Five boxes get to stay. Everything else comes with us or is given away or ditched. A bonus, of sorts, is that we're now using a hotel microwave as ours gave up the ghost this winter. Which means that we can keep using it until the last minute rather than packing it away. Down to say goodbye to Kiki in reception as she won't be on again until after we've gone. Hugs and a gift. She's brought us some halloumi and five huge lemons from her tree. Beautiful lemons and so kind - but impossibly heavy to add to the suitcase.

Friday, March 7/2014

Last visit to Vlachos for the season, with Jane and Bill, Ailsa and Harry. Will miss them and also Vlachos, a restaurant in the old expansive pre-tourist Cypriot style, where the starters could be a meal in themselves and two hours is considered a minimum for a decent dinner.

Thursday, March 6/2014

The man at the next outdoor table at coffee tells us that the sixtyish woman exercising on the beach at the same time as J's morning walk/jog represented Russia at the Olympics as a sprinter some years back and took silver.

Wednesday, March 5/2014

Bus travel in Cyprus is an exercise in patience. There is a fairly good looking website, modelled on impressive ones like Travel for London, with theoretical timetables, routes, journey planners, etc. looks good until you try using it, when you discover that the timetables give only starting times on two hour routes, leaving no way of assessing arrival time at any particular stop. Journey planners also are most impressive before use. Streets turn out to be unrecognised and times refuse to enter correctly. Estimated journey times involve routes even we know better than to take. We also know better than to ask at the tourist information office, source of laboriously slow misinformation. The maps are quite good, showing every bus stop - all run together until you zoom out. The best plan used to be to walk over to the dispatch centre and take the advice of whoever spoke English but a few weeks ago we saw that the office and accompanying yard had moved, and our Greek isn't good enough to figure out where from the sign on the gate of the old premises.

Stop to talk with the Ukrainian girl (well, showing my age - she's in her forties) who makes and sells jewellery near St Lazarus Church She's a Cypriot resident, married to a Cypriot, but has family, including her parents, in Ukraine. Not impressed with the Maidan demonstrators and depressed by the feeling that each new regime repnlaces one set of corrupt thugs with another. The family is Russian speaking, lives in central Ukraine, and just wants to be left to live and garden in peace.

Tuesday, March 4/2014

With X to hospital surgery/clinic (bilingual variants). Much like a Russian store of Soviet times. Initial queue about twenty patients long to register at one of two wickets. Residents all have orange folders with medical info inside as well as blue prescription books with counterfoils - one copy for the pharmacy and one for the records. Many patients go privately - these are the ones who don't, mostly I suspect for financial reasons rather than on principle. Though it 's not free - there is an up front fee of €3 ( approx £2.40, $4.50 CAD). Patients are assigned to wait outside the door of one of the two or three GPs in attendance ( five doors but not all concealing doctors this morning. An (inexplicably) shorter queue appears to be for approval of prescriptions, in advance of the actual prescribing. Each costs €0.50 regardless of what is being prescribed when the prescription is taken to the dispensary.

Then a more disorganised queuing outside the door of the assigned doctors. No handy butcher's take-a-number but there are little numbers on the assigned paper work, so a little comparing with the others does it. Assuming one speaks a little Greek. Today unusually busy as it follows a long weekend but wait only fifteen or twenty minutes.

Final step involves taking 50 cent receipts plus prescriptions to dispensary to exchange for medication - further queuing similar to that at parts counter at busy automotive supply.

 Whole organisation highly reminiscent of Soviet era shopping, when any purchase seemed to involve at least six interchanges, employees, bits of paper, etc between inquiring after the item and leaving with same plus receipt.

Monday, March 3/2014

Green (or, depending on who's telling it, clean) Monday. The Monday before Lent begins.  Always a holiday here, celebrated with picnics in the country, featuring seafood, fish and greens. Traditionally a day for kite flying as well. And mini carnivals in places. Children usually wear their costumes down on the promenade. Still pretty high dust content in the air, though.

Sunday, March 2/2014

Should normally be an outdoor day, despite wanting to hear the continuing updates on Ukraine, unhappy though they are. However there's an enormous amount of dust in the air, blown in from Africa. Dust storm sounds more dramatic than what's happening - shades of Lawrence of Arabia and camel treks with zero visibility, but it is windy and the particulate levels in the air are obviously undesirable. Shame, because this is "carnival" weekend. That too will be a bit of overstatement, in Larnaca at least. It's the weekend before Lent begins and the children would normally be down at the promenade in their costumes. Temperatures are warm, but it's not very nice in the dirty wind.

Saturday, March 1/2014

Coffee with X and Friend and the final (?) instalment of the story. Friend indeed arrived yesterday, accompanied by two suitcases and prepared for the week's visit X had suggested. Meanwhile X had remembered the lunch appointment but had had no idea she'd issued any invitation at all. Some laughter. Seems all right now but has agreed to see doctor.

In the evening begin research. Soon learn to avoid using terms like memory blackout, thus avoiding stern suggestions re drinking less. But amnesia does it. Descriptions of temporary global amnesia just about spot on, and much less horrific than other possibilities. Apparently variously triggered, less than 24 hours, and not usually repeated. Narrative accounts match amazingly closely. So, fingers crossed.  

Friday, February 28/2014

Check with X in morning. All well. Yes remembers about meeting Friend at 12 for lunch, although not, worryingly, about having been with us yesterday.

Lift with David and Susan, expats recently back from visiting family in Australia to Pyla for lunch at Jane and Bill's. Lovely, with the six of us outside round the table on the south side of the house, with ripe tomatoes on the vine, flowers growing, and the little park on the other side of the wall. Beautiful meal with homemade tomato soup, amazing fish and seafood pies baked in individual clay pots, and apple and almond tart. Then inside for coffee in the sitting room with Jane's paintings on the wall.

Thursday, February 27/2014

X phones as we get back about 12:30 to say she's been feeling ill and would like to come over. Is she all right to drive? Oh yes. She arrives, and thus begins the strangest afternoon of our lives, and no doubt hers. She has no memory of having visited us the previous evening and flatly denies having gone to the cinema at Dekhelia, last night or at any time. Much worse, she's unsure whether her husband, who died over a year and a half ago, is still alive, and is under the impression that she is still living elsewhere and only visiting Cyprus. We talk her through the last couple of years only to have the process repeat more than once. No signs of stroke - no skewing, strength good in both hands, etc. Get her to phone her friend, who spends the winter up the coast in Paralimni and visits occasionally. Yes, Friend will come tomorrow and stay for a couple of days.  Reluctant to let her leave, but now seems OK, and have trouble imagining what local emergency services would make of it all. Prudently text Friend to say there are memory problems. X calls to say home safely and Friend due tomorrow at 12. Agree on a good restaurant for her to lunch with Friend and Friend's friend, who is supplying the lift from Paralimni.

Wednesday, February 26/2014

Jenny has emailed to say they can fit in the trip to Yorkshire after all, so both simpler and more fun - and am now proud possessor of detailed plan of Leeds railway station for future reference. Nobody provides more accurate and complete information than the British (perhaps unfair, as I don't read German - or actually a great many other languages). But never any unresolved ambiguities. Will enjoy the ride up with J&D.

X over in the evening on her way back from seeing Twelve Years a Slave with some marinated strawberries, that turn out to be not as sweet as hoped. Small glass of brandy for X, J and I having a wee dram in memory of John K, James having messaged to say that he died on Sunday.