Release your till skills

There was this great gadget in Surrey Quays (uber pikey shopping centre) Tesco today – a self-scan till!

What fun I had pretending to be a checkout girl, passing my Hob Nobs and cleaning cloths over the scanner while a dismembered voice said: “Seventy-nine … pence,” with an upward lilt, like an Australian.

And for those on a tight budget, I couldn’t see how they would know if you had scanned items properly or not before they disappeared into the carrier bag.

Films I’ve seen this week:

The Bourne Supremacy – a brilliant follow-up to The Bourne Conspiracy. Matt Damon is superb as poor old confused Jason. He is still as hard as f*ck with his oh-so-lovable soft centre. And there is the mother of all car chases through Moscow, which leaves the tunnel chase in I, Robot standing. Roll on The Bourne Ultimatum!

The Village – I don’t normally like scary films and went to see this reluctantly but I am so glad I did. Joaquin Pheonix is back on form (after that dreadful Buffalo Soldiers) acting his little socks off. It wasn’t really scary, more eerie and tense. The plot keeps twisting and turning although you could guess some of what is going to happen. And the way it has been filmed is beautiful to watch. If you liked Sixth Sense etc ...

Locks, Stops and a Hob Nobs biscuit barrel

SUNDAY
Day one of the epic voyage to Bishop's Stortford.

The Other Half and I cast off from Poplar Marina and eased our way under the towers of Canary Wharf before being put out on the Thames from the 'Blue Bridge' (which is halfway down the east side of the Isle of Dogs).

Goodbye safe dock waters and hello the waves and swell of the River Thames. I have to confess I was a little bit nervous going against the tide on the wrong side of the river, rocking about on my little narrowboat, which is only designed for flat canals.

Still, we both had lifejackets and pluck to see us through. We passed the Dome along the way



and spotted our block of flats among the piles of scrap metal. So much for London's 'trendy' Docklands!



It was a choppy ride and I was glad to get to Trinity Bouy Wharf, where we entered Bow Creek.



At last, we were on calmer waters as the incoming tide pushed us past the Pura factory's pipes …



… and storage towers to Bow Lock.



We overnighted at Three Mills, behind Tesco. It was surprisingly peaceful. I was expecting troops of junkies and chavs on motorbikes to be whizzing up and down the towpath, but the only thing we heard was the ducks and chimes of a clock tower bell.


MONDAY
The Other Half went to work and First Mate Steve arrived. And so the voyage proper began.

We chugged up to the first lock - Old Ford Lock only to discover it was covered in police tape forbidding us to go through. We called British Waterways and was informed there had been a murder up stream and the river was closed. Police divers were scouring the river bed, presumably for clues, and we could not pass.

So we moored up. Had a bit of a sit down and weighed up our options. We could either wait for the river to open or turn round and go into London and do a totally different trip.

Obviously, waiting, and reading the papers and OK magazine was a more attractive option. After about an hour we got a call saying we could go through.

When we got to the scene of the crime, the police divers were nowhere to be seen (probably on lunch break) but their kit was on the towpath.



The dead person can't have been very important as it wasn't on the news or in the paper the next day. Probably some sort of drugs incident, which down Hackney way, ain't no big deal.

We chugged on up the river, Steve doing the hard graft operating the locks, while Cap'n Wyebird took up her usual post standing on the back of the boat shouting instructions.



We passed through Hackney, Tottenham, Ponder's End (where I used to go to university! It's a real dump), Enfield and on to Waltham Cross, where we moored up near a brilliant pub called the Old English Gentleman.

On the way, the scenery changed from the industrial armpit of London to marshes and finally to something resembling the English Countryside.

The weirdest sight on the way, was a cow in the river.



The Other Half met us in the evening and we dined in the pub. The landlord plied us with real ales and perrys and the friendliest welcome I think I have ever had in an inn!

And, typical British Waterways, it owns the building and wants to knock it down and build luxury flats! The landlord had a petition, which we all signed before retiring to bed. I was literally asleep before my head hit the pillow.

TUESDAY
The Other Half went back to work. He is using the boat as a bit of a gin palace, just coming out in the evenings after all the hard work is done.

Steve and I sailed on to Roydon, on the River Stort. We passed through several locks, each of which seemed to have an increasingly random village idiot loitering at them. Literally every lock we came to had a weirdo attached to it.

Perhaps Care In The Community drops them off in the morning and picks them up after an eight-hour shift of entertaining boat crews.

Anyway, between dodging intense downpours, we finally arrived on the Stort, where the scenery immediately changed to rolling hills and farmland and rural pleasantness.

The first lock we came to on the Stort was gorgeous. The colours were amazing - as we basked in wall-to-wall sunshine a dark thunder storm passed into the distance.



The Other Half arrived in the middle of an intense Scrabble battle, which I would have won (after a masterly placing of FIX on a triple word score) but Steve managed to get all the Ss and capitalise on his earlier big scoring words such as QUINCE.

There was also a small debate on the existence of the word LUFF but I knew it was valid.


WEDNESDAY
A slow start on our last day of cruising. Destination Hallinbury Marina.

The Other Half went to work but Steve and I had a bit of a lie in. Then we had to read the papers. Then we had to have a fry up. Then … then we finally got going.

Again, we spent the day dodging deluges from above, although I did tend to stay out in a waterproof and keep going. But the weather did make the world look beautiful.



The Stort must be a classier kind of river (well, scenery-wise it certainly is) as there were no mentalists at the locks. We passed through unhampered by those with too much time on their hands.



Apart from the weather, another glorious day on the river. As we approached the marina, we passed Beckingham Palace, which was nice.



Finally, we arrived. After a tricky reversing manoeuvre into the parking spot, we headed to the station and back to shitty London.

It was hard to leave the river, especially as I was back at work today. But it is only for two days. We are back on the boat on Saturday for five more leisurely days' cruising.

When I got home (after a vile hour on the Tube. I am so glad I am not usually involved in the rush hour) The Other Half had cooked dinner and our mate James drove us up to the cinema. We saw The Village, which I can highly recommend.

Ford and Flockhart

A missing day on the blog!

Couldn’t find time yesterday to post as I was working out the route of the Big River Trip (and watching Robertson and Emms put in an exciting performance against the Chinese in the Olympic badminton final).

The Other Half and I will be taking the good ship Ganges out of the marina on Sunday and navigating our way up Bow Creek. I have never done this, so it should be fun, submerged shopping trolleys permitting.





We will overnight by Three Mills, where First Mate Steve will join us.

The next few days will be spend cruising up the rivers Lee and Stort. Two days back at work, then back on board to cruise home.

What fun! We will be like Harrison Ford and Calista Flockhart, but not quite so manly or thin, respectively.

Last night The Other Half treated me to dinner in Smollensky’s in Wapping. The food was ok, the jazzman (pianist/singer) mildly irritating but the view was spectacular. To the left was Tower Bridge, which framed a gorgeous sunset. Opposite was the lights of Butler’s Wharf and throughout the evening, there were plenty of pleasure boats crusing up and down. Lovely.

I will hopefully have a full River Trip update on Thursday, complete with photos!

Have fun ‘til then.

(ps - if anyone wants an F-Reg Polo, give me a call)

As unlikely as it seems

I have been soooo busy today but nothing much has happened. I haven't even had time to watch any Olympics properly!

But anyone who is planning on meeting me next week on the Good Ship Ganges will be pleased to hear she is now ship-shape and Bristol fashion*, thanks mechanic Des.


*Ship shape and Bristol fashion: The port of Bristol was once famous for importing chocolate, sherry, tobacco and... slaves. Slave ships smelled and could bring disease. They were not allowed in port until they were cleaned and made tidy. Tides, by the way, are predictable and ordered. Before entering Bristol, slave ships were rigorously inspected so as to be all "ship shape and Bristol fashion."

Alternate: This expression may well have had its origin in the 18th century when Bristol was the second most important commercial port in the United Kingdom. In those days (Bristol's docks were not constructed till 1804), the high range of tides experienced at Bristol necessitated ships berthed alongside there being left high and dry at the fall of the tide and so ships regularly trading to Bristol had to be of specially stout construction. (from www.aimshare.com)

Chrithtopher Livingthtone Eubankth

The Other Half nearly made a major faux pas on Saturday when we went down to Brighton for a barbecue on the beach.

We were celebrating Jenny's birthday but he arrived later, having watched Watford lose at home.

On his way to the beach, he was 'nearly knocked over' by one Mr Christopher Livingstone Eubank.

So he stopped and had a chat - Eubank was picking up his sons who were playing basketball on the seafront - and found him to be a 'very nice man'.

But then, unaware of how unanimously Brighton folk seem to hate the boxer, The Other Half invited him to join us for drinks!

Luckily, face was saved when Eubank said: 'Thankths, but perhapth another time.'

But as Eubank is one of The Other Half's biggest heros, he was happy and tucked the signed picture Chris gave him into his copy of his autobiography when we got home.

I, Wyebird

(Fish Body Count = 1)
After a couple of weeks where no-one died in the tank, I woke up to find my spotty shubunkin dead on the bottom. I have decided to add 'internal bacteria/parasite' medicine to the water to save the remaining three fish (which are my favourite ones!).

Olympics
So, the Olympics started with a bit of a whimper. Did you see the opening ceremony? Apart from desperately needing Terry Wogan to provide the commentary on the March of nations into the arena, Bjork being, well, Bjork, and that shit DJ, what was that runner circling the track while someone read out the dates and venues of previous Olympics and falling over to a very solemn and tearful 'World War One' and (oops) 'World War Two' all about?

Deary me. Was that supposed to be a fitting memorial to the millions who died in the wars? Better to follow Borat's example and ask for 10 minutes' silence.

And the Sunday Mirror's dramatic expose about security? I notice they don't do an undercover scoop on how easy it would be to drive a car-load of explosives into Canary Wharf - their HQ.

Why, just this morning I was waved into The Wharf by a security guard without even having telling him the secret password - 'I'm going to Waitrose'.

But despite the above moans, I am very much enjoying the Olympics. I love watching all those 'fringe' sports, as they were described by Radio 5 this morning!

I, Robot
Saw this film on Saturday. I actually quite liked it for it's good-natured humour, kinda plausible plot and gratuitous Will Smith-in-the-shower scene.



But why is every Hollywood fantasy about the future the same? While we have developed robot servants and automatic everything else, we still live in rotting tenements and get woken up by orange plastic 1970s buzzer alarm clocks.

A big well done to the producers for shamelessly shoe-horning in overly-blatant JVC, Converse and Audi 'product placements'.

Rentaghost

Don’t you just hate it when you go to your one of your favourite restaurants and suddenly the food is shite?

Earlier this year, The Other Half and I had a lovely meal at Light, in Shoreditch – great food in a great room with great service – but last night, the food was pretty dismal.

How does that happen?

If you go and they have lemon and fennel soup on the menu, steer well clear. Unless, of course, you like hot, viscous lemon. Mmmmmm.

The room is still great though, so hopefully they will sort out the cuisine.

The reason we were in the ‘achingly-hip’ east end was to go to Carnesky’s Ghost Train.

It’s like a traditional funfair ghost train but instead of ghouls, there is a troupe of female performers inside creating tableaux based on the "migrant women’s journeys from Eastern Europe to Western Europe".

Given that description, it sounds rather pretentious but it isn’t. In fact you probably wouldn’t have guessed what it was about unless you’d read that before. Although it did conjure up an atmosphere of fleeing dark, distant grey lands.

The best bit, apart from sitting in little carriages and going round in the dark, was the stunning visual effects and little magic tricks.

I particularly liked the woman who was dancing with holograms of doves.

And the fact Carnesky was inspired by the discovery that a waxwork figure was actually a mummified human when a ghost train was dismantled in the US.

It is only 10 minutes long and costs a fiver. Also, it might only be there another couple of weeks, so be quick.

Afterwards though, I’d stick to a curry seeing as you are in Brick Lane!

Is it coz I is past it? – Part III

This week, Metro's baffling club-speak goes all foody.

‘THE AGE-OLD maxim goes: 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it', but the beats baked by Bedford-based producer Domu are definitely broken biscuits, full of funky flavours and perfect for dance-floor digestion.’

Biscuit dancing not your thing? Try sinking your boogie-teeth into this:

‘MORE OFTEN THAN than not the remix is the Big Mac of the music world - padding out a bland filling with a series of unappetising and uninspired extras. A Jazzanova rework is, in contrast, more like a fine steak, marinated in rich musical knowledge and with a certain succulent raw texture.’

Now there’s a writer keen to invent some new cliches while trying to alienate ‘un-hip’ types like myself. And once again, success! – I have no f*ing clue what the guy is on about.

But I feel I should get out there and party more. I was quite up for the Circle Line party, had I not been busy changing the batteries in the radio, or something. It definitely looked like fun!

If you, like me, missed this night of crazy high-jinks, try this short but funny quiz and find out which version of the tube map you are. I’m the 1908 Metropolitan Map


You are the 1908 Metropolitan Map! One of the
first full maps of the underground, you are a
pioneer. You are a realist and geographically
accurate, with places of interest. Sit down
and have a cup of tea, love.

I'm down on my knees

I like the Bible Society, they often ask you to pray for extraordinary things such as this:

"The Greek Bible Society have produced 50,000 booklets entitled The Apostle Paul in Greece ...
Please pray ... that The Apostle Paul in Greece will be read and not just discarded"

As the Other Half said: 'Plenty of information about the Olympics on their website so you'd assume that they are praying for the games to pass without any terrorism, but no, they are asking us to pray that people will not just throw their leaflets on the floor.'

I blame football

Apart from upsetting everyone by shagging ropey-looking secretaries, it appears Beckham is also responsible for global warming.



The latest made-up report claims young adults are wasting valuable energy trying to look like their celebrity fashion idols.

Yes, these selfish young whippersnappers spend too much time in the shower and use their hairdryers for more than half an hour each day!

Good god! What are they thinking of?

Quite apart from all the flights they (and everybody else) take, their using millions of plastic bags, their driving cars for the shortest of trips, and their general consumer habits ensuring big businesses continue to convert the world’s resources into pollutants to make profits, they have to go and waste electricity drying their hair.

And there is even a name for these utter bastards: Wendys, or Would-be Environmental Not Doing it Yet.

Yes, they are also, apparently, dirty hypocrites.

So next time you feel the need to coif your barnet into a Hoxton fin, think on. What kind of world are you leaving for the children?

On a slightly more serious note, you can see how much of an impact you are making on the environment with this handy calculator. It really is quite interesting.

Party people

70 bottles/cans of beer

20 bottles wine

3 bottles of vodka

1 bottle gin

1 bottle whiskey

5 bottles champagne

2 broken glasses


Mix the above ingredients with all your favourite people and you have one wicked engagement party!

Yes, it was a top night. There was lots of talking, some dancing, and even some teenage-style snogging action in the spare room.

As the evening wore on and people began to crash out, there were some excellent Lynndie opportunities. Here's Comedy Steve doing one of the best.



And The Other Half getting Simon.



For more pictures of drunk people click here.

So, once again, we found ourselves watching the pink fingers of dawn run through the mist over the dock.

After dispatching the stragglers to the tube to catch the first trains home, it was time for bed, which we ended up sharing with a dead-to-the-world Ceri.

If any of you have any thoughts on the evening's proceedings, or any amusing stories, please post them on the comments section or email them to me!

And finally, on an entirely different note, this cat cloning thing has got to be wrong on so many levels.

Spinal crap

(Anyone not interested in bad backs, and I imagine that's most of you, read this instead!)

I think I can legitimately blame The Other Half for my back problems - my chiropractor thinks it is stress related!

(Only joking, my love)

And you know, I think he could be right.

Let’s look at the evidence.

The first time my back totally went, I was about to get on a tiny aeroplane and I have a fear of flying.



The second time (Portugal hospital day) was just after being jostled in a crowd of people so dense that if anything had happened there was no way out, and I was quite scared.

And today’s back problem, while not being serious enough to start calling ambulances, could have been triggered by me getting a bit panicky over what to cook all the parents, aunts and uncles tomorrow (a trivial thing but I was worrying) while the Other Half kept asking questions not related to food.

Still, Joel managed to unclick me at a moment’s notice this afternoon and now my legs are the same length again.

But somehow, I don’t think there will be any high-kicking dancing going on at the party tomorrow.

Fish body count: 100,000

It looks like I am not the only person having trouble keeping fish alive – now we all are.

It is unbelievable that Victorian sewers were allowed to get in such a state that we managed to pollute the Thames, just as it was beginning to recover from the effects of having humans living along its banks.

We joined Greenpeace today. Our family membership only cost £24, which seems a little cheap to me. Still, it is a start. And hopefully we will be able to join in with some actions soon.

We're not worthy

(Fish body count: one more casualty)

I have a new hero. She is an 86-year-old woman called Great Aunt Liz.

Organic gardener, Greenpeace activist, Amnesty campaigner and all-round inspiration.

She was born in 1918, grew up in Hull, worked during the Second World War, had kids and did all the usual housewifey things until she went off and joined the Greenham Common protest. When she was in her late 60s.

She has spent the past 20 years climbing scaffolding on protests about Sellafield, getting arrested (and spending two weeks in prison) over the Greenham campaign, travelling around the world, dancing around in costumes to save the puffins, and generally getting involved in things when most people her age are dribbling in old people's homes.

She even has a wicked glint in her eye when she talks about the 'little old ladies' in Falmouth, like she was still in her teens.

And, she's a crossword demon.

How many people moan about the state of the planet and society while drinking bottles of red wine around tables laden with food, never getting off their fat arses and doing a thing about it?

I am one of those people but Great Aunt Liz has inspired me to be a bit more proactive. I too am joining Greenpeace, and even if I just hand out leaflets once a year, it's a lot more than I do right now!

I hope I have that clarity of mind if I ever live to be 86.

Falmouth, or bust

I feel cleansed of London smog after my weekend in the country. After a bit of a false start (driving the wrong way down a three-lane one-way street by the Tower of London!) I picked up the Other Half and got the hell outta town.

We sped down the M4 to Stroud, in Gloucester, to stay with the lovely Anthony and Caroline. They have a fantastic country cottage, that was built about 250 years ago. It has a fabulous view across a valley and verdant countryside.

When it got dark, we walked up a proper country lane, all mud and overhanging trees, to a pub. On the way we saw a glow worm. It was a lot more exciting than that sentence suggests! A neon green glow, the colour of old fashioned mobile phones. But under the torch light it was a mean-looking brown grub thing.

Some wine and a couple of playings of William Shatner's version of Common People, by Pulp, and we were ready for bed.

The next morning, we were up and off to Cornwall. Anthony estimated the journey would take about three hours. Ha! Thanks to traffic jams we didn't arrive at the campsite for up to seven hours later.

Why was it so bad? We passed two cars broken down in the 'fast lane' and a mashed up Land Rover, which had been towing a caravan. Luckily, it looked like the occupants survived but the car was a write-off.

After crawling across Bodmin Moor and being forced to buy fuel from E$$O, we arrived at Calamanky Farm - home of sheep, llamas (sic) and chickens, ‘which are of constant interest to children’.

Up with the tent in record time (soft ground see, not like the rock hard earth in Portugal which bent all our pegs) and off to meet Great Aunt Liz ...