En Vaccances!

"No, I can't spell in French but I can order drink and food, so what else matters?"

A few days in France at the Centreparc just south of Rouen. A rest? A holiday? Well, a break, certainly! I haven't cycled so much, played tennis or done such generally sporting things for years.

We took the ferry from Newhaven to Dieppe on Friday morning: a 3am start. The journey was long and slow (though my son and I slept nearly the whole ferry trip) and we got lost in Dieppe and then Rouen, but we arrived at the Parc in time to have a couple of games bowling (I won the first, Alex the second) and a meal (over priced, not very nice, but hey ho).

When Alex and I collected our bikes the heavens opened - we were drenched in seconds. Still, it didn't matter. Thankfully Saturday morning the sun shone and for the rest of the weekend the weather was lovely.

I could list our activities per day - including tennis, swimming, walking, cycling, shopping, drinking, eating and golf (you know, I didn't miss the ball once on the driving range? What's all this swiping with the stick thing? The ball doesn't move for goodness' sake... it just sits there. Hit it!). But listing what we did on what day might get a little tedious for the casual reader - so here's some highlights.

We played a round of mini-golf that took us so long we abandoned it at the 15th hole. The most entertaining part of the game was a young lad of about four years old with his plastic club and plastic ball so intently lining up each shot and trying very hard. He was most engaging, patient and good natured (how many four year olds do you know would wait 10-15 minutes before 'their turn'?) and then he'd take the ball, put it next to the hole and tumble it in.

I played quite a bit of tennis with Mel - something I'd not done for years. She is young and agile, so I had to run around quite a bit, but after about three turns I managed to start hitting the ball with the centre of the racket instead of the edge, the handle, my leg... (I'm much happier when the ball stays still).

Bryan hadn't cycled in years but - well - it's just like riding a bicycle, isn't it? No one fell off, no accidents, nothing but good fun, exercise and lovely French cider.

The small apartment we stayed in was, like the rest of them, surrounded by trees. I identified birch, oak and pine and saw a tree creeper (cute little bark hopping bird). The lake, a central feature of all Centerparcs, was perfect for the paddle boats. When we went out in ours I just lay back and the kids did all the paddling. A lovely way to while away half an hour in the sun.

We packed a lot into our two full days there. We had to leave at the start of the Monday morning to catch a mid-day ferry home. We left at 9.00am and got home just about 8pm. A long day! The ferry journey was smooth again and though this time I didn't sleep the trip seemed very long. Mel and I went for a sunbathe and got told we were on a forbidden part of the ship! Well - no signs, what did they expect? On the way we caught a puncture too, it wasn't much fun unloading the car and having to change a tyre in the ferry port UK end.

Home at last we were tired and ready for a rest. The neighbour had fed the cat, the grass had grown at least six inches, but the sun was still shining and we were happy after our exhausting but enjoyable break.

Folkin' About

"I learn to pass at juggling and look at lots of old tractors, amongst other things"

Ah, the day of the annual Red Lion Free Folk Festival finally arrived. And with it - of course - torrential rain. At 8am that morning the skies were slate-grey and emptying the entire contents of lakes onto the earth it seemed. By 10am, however, I could walk down town to the bank in just a shirt as it was so warm and sunny!

The annual festival is a free event run by the regulars at a folk club near Cambridge. They save up all year with raffles and other fund-raising events and put on a completely free festival with singarounds, open mic, sessions, workshops, a concert with a guest band (Isambarde) and a barn dance in the evening. The dance is performed by local band Swindlers and Gentry who do it for free as many of them go to the club.

It started at 12 and though the skies were still cloudy, there was blue in between and no rain. However, the earlier downpour seemed to have an effect on the crowds who were somewhat absent to start.

The open mic in the marquee started with Bryan (my husband) and Penni. Later I played with my music partner, Shani. Though we'd rehearsed two of her songs and one of mine, we ended up doing four of her songs. I had tonsilitis and my singing voice was pretty shot. But we did ok despite the humid atmosphere wreaking its havoc on tuning.

My friend Carol came too, and bought me a plate of chips for my lunch. Earlier I put them on the table with Bryan and some others, and by the time I'd gone all the way back to the pub for ketchup and a fork... well, when I returned the plate was pretty well clean. I managed a few chips, but didn't really mind as singing (even though I was only doing harmonies) on a full stomach is not a good idea.

Baz, the drummer Penni, Bryan and I play with when doing the airshows (see previous posts) joined us too on snare drum. He'd never even heard Shani and I, let alone played with us, but did a grand job. My friend Steve, who I'd sent a CD so he could learn our final number and join in on harmonica, ended up stuck in traffic and arrived just after we'd finished our spot. Next time perhaps.

I'd been doing some publicity for the festival (not as successfully as I'd like given the low numbers) and also invited a few people. My boss and her mother came, along with a trainer called Kate. They seemed to enjoy our performance and after watching the morris dancers, came and joined us with Baz. He had another, vitally important role at the festival. Baz was the circus act. We joined Baz and I learned to pass at juggling, we did something odd with balls in socks - called poi I think (I managed to hit myself on the nose, the legs, the back... not a natural talent I fear) and even tried the hula hoop. I don't think that I'd been any good at that as a kid either.

Bryan meanwhile had been put on the sound desk in the marquee where the open mic was, so he didn't get to see me embarassing myself with the poi or see that I could actually use stilts! Even though they were only very little ones.

Though the festival was due to continue to late in the evening, and Bryan was playing in the dance band (and I do like barn dances), I had to go home. My daughter wasn't well and needed a bit of TLC so I bought her a fast food meal (and some for myself too) and drove home to her, leaving Bryan, Shani, Nickie and the now growing crowds to the rest of the day.

When I got home my daughter was in a sorry state, but pleased to see the food. So was her friend, who was with her still, so they shared what I'd brought. I made myself a cheese sandwich. It seemed the fates were steering me away from chips at every turn!

I couldn't go back to the festival because I had a gig too. I was playing bass with The Brookfield Band at a birthday party in a small village near Ware. The sun was still shining and when I arrived at 6.30pm, there was a huge hog roast being set up, a bar so laden with drink that it looked like it would collapse, a bouncy castle, and the most huge Union Jack I have ever seen. It must have been about 30 feet wide and created the backdrop to our tiny stage. I was first and set up, so whilst waiting for the others I went for a little walk round the farm who's barn we were playing in. Yes, a barn dance in a real (tin) barn for a change.

The farmer was a collector. There were about 25 tractors and lots of other ancient farm machinery of all kinds. The tractors were mostly Fordson and International (not a New Holland or John Deere in sight) and in various states of dilapidation or restoration. There was one weird machine from a company called Brampton of Uttoxeter and for the life of me I couldn't figure what it did. Two huge rollers, a funnel to pour something in and then two routes - one directly down to the rollers, and another to some weird enclosed section. I was curious, I have to say. It was too small to sort vegetables, and surely grain would have just gone all down the one chute? I couldn't work it out. I guess I'll never know, but I'll survive not knowing.

The crowd danced and danced - it was good fun playing with so many people dancing and having such fun themselves. Later we took a break to enjoy the food and I ate so much hog roast that I couldn't manage any desert. Ah well, good thing I'd not filled up on chips earlier.

When I got home at around 12.45am, I was only minutes ahead of Bryan. His gig finished earlier, but they had to clear up their stage (his seven piece band has a lot more equipment than the little four piece I play with) and help clear up from the day's events. We did catch up though, for what seemed like the first time that day. It had been rush for him from the moment he got up to go and get stuff for the festival, till the time he came home after having helped shut down at the festival (as well as having started the session, played with Penni, run the PA for a while and then played in the dance band).

We had a cup of tea and a chat, comparing notes on dance bands and how the day had gone. We aren't sure if they will have a festival next year as the pub are intending to build an 80-bedroom hotel on the land where we put the marquee up. We shall see.

Now it's Sunday morning and Bryan has gone back to the festival to help with the final clear up. I shall finish this blog, wake my children and then go for a swim.

How well read are you?

The US list of the top 100 books - those I've read are in bold, those I want to read italics, and those I love in square brackets.

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5 [To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee]
6 The Bible
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13 Catch-22 - Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare (I read lots of 'em, but not all!)
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19 The Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald - does audio book count?
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25 [The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams]
26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29 Alice's Adventures in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34 Emma - Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37 [The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini]
38 Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40 Winnie-the-Pooh - AA Milne
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan
51 MISSING - missing? Is that a book??
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59 [The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon]
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
69 Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby-Dick - Herman Melville
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce
76 The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession - A. S. Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte's Web - EB White
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89 [Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle]
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

Want to join in a game of 'tag'?

You are supposed to:
Look at the list and:
1) Bold those you have read.
2) Italicise those you intend to read.
3) [Bracket] the books you LOVE.
4) Reprint this list on your own blog.

I'll 'tag' Nick because he introduced me to it. You can see his top 100 read, not read etc (he's read more than me).

London Eye

"Going up! And round - and down..."

Saturday I took my 14 year old daughter and her boyfriend to London for the day. It was a surprise for his birthday. We drove to Cockfosters and then took the tube into Waterloo. Then began the queuing!! The London Eye is a huge wheel with 'pods' all round it. You have to jump on while it's still moving and then, over the course of around 40 minutes, you do a 'circuit'. One turn of the wheel.

OK, so queuing 45 minutes to go on a 40 minute trip in a glass bubble stuck on a wheel might sound a bit odd, but in fact it was terrific. Although my younger companions were perhaps slightly phobic of heights, in fact everyone was fine in the pod. You just looked out and there was a terrific view across London. St Paul's, the 'Gherkin', Canary Wharf, the Houses of Parliament... all could be seen. The higher we went, the more amazing the view. And close up there were strange sights too - in a central courtyard (which you could not see at ground level) was a weird octagonal building that looked like some weird secret headquarters.

When we reached the top, my daughter gave her boyfriend his birthday present - an engraved silver bracelet. Sounds girly, but it wasn't - it was very cool and he was very pleased indeed.

After our trip we headed into town for a pizza - but there was a problem with the trains. The Central Line was closed (body on the line...) and thus the trains were absolutely packed. My daughter and her boyfriend are both slightly claustrophobic so it wasn't the most comfortable of tube journeys. What made it worse was one fellow getting his head shut in the train doors. No serious injury, thankfully.

After pizza we did a quick bit of shopping. I took them into Selfridges but we couldn't stay in long - it was so hot! The shop was so warm we felt unwell. And then we went back into the underground and got squished and boiled even further.

By the time we got home it was gone 7pm and I sat down, exhausted but happy. We'd all had a good day. The phone rang. "Where are you?" came the cry - from a band expecting me to be there playing bass with them! My pal Cathy had mentioned the gig, I'd told her I was free but never heard anything more.

The worlds quickest change and loading of the car and I was off again. We were playing at a wedding in Harpenden and, as often happens, the speeches had overrun. So by the time the guests turned up for dancing I was nicely settled on stage, plugged in and ready to play.

They danced, we played, Adrian called the dances. At the break we looked at the remains of the buffet. Lots of things 'on sticks'. Prawns, reformed meat of some kind and a few other odd things like mini sausages. No salad, no cheese or stuff like that. Adrian looked crestfallen, being vegetarian. No problem! I was his official taster and found that some of the stick things were actually vegetables, and the odd looking ball things were onion bahjees.

We finished the dance and I drove home very tired, but quite happy. From up the in the sky on a huge wheel in the afternoon to playing at a very happy couple's wedding in the evening. Sunday would be a day to take things easy!

(In fact on I swam 24 lengths, went for a walk on the heath and did the ironing. I also tried an experiment with dinner - chicken stuffed with cheese and wrapped in bacon. A success, thankfully.)

New directions

"A new venture for an old hack"

I've been in marketing for ... oh, far too many years for me to mention here... and in training (in the industry, not 'in training' - you know what I mean!) for more than four years.

So my new venture is at a tangent to training - it's publishing training materials. I'm 'in charge' (though of course I report to the two big bosses - big as important, I don't want to be had up for libel here ladies!) and one of the things I've done is set up a 'partner' web site whilst waiting for my all-singing, all-dancing e-commerce site to be complete.

So - take a look and let me know what you think! www.trainersworld.co.uk. I built it using the totally free Microsoft (TM) Office Live system. It's pretty darn good for small businesses (though not suitable for my e-commerce project).

I'm enjoyin gthe responsibility and the freedom to get on with my own work, but the quantity of work is daunting. I am hiring freelance trainers to help with editing and even have a summer-time assistant.

It's keeping me busy, happy, paid and - in due course - I hope it will be a great success and a real money making enterprise. Darn, shame about the recession (what recession? Yeah yeah, I know - don't talk it into existence, but we can't pretend it ain't here). Never mind, I think I have a good niche market going here, so I'll keep you posted.

NLP

"Learn about mind control..."

Yeah yeah! Well, actually, I like NLP a lot, but 'mind control' it isn't. What it is I'm not sure anyone quite agrees on (what works, why it works, you know - same sort of arguments that you can apply to homeopathy), but I like it.

A good CD I found is called The NLP Secret. Worth a look if you want to know more. There's also the company I did my training with, Free NLP.

Advert blog? Not really, just want to get some interest in this subject, I wish I had more time to spend on it.

One Smart Frog

This handsome gentleman (or lady, I'm sorry I can't tell) deserves a post all his own!

Frog Blog!

"Come take a walk with me in the garden - and let's watch the pond very carefully..."

It's June, and we've had the first really warm couple of days for about a month. There's been so much rain that everything is growing like crazy, and now the sun is out, the garden is blooming. Blooming hard work!

Up in the tree is a goldfinch. There's been a pair of them chittering away in the tree all afternoon. Of course, I can't get near enough to take a decent photo with my little old digital camera, but they are very pretty birds.

By the pond is a very pretty lobelia. But in the pond itself, that's where the fun is! The water is peppered with duck weed and water skaters skim the surface and pause to battle and dive.

I hear they bite, but I've never had occasion to be nipped by one of them. They are so small! Could they really? Well, they do get quite violent with each other (is that territorial or mating? I have no idea).

There's a cheeky little greenfinch who loves to sit on a wayward branch of next door's conifer. The picture is perfect! His form outlined perfectly against a clear blue sky. I creep up with my camera, listening to his 'tweeep'. I lift the camera and... he's away! Every time. Aha! But I do catch him, and this time I don't mind if he flies off quickly. I don't want him to 'bless' my washing.

There's a wonderful swath of nigella in one of the borders. Though they do tend to take over a little, I love them. 'Love in a mist' - what a charming name for such a delicate and complex flower.


There's one frog who is convinced I cannot see him. He is hiding in the foiliage at the back of the pond. One of the frogs has a blue throat. We have a family of frogs with blue throats, he's the first one I've seen this season: though he has a patterned back, unlike his relatives who were a greeny black.

I haven't been well the last few days, so sitting in my garden frog watching was very restful. I'm not a particular frog fan, but they are amusing and quite entrancing. The colours on their backs, the glistening of their bright eyes... oh, alright, perhaps I am a bit of a frog fan after all.

Cambridge by night

"In which I acquire a new friend and an umbrella"

I met Mark on Myspace - we have mutual friends (live ones, not cyber ones) in Brighton Morris. We had chatted on line a bit about mutual interests - music and training - and then Mark contacted me to say he was coming to Cambridge.

We arranged to meet up one night - originally my husband was going to come too but he was unwell. But it was OK, Mark had also invited another Myspace contact to meet up, and he (Richard) was also a friend of mine.

So, at half past eight on a very rainy Thursday night, I drove into Cambridge for drinks with a man I met on the internet. Chaperoned, of course, by Richard. We met up and moved pubs immediately (The Eagle was heaving, yet two doors up the Bath House had space to sit).

We sat and talked for a couple of hours, easily, comfortably, the three of us discussing music, mutual acquaintances and friends, and training (Mark's current job, a return to training after a five year gap, sounds quite a challenge to say the least). When eventually we got up to leave, we were the only ones left in the pub. The rain was still darkening the pavements of this ancient city, and all I had was my jacket.

The barmaid, hearing our discussion on the rain (Richard was amply prepared and looked not unlike the Old Man of the Sea in his raincoat and hat) offered us left over umbrellas. She gave me a most wonderful rain defender - multicoloured inside, dark on the outside with a soft, solid foam handle. A truly wondrous affair! With appropriate gratitude I accepted, and we made our way out into the dark rainy night.

Richard led the way and we took Mark on a speedy, night-time tour of the city. Up past King's, along Trinity Street, past the Round Church, and then back down to Lion Yard where my two gentlemen companions insisted on accompanying me all the way back to my car. We told Mark various Cambridge stories - describing Hobson's Choice and pointing out the conduit (an underground stream that flows through the city) and pointing out various other interesting quirks of the city. We could, of course, have spent hours wandering the city, but late on a rainy Thursday night, with work the following morning, it wasn't an option this time.

We parted at the car park after a very pleasant evening. What luck that Mark's first training job was a post in Cambridge. Perhaps next time I'm in Brighton, he can show me the sights of that wonderful seaside town. Brighton Pier, perhaps?

Leaving Ireland

"Where the beaches are patrolled by black and white cats"

On my last morning in Ireland, Cathy drove me out to Cranfield, a lovely beach just down the coast from the 'Point. We walked along the empty sand - the lighthouse in the distance out in the slightly misty bay.

It was warm, a thin sun shining in the May sky, and the birds were diving and dancing across the rocks and into the salt-smelling seaweed. We walked, and talked, and picked up rocks (I found a huge stripy one that would fly home with me to join my 'international brigade' around the fish pond). We sat on some rocks and pied wagtails and sparrows hopped along the beach, snatching sandflies and leaving tiny prints.

While we sat talking, the wide empty beach before us, a few people walked past, and all bid us good morning. At one point a woman walked past, 'Come along now!' she called to her pet, and trailing behind her for her morning constitutional, was her (quite large) blakd and white cat. Unusual, to say the least!

It was a calm morning, relaxed and pleasant, an excellent way to spend my last day in Ireland. Later in the afternoon they took me back to the airport. A planned cafe stop misfired as, when we reached it, it was closed. Instead the whole family (Patrick came too - but not Dexter) piled in to the airport for a burger meal. At least I wouldn't have the long wait to depart that I'd had on leaving England.

At last it was time for them to leave me to my airport vigil, and Patrick gave me a big hug goodbye. After our farewells, I walked off towards the departure lounge - but Patrick rushed back to give me one final hug before I left. A wonderful start to my homeward journey.

On the plane it was fairly empty, and the flight seemed very quick indeed. I had a book to read, but I was too tired. The taste of salt air still in my lungs. I do want to live by the sea one day.

Book of Kells - for starters!

"In which we do Dublin"

Saturday morning, bright and (reasonably) early, and went down to a cafe for breakfast. Another fry? Nope - I went for a bacon sandwich and... my.. that pecan slice looks nice...

We caught a train to Dublin from Newry but it was very full. I had to stand for a part of the journey, but even so the trip went quickly. During the troubles going from North to South would mean border guards, passports, train searches maybe - now, the only thing that told me I was over the border was the change in mobile phone service!

We struggled from the station to the hotel, being directed by the friendly natives, then (after a quick drink at the bar and checking in), we hit the town. First stop, the Book of Kells at Trinity College. The exhibition was good, but the books (not just the Book of Kells, but some other ancient manuscripts too) were amazing. The colours so vibrant, the illustrations so detailed. The gold as rich and shining as it must have looked hundreds of years ago.

Continuing on our culture-fest, we then headed for the National Museum of Ireland, the archaeology department. And there - we had a wonderful time looking at dead bodies. Yep! Dead bodies. Not Egyptian mummies, but the peat-bog bodies. The detail was amazing and the colour of the preserved skin, a wonderful, deep leathery looking gold and brown. There was one that was just a torso and some arms... I think Cathy rather fancied a handbag out of that. However, we'd got there late in the afternoon and only saw a very small part of the amazing exhibits on show.

Well, that about summed it up for the culture part of the day. We headed for Temple Bar, walking all round the lively pedestrian centre listening to the tired strains of 'Dirty old town' and the like from competent but tourist-weary musicians. We ended up (after a quick Chinese in the Express restaurant) in a bar by the Liffy. Sitting quietly, just drinking a beer (cider for me, remember?) and then this couple started talking to us as we looked at our map.

Enter Sharon and Pete. Two characters to add to our dramatis personae for the evening. Both English, they were over for a realaxing time after Sharon had done some work in Ireland. We hit it off instantly - and it turned out that we think Sharon's sister bought our house off us about 22 years ago. And, if not off us, off our neighbour. Small world! We also discovered that Pete's brother was the same age as my old man and that they nearly (oh, clutching at straws here) went to the same school in Camden.

Cathy disappered to the 'little girls room' which turned out to be a very little room for girls. Complaining on her return, she said the cubicles were so small you could hardly move your elbows enough to drop your trousers. Pete, however, said the gents loos were 'wonderful'. Pub loos? Wonderful? That was it. Proof was needed. Cathy and Pete headed off to the toilets again. He showed her his, she showed him hers. I think the boys loo won, but not by a lot. I guess men have different standards for what's grand in a pub toilet.

Sharon and Pete mentioned a bar called the Brazen Head - the oldest pub in Ireland (it is claimed). We'd all had a few bevvies, but that was no reason to stop. Sharon had drunk whisky earlier in the day, though she didn't like it. The reason was the Jamieson distillery tour they'd been on. She'd been picked as a taster and had an 'official taster' certificate. Then she mixed it with Baileys... ewwww....

We headed out the bar we'd met in towards the Brazen Head and Pete pointed out the Millennium Bridge, known as the 'Quiver on the River'. It's supposed to wobble. Well, Sharon and Cathy were not keen to traverse it, so Pete and I went across it - jumped up and down and ran from side to side but, alas, it neither wobbled nor quivered. We crossed back over at the next bridge and caught up with the others.

At the Brazen Head we sat outside opposite a table full of English girls on a hen or birthday weekend. All dressed smartly, glitzy even, and with wobbly head dresses on. And guess what? They were too quiet! I'd never seen such a well behaved hen party in my life. The group next to us were much more fun, Bob and his wife, his sister and brother in law, from Ohio. It wasn't long before we were all one huge chattering group. I stopped drinking, the brandy and cider mix was starting to make me feel a little too light headed, so it was on to the diet coke. The others were made of sterner stuff, but I did notice Sharon switching to the cranberry juice. Wonder what else she had in it?

Though Sharon and Pete were ready to party all night, Cathy and I headed back to the hotel about half past midnight. Tired after all our culture, walking, and - perhaps - the beer. We had a twin room and one of us snored. Loudly!

I woke early next morning, and so did Cathy. We headed out for the nearby Writers Museum, but it didn't open until 11. So we walked round the little rememberance park first. Unlike many rememberance parks it didn't have a dedication to the fallen, the sacrifice or the voilence of achieving freedom, but the vision of those who sought it. We wandered round in the morning sunshine. At peace.

The writers museum was interesting. The audio guide made the whole thing far more engaging than just looking at displays and the odd old typewriter. Having had our cultural fix for the morning, we headed back into town but were hungry for more - so we revisited the National Museum of Ireland. We managed to see the Egyptian exhibits this time - including mummies - only the displays were really dark and you could't see the descriptions or what the items were very clearly. The rest of the museum was great though. Some fantastic golden torcs and other stuff from Viking and Roman times.

We noticed the time and instead of walking back to our hotel and then to the station, we had to hail a cab. Back on the train again, past wide open beaches and green countryside, we both had seats this time. Lunch was some rather sad pastry affair from the buffet car and we eventually reached Newry again just after six.

That evening we thought, briefly, about heading out on the town again, but a good night's sleep (sans snoring) was the preferred option instead.

Monday, the following day, was the last chance we'd have to spend a bit of time together before I had to fly back to GB. Some interesting things happened even then, but that's for my next post. Which, at this rate, I might write up within the next fortnight or so...

In Dublin's Fair City....

"We hit the town"

After getting settled in the hotel, we thought we'd take a look at the city and see the sights before coming back to change and go out for the evening. We never made it back to change...

We wandered down the main drag and, with our trusty tourist map in hand, found Trinity College and went in to view the Book of Kells. The display was well set out - enormous reproductions of pages all back-lit with interesting explanations and the history of the book and its contemporaries. When you actually get to see the book itself though, none of the reproductions can really do it justice. The gold and the colours are so vibrant. An incredible piece of history, and an amazing testament to the patience of the scribes (probably four they say) who created it.

We then headed for the National Museum of Ireland - the archaeology department in Kildare Street. Though we only had an hour before closing time, we did get a chance to wander round the main exhibits and in particular the section on the mummified bodies found in the peat bogs. Broth gross and fascinating at the same time, Cathy particularly noticed the amazing colour of the 'leather'. I reckon she fancied a handbag out of one of them. We weren't in there that long and only got to see about half the exhibits. Lunch (yes, it was nearly six) was in order. We found a super little Thai/Chinese style 'express' (read 'Chinese McDonalds) restaurant and ate. A quick beer before going back to the hotel seemed like a good idea too. We found a strange bar on the banks of the Liffy. The bars in the pedestrianised Temple Bar area were all noisy, packed and - to be honest - filled with 18-25 year olds. Our bar, however, was quiet, dingy, and had the smallest toilets you could imagine.

Down South

"In which I return to Northern Ireland and make a foray south of the border too"

A long weekend! A short break planned so I could catch up with my writing buddy, Cathy. I had taken the Friday off work and my pal Shani took me to the airport bright and early (6.30 am) so I could catch the 8.35 to Belfast. Only... they cancelled it. I was, however, lucky enough to get onto the next flight at 11.50. OK... a few hours to kill at the airport. That's enough about that part of my adventure - it was BORING!

When I arrived, Paul and Cathy were there to meet me and the first thing we did was drive to a cafe for an 'Ulster Fry'. Breakfast! (It was nearly 1pm, but it was breakfast.) We headed down to the 'Point and visited Cathy's parents. I'd not met her dad on my previous trip but he was awake and about this time. Marie showed me her latest embroidery, a patchwork of bunnies and hearts.

As the afternoon was pleasant, we headed up the nearest mountain (as you do) which is called Cloughmore. At the summit is a huge stone. This is said to have been thrown by a giant who is on the Mourne mountains on the other side of the estuary (and in fact in Southern Ireland). It was lovely - wonderful woods and below us the ... well, not sure what exactly because, as if on cue (same as my last visit), the mountains were clothed in mist and so was the bay so we couldn't see too much.

We headed for home, and after Pizza and a beer or two (well, actually I drank cider but from hereon 'a beer' means beer for Cathy, cider for me, alright?).

We went out for the evening quite late - 9.30pm - but that was usual. The 'craic' doesn't start early. We went to a small pub in Rostrevor where I'd gone last time with Penni (see A trip to Ireland) and had a good time playing along on my little travel guitar and singing a few songs. They were a warm crowd and we had a few beers (and ciders, remember?). It was Gerry's birthday (the guy who hosted the session) and at the end of the evening they ended with 'Wild Mountain Thyme' - asked to take the last verse, I promptly forgot it! Oh well, we still all sang and had a good time.

Saturday morning, after another cooked breakfast (this time at a small cafe in the 'Point), Cathy's mum took us to the station and we caught the train to Dublin. After only a few miles we were over the border (no passport, no visible border - so different to how it was a few years ago with guards and police and army) and chugging down the coast. We arrived in the city and lugged our bags to the hotel. Stopping to read directions, a passer by instantly asked if he could help and directed us. The hotel was smart, and we had a quick beer in the bar while we waited for the room to be ready (are you detecting a theme here yet? Yes! I had cider, I did say, didn't I?....)

What happened next? Mmmm... I'll save that for the next post I think.

I'm off to Ireland again

A couple of weeks and I will go to Ireland to visit my pals in Warrenpoint. We have a plan - a cunning plan! I arrive, they pick me up, we get to their house, open a beer or two.

We get Chinese takeaway.

We go out, we open a beer or two.

Sometime... the next day... we take a train to Dublin.

We go out. We get Chinese. We open a beer or four. Stumble into hotel.

We wake up (hopefully still in hotel and not on floor of bar) and ... open a beer or two to get rid of headache.

Look round Dublin.

Train back to Warrenpoint. Open a beer or two...

Back to the airport, fly home.

As you can see, a stunning cultural itinerary!

Well - watch this space, see what 'really' happens!

Time Traveller

An unscheduled party and some old times revisited

In the late 1970's B and I played in a folk trio with a chap called Ted. We played quite a few clubs and got bookings, and built up a good repertoire. Things changed, Ted moved away, and eventually left the country. We moved on to Aardvark & No Money (when will we ever choose SENSIBLE band names?!).

But here we are, 30 years later, and Ted is in our front room singing those same songs with me and B, and it's like it was yesterday! The occasion was an impromptu party, decided the previous night at around quarter to midnight.

But, to start at the beginning (which is out of character for me, I know, but may help in this instance). Ted contacted us by phone about two years ago, and came over one Christmas to visit his family and fit in a flying visit with us. This time, he came over for a longer visit and though his family were stricken by a sad bereavement, he reached us eventually for the Friday night.

Friday we went to the folk club, the Red Lion, and played together the old songs that we'd sung 30 years ago. It was - it was the same. Yes, we are all older of course, but the music, the naturalness of playing together was simple, comfortable.

Following the folk club, the 'gang' went to the petrol station and had late night coffee - this is when the party plan was hatched.

Ted came and stayed with us, and he and B stayed up till 2 talking (I can't do late nights, which is pretty useless for a musician I know) and the following morning it was food preparation time for me whilst B and Ted spent the day recording Ted's songs.

About 20 people (including us) plus two toddlers turned up. It was a lovely evening - talking, eating, drinking (no body drunk, just all relaxed) and playing music together or listening to each other. A highlight of the party was Mr & Mrs Potato Head, brought by the parents of one of the toddlers. It entertained the adults equally as much as the children.

But having Ted with us was like having a time traveller in our midst - here he was 30 years on and it was like it was yesterday. Maybe we were the time travellers?

The party was deemed a success though (they ate all the food which I take as a good sign) and everyone seemed happy. Ted stayed over again, recorded a couple more songs in the morning, then went to take a coach to visit more friends, this time in Birmingham.

They say 'you can't go back' - and yes, that's true, but you can keep some of the good bits from the past, and they can still work in the present and maybe even in the future. Nostalgia seems to be in the air at the moment (hence the new site for a band that has been disbanded for over 20 years). We even bumped into the drummer from Aardvark last weekend (first time in 20 years).

A touch of grace

Reminded of the important things in life

I was late home from work - the exhibition stand man was an hour late in arriving to show us how to put up the stand for Monday, computers had been going wrong all week (the bit - the ONLY bit - that I am responsible for) and on the way home the traffic was awful.

I got home and was greeted with a 'computer crisis' - the Xbox was not talking to our internet connection, our computer would not talk to Xbox websites, and I had an unhappy son and a stressed husband.

I had a quick look, but a tecchie friend phoned and offered some advice. No resolution found. By now, quarter past six, I was late for karate. Very late. I rushed out with a quick 'have a good concert' to the old man (off to see Jethro Tull - my, are they still alive, and playing?) and got to the hall. I looked for my cheque book - couldn't find it! I knew I'd had it on Sunday... eventually remembered it was in my training kit bag, not my handbag. Relief. I got into the hall and the lesson half way through. With no seniors training (not just grown ups, but of a certain level - belt colour), it would finish in 20 minutes. Ho hum - too late to train, but at least I did manage to pick up my new gi. Why I didn't have one is another story - but I purchased my nice bright white karate suit and left the hall, leaving small people doing small karate, but with big ambition.

The main hall we do karate in (our dojo) is divided into three and two other martial arts groups train the same night as our club. I paused to look through at the next group (I knew a few of the guys, karate black belts who were now trying something new) and a small girl, standing there with her father said "Hello."

She had an engaging smile. She looked slightly different, something about her facial proportion, her manner, her stance, and she had a lovely smile. Her father, standing by, smiled down at his daughter. "What's your name?" she asked me. We had a five minute, and very pleasant, exchange. She is 8 years old, has an older sister (who was doing choi kwan do in the furthest part of the hall). She liked doing drawings of flowers today, and she likes magnets. She and her father were watching the other groups, the dad said he was considering starting karate. What about your daughter? She's old enough to join, I said. He said she had balance problems, part of her condition.

She asked me where I lived, I said in the town - I knew where she probably lived from the name on her school jumper. She was a sweet child. I looked at the father, and the child. I shook her hand and said how nice it was to meet her, and went on my way.

Her name was Grace.

St Patrick's Night

"I sing the same song three times"

Not in a row, of course, but over the course of a night we sang 'Fields of Athenry' at least three times, 'Wild Rover' twice, and numerous other Irish standards.

What was I doing - an English lass - singing Irish songs on St Patrick's Night? Well... sometimes you just get offers you can't refuse. Richard phoned up and said he wasn't well, but had to do a gig, could I help him out? Of course. Why did he call me? Because every other musician, and most certainly all those who play Irish music, was already booked! OK, I may be bottom of the barrel, but I still said yes.

We played in a corner of a busy bar that was part of a posh hotel in Cambridge. The bar was teeming with Guinness-drinking punters - some Irish, some Spanish, some American and ... well, I didn't go round and ask every single one where they were from, but Cambridge being the multi-cultural city it is, they came from all over.

I played bass and sang a couple of my songs, but most of the night it was Irish standards. Richard also sang some U2 and van Morrison songs and I have to say he did a sterling job. He worked hard, singing in a rough and harsh voice (not his normal style, the poor man was really ill) and sounded, I have to say, perfect for the occassion.

One young Irish lass asked if she could sing, I said sure, join in. But she took that to mean join us on stage. She grabbed Richard's mike and sang loudly, and rather out of tune, and in a very odd time, but to the great delight of her friends.

There were some daft promotional hats, lots of green teeshirts and a very enthusiastic irish gentleman in a three piece suit with a striped green shirt. The two young American lads I talked to wore baseball caps - the type with no strap at the back that you wear back to front. One, Sean, was a guitar player. He was visiting his friend who was at one of the Cambridge colleges. He, however, was in real estate in Massachussets. We had an interesting conversation about architecture, in one of the brief breaks we had. Ohh... if I'd be 20 years younger and single! ... well, 25 years younger? Hmmm... ok. Never mind, back to the music.

Richard continued to sing though his voice got rougher and he was looking rather ill. His wife Bridget played bodhran and sang a couple, but on the whole it was Richard, with accompaniment by me, who carried off the night.

Next year? Well, I don't have any gigs booked for St Parick's night... so if a bass playing English girly who can sing 'Fields of Athenry' and actually like the song, you know where to find me... (that is, if you have a fistfull of cash and some HUGE bouncers ready to haul out the over-enthusiastic, Guinness- and Magners-fuelled madly spinning, dancing, singing, grinning drunken idiots who get just that bit TOO close to the band....)

The Writers Circle

"I think I've landed in the script for the Vicar of Dibley..."

OK, that's perhaps an exaggeration, but there was something very Dibley Parish Council about my very first visit to the local writers circle. I guess choosing the day before Easter Good Friday means that turnout was likely to be low, but it was just me and four men. (The 'vicar' - chairman, was unable to attend this month.)

I did enjoy myself though (hey, not like that! They are all much older than me, and we were there to write, OK?).

We were set the task of writing a letter - we could choose either a letter that could have changed history, or goodbye to a loved one. We all chose the former. One guy did a letter from Philip Marlow persuading Shakespear not to come to London, one from the Military to Prince Harry saying he couldn't go on active service, one on if his parents had not been allowed to pursue their romance, and one was a witty love letter from Ron Reagan to Maggie Thatcher. It was quite hard to write a letter for 40 minutes - letter writing not being a strong point of mine (or indeed of much of society these days).

Mine? Well, here it is. I make no claims to historical accuracy whatsoever, this is fiction:

Dear Klara

I write with great concern, once again, regarding your son's behaviour. I know we have spoken on may occasions, and you and your husband are well aware of the issues which concern me, as his teacher and your friend.

I do feel, though, that I ought to raise the subject of his behaviour once again. Last Thursday you will have noticed that he came home bruised (or perhaps not, sons are often shy in showing their mothers an injury so received). This bruising to his behind was acquired through a beating he received from the older boys. Why then, you may ask, am I reporting your son's behaviour? Well, the beating he received was earned. Not justified (no, I can never condone such violence), but earned nonetheless.

He taunted the boys about a very private matter, one which I cannot bring myself to commit to paper, but needless to say, was a matter so inflammatory as to result in your son behind held and beaten with a shoe upon his buttocks.

Yes, Klara, I do assure you that I have reprimanded the perpetrators most severely with punishment in kind from my cane, yet still it is your son who causes me the most concern.

Upon confronting him in the hall after this event I found his attitude most distressing. He was sullen and withdrawn, but also extremely rude to myself and other teachers. As you know, this is not an isolated incident. He has caused trouble many times and, quite often, expertly extricated himself from consequence.

But, hopefully, I am the harbinger of good news. I have been recommended a most excellent doctor for your son. This Swiss doctor is an expert in maladies of the mind for, as we know, the issues of your son's physical health are to be addressed separately.

May I recommend, as teacher to your son and friend to your family, that you send your son to see Dr Jung? I can send with him a letter of referral. Indeed, some of the many issues that trouble your son, and us as his spiritual and mental guardians, may in some way be assuaged. Perhaps we can offer some light to this dark anger within him, and lead him into brighter pastures.

I know the boy is young but he is clever. He is, I have to say, particularly able to manipulate the younger boys. It is his manner with those older, and of any persuasion different to his mind, that causes such touble for both him and the school. I am sure you will wish to talk to your husband about this matter but, be assured, I have already mentioned the troubles your son causes to Alois last time we met at the alehouse.

I know, perhaps, in these troubled times that sending your son away may seem like an extreme measure, but he is a talented boy and carries a great deal of potential within that dark head of his.

I appeal to you Klara, let your son visit Dr Jung and see if easing the ills of his mind may ease the troubles of his soul. For all our good, it may be the making of the boy. Should you require to know more of this doctor, I am assured that Dr Karl Jung is destined for greatness and, I would most sincerely hope that he can help young Adoplh in the pursuit of a happy life and a fulfiling role in society.

Please do advise, Klara, so that we may expedite his visit to Switzerland as soon as possible.

Sincerely.........


Be kind - this was a straight write-away exercise, no editing, or revision (and I've put it up 99% verbatim here).

Bagels!

Chatting to friends, I mentioned I'd never made bagels before. "I have," said my friend Nadine. "I made them with a young boy once." Odd... I thought you used flour and water and stuff. Oh well!

I had a go this weekend. Ahem. Well... I do like baking and I make OK cakes and bread. I've made choux pastry successfully, even puff pastry in the past. But bagels? Er... I guess the picture tells the story. They tasted OK though - once I'd finally managed to pick all the baking paper off.

Great Aunt Barbara

"Driving down the A10, I hit a diversion... memory lane!"

I have no idea why, when driving to pick up my daughter from riding today, I thought of my Great Aunt Barbara. Sounds good, doesn't it? Can you imagine a tall, stately, grey haired, beautifully spoken English lady? Well, you'd be spot on.


Great Aunt Barbara was my mothers aunt, so not from the acting side of the family and not as well 'documented'. And it's a great shame, for I remember her quite clearly and had I known her when I was an adult, I think there's lots I'd have liked to ask her about.

She lived through two world wars, for a start. Yeah, sure, so did loads of people... but there was something about GAB (do you mind? It's shorter, and you know who I mean) had a sort of dignity about her that kind of made you feel perhaps she was one of those no-nonsense nurses, white apron, white hat... or a military driver, ushering Generals about. But, in truth, I have no idea. She could have been a genteel lady, sitting in her London apartment, or hiding in her country retreat.

Enough imaginings! I did know GAB when I was a child, and this is what I remember most clearly about her - her house and her friend. Barbara lived with her friend Elizabeth, and I can see Elizabeth's face and hear her voice more clearly than GABs, in my memory. Perhaps she was a more forthright character, I can't remember clearly enough.

But the house - a lovely house in Ashstead in Surrey, in Skinners Lane. By chance I have met two people since who live in that same road, but I have no idea if her old bungalow (Little Orchard) is still there. It was, to a small child, a magnificent house. No upstairs! An enormous (remember, I was small) kitchen with the sink in the middle of the room (bizarre to me, I assure you) and doors that linked through rooms so that, with a teasing big brother, you could run round and round the house until yelled at to stop by fretting parents and amazingly patient ancient ladies.

The house was probably full of antiques and two young and vigorous children tearing around the place was probably not healthy - for the antiques or the living occupants. But in the garden was something I remember even more clearly - a mulberry tree. Huge and green, with ripe, bublous mulberrys. We obviously went when the tree was in fruit for I remember their rich, full taste, and the staining red juice that my mother despaired of me getting on my clothes. Certainly, it was hard enough to get off my fingers.

I don't think I've ever seen a mulberry tree since. Two old women living together in a country cottage, surrounded by nice gardens and a magnificient tree. I wonder what else she did with her life? I will have to see what mother knows.

We always ask too late.

It's a funny world

You know, sometimes the simplest of things can seem hugely funny. Like whispering 'Do you want any marmalade?'. OK, doesn't seem funny to you (or to me, to be sure) but it had my friend in tears of laughter last night.

Humour - a very personal thing don't you think? But, then again, humour is not always jokes, or situations, or events, but just looking at something with the right frame of mind.

A couple of weekends ago some of the guys I know went to Belgium to play at a festival. On the way back Kevin texted Guido 'On the train now'. Well, Guido was four cars behind him in the queue, so he knew he wasn't. When challenged, Kevin said 'Well, I'd have been on the train by the time you received the text. It's called predictive texting.'

That, I would call wit. But there's some really cringe-worthy stuff I've been thinking about too - mostly to do with 'Mother'. My mother is not the most tactful of ladies (and, darn it, I've inherited some of that 'speak first, think later' attitude, I regret). For example!

Mother: "Are your family all large too?"

Friend: .... amazingly, she was not rude in reply!

Mother - on seeing one of our friends for first time in years, first thing she says is: "You are on Thorazine too?"

Mother, when sitting next to my gay friend: "I've... never sat next to someone... from Israel before." (PHEW!)

Mother (to me): "You were so skinny as a child. I never thought you'd turn out f.."

Children come out with the most amazing wit too, sometimes intentionally and sometimes not. When my son was very small, I saw him jumping up and down in the garden. "I can't reach it!" he said, frustrated. "What?" said I, concerned mother. "The sky."

And a friend's child, watching me breastfeed my daughter many years ago, asked what I was doing: "giving the baby milk," I explained. She looked serious. "What's in the other one?"

Ah, the things kids say and do. But best of all is the faux pas... but maybe I'll save them for another post.

The Port of Felixstowe

"A work trip with a difference"

On Friday I visited one of my employer's clients to help me write up a report we are doing - a joint entry for a training award.

Duncan, the man I went to visit, also wanted to show me round the port. Now, I guess a lot of folks aren't going to be excited by rubber tyred gantries, big ships and containers - but to see the Port in full flow was fascinating. Something like 15 million containers are moved through the UK every year (it's growing every year too) and Felixstowe handles around a third of these - thats a lot of 20 foot metal boxes! Seeing them stacked, seeing them lifted on and off 'tugs' (the internal transports that shuffle the containers around) and then up onto the ships was amazing. The scale - the sheer scale of everything was impressive.

Duncan took me in a port car up to the edge of the quay, so I could see closely how it all worked. He took me round Landguard, the older quayside which has a shallower draft (around 11 metres for those interested) where smaller ships still come in (I say small - still looked huge to me!) and eventually to the original dock which was the very first place ships (old sailing cargo ships) would have come in. It looked so small compared to the rest of the port. Soon they are going to fill it in, turn that whole area into a massive new quayside - but it was amazing to think that ships - from tall sailing ships, through steamers to modern ships - had probably come in there over the last couple of hundred years.

Bringing spice from the Indies, fruit from Africa, silk from Samarkand, timber and minerals from the Americas... and Christmas decorations (on the largest container ship ever to dock in the UK) from China. The older images are more romantic, eh?

Yeah, I guess to be accurate I should go look up my maritime history, but the port today is crucial to both the local and national economy. They have rail, ship and lorry (external hauliers, internal tugs) to coordinate, thousands upon thousands of containers (and they know where any one is at any time) and ships coming in and out all day, every day (except Christmas day and Boxing day). There's about 3000 people working at the port, yet one of those huge great ships only needs 12 people to operate it. Amazing.

The scale of things is what impressed me most - the gantries are huge, the stacks of containers make the final scene of 'Raiders of the Lost Arc' look unimpressive - and the number of 'moves' - each time a container is shifted - incredible.

It takes quite an operation to run all this, which is why I was visiting Duncan (we trained some of his Operations Staff) and unlike manufacturing, for example, there are so many variables to account for - weather, for one. No matter how much you computerise systems, you still have to account for people, weather and other unpredicatables.

I enjoyed the visit, and was impressed by Duncan's obvious enthusiasm for his job too. I learned a lot and I got my report written with far more insight than if I hadn't visited.

Will I get a song out of it? Not sure - too many darn good sailing songs out there already (mind you, I might finish my "Mary Rose" one eventually).

Here's some further information about the planned expansions, with a bit of history too: www.dft.gov.uk

And here's a more detailed page with historical info: www.portoffelixstowe.co.uk

Indian School

"A piece of American history I never knew"

On my last full day in the US we visited the Heard Museum in Phoenix. The museum was set in a Spanish colonial style building and comprised collections of Indian artifacts including basketwork, pottery and the intriguing Katsinca 'dolls' - intricate models that were used for teaching the children about Indian religion. The exhibits showed how the different peoples lived, from the farming Pueblo nations to the nomadic tribes and also how they live today.

The exhibit that I found most extraordinary though, was the Indian Schools. The picture above shows a Navajo called 'Tom Torlino' - doesn't sound very Indian, does it? The picture on the left is how Tom was when he arrived at the school, on the right after he'd been there a while. Now, as you can see, Tom was a young man not a child. But children were sent - forcibly taken from their homes and sent - to the Indian Boarding schools from as young as five years old.

You see, 'taming the savage' by sending him to school and turning him into a little American was one way of 'solving the Indian problem'. Indian problem? Oh, the fact that they were occupying land that ... well, I guess historically I have to say 'we' (being of Anglo/Norman descent) wanted. Take George Washington, that paragon of liberation who freed the US from the Brits... he said “…(They) were wolves and beasts who deserved nothing from the whites but 'total ruin.” Um... guess they aren't going to use that quote often in modern history teaching?

The exhibit at the Heard was moving - the schools only closed as recently as the 1930s I think. This is quite a good site: "http://historyday.crf-usa.org/1712/introduction.html" with a basic introduction if you want to learn more.

So I wanderd round the exhibit with Nadine - looking at black and white photos of Indian children clutching each other in panic and pain, lined up like little Edwardian children, dressed in European style clothes, and the hair of the men shorn and neatly parted. To most Indian tibes, the cutting off of hair indicated that a man was a coward. So, these kids - perhaps as young as five, perhaps as old as 16, were taken from their homes, shaven, their clothes taken from them, the names taken from them, and then taught basic skills and 'how to be American'. This was one 'solution' to the Indian problem. Beats what Mr Jefferson wanted to do: “…(The US should) “pursue [Indians] to extermination, or drive them to new seats beyond our reach."

And hey - didn't it just work out fine? Didn't they get just what they wanted? A completely assimilated race who just fit neatly into the American model of a perfect citizen? Well, I guess not. No matter how many cultures try to overtake another - be it Japan invading China, Germany invading Poland or England invading India... it never works. Cultures that have been in existence for thousands of years cannot be wiped out through forced assimilation.

I have no idea what we as people have learned from this throughout history - I have a nasty feeling that this desire to conquer and convert (culturally, religiously or even in appearance if you want to look at celebrity 'worship') is such an ingrained part of human nature that, as a species, we won't ever really stop or change. We may intellectually examine the options, and decide what is morally right or wrong, but when it comes to the 'crunch' (and the next one on the calendar is probably not going to be world war three but global warming in my humble opinion), we will revert to our most basic of instincts.

I never met or spoke to any Native Americans (apart from one shop assistant who sold me a great hat) when I visited the US, but I did learn a lot from my visit to the Heard. I asked Nadine if she had any cultural attachment - any sense of belonging - to the Native Americans? She said no, she felt her cultural history was that of the settlers in her history who came over to the US from Scotland and Ireland.

I thought about it. My personal family history is easy to trace (on my father's side). I have two massive family history volumes with pictures, photographs, family trees going back centuries. But my family came over with the Normans. Do I feel culturally part of the UK, which - I guess if you go far back enough - is Anglo Saxon and Celtic? I don't know. More to the point, I don't feel the importance of being 'English' in that way; as a Norman or a Celt. I'm just English. I love my heritage - this country and it's rich cultural variation. I also love going to other places and exploring and finding out about other cultures. I understand that as an 'imported' race, the whites in the US have as many and varied cultures as the Indians have tribes, so I understand that Nadine's 'emotional' attachment to the Native Americans is perhaps best described as one of shame at what our ancestors did. Much as I feel when I read about the many atrocities the English committed in countries all round the world in the name of 'Empire' and - oh yeah! - civilisation. We tried quite a bit of that 'taming the savage' stuff across the world, not just in the US. Don't think it's all in the dim and distant past either - there is some awful stuff we have done as a nation that is very much in living memory.

I understand that unless I set aside another lifetime for studying, I could never begin to grasp all the implications of the effects the Indian Schools had on the indiginous race and culture. So much must have been lost in that time, snatched from childhood. But much survives. And you can't crush spirit - and spirit seems to outlive every atrocity that mankind heaps upon mankind somehow.

I found more pictures on this site: www.nativeamericans.com but if you have a site you think may be of interest to anyone that this story has stirred some interest in, please post a comment or let me know.

See what a trip to a museum can bring? (By the way, my myspace site now has a song I wrote about the Indian School - http://www.myspace.com/98749481

Gambling bear

"We teach Paddington to gamble"

On our way back from the Grand Canyon we stopped for supper at the Cliff Castle Casino. This is an Indian casino run by the Yavapai-Apache Nation and is on the hills by Montezuma's Castle. We tried to see the castle on the way out but the signposts weren't clear, so we missed that particular tourist hot spot.

But at 9pm, when we arrived back at the Casino after our trip, we entered for some supper. The main room, an atrium almost, was full of slot machines going 'bing bing bing' and people literally plugged in to them. Not feeding coins or notes in one by one, but plugged in with credit card type inputs that were attached to the players by long coiled cords. It had a rather eerie feeling - sort of 'Matrix'. Every pull of the handle, money disappeared.

I had a go just to say I'd done it. I put in a five dollar bill, pulled the handle a few times - no jingle of winnings, no flashing lights - actually, absolutely no attraction whatsoever! We played the money out to the last 25 cents which I then received a little printed slip for. OK, I could have cashed it but the truth is we saved it as a souvenir. A 25 cent souvenir that cost me $5.... so, you telling me that this isn't a mug's game?

Rooms to the side had poker players huddled round tables, but the whole thing was rather... how can I put it? Like anything you see on TV and then visit in 'real life', it was kind of tame. I'm sure the players were having 'fun' - but it didn't appeal to me (and I have to say I am a useless poker player, just ask Alex!).

We wanted to eat, but the burger bar next to the bowling alley (all part of the casino) was closed. Well, got to keep the kids busy whilst you pour their inheritance down the drain, eh?

We went into the main restaurant and I had Indian fry bread with refried beans, chilli, cheese... oh, loads of stuff on it! Delicious. So, I sort of had an Indian meal, but I'm so confused with the cultures (Indian, Mexican, American) that I'm not sure I'd say it was 'authentic'. Whatever, it was very nice and very filling.

After we'd eaten it was time to hit the road, but we wanted a photo of Paddington Bear to send to Cathy. Paddington was our 'Cathy substitute' for the week, so we took pictures of him in all sorts of situations. Now, taking photos in a Casino is not really on, but we asked nicely and the Head of Security, a chap called Dave (and not a Native American, incidentally) cleared it with 'management' and took a photo of us with Paddington at some slot machines.

Poor little bear - we put him in the snow, dragged him round a museum, dropped him in the Botanic Garden (but speedily retrieved) and had him photographed by security... he'd have a few tales to tell if he could talk that's for sure.

Grand Canyon

"Words and pictures cannot do it justice"

I'd asked to visit the Grand Canyon - after all it's in Arizona and it would have been a shame not to see it. So, Sunday we had planned as a family day out. Tomas and Charley, Nadine and I were due to go to the Grand Canyon. But... Tomas had homework and Charley said he should stay home (well, actually, there were two football matches on).

So, once again Nadine and I were off on a (mini) road trip. We'd only got back from California the day before, but a further 200 miles didn't seem to bother her. This time we took the Jeep.

The scenery was once again amazing. This time instead of heading due west (for California) we headed due north, over two mountain ranges. Phoenix to Flagstaff, then Williams and North to the rim of the Canyon.

We'd started off in sunny Phoenix, but headed up to over 7,000 feet altitude, so it was colder and snowy. The snow was a pristine white, the roads however (despite four foot of snow either side) were clear and ice free. I loved it! We stopped for shopping (of course) and also stopped quite simply to play in the snow.

We reached the canyon at about 3pm and the sun coloured the scenery with deep reds and gold. The air was freezing, the skies amazing. Nothing I can say and no pictures I took can do it justice - it is one of the most wondrous natural sights that, if you can, you really should see. I would have loved to visit for longer, maybe fly or balloon - but not this time. I've seen it, it touched me. Nature astounds.

I drove the jeep a small way, enjoying the experience of driving a new vehicle in a new country. I enjoyed making snow angels and watching the changing scenery. All the way there, all the way back, new experiences for my senses - the smell, the sights, the sounds. The birds, the mountains, the roads and the towns... everything new and I drank it all in.

My road companion was patient and kind, and even smoked less in my company!

What can I say? I want to go back. I want to see more of that amazing canyon, of the countryside, of the cities and towns. So much to see and do, so little time! But I had a ball - oh yeah, I had a ball.

Holiday of a lifetime

My trip to America

A long flight from Heathrow to Chicago, then another flight from Chicago to Phoenix, plus a delay from Chicago meant that my travelling time from home to Phoenix was around 24 hours. But it didn't matter! Every moment of travel was worth it!

When I finally arrived at Phoenix airport at around 10pm local time, Nadine was there to meet me. Now, it may seem odd to some, but I had travelled half way round the world to go and visit someone I had never met. Nadine and I are 'internet buddes' - we've known each other for nearly two years via a writing circle we both belong to.

So when I first saw Nadine 'in the flesh' I wondered what she would be like, and wondered what she would make of me. The first thing I noticed was that - hey not really a surprise - she was a lot shorter than me. Or I was a lot taller than her, whichever way you look at it. But meeting her was easy - we found each other's company as easy in person as we did on line. So - now that I'd made it to the US, met Nadine (and her family), there was only one thing left to do... HAVE FUN!

Day one Mait, Nadine's middle son, made us pancakes. Amazing! Nothing like my flat and flaccid offerings. Delicious. We took an easy start to the day and then headed to the Botanic Garden, finishing with a dark climb up the Papago hill. An owl atop the hill hooted and did his impression firstly of a tourist, and then of a coyote, but the 'hoo hoooo, hoo' kind of convinced me that the shadowy outline really was a great horned owl.

More pictures: PictureTrail

Thelma and Louise!

"Road trip!"

no one in the US seems bothered by long drives - perhaps because the country is so big, but more I guess because the roads are good. To travel from Phoenix to Seal Beach in a day (about 350 miles each way) is not a problem; with long straight roads it is easy (we took Route 10 then went down into Seal Beach, South of Los Angeles). But the traffic! Five lanes of road each way and you still sit bumper to bumper (or should that be fender to fender?).

Along the way we saw a real change in the desert scenery, from the cactus laden rocky Arizona desert to the sandy and scrubby bush covered desert of California. I saw some amazing hawks and as we came into Los Angeles County - the haze of the pollution was thick and tainted the air. But the mountain scenery was amazing, and when we eventually hit Seal Beach (we took plenty of stops along the way - no hurry) the sun was almost ready to set.

We checked in at the Paradise Inn (neat little hotel) and headed straight for the beach.

We watched the sun creep towards the horizon then dip down as if it had suddenly made up its mind to set. We wandered round the town briefly then had a meal at a fish restaurant. We were served by the same waitress who had served Nadine and her family three years before! The fish was nice, the potato was cold, but the wine was excellent.

Back to the hotel and a good sleep, but my - Nadine snores! Hey, so do I. I only know she snored as I played a bit of guitar and she promptly fell asleep. I have that effect on people!

The next day we went back down to the beach and I got to dip my toes in the Pacific. It was cold! A bright day, sunny but not warm enough to swim. The surfers wore wet suits, and the fishermen on the pier were wearing coats not just tee shirts. It wasn't cold by UK standards, but this was winter in California.

I talked to some fisherman - they catch 'anything'. Flatfish? I said I used to catch mackeral. 'Yeah, we catch Spanish mackeral, use them as bait.' Spanish mackeral? Do they have an accent? Another fisherman we talked to told us how early in the morning the dolphins swim past, on their way down to Huntingdon beach to feed, then come back in the evening. Out past Catalina island (which was hidden by a sea haze) you can see blue whales.

We did some more shopping, including a trip to a candy store and a book store, then finished a lazy day with dinner at Ruby's diner on the end of the pier. Lots of bright red and a burger, fries and salad that was ample for the two of us to share. Good food, amazing views over the sea, and polite and friendly service.

We ended up the day with a drink in O'Malleys Irish bar. Heaving - barely enough room to stand so it was one drink each, a wander round the shops (they were open late) and then back to the hotel again for another good sleep.

The following morning we headed back to Arizona, but not until we'd done some ... shopping! I went into a music shop but as it seemed to specialise in ukeleles, I didn't make any purchases.

My visit to California was an amazing drive through the countryside and a very relaxed couple of days at Seal Beach 'off season'. I liked it. Yeah - I could go back there again.

More photos: Flickr.com

Learning the American Way

"Baseball in the dark!"

On my last evening (after wonderfully grilled steaks prepared by Charley, Nadine's husband) I asked Tomas, her youngest son, how I should throw an American Football. I'd bought one to take back to my son Alex, so I wanted to show him how to throw it.

"Come outside into the yard.." and out in the yard, the front of the house with the concrete entrance by the drive and the obligatory basektball hoop, Tomas tried to teach me to throw - fingers on the stitches, get it to spin, let go just so...

I sort of got it. We then decided to try baseball (I'd also bought Alex a catcher's mitt and ball) so out came everyone's mitts, a couple of baseball bats and a ball. Now, a yard is not large enough for playing baseball and there are lots of car windows around and - did I mention? - it was dark. Nearly 10pm. Sean (Nadine's oldest son) appeared having been to the store to get supplies to make S'mores. Mmmmm! Graham crackers (a sweetened cracker), marshmallows and Hershey's chocolate.

Sean joined in the games - standing there in the dark in his pale pants (trousers!), hawaiian shirt and trilby hat, swinging a baseball bat. It got sort of surreal at this point so we went in to eat the s'mores.

Melted the marshmallows over an open fire (yes, an open fire in Arizona), put on the crackers with chocolate. All melted together ... wonderful! No calories, of course. Sean was extremely lively and cheerful, enjoying his s'mores and very chatty. Which, considering he'd been awake for nearly 30 hours (with only an hour nap) was quite amazing. I'll never understand their hours...

A day at the botanic garden

"Hummingbirds and cottontails"

The first morning, and I awoke at 5.30am with Sean's alarm beeping madly. By the time I had oriented myself and found the light switch, it had stopped. I went back to sleep and woke at 8am when the dustmen came and emptied the dumpsters.

The trip for the day was the Botanic Gardens. It was beautiful - amazing cacti (barrel, cholla, all sorts!), I saw my first Joshua Tree, and hummingbirds! Wonderful creatures.

I saw cactus wren and many other coloured birds too - but the fun in the evening, at the end of our lovely day at the gardens, was climbing the Papago Hills in the dark and hearing the ghostly hoot of a horned owl!

That night I met Sean's friend Mike - and I played a bit of guitar and sang - very self-conciously!

American dreams

"Time travelling"

My trip to the US arrived! I started from home at 7am on Tuesday morning, then arrived in Chicago, was delayed and eventually arrived in Arizona 24 hours later. However, due to time zones it was still only 10pm Tuesday. I'm a time traveller!

I did write a bit on the plane, but the whole trip from US to UK I sat next to a very quiet Mexican - no conversation whatsoever. My, that was a looooong flight!

At Chicago I needed to buy some supplies, so I found a small Hudson's stand and bought the required item (why now! Not fair, not due for another week...). The tall gentleman at the checkout (see? I'm learning American!) said 'Hey, do I detect an accent? Where are you from?' I answered 'London' and he was charming. 'Have a great time, come back soon' and it actually sounded genuine. Now the security man who saw me through to airside at Chicago said 'Here you go sir' without looking up. Bah. Charmed and insulted in Chicago! Oh yeah, it was rainy too - not windy.

The flight was delayed though so instead of a two hour wait I had a three and a half hour wait. I had one drink at the bar and then just sat and waited. And waited. By the time I got on the flight I was really not with it at all. The plane was cold so I only managed about an hour out of the three to get any sleep. One hour out of 24 - not my usual quotient.

As I flew over the US I noticed that everything was straight lines and so well lit. Empty lots, long empty roads - everything lit up like Christmas. And some buildings too as we came in over Phoenix - outlined in lights to make them look like escapees from a badly drawn cartoon.

When I eventually arrived in Phoenix, more than a little tired, I saw Nadine immediately. She was exactly as I expected. Her smile was wide, her arms too. We hugged like we'd known each other lifetimes, not just 18 months and over the net.

She drove me to her home in her black convertible Mustang (Alex, you'd love this car!) through the city and out into Glendale. Sean, her eldest son, was waiting up for us. We stopped at a Safeway to buy some bread and fruit.

We sat and had a glass (or two) of wine and talked for another two hours. I have no idea if I made any sense whatsoever. Nor if they understood me. But I knew I had arrived. My goodness, I was really in America! Wow, Bryan, I'm here. I'm really here. When I got to bed, I slept well. Very well indeed.