Well, that's that then
We arrived in London on 01st March and having only had time to blink a couple of times, Bamm, it's time to depart.
It's been a great eight months.
Plenty of highs and no lows.
And do we want to return to these parts in the near future, of course we do.
Meantime both Julia and myself are looking forward to catching up with our children and friends.
Then over the Christmas period we might just start hatching plans for 2013.
One things for sure, the UK and Europe will continue to be exciting destinations for us to revisit, and neither of us plan to die still wondering "what if"
We trust you all enjoyed our Blog
11,000 visit hits indicate that some of you out there in ether land have enjoyed catching up with our adventure. good stuff
Until next time
Cheers, Julia and John
Wednesday, 31 October 2012
Monday, 22 October 2012
Saturday evening and we are off to Camden. Boring it wasn't
Saturday evening was a bit of a blast. We headed off late afternoon to Camden for a few drinks prior to taking in a concert performed at The Roundhouse by an old USA rocker group The Steve Miller Band. The evening itself was simply brilliant. Camden is a crazy part of London filled to overflowing on a Saturday evening with all kinds of weirdos and alternative lifestylers. We hunkered down at a Brazilain bar called Coco Bamboo and had a bird's eye view of all the Punk Mowhawk Brigade action at a seedy bar directly over the road called Barfly. Talk about some weird sights, it was brilliant, right down to the seventy year old punk adorned with probably the world's biggest Mowhawk. That guy wasn't about to be missed as his head gear was dyed dayglo purple.
The concert itself exceeded all expectations. These old dudes certainly knew how to wind up the audience.
All that aside, the highlight of the evening had to be the hour plus trip up from Pimlico to Camden on bus number 24.
Actually under normal circumstances the trip should have been a no brainer, with a quick tube trip however as luck would have it our local and only tube line (Victoria) was closed for the weekend to enable work to be carried out on the track , however Plan B should have been no problem as the No 24 bus runs directly from Pimlico, up through the central city via Trafalgar Square , then onto Camden, with a final destination of Hampstead Heath.
The one thing you have to be conscious of before you have your Oyster card scanned as you enter the bus is the fact that occasionally the bus will only travel as far as Victoria, then terminate.
With that knowledge in mind Julia waited until the buses metallic PA voice announced " 24 ......to...Hampstead Heath " , before she hit the electronic payment pad with her card. Then a second later the woman queuing behind us then leaned past me and said to the driver "is this bus actually going to Hampstead Heath " as it says on the front that its now terminating at Victoria.
The driver just looks at all of us through his hooded dead Jamaican eyes for maybe ten seconds then slowly says " the bus now terminates Victoria".
This woman then immediately says to the driver "well you shouldn't have the bus telling the passengers that it's still going to Hampstead Heath " then looking at Julia , says to the driver " you owe this woman a refund " . The driver thinks this new development over for a few seconds and decides the best course of action is to simply ignore all dialogue and with that he just stares forward and avoids all eye contact. Our new friend was not about to give up and says" look, you must give this woman a credit, it wasn't her fault" . Still no response .
Time to step up to the plate and with that decision made and in a very solid and threatening voice I look directly at the driver and tell him that I appreciate he is in no position to give my wife a £1.30 credit, however I am so impressed with his attempts to help us that having now noted his name, the bus number , and the specific location of where he has gone out of his way to help my wife, I intend to approach his employers so I can commend his actions to those higher up the tree.
Stalemate......actually it was Check Mate.
Nobody is moving. The driver can't close the doors .
Finally the driver blinks, and very , very slowly leans over to the Oyster pay pad where he proceeds to stick out a big black pudgy finger and press the 'credit last fare' button, and with that a paper credit for £1.30 is spat out of the machine.
As we exit the bus the woman behind us takes one last shot at the driver who by now has the look in his eyes of that of a potential killer and she says to him in an ironic tone " it's a miracle, you can in fact issue credits, .....just like any other bus driver."
The doors slam shut and the bus screams away from the stop at manic speed.
While we await the correct bus I'm chatting to the woman who advises us that todays communist /labour left protest around parliament is still going strong
and said that as our route took us directly through the path of the protest we should anticipate adding at least a further thirty minutes to our planned seventy minute trip. She was bang on with that estimate.Re. the protest itself, apparently the organisers (inclusive of some Labour MP's) used the day as a platform to call for a General Strike. Talk about wanting to drive your country to hell in a hand basket. You have to wonder? Anyway, the thought of some mid trip entertainment courtesy of the sight of drenched protesters sheltering under their placards outside parliament as dark descended and the rain pelted down, well that sight was going to be an attraction in itself.
Onwards, we and our new friend boarded the correct bus a minute on, trooped upstairs and grabbed seats on the right hand side so we could get uninterrupted views of all the action at Westminster.
However, drama was just around the corner at the very next stop and it came in the form of a stylishly dressed early middle aged business type woman.
The bus came to a halt and as she entered the bus I heard the woman ask/state (I'm not quite sure on that one) "is this bus going to Sloane Square. I have a prepaid ticket for Sloane Square."
I and our new friend could smell trouble brewing so we both started looking down at the scene of the action.
The bus driver patiently explained that this was the number 24 heading for Victoria, Trafalgar Square and points north. The bus she wanted was the 360 , which didn't depart from this stop however if she would exit the bus and head around the corner and stop at the next stop , then she would be in business.
Return Serve, the woman then says, " look I purchased this ticket on the basis I could travel to Sloane Square from this stop, I find your explanation unhelpful , and I certainly won't be walking in the rain to another bus stop"
So the driver says, "it is what it is, we are off to Victoria, you can either come along or get off the bus."
The woman then fairly explodes and says " I'm not leaving this bus. This bus is to go nowhere until I receive a full cash refund for my ticket . I am very angry etc etc"
Now at this point our new friend, who was obviously now running late, leaps out off her seat, flies down the stairs and yells at the woman " nether I nor the thirty people you are severely delaying give a dam about your problems. The driver can't refund in cash. Accept this reality and either sit down quietly or GET OFF THE BUS!"
We now play our minor role in this drama by way of a huge round of applause.
The bus driver then throws petrol right onto this fast burning bonfire when he closes the bus front door and starts to pull away from the curve.
That did it. The woman then starts yelling at the top of her voice about how she is going to sue everyone in sight and with that she starts booting the door.
You have to give it to the driver, he knew how to time the opening of the door with a well placed kick.
Both occurred at precisely the same moment and with that the woman unintentionally catapulted herself out onto the pavement.
Another round of applause, a couple of high fives and we are off (with speed) down Belgrave Road.
All the passengers on board are grinning and actually conversing with each other. This is indeed a momentous occasion.
There was one minor moment as we departed from the stop outside the Westminster Cathedral when a drunk attempted to run in through the front doors of the bus a nano second after they had closed. In the grand scheme of things this moment in time is hardly worth a mention, and I only commented on it because it's the first time I've ever seen a guy knock himself out cold when attempting to enter a bus .
I don't think the £1.30 charge for these trips is enough to cover this quality of street entertainment . I would have gladly forked out a fiver to take in all this action.
I'm really going to miss this city.The thought of walking through Hagley Park with just the dog as company doesn't quite cut it after all the action we have been exposed to over these last eight months.
Cheers
The concert itself exceeded all expectations. These old dudes certainly knew how to wind up the audience.
All that aside, the highlight of the evening had to be the hour plus trip up from Pimlico to Camden on bus number 24.
Actually under normal circumstances the trip should have been a no brainer, with a quick tube trip however as luck would have it our local and only tube line (Victoria) was closed for the weekend to enable work to be carried out on the track , however Plan B should have been no problem as the No 24 bus runs directly from Pimlico, up through the central city via Trafalgar Square , then onto Camden, with a final destination of Hampstead Heath.
The one thing you have to be conscious of before you have your Oyster card scanned as you enter the bus is the fact that occasionally the bus will only travel as far as Victoria, then terminate.
With that knowledge in mind Julia waited until the buses metallic PA voice announced " 24 ......to...Hampstead Heath " , before she hit the electronic payment pad with her card. Then a second later the woman queuing behind us then leaned past me and said to the driver "is this bus actually going to Hampstead Heath " as it says on the front that its now terminating at Victoria.
The driver just looks at all of us through his hooded dead Jamaican eyes for maybe ten seconds then slowly says " the bus now terminates Victoria".
This woman then immediately says to the driver "well you shouldn't have the bus telling the passengers that it's still going to Hampstead Heath " then looking at Julia , says to the driver " you owe this woman a refund " . The driver thinks this new development over for a few seconds and decides the best course of action is to simply ignore all dialogue and with that he just stares forward and avoids all eye contact. Our new friend was not about to give up and says" look, you must give this woman a credit, it wasn't her fault" . Still no response .
Time to step up to the plate and with that decision made and in a very solid and threatening voice I look directly at the driver and tell him that I appreciate he is in no position to give my wife a £1.30 credit, however I am so impressed with his attempts to help us that having now noted his name, the bus number , and the specific location of where he has gone out of his way to help my wife, I intend to approach his employers so I can commend his actions to those higher up the tree.
Stalemate......actually it was Check Mate.
Nobody is moving. The driver can't close the doors .
Finally the driver blinks, and very , very slowly leans over to the Oyster pay pad where he proceeds to stick out a big black pudgy finger and press the 'credit last fare' button, and with that a paper credit for £1.30 is spat out of the machine.
As we exit the bus the woman behind us takes one last shot at the driver who by now has the look in his eyes of that of a potential killer and she says to him in an ironic tone " it's a miracle, you can in fact issue credits, .....just like any other bus driver."
The doors slam shut and the bus screams away from the stop at manic speed.
While we await the correct bus I'm chatting to the woman who advises us that todays communist /labour left protest around parliament is still going strong
and said that as our route took us directly through the path of the protest we should anticipate adding at least a further thirty minutes to our planned seventy minute trip. She was bang on with that estimate.Re. the protest itself, apparently the organisers (inclusive of some Labour MP's) used the day as a platform to call for a General Strike. Talk about wanting to drive your country to hell in a hand basket. You have to wonder? Anyway, the thought of some mid trip entertainment courtesy of the sight of drenched protesters sheltering under their placards outside parliament as dark descended and the rain pelted down, well that sight was going to be an attraction in itself.
Onwards, we and our new friend boarded the correct bus a minute on, trooped upstairs and grabbed seats on the right hand side so we could get uninterrupted views of all the action at Westminster.
However, drama was just around the corner at the very next stop and it came in the form of a stylishly dressed early middle aged business type woman.
The bus came to a halt and as she entered the bus I heard the woman ask/state (I'm not quite sure on that one) "is this bus going to Sloane Square. I have a prepaid ticket for Sloane Square."
I and our new friend could smell trouble brewing so we both started looking down at the scene of the action.
The bus driver patiently explained that this was the number 24 heading for Victoria, Trafalgar Square and points north. The bus she wanted was the 360 , which didn't depart from this stop however if she would exit the bus and head around the corner and stop at the next stop , then she would be in business.
Return Serve, the woman then says, " look I purchased this ticket on the basis I could travel to Sloane Square from this stop, I find your explanation unhelpful , and I certainly won't be walking in the rain to another bus stop"
So the driver says, "it is what it is, we are off to Victoria, you can either come along or get off the bus."
The woman then fairly explodes and says " I'm not leaving this bus. This bus is to go nowhere until I receive a full cash refund for my ticket . I am very angry etc etc"
Now at this point our new friend, who was obviously now running late, leaps out off her seat, flies down the stairs and yells at the woman " nether I nor the thirty people you are severely delaying give a dam about your problems. The driver can't refund in cash. Accept this reality and either sit down quietly or GET OFF THE BUS!"
We now play our minor role in this drama by way of a huge round of applause.
The bus driver then throws petrol right onto this fast burning bonfire when he closes the bus front door and starts to pull away from the curve.
That did it. The woman then starts yelling at the top of her voice about how she is going to sue everyone in sight and with that she starts booting the door.
You have to give it to the driver, he knew how to time the opening of the door with a well placed kick.
Both occurred at precisely the same moment and with that the woman unintentionally catapulted herself out onto the pavement.
Another round of applause, a couple of high fives and we are off (with speed) down Belgrave Road.
All the passengers on board are grinning and actually conversing with each other. This is indeed a momentous occasion.
There was one minor moment as we departed from the stop outside the Westminster Cathedral when a drunk attempted to run in through the front doors of the bus a nano second after they had closed. In the grand scheme of things this moment in time is hardly worth a mention, and I only commented on it because it's the first time I've ever seen a guy knock himself out cold when attempting to enter a bus .
I don't think the £1.30 charge for these trips is enough to cover this quality of street entertainment . I would have gladly forked out a fiver to take in all this action.
I'm really going to miss this city.The thought of walking through Hagley Park with just the dog as company doesn't quite cut it after all the action we have been exposed to over these last eight months.
Cheers
Monday, 15 October 2012
It's great being a spectator on this watery highway
Over a period of seven days on this canal we have had any number of opportunities to take in what's going down on other boats.
Yesterday was pretty interesting. We had overnighted in the middle of nowhere next to a drinking tap suitable for filling small water containers or whatever.
Anyway, no sooner had John C, Sue and Julia strolled off to the local village to nail bread , when up motors a huge boat manned by a French middle aged couple and their three kids. The wife spotted the water tap and frantically indicated to her husband that he should pull over to fill their tanks. No problem..Once moored up in front of our bow the father spoke directly to his kids giving them the obvious message that as they were responsible for the boats water shortages it was up to them to rectify the problem . And with that the father sauntered off to the village . Then the problems began in earnest. It a nutshell, the kids don't have the appropriate hose connections to join the boats hose with the tap. They tried all manner of means to force water down that hose but it just wasn't going to be a happening thing. I had give it to these kids, they weren't about to give up. Now bear in mind at this juncture that the boat their father had hired probably contained a water tank that would accommodate at least 1,600 litres. So what solution did these children come ups with. Well, they started filling this tank with a 1.5 litre water bottle. The whole thing was a disaster, high on energy and low on positive outcome.
My fellow crew return and John C immediately fired up our engine in preparation for departure. The father had by this time returned to his boat, realised we were about to cast off ,immediacy figured out that we would reach the next lock first, and without further ado ordered his children to quit the water filling thing and immediately cast off. Whooom, off he motored at full,speed , leaving me thinking to myself, " I wonder how that guys going to feel when it dawns on him that all these locks hold three boats at once and on that basis we will be meeting up with him again in about fifteen minutes"
When we finally arrived at said lock the father , having realised he'd made a bit of an arse of himself, then proceeded to avoid all eye contact with our crew whilst we went through the usual lock routine.
As the lock master opened the outgoing lock gates the father pressed his throttle to the max and fairly flew off down the canal.
We slowly motored off and as it was near noon ( the lock keeper closes the locks for lunch between 1230-1330) I started talking to John C about a subject dear to my heart , the French habit of discussing food at every turn , and as I started speculating that he French family in front of it would be dong it hard eating their lunch "on the run" , blow me down if we aren't confronted by the sight of their boat careening over to the right had bank. The kids the proceeded to leap off the boat onto the canal bank and had secured their vessel to a couple of trees all within the space of twenty seconds.
We quietly motored past their boat maybe a minute later and as we drew level with their dining area I looked over and you guessed it, all the family were heavily chowing down into the ritual they called lunch.
I looked over to Julia, tapped by watch with a knowing look and mouthed the words "it's Manger O'Clock" . Julia returned with a wink .
I love the French , they are my kind of people. They know what they want, when they want it, and aren't about to let something as trivial a motoring a boat get in the way of their objective
Classic stuff.
Cheers
PS. I should also mention that the wife and all three children were decked out in normal gear whilst the father was attired in a very smart blue and yellow " designer canal boat skippers jacket " in combo with a most stylish cap. All very nice.
A word on Canal boats
The boat we hired for the week on the Canal du Midi was only built last season so it's in pretty good shape. Both Julia and yours truly enjoy the odd sail however we are not what you would describe as dyed in the wool yachties.
So when it comes to our take on a vessels amenities we come from the " I hope this thing is loaded with all the mod cons" type of people.
The positives
It doesn't leak. Unlike previous boats this sucker has all the appropriate power fittings. The heating works . There's plenty of hot water. The steering comes equipped with bow thrusters , an innovation which is a god send when negotiating your way through forty plus locks. The beds are comfortable, if a little,small. There's plenty of storage and the galley is fully equipped . And finally, the dining area is spacious . With these boat you really need to book the six berth variety to accommodate two couples plus their baggage without running short on space
The negatives.
Three majors
THE SHOWER, located in the bathroom. When you fire up the shower water goes absolutely everywhere . As the toilet is located within this very small bathroom you have to remember to move the toilet roll into your bedroom prior to firing up the shower head. First time around we must have pumped something like twenty litres of water into our toilet roll. God, what a mess. ( I take the blame for this disaster) . Not wishing to admit being a fool I didn't mention this little episode to Julia. On reflection that was a bit of a mistake as when it came time for Julia's shower she managed to totally destroy the replacement roll. We know have this procedural issue under control .
THE TOILET
There are three major issues at play here.
Lets be frank. These toilets are of a size suited to the bums of small children , dwarves or anorexics. It's just not physically possible for a normal limbed person to be able to do their business without being painfully aware that this whole "toilet thing" is a bit of a mission.
The flushing process. This is not your press and flush Deal. That would be way too easy. No, this is your hand pump in action . I won't go into all the gory details suffice to say that the energy required to pump this toilet "solids free" is akin to the effort required to cut down a small stand of trees with a blunt hack saw. I'm not kidding. This is very strenuous stuff. To be honest the whole process puts one right off any thoughts relating to bowel movements.
And the final issue is the question of when does one flush. Just bear in mind there are no holding tanks on this vessel. All waste is discharged directly into the canal. That's OK if you are motoring along by yourself. However if you are berthed in a fully booked marina it's a very tricky call when it comes to the question of when to get down and dirty with the flush pump.
Guys, it's a yucky business all round.
LACK OF FREE WIFI
Getting WiFi in these parts is a nightmare. Unlike virtually all other European countries, France just isn't geared up to the sale of Pay As You Go WiFi connections. The fall back position is that you then have to rely on free WiFi Hot Spots , and guess what, these hot spots are thin on the ground. Today for example we are staying outside a rather substantial village called Bram. And is there just one single Wifi post within the village. Answer. No!
This whole thing is very frustrating , particularly as both John Cockcroft and myself need to keep wired in for business reasons.
SUMMARY
This boat thing is good for say seven to ten days. Longer than that and in my opinion the whole experience would turn to custard
As to the question of comparing our three canal adventures over these last four years I would say that our ten day stint on the Saone River (by Dijon) back in 2008 would have to come out on top. Few locks (which we were able to operate with ease) and lots of bars and restaurants en route, in combination with great scenery.
The 2010 circuit of the greater Manchester area (The Cheshire Ring) was a pretty wild experience. Something like a hundred locks, some that were beasts to operate. Looooong tunnels that were great for the stress levels, scenery that was ...........interesting. On the upside the nightly pub life was fantastic.
This time around we have flash boat, all locks are operated by a full time Lock Keeper, so the whole experience is relatively painless. However what we miss are the nightly drinks and dinners in local,establishments. With the exception of Carcassonne all our overnight locations have been devoid of nightlife so we have been forced to eat in. That said, the Canal du Midi is a stunningly beautiful area.
If you want to experience this type of short holiday , I suggest you take a serious look at what LeBoat.com has to offer on the Saone River.
Cheers
Carcassonne. This city was certainly alive and kicking
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| The mighty floating palace!. Life could be worse |
Back in France , Carcassonne and the Canal du Midi
Well, we are getting down to the wire with our eight month escape from reality about to hit the skids
Twenty one days before we head off to Heathrow for the final time.
Both Julia and myself have mixed feelings about the thought of returning home. On the one hand it will be just great to catch up with children and friends however you know, we have been on a bit of a roll over here and we have got ourselves into the sort of lifestyle that we will sorely miss.
Enough of that
A few days back we (and friends John/Sue) flew out of Rome and onto Carcassonne for a couple nights stay in the Hotel Donjon, one of the few hotels located within the medieval walls of the old city sited atop a hill overlooking the city proper. What a great location . Lots to see, great bars and restaurants , and access to all activities is a mere stroll away from the hotel.
The walled city is a fairly weird place when you think about it. It's a bit like a French version of Disneyland. You know the score, heaps of tourists at every turn, eating and watering holes round every corner, tourists junk for sale in bulk, smiling happy people, and stunning scenery. A fantastic place for a two night stay. If you stayed any longer you would go a bit nutty.
Then we were off to Homps to pick up our boat for a seven day float along the Canal du Midi, up back through Carcassonne with the final destination of Castelnaudary .
Unlike previous canal trips (The Saone river near Dijon in 2008 and the Cheshire Ring around greater Manchester in 2010) this trip is like a stroll in the park. Every lock is manned by a permanent lock keeper so all our involvement is limited to that of spectators who simply have to hang onto ropes as the boat makes its way through all of the forty plus locks.
Back in both 2008 and 2010 we had to work like slaves on those boat trips as all locks had to be operated by the boat crew and let me tell you some of those locks were very dodgy. The other big plus on this particular trip is the complete absense of any tunnels, so no mor dramas like we had back in 2010.
Four days into this cruise and there is little to report. The only highlight to date has to be the antics of a middle aged Sydney couple who, having informed us that they were experienced sailors, have now spent the last three days impersonating a couple who have zero know how in respect to "things boating".
To date these guys have done a pretty good job at playing the fool. We must have traversed twenty locks with these guys and to date they have stuffed up at every turn. You would have thought they would have got the hang of things by now however they just don't seem to have the ability to learn from previous mistakes. The wife is a complete disaster. Her party piece is to lob the boats retaining ropes back into their boat just as the lock master releases a veritable torrent of water as he opens up the gates to raise the lock water level The husband is then forced to battle with the elements as he attempts to keep his boat under control. I would say that after seven days on this canal said couple will no longer be on speaking terms. Meanwhile the Alcorn/Cockcroft vessel sails serenely on into the sunset
A word about travelling with friends for any extended period. This can be a tricky deal. It's a fact that heaps of friendships have turned sour over trivial stuff that has gone down during trips. I have to say that both Julia and myself feel very luck yo have a couple of friends like John and Sue. Over the years we have travelled with these guys in Australia, Asia, the UK and France without so much as one minute of hassle. Great stuff
Next Monday (15/10) we are back to London for a final frantic seventeen days of bars, restaurants and concerts.
Then that's it. The party's over.
Wednesday, 3 October 2012
Ever wondered what they serve up for breakfast on the Amalfi Coast?
Wonder no more.
Breakfast line ups don't generally merit comment however the bog standard Amalfi breakfast has to be an exception.
First up are mountains of chunky sliced white loaves. No surprises there.
Up next are plates of cut tomatoes drenched in olive oil and scary sized slices of Mozzarella cheese. This is fairly challenging stuff.
And finally, down to the business end of the deal. Watermelon , melon and pineapple thrown together with a hot croissant and chocolate fudge cake all covered with caramel sauce and icing sugar.
Wash that down with endless cups of dodgy Cappuccino and you are set for the day.
It's not as bad as it sounds. You just have to accept that your stomach is going to spend the better part of a couple of hours figuring out how to attack the problem that you have presented for it.
Breakfast line ups don't generally merit comment however the bog standard Amalfi breakfast has to be an exception.
First up are mountains of chunky sliced white loaves. No surprises there.
Up next are plates of cut tomatoes drenched in olive oil and scary sized slices of Mozzarella cheese. This is fairly challenging stuff.
And finally, down to the business end of the deal. Watermelon , melon and pineapple thrown together with a hot croissant and chocolate fudge cake all covered with caramel sauce and icing sugar.
Wash that down with endless cups of dodgy Cappuccino and you are set for the day.
It's not as bad as it sounds. You just have to accept that your stomach is going to spend the better part of a couple of hours figuring out how to attack the problem that you have presented for it.
Tuesday, 2 October 2012
Come on Julia, you know you are best person to handle these Post Office types. Just give em' the old Kiwi charm
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| The Amalfi Post Ofiice. Don't let the exterior fool you for one minute. Trust me, there's mayhem awaiting you inside |
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| Aaah, the trusty ticket dispenser. This sucker has been taking training lessons from Hal , the computer who went hay wire in 2001 A Space Odyssey |
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| It's pointless to think for even a nano second that this ticket number bears any relationship to the expression sequential numbering. That process would be waaaay too easy |
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| Numbers that don't make sense . Non existent counters . Keep it rolling. We have lived in Europe for months. we are battle hardened Bring it on! |
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| That guy hiding behind is living proof that , that...........well, something! |
Have you got an hour to kill and wish to test your powers of endurance? Boy , have I just got the place for you!
Welcome to public service hell, aka, the Almafi Post office.
On the face of it the whole process shouldn't have been a big deal.
Julia had purchased a small cardboard box from the local Post Office, stuffed it full of whatever to send home by mail, however when she went to post same on Monday morning at the Pergine Valdarno, she was put off by the line of pensioners all awaiting their Monday cash hand outs from their friendly Post Office, so she decided to mail the box when we reached Amalfi.
The drama started the minute she walked through the front door. The deal is that there is a yellow ticket dispensing machine located near the entrance. You press the appropriate button (yellow for a mail related issue or green for all others matters) then you wait until your number pops up on an electronic board.
The problem here was that the machine had a mind of its own. Not only did this sucker pump out allocation numbers in totally random fashion , but also allocated these numbers to non existent counters .
Confusion reigned in abundance. Actually without putting too finer point on it, the scene that confronted Julia was one of total mayhem .
Then we get onto the three counter staff. Now this is a real Italian thing you have to get your head around. What you have to understand is that the number of staff bears no relation to the number of workers who are actually working. If there's half a dozen staff and only one actually serving the public, then that's it, end of story. There's simply no point getting bitter and twisted about this matter as there is nothing you can do about it.
Maybe thirty minutes on and Julia is finally getting served by an old guy who, 1) can't speak English, 2) doesn't have a clue what he's doing, 3) is a computer illiterate and 4) is more interested in sharpening what he thinks is a pencil (which in fact is a biro pen) rather than addressing the issue at hand.
Without a word of a lie it took this space cadet fully thirty minutes to weigh and price the box. At one stage I actually thought Julia was about to leap, over the counter and do the job herself.
I could just about see the steam coming out of her ears.
And when it was all said and done, this old guy hobbled out the front door and stuck our parcel directly into the pannier bag of the Post Office motorcycle.
It's just a pity that this particular bike was only making local deliveries.
You have to laugh.
Cheers
On the face of it the whole process shouldn't have been a big deal.
Julia had purchased a small cardboard box from the local Post Office, stuffed it full of whatever to send home by mail, however when she went to post same on Monday morning at the Pergine Valdarno, she was put off by the line of pensioners all awaiting their Monday cash hand outs from their friendly Post Office, so she decided to mail the box when we reached Amalfi.
The drama started the minute she walked through the front door. The deal is that there is a yellow ticket dispensing machine located near the entrance. You press the appropriate button (yellow for a mail related issue or green for all others matters) then you wait until your number pops up on an electronic board.
The problem here was that the machine had a mind of its own. Not only did this sucker pump out allocation numbers in totally random fashion , but also allocated these numbers to non existent counters .
Confusion reigned in abundance. Actually without putting too finer point on it, the scene that confronted Julia was one of total mayhem .
Then we get onto the three counter staff. Now this is a real Italian thing you have to get your head around. What you have to understand is that the number of staff bears no relation to the number of workers who are actually working. If there's half a dozen staff and only one actually serving the public, then that's it, end of story. There's simply no point getting bitter and twisted about this matter as there is nothing you can do about it.
Maybe thirty minutes on and Julia is finally getting served by an old guy who, 1) can't speak English, 2) doesn't have a clue what he's doing, 3) is a computer illiterate and 4) is more interested in sharpening what he thinks is a pencil (which in fact is a biro pen) rather than addressing the issue at hand.
Without a word of a lie it took this space cadet fully thirty minutes to weigh and price the box. At one stage I actually thought Julia was about to leap, over the counter and do the job herself.
I could just about see the steam coming out of her ears.
And when it was all said and done, this old guy hobbled out the front door and stuck our parcel directly into the pannier bag of the Post Office motorcycle.
It's just a pity that this particular bike was only making local deliveries.
You have to laugh.
Cheers
Sunday, 30 September 2012
A quick two days into Florence. A great city full of life
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| Ponte Vecchio, a medieval stone arch bridge. Great to take in from a distance. Try getting over it when a Japanese tour group has hit town |
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| The Duomo. I don't have a great head for heights. My condition hasn't improved as the result of climbing to the top of the dome. Great views however scary stuff for wimps like yours truly |
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| The market in the plaza on the hill overlooking Florence. Never let it be said that Julia, Sue and John (standing directly to Julia's right) don't know a bargain when they see one. I should be grateful. That single purchase was completed in just sixty five minutes |
Italy v France, it's a tough call
We are coming to the end of a ten day stint in Tuscany, the result of a house swap with a couple who own this and a few other dwellings in the small hilltop village of Pergine Valdarno, situated maybe an hours drive south of Florence.
We and our friends John and Sue have been hard at it exploring the surrounding region. Heaps to take in with the highlight probably being an overnighter to Florence, a city that Julia and I last visited in 1990.
Locally we have played the game and purchased virtually all our supplies from the village shops (big pat on the back for those far sighted Kiwis) The region is pretty interesting, the locals are real characters and our location is just perfect. If interested you can check out our digs by throwing " il pigionale" into your computer search engine.
Over the last few days we have been discussing the various merits of hanging out in either Italy or France for an extended period and have reached the following conclusions on the comparison chart.l
THE WEATHER
That's a classic draw. Both countries know to turn on the sun and deal to the rain when we hit town.
LANGUAGE
Where we are located the Italians have limited English however they make up for any shortfall with an enthusiasm that is kind of touching.
The French by and large clearly understand what you are waffling on about however more often than not they will refrain from getting verbally involved with any dialogue that they don't fully comprehend ( they have my full understanding on that score)
THE PEOPLE
Much as we love the French, the reality is that the Italians have it all over the French when it comes to being user friendly. It's not that the French are either unfriendly or unhelpful, rather it's the case that the Italians see it as just natural to go out of their way to mix it with tourists. These guys simply can't do enough to help you. The French on the other hand are more of the "take it or leave it " variety, and tend to give you the impression that they don't really care one way or another about whether you fully understand their explanation about whatever. I fully understand the French stance on this issue and have no problem with it.
VILLAGE LIFE
Italian villages win this duel hands down. Barking dogs, screaming locals, lots of laughter, it's all on in our village. By comparison French villages feel a bit like Invercargill on a wet cold winters day. Whilst the French just quietly get on with their lives, their Italian counterparts appear to want to party at every turn . These people are just dynamic in everything they do. One really amusing feature of village life is the way locals communicate with their dogs. They talk to them like they are fellow humans and when their dogs play up they abuse the living day lights out of them. For their part, the dogs simply ignore their owners and carry on doing doggie type things. Pet training simple doesn't feature in local life.
FOOD
No arguments here, the French have it all over the Italians. It's not that the food here is bad, however it has to be said that when you compare what's on offer at say a French butcher's verses his Italian counterpart, then it's game over. For every food line an Italian has on his counter, his French opposite number has three times the variety on show. Both countries sell top quality stuff however when you get down to ordering in a restaurant you know for certain that a French menu will hold a lot more appeal ( that is, as long as you are not some kind of pasta and pizza freak)
BREAD (pretty important stuff in this area of the planet)
What is it with Italians and hard white bread. It's like they are consuming this unappealing stuff in an effort to pay for past sins. At a restaurant in Florence the other night the French couple sitting across from us nearly choked when presented bread by their waiter. The male diner actually poked one piece with his fork then bounced it on his table a couple of times . The couple were highly amused and then set to prattling on about "all things bread". One didn't need a interpreter to understand the direction of the conversation. Even Eskimos would probably appreciate the superior quality of French bread so it's a no contest.
WINE
The Italians produce some good quality reds, reasonable whites and debatable bubbles. It's a no brainer on this one. The French simply blow the Italians into the weeds. Prices are similar however the reality is that once you have downed a good quality chianti, well that's pretty much the wine tasting game done and dusted. As an aside bottles of Italian sparkling and champers seem to be a little light on bubbles. It's almost as if the plonk is slightly flat. It's all a bit weird.
INTERESTING STUFF TO PURCHASE IN CLOTHING/SHOE STORES
I don't doubt that if you hunt hard enough you can locate whatever you are after in a French store . As for the Italians, they are simply in another league.
The variety of product on hand is simply mind boggling and the prices are very attractive. A €500 leather jacket in France will go for something like €150 in Italy. And as for the huge variety and cheap pricing of top quality shoes in Italy, all I can say is that if you visit this country and don't take the opportunity to nail a number of pairs of shoes then you've got rocks in your head
TRANSPORT
It's a draw again. Both countries know how to organise public transport.The ticket purchasing process in France is more logical however once you are onboard whatever both countries deliver the goods
ROADS
France wins again. OK, those mountain passes we crept over on the French side of the French/Italian border were fairly dodgy however as a rule France has far superior roads and highways. A small plus for the Italians in respect to significantly lower road toll charges than those in France
STREET AND ROAD SIGNS ( a biggie for us)
It's a huge tick to the French. Getting around France is a breeze compared with Italy. I personally think the French are masters of the universe when it comes to road signage. They are simply in a class of their own.
OLD HISTORICAL STUFF TO VISIT
This is an interesting one. I'm drawing a very long bow here but it seems to me that on balance that Italy contains historical sites that are generally in an overall better state of repair than those of France however both Julia and myself agree that we find the French sites far more interesting . Maybe personal bias is getting in the way here, however that's just the way we see it.
COST OF LIVING
It's a draw.
WHICH COUNTRY WOULD WE PREFER TO RETURN TO ON AN ONGOING BASIS
That's a close race but in the end Provence would probably win out over Tuscany. It's a personal thing however it seems to me that Provence simply ticks more boxes. That said, we are not finished with Florence and its immediate surrounding countryside . The plan is to return there within a couple of years. Than again, when you spend a fortnight in a small French village you are aware at all times that you are the outsider. Contrast that with our Tuscan village where within twenty four hours you have been accepted as part of the community
Isn't it just great to be spoiled for choice
Cheers
We and our friends John and Sue have been hard at it exploring the surrounding region. Heaps to take in with the highlight probably being an overnighter to Florence, a city that Julia and I last visited in 1990.
Locally we have played the game and purchased virtually all our supplies from the village shops (big pat on the back for those far sighted Kiwis) The region is pretty interesting, the locals are real characters and our location is just perfect. If interested you can check out our digs by throwing " il pigionale" into your computer search engine.
Over the last few days we have been discussing the various merits of hanging out in either Italy or France for an extended period and have reached the following conclusions on the comparison chart.l
THE WEATHER
That's a classic draw. Both countries know to turn on the sun and deal to the rain when we hit town.
LANGUAGE
Where we are located the Italians have limited English however they make up for any shortfall with an enthusiasm that is kind of touching.
The French by and large clearly understand what you are waffling on about however more often than not they will refrain from getting verbally involved with any dialogue that they don't fully comprehend ( they have my full understanding on that score)
THE PEOPLE
Much as we love the French, the reality is that the Italians have it all over the French when it comes to being user friendly. It's not that the French are either unfriendly or unhelpful, rather it's the case that the Italians see it as just natural to go out of their way to mix it with tourists. These guys simply can't do enough to help you. The French on the other hand are more of the "take it or leave it " variety, and tend to give you the impression that they don't really care one way or another about whether you fully understand their explanation about whatever. I fully understand the French stance on this issue and have no problem with it.
VILLAGE LIFE
Italian villages win this duel hands down. Barking dogs, screaming locals, lots of laughter, it's all on in our village. By comparison French villages feel a bit like Invercargill on a wet cold winters day. Whilst the French just quietly get on with their lives, their Italian counterparts appear to want to party at every turn . These people are just dynamic in everything they do. One really amusing feature of village life is the way locals communicate with their dogs. They talk to them like they are fellow humans and when their dogs play up they abuse the living day lights out of them. For their part, the dogs simply ignore their owners and carry on doing doggie type things. Pet training simple doesn't feature in local life.
FOOD
No arguments here, the French have it all over the Italians. It's not that the food here is bad, however it has to be said that when you compare what's on offer at say a French butcher's verses his Italian counterpart, then it's game over. For every food line an Italian has on his counter, his French opposite number has three times the variety on show. Both countries sell top quality stuff however when you get down to ordering in a restaurant you know for certain that a French menu will hold a lot more appeal ( that is, as long as you are not some kind of pasta and pizza freak)
BREAD (pretty important stuff in this area of the planet)
What is it with Italians and hard white bread. It's like they are consuming this unappealing stuff in an effort to pay for past sins. At a restaurant in Florence the other night the French couple sitting across from us nearly choked when presented bread by their waiter. The male diner actually poked one piece with his fork then bounced it on his table a couple of times . The couple were highly amused and then set to prattling on about "all things bread". One didn't need a interpreter to understand the direction of the conversation. Even Eskimos would probably appreciate the superior quality of French bread so it's a no contest.
WINE
The Italians produce some good quality reds, reasonable whites and debatable bubbles. It's a no brainer on this one. The French simply blow the Italians into the weeds. Prices are similar however the reality is that once you have downed a good quality chianti, well that's pretty much the wine tasting game done and dusted. As an aside bottles of Italian sparkling and champers seem to be a little light on bubbles. It's almost as if the plonk is slightly flat. It's all a bit weird.
INTERESTING STUFF TO PURCHASE IN CLOTHING/SHOE STORES
I don't doubt that if you hunt hard enough you can locate whatever you are after in a French store . As for the Italians, they are simply in another league.
The variety of product on hand is simply mind boggling and the prices are very attractive. A €500 leather jacket in France will go for something like €150 in Italy. And as for the huge variety and cheap pricing of top quality shoes in Italy, all I can say is that if you visit this country and don't take the opportunity to nail a number of pairs of shoes then you've got rocks in your head
TRANSPORT
It's a draw again. Both countries know how to organise public transport.The ticket purchasing process in France is more logical however once you are onboard whatever both countries deliver the goods
ROADS
France wins again. OK, those mountain passes we crept over on the French side of the French/Italian border were fairly dodgy however as a rule France has far superior roads and highways. A small plus for the Italians in respect to significantly lower road toll charges than those in France
STREET AND ROAD SIGNS ( a biggie for us)
It's a huge tick to the French. Getting around France is a breeze compared with Italy. I personally think the French are masters of the universe when it comes to road signage. They are simply in a class of their own.
OLD HISTORICAL STUFF TO VISIT
This is an interesting one. I'm drawing a very long bow here but it seems to me that on balance that Italy contains historical sites that are generally in an overall better state of repair than those of France however both Julia and myself agree that we find the French sites far more interesting . Maybe personal bias is getting in the way here, however that's just the way we see it.
COST OF LIVING
It's a draw.
WHICH COUNTRY WOULD WE PREFER TO RETURN TO ON AN ONGOING BASIS
That's a close race but in the end Provence would probably win out over Tuscany. It's a personal thing however it seems to me that Provence simply ticks more boxes. That said, we are not finished with Florence and its immediate surrounding countryside . The plan is to return there within a couple of years. Than again, when you spend a fortnight in a small French village you are aware at all times that you are the outsider. Contrast that with our Tuscan village where within twenty four hours you have been accepted as part of the community
Isn't it just great to be spoiled for choice
Cheers
Pergine Valdarno , our bolt hole in Tuscany
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| Guess who is gearing up for a big night in. Actually, come to think of it, this shot is like something out of Groundhog Day. Maybe tonight we will change the rules. Then again, we probably won't |
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| Our digs "Il Pigionale" in the center of the shot. This 13th century home had it's top third floor blown clean off during WW2, courtesy of a wayward Allied bomb. |
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| Filling up with either still or sparkling water at the local dispenser. Euro 0.05 per 1.5L. The Italians don't know how good they have it |
Wednesday, 19 September 2012
Venice, we love this city!
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| Avoid stress and do yourself a favor. Don't leave home without it |
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| Julia and her new "best friend" |
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| I had to slip this one in. After all, isn't this what its all about? |
Venice, this is pretty interesting territory
We have just linked up with friends John and Sue from Auckland for a four week holiday in Italy and France (three weeks in Venice/Tuscany and the Amalfi Coast followed by a week swanning down the Midi-Canal in the Carcassonne area of Provence)
We are just reaching our third evening of this four night stay in Venice. For Julia and yours truly this is our first trip into "Watery Paradise Territory" . Sue was last here 31 years back and John last visited at least 40 years ago.
What's this city like. Well it's basically everything it's cracked up to be.
You have no doubt been here yourself or have had your ear bashed by friends who wanted to share their personal experience with you so I won't bore you with all the normal good stuff.
However there's a few things that I find really interesting.
For starters , you never see any Real Estate signs ANYWHERE. Isn't that weird? You are left wondering what the housing market situation is like here. Maybe it's a big non event. Who knows?
The flamboyance of the locals. Endless numbers of friends have told us to anticipate that when dealing with locals you will find them a bit crotchety. We have found the exact opposite. In our books the Venetians are winners and perfect hosts .
Getting around. Again, friends told us that it is very easy to get lost. Before arriving here I paid little attention to their comments and just thought that when push came to shove, our internal GPS systems would kick in.WRONG.! TOTALLY WRONG!. You only have to blink and you find yourself lost. Last night we went out at five for a few pre dinner drinks and forgot our map. The plan was for a ten minute walk to a bar we had ear marked as a suitable location. One hour and fifty minutes later and we had finally arrived at our destination. We have now learned our lesson on that little number.
Tourist numbers. We were consistently advised it was going to be a living nightmare and we would be battling for our share of the oxygen supply. Not true. Mid September is a great time to wander around this city. Temperatures are perfect and tourist numbers are just right.
And finally, whats the deal with these Gondoliers singing Tom Jones greats like "the greena greena grassa ofa a homea" . Are they getting bored with Italian numbers.
We are now thinking that this city should be allocated "Return Visit" status.
It's a winner, simple as that
Cheers
We are just reaching our third evening of this four night stay in Venice. For Julia and yours truly this is our first trip into "Watery Paradise Territory" . Sue was last here 31 years back and John last visited at least 40 years ago.
What's this city like. Well it's basically everything it's cracked up to be.
You have no doubt been here yourself or have had your ear bashed by friends who wanted to share their personal experience with you so I won't bore you with all the normal good stuff.
However there's a few things that I find really interesting.
For starters , you never see any Real Estate signs ANYWHERE. Isn't that weird? You are left wondering what the housing market situation is like here. Maybe it's a big non event. Who knows?
The flamboyance of the locals. Endless numbers of friends have told us to anticipate that when dealing with locals you will find them a bit crotchety. We have found the exact opposite. In our books the Venetians are winners and perfect hosts .
Getting around. Again, friends told us that it is very easy to get lost. Before arriving here I paid little attention to their comments and just thought that when push came to shove, our internal GPS systems would kick in.WRONG.! TOTALLY WRONG!. You only have to blink and you find yourself lost. Last night we went out at five for a few pre dinner drinks and forgot our map. The plan was for a ten minute walk to a bar we had ear marked as a suitable location. One hour and fifty minutes later and we had finally arrived at our destination. We have now learned our lesson on that little number.
Tourist numbers. We were consistently advised it was going to be a living nightmare and we would be battling for our share of the oxygen supply. Not true. Mid September is a great time to wander around this city. Temperatures are perfect and tourist numbers are just right.
And finally, whats the deal with these Gondoliers singing Tom Jones greats like "the greena greena grassa ofa a homea" . Are they getting bored with Italian numbers.
We are now thinking that this city should be allocated "Return Visit" status.
It's a winner, simple as that
Cheers
Saturday, 15 September 2012
Let's be honest. We need a holiday
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| Last night at The Proms. Thank God I put in all those hard yards back in the sixties during music period at Christchurch Boy's High |
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Leonard Cohen in full flight at the Wembley Arena. Seventy seven and still on top of his form. What a guy! |
Week 26. We are both trying to slow down each day however we are fighting a losing battle
Hi. I suppose we could have commented on what a great meal we had at Langan's Brasserie last Friday week, however we won't.
Or, I could rave on about how fantastic the Last Night of The Proms was the following evening (and it was a winner), however we will give that a miss.
And, I won't even give you a blow by blow of the Leonard Cohen concert we attended on the Sunday evening at the Wembley stadium, and yes this was one of the greatest performances we have ever witnessed.
And finally, I could even go into detail regarding the England v Ukraine football match we attended at the Wembley Stadium last Tuesday evening, but what do you say about a footie game? We were there?
Just take it from us, all these events exceeded expectation, end of story.
What was of real interest to me was all the side activity that goes on when you go out for an evening.
LANGAN'S BRASSERIE
Langan's is a bit of a dining institution. The brasserie is located a stones throw from the Green Park tube station, a natural venue for us as we don't have to change tubes en route. Entrepreneur and raging alcoholic Peter Langan joined forces with actor Michael Caine to set up this restaurant back in 1976. Peter was a real piece of work. Apparently he managed to get sozzled on a daily basis. His party piece centered on throwing himself under tables occupied solely by women, then starting to howl like a dog whilst at the same time attempting to gnaw away at the nearest female leg.
You have to love guys like Peter. He was a legend. It's a pity he ended up a flame char-grilled carcass, the result of burning down his house (in an orgy of self destruction) whilst still inside the building.
What I find really interesting about this restaurant is the clientele. Talk about a cross section of London society. Over lunch you can see any number of tables occupied by fast talking, overweight, over dressed 'Arthur Daley' types.
And middle aged buxom blondes crammed into outfits two or three sizes too small are a dime a dozen. No lack of excess flesh on display here.
There is none of your pretentious two and a half hour table time limits in this establishment. If you plonk yourself down at noon and want to kick on until mid-night, so be it. I reckon Langan's is a "must do" for any overseas visitor interested in enjoying a great lunch or dinner in a restaurant packed with atmosphere.
THE LAST NIGHT OF THE PROMS
This evening is all about national bonding inclusive of a trip down memory lane , back to a time when England ruled the waves. It's all pretty good stuff. Heaps of flag waving and with tears in your eyes we belted out Jerusalem, You'll Never Walk Alone, Land of Hope and Glory and on and on.
We were sitting in an eight person box up on the third level directly adjacent to the front of the stage so we had a great view of the proceedings. There was a corporate box to our right. None of those guys and their four spouses had a musical brain cell in their collective heads, however that didn't stop them from having a good time. The boss took a shine to Julia so we spend the evening downing free Frog Champers courtesy of these musical philistines.
As for the guys in our box, well they were also a very interesting collection . The couple directly in front were Scots. The husband (a now retired corporate one man killing machine ) spent the night alternatively singing out of key, waving his Scotland flag in hysterical fashion, laughing, crying, or clapping his hands out of sync in much the same way as one of those toy mechanical wind up monkeys claps the large cymbals attached to it's hands.
The American couple (in their late sixties) sitting next to us were to my mind a dream. At least the guy was. We had been talking for a few minutes when he says to me " You're not from around here are you". To which I replied that we hailed from New Zealand. "Aaah", the guy says, "Tell me what's the population of New Zealand. And I reply, " four million". Then this chap says," geeze, that's not many people for one country. In California we have four million criminals". And I immediately respond, "that's a coincidence, that's the same number we have."
No one says anything for maybe twenty seconds, then the guy's wife leans towards me and whispers, "are you sure about that, are you telling me everyone in your country is a criminal " . Julia's trying her best not to break up at this point as I look this woman in the face and say , "look, maybe I exaggerated a little. Maybe it's only three million. Whatever it is , it's a lot"
I kind of wished these guys had hung around for round two, however at the break the husband confided to me that they were leaving early as they felt slightly uncomfortable being surrounded by people singing without having to refer to music scores.
The two fellas n front of the Americans provided the highlight of the evening. The older of the two was eighty five, an Englishman who informed me that he loved Kiwis and New Zealand having worked there way back when the Lower Hutt Hospital was being built. His sixty year old non English speaking son-in-law was from Liechtenstein. The moment of high drama for these guys occurred when we all stood to sing the national anthem. That was, all of us with the exception of the son-in-law who didn't have a clue what was going on so stayed stuck to his seat. Not for long. Halfway through the first verse the father-in-law happened to spot his daughter's spouse still seated.The old guy didn't hang back and screamed at the poor seated son, "Stand up. Show some respect for or Queen you bloody heathen. Stand up right now, do you hear me."
Never again will I sing the British national anthem without thinking back to that evening when that old guy bawled out his relative.
During the concert I spotted no less than two elderly women who suffered attacks and had to be dragged out of their seats in a horizontal position. No easy feat as both were seated in the middle of their respective rows
Pretty tame stuff when compared with what was going down in immediate vicinity.
LEONARD COHEN
A brief word. Leonard is now seventy seven yet performs with the energy of a man half his age. A four hour concert split by one twenty minute break. This man is a bloody legend. Both he and his backing group (of many years) are as slick as they come. If you get the chance, go and see this man in concert before he 'pops his clogs'
THE ENGLAND v UKRAINE GAME AT WEMBLEY STADIUM
It's the normal deal here. 70,000+ English fans face off against 15 Ukrainian supporters. That seems like a fair fight. What was interesting was the effect on the English supporters when the Ukraine went one up half way through the first half.
When it became apparent that the English had a real battle on their hands, you could sense a sea-change within the stadium. Tribal instincts took over, the level of abuse directed against both the Ukrainian team and their small band of supporters reached fever bitch. To be honest, it wasn't my thing . I'm all for home team support however there are limits.
For the sake of both the opposition team and their supporters I'm just grateful England equalised in the eighty fifth minute.
In the future I think I will stick to watching the oval ball code.
As an aside, you know how you hear about the current generation of adults who spend most of their waking hours staring into their iPhone screens, well we had a classic group of five addicts sitting directly in front of us at the football. If I hadn't seen it for myself I wouldn't have believed it however the sad fact is that these two males and three females spent the entire match either downing lagers or staring and /or typing on their iPhones. Their seats cost sixty five quid a shot. What a waste. If these five were typical of their generation , all I can say is that the future of western civilization is looking a little dodgy.
Anyway, Saturday has now rolled around and we are off to see Nigel Kennedy in concert. You may recall he's the guy who has spent most of his life denying his comfortable middle class roots in attempt to portray himself as some kind of lower working class genius. It should be an interesting evening.
Or, I could rave on about how fantastic the Last Night of The Proms was the following evening (and it was a winner), however we will give that a miss.
And, I won't even give you a blow by blow of the Leonard Cohen concert we attended on the Sunday evening at the Wembley stadium, and yes this was one of the greatest performances we have ever witnessed.
And finally, I could even go into detail regarding the England v Ukraine football match we attended at the Wembley Stadium last Tuesday evening, but what do you say about a footie game? We were there?
Just take it from us, all these events exceeded expectation, end of story.
What was of real interest to me was all the side activity that goes on when you go out for an evening.
LANGAN'S BRASSERIE
Langan's is a bit of a dining institution. The brasserie is located a stones throw from the Green Park tube station, a natural venue for us as we don't have to change tubes en route. Entrepreneur and raging alcoholic Peter Langan joined forces with actor Michael Caine to set up this restaurant back in 1976. Peter was a real piece of work. Apparently he managed to get sozzled on a daily basis. His party piece centered on throwing himself under tables occupied solely by women, then starting to howl like a dog whilst at the same time attempting to gnaw away at the nearest female leg.
You have to love guys like Peter. He was a legend. It's a pity he ended up a flame char-grilled carcass, the result of burning down his house (in an orgy of self destruction) whilst still inside the building.
What I find really interesting about this restaurant is the clientele. Talk about a cross section of London society. Over lunch you can see any number of tables occupied by fast talking, overweight, over dressed 'Arthur Daley' types.
And middle aged buxom blondes crammed into outfits two or three sizes too small are a dime a dozen. No lack of excess flesh on display here.
There is none of your pretentious two and a half hour table time limits in this establishment. If you plonk yourself down at noon and want to kick on until mid-night, so be it. I reckon Langan's is a "must do" for any overseas visitor interested in enjoying a great lunch or dinner in a restaurant packed with atmosphere.
THE LAST NIGHT OF THE PROMS
This evening is all about national bonding inclusive of a trip down memory lane , back to a time when England ruled the waves. It's all pretty good stuff. Heaps of flag waving and with tears in your eyes we belted out Jerusalem, You'll Never Walk Alone, Land of Hope and Glory and on and on.
We were sitting in an eight person box up on the third level directly adjacent to the front of the stage so we had a great view of the proceedings. There was a corporate box to our right. None of those guys and their four spouses had a musical brain cell in their collective heads, however that didn't stop them from having a good time. The boss took a shine to Julia so we spend the evening downing free Frog Champers courtesy of these musical philistines.
As for the guys in our box, well they were also a very interesting collection . The couple directly in front were Scots. The husband (a now retired corporate one man killing machine ) spent the night alternatively singing out of key, waving his Scotland flag in hysterical fashion, laughing, crying, or clapping his hands out of sync in much the same way as one of those toy mechanical wind up monkeys claps the large cymbals attached to it's hands.
The American couple (in their late sixties) sitting next to us were to my mind a dream. At least the guy was. We had been talking for a few minutes when he says to me " You're not from around here are you". To which I replied that we hailed from New Zealand. "Aaah", the guy says, "Tell me what's the population of New Zealand. And I reply, " four million". Then this chap says," geeze, that's not many people for one country. In California we have four million criminals". And I immediately respond, "that's a coincidence, that's the same number we have."
No one says anything for maybe twenty seconds, then the guy's wife leans towards me and whispers, "are you sure about that, are you telling me everyone in your country is a criminal " . Julia's trying her best not to break up at this point as I look this woman in the face and say , "look, maybe I exaggerated a little. Maybe it's only three million. Whatever it is , it's a lot"
I kind of wished these guys had hung around for round two, however at the break the husband confided to me that they were leaving early as they felt slightly uncomfortable being surrounded by people singing without having to refer to music scores.
The two fellas n front of the Americans provided the highlight of the evening. The older of the two was eighty five, an Englishman who informed me that he loved Kiwis and New Zealand having worked there way back when the Lower Hutt Hospital was being built. His sixty year old non English speaking son-in-law was from Liechtenstein. The moment of high drama for these guys occurred when we all stood to sing the national anthem. That was, all of us with the exception of the son-in-law who didn't have a clue what was going on so stayed stuck to his seat. Not for long. Halfway through the first verse the father-in-law happened to spot his daughter's spouse still seated.The old guy didn't hang back and screamed at the poor seated son, "Stand up. Show some respect for or Queen you bloody heathen. Stand up right now, do you hear me."
Never again will I sing the British national anthem without thinking back to that evening when that old guy bawled out his relative.
During the concert I spotted no less than two elderly women who suffered attacks and had to be dragged out of their seats in a horizontal position. No easy feat as both were seated in the middle of their respective rows
Pretty tame stuff when compared with what was going down in immediate vicinity.
LEONARD COHEN
A brief word. Leonard is now seventy seven yet performs with the energy of a man half his age. A four hour concert split by one twenty minute break. This man is a bloody legend. Both he and his backing group (of many years) are as slick as they come. If you get the chance, go and see this man in concert before he 'pops his clogs'
THE ENGLAND v UKRAINE GAME AT WEMBLEY STADIUM
It's the normal deal here. 70,000+ English fans face off against 15 Ukrainian supporters. That seems like a fair fight. What was interesting was the effect on the English supporters when the Ukraine went one up half way through the first half.
When it became apparent that the English had a real battle on their hands, you could sense a sea-change within the stadium. Tribal instincts took over, the level of abuse directed against both the Ukrainian team and their small band of supporters reached fever bitch. To be honest, it wasn't my thing . I'm all for home team support however there are limits.
For the sake of both the opposition team and their supporters I'm just grateful England equalised in the eighty fifth minute.
In the future I think I will stick to watching the oval ball code.
As an aside, you know how you hear about the current generation of adults who spend most of their waking hours staring into their iPhone screens, well we had a classic group of five addicts sitting directly in front of us at the football. If I hadn't seen it for myself I wouldn't have believed it however the sad fact is that these two males and three females spent the entire match either downing lagers or staring and /or typing on their iPhones. Their seats cost sixty five quid a shot. What a waste. If these five were typical of their generation , all I can say is that the future of western civilization is looking a little dodgy.
Anyway, Saturday has now rolled around and we are off to see Nigel Kennedy in concert. You may recall he's the guy who has spent most of his life denying his comfortable middle class roots in attempt to portray himself as some kind of lower working class genius. It should be an interesting evening.
Saturday, 8 September 2012
I've got a sneaky feeling that one of these ITV commentators has lived a previous life within the BBC
As we have a heap of English friends let's get the disclaimer out of the way first.
In my opinion I think London has organised the best Olympics and Paralympics of all time. End of story. That said, what did bug me during the Olympics was all the jingoistic nonsense BBC commentators generated every time they opened their mouths.
So I was delighted when I saw that the Paralympics coverage had been awarded to ITV and to this point this company's TV commentators have done a sterling job to the point where they have actually been attempting to give balanced coverage .
Well that was until this morning, when I switched on the set to take in the first few swimming events of the morning .
The head swimming race commentator is a woman who I noticed the other day had great difficulty relating to any swimmer who wasn't representing Team GB. Her obvious flaw was compensated by the more balanced coverages of her fellow commentators, so no big deal.
Well, this morning this woman appeared to be commentating with just one fellow male assistant, and she wasn't holding back.
First up were three heats of a race called the men's SB9 100m breaststroke .
There was one Team GB swimmer only (Jack Bridge) and he was assigned to the second heat.
This is basically how all, three heats were reported.
Prior to the first heat , we were subjected to a five minute monologue about the brilliance of "our Jack". At no stage was any mention made of any other swimmers in this particular competition. Not even a word on the current world record holder, a South African (Kevin Paul) swimming in heat three.
We, in television land, were informed in no uncertain terms that the swimming auditorium was a sell out and get this, the commentator felt certain that every single punter in the audience would be supporting Team GB swimmers. This piece of work, even suggested that supporters of other swimmers would no doubt also be having very warm feelings for all British swimmers on show as this particular team had exemplified all that was great in the Paralympics.
OK , I get it. My wife and I have raised our disabled child these last twenty years. Have got up at five every morning to take take our child down to the pool for training, have taken on second jobs to ease the financial demands our son's sport has generated. And now at our cost, we have flown over to London to see our son, the current world record holder, perform in the 100m breaststroke.
And you , you twit of a commentator, you think we would have warm fuzzies about one of my son's competitors who happens to wear a Team GB cap.
No problem , GO TEAM GB!
Heat One
Not a Brit in sight. We actually saw the race live however, the commentator decided that rather than commentating on the race itself, it would be better if she gave us a run down on what we should expect to see when "our Jack " raced in heat two.
The race had actually finished and the result flashed on screen when the commentator finally got around to saying "and Heat One was won by the Chinese competitor in 1.09. Gosh that's not a particularly fast time . This is looking good for Jack to make the final".
Come on lady , go for it, tell us how you really feel. Forget that the winner of this heat is called Lin Furong . Why didn't you just cut to the chase and refer to him as the yellow China Man in lane three . God, this woman is pathetic. I hate her and I don't even know her.
Heat Two
It's "our Jacks " turn to show the world. And they are off. Jack, Jack, come on Jack , you can do it.
It's a brilliant race from Jack . Jacks the new British and European champion swimming a time of 1.105.
Time for a compulsory pool side interview. Jack , great race, the crowd was right behind you . We all know you are a winner. Well done.
Thanks very much jaundiced commentator, I swam brilliantly . With all this crowd support I feel pretty good about winning Gold in tonight's final.
As "our Jack" walks away from the camera, the Heat Two results flash up on screen which confirm that a Russian (Ravel Potavtsev) actually beat Jack by a second.
Heat Three.
Again, this idiot commentator continues to analyse Jacks Heat Two performance as we watch the world record holder (Kevin Paul) race down the course in 1.06.
Quick, back to Jack to double check if he still feels confident about the prospect of picking up fully four seconds on his personal best to beat the South African in tonight's final.
Jacks not a shy one. Jacks up for it . Jacks going to do it for all the people of Britain (and for mankind).
We are off to the final night of The Proms this evening so we won't be around to see Jack blitz the competition from an outside lane and bring glory to Britain.
Come to think of it , this is pretty important stuff.
Perhaps the Albert Hall management team might give thought to flashing the race live on a big screen as we are all standing to attention when singing Jerusalmem.
Aah , sport, it's a wonderful thing.
In my opinion I think London has organised the best Olympics and Paralympics of all time. End of story. That said, what did bug me during the Olympics was all the jingoistic nonsense BBC commentators generated every time they opened their mouths.
So I was delighted when I saw that the Paralympics coverage had been awarded to ITV and to this point this company's TV commentators have done a sterling job to the point where they have actually been attempting to give balanced coverage .
Well that was until this morning, when I switched on the set to take in the first few swimming events of the morning .
The head swimming race commentator is a woman who I noticed the other day had great difficulty relating to any swimmer who wasn't representing Team GB. Her obvious flaw was compensated by the more balanced coverages of her fellow commentators, so no big deal.
Well, this morning this woman appeared to be commentating with just one fellow male assistant, and she wasn't holding back.
First up were three heats of a race called the men's SB9 100m breaststroke .
There was one Team GB swimmer only (Jack Bridge) and he was assigned to the second heat.
This is basically how all, three heats were reported.
Prior to the first heat , we were subjected to a five minute monologue about the brilliance of "our Jack". At no stage was any mention made of any other swimmers in this particular competition. Not even a word on the current world record holder, a South African (Kevin Paul) swimming in heat three.
We, in television land, were informed in no uncertain terms that the swimming auditorium was a sell out and get this, the commentator felt certain that every single punter in the audience would be supporting Team GB swimmers. This piece of work, even suggested that supporters of other swimmers would no doubt also be having very warm feelings for all British swimmers on show as this particular team had exemplified all that was great in the Paralympics.
OK , I get it. My wife and I have raised our disabled child these last twenty years. Have got up at five every morning to take take our child down to the pool for training, have taken on second jobs to ease the financial demands our son's sport has generated. And now at our cost, we have flown over to London to see our son, the current world record holder, perform in the 100m breaststroke.
And you , you twit of a commentator, you think we would have warm fuzzies about one of my son's competitors who happens to wear a Team GB cap.
No problem , GO TEAM GB!
Heat One
Not a Brit in sight. We actually saw the race live however, the commentator decided that rather than commentating on the race itself, it would be better if she gave us a run down on what we should expect to see when "our Jack " raced in heat two.
The race had actually finished and the result flashed on screen when the commentator finally got around to saying "and Heat One was won by the Chinese competitor in 1.09. Gosh that's not a particularly fast time . This is looking good for Jack to make the final".
Come on lady , go for it, tell us how you really feel. Forget that the winner of this heat is called Lin Furong . Why didn't you just cut to the chase and refer to him as the yellow China Man in lane three . God, this woman is pathetic. I hate her and I don't even know her.
Heat Two
It's "our Jacks " turn to show the world. And they are off. Jack, Jack, come on Jack , you can do it.
It's a brilliant race from Jack . Jacks the new British and European champion swimming a time of 1.105.
Time for a compulsory pool side interview. Jack , great race, the crowd was right behind you . We all know you are a winner. Well done.
Thanks very much jaundiced commentator, I swam brilliantly . With all this crowd support I feel pretty good about winning Gold in tonight's final.
As "our Jack" walks away from the camera, the Heat Two results flash up on screen which confirm that a Russian (Ravel Potavtsev) actually beat Jack by a second.
Heat Three.
Again, this idiot commentator continues to analyse Jacks Heat Two performance as we watch the world record holder (Kevin Paul) race down the course in 1.06.
Quick, back to Jack to double check if he still feels confident about the prospect of picking up fully four seconds on his personal best to beat the South African in tonight's final.
Jacks not a shy one. Jacks up for it . Jacks going to do it for all the people of Britain (and for mankind).
We are off to the final night of The Proms this evening so we won't be around to see Jack blitz the competition from an outside lane and bring glory to Britain.
Come to think of it , this is pretty important stuff.
Perhaps the Albert Hall management team might give thought to flashing the race live on a big screen as we are all standing to attention when singing Jerusalmem.
Aah , sport, it's a wonderful thing.
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