Easily pleased

It's not hard to keep the undereducated masses of Surrey Quays happy - a two-bob Abba tribute band is all it takes. They were truly, truly awful but the happy shoppers seemed to like it.



Their mock Swedish performance was poles apart from the entertainment of last night: The Tempest at The Globe.

I love going to The Globe as it is such a wonderful building and the atmosphere inside fills me with childlike excitement and anticipation. But, sadly, this version of The Tempest was utterly baffling.

All the characters were played by just three actors. As good as they were, it was virtually impossible to spot when they changed from one role to another. There was no change of costume, donning of different hats, or, in the case of Prospero/Duke Milan/King Naples/Shiphand even a change of voice!

Having never read or seen The Tempest before, I spent the whole performance thinking that Prospero and The Duke of Milan were two different people (I think they are the same person?) and the King of Naples - how did he get there?

And who were Fernando and Geraldino (or whatever his name was?) and how did Prospero have a daughter?

All was a swirl of some quite impressive physical theatre set on the traditionally set-less stage and accompanied by three female dancers in leather jackets and studs.

A most disappointing play which seemed to have been staged purely at the vanity of the director thinking he could pull it off.

I had better get on the web now and look up The Tempest to see what Shakespeare inteded it to be about!

Four go mad in Dorset

Braving the holiday traffic,TOH, Cheryl and Andrew and I headed down to the south coast; destination a working farm campsite near Corfe Castle. Actually the traffic wasn't so bad, and we arrived before sunset to put up our tents.

The campsite was packed with weekending families and groups. And it was a proper farm with milk cows and wool sheep littering the surrounding fields. I think technically they lowed us to sleep, although it sounded more like plain old baaahing and mooing.

The next day we went to Lyme regis to hunt for fossils. We found a few little ones in the mudstone, mostly shells and ammonites (sp?).

There were many many people hammering away at the rocks in hope of hitting the jackpot. I don't know if they found anything but we were all rather shocked at the mother who swore at her little boy and threw her hammer at him so it bounced off the rocks and hit him on the chest. 'That really hurt mummy,' he said. She replied: 'Oh fuck off.' Nice.

Camping gives you a very close encounter with other people's family life. The tent to our left contained two parents and three little boys. They all seemed to enjoy shouting at and bullying the youngest son, Rory. All weekend we heard the poor little bugger being called a 'dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb baby' at the top of the oldest boy's voice, which he had made hoarse from shouting so much. His mother kept screeching at him not to sit on chairs and his father, annoyed by Rory's lack of cooperation at getting dressed, snatched his breakfast away and told him he wasn't going to eat that morning and zipped him in the tent.

To our right a sulky teenage girl was physically chucked out of bed for lazing about while her parents were trying to pack up the tent. She called her mother a stupid bitch and got a slap round the face for it. All of it really made me reconsider having children.

On Sunday, we did a very nice walk from Swanage over the Nine Barrows hills back to Corfe. We started off in an old fashioned train station to get the steam train to the coast. We bought cardboard tickets from a pensioner through a proper window in the ticket hut.

The platform was decorated with 50s memorablia: tin posters for life-enhancing tobaccos, old wooden porters trolleys and trunks, ancient timetables and, of course, lots of colourful flowers. It was like being in a time warp.

The steam train pulled in make lots of lovely steam train noises and spewing out sulphiferous coal smoke. The whistle blew and we were chugging down to Swanage. We had a compartment for six in the old slam-door carriage. It was great fun.

Swanage however, was a vast gathering of all that makes you cringe about the British seaside. Arcades, screaming children, fat people slowly cooking like pink sausages and swaggering youths.

But we weren't staying and soon left the town to find the start of the hillside path. The walk was splendid. The sun was shining, blue butterflys were flitting round the bushes, the views were magnificent, there were herds of very pretty moo cows and even a lone black bull standing on a blonde hill.

As we approached the end of the walk back in Corfe, we saw a little robin sitting on a gate, darting down the ground now and then to find a grub to eat.

We didn't go in the castle itself but we admired its craggy ruins overlooking the town.

During the day, Andrew had kept his radio on Five Live to listen to the cricket commentary. It was getting a bit tense by the afternoon when we arrived in the town so we went into The Greyhound to watch the rest of the match on the telly.

Luckily for the mood of the holiday, England won.

The pub was hosting a beer festival, and the night before we had spent a couple of enjoyable hours in there watching all the drunk country folk. But after the cricket we ordered food there and the service changed for the worse. The staff wrote the wrong order down, food took ages to come, problems with the chef and we left without yours truly having had anything to eat. It was the rudery and length of time it was taking to make a bowl of pasta.

So, avoid The Greyhound for food in the height of a beer fest. I had a lovely mushroom risotto across the road instead.

Andrew and Cheryl left on the Monday morning. TOH and I went down to the beach at Studland for the day.

It was gorgeous, people flying kites over purple heather, sitting in the sand dunes watching the sea and sleeping.

All was as it should be except the bastard Dorset Council issuing us with a parking fine for parking on the road near the beach along with every other poor sod who thought single yellow lines were not active on Sundays and Bank Holidays.

That evening we watched the bats flying round the pond on the farm with our bat box before falling into our tent and straight to sleep.

Packing up was nice and relaxed and the journey home uneventful, except for the big fire on the M25 - it was shut from the junction we joined on, but luckily the other way so our route home was clear. Near the M23 jucntion, the road was closed again going the other way as a 4x4 towing a horse box had overturned. The horse seemed to be OK but that couldn't be said for the car.

Bone doctors and hypno-dentists

In many ways it was a good job Dad waited 'til he was in Brighton before going to causalty. His foot was very swollen so they admitted him and he is now languishing on a ward in the ambitiously-titled Millennium Tower at the Royal Sussex. If he had gone straight away, he might have been languishing in the less appealing MRSA tower of a certain local hospital.

The specialist is yet to decide whether or not to operate. In the meantime, his days aren't too different to if he was at home - sitting around watching telly and reading. Except there, his meals are brought to his bed.

During the week, I faced my fear of dentists teeth-on and went for a check up. I saw the special hypno-dentist, who put me in the chair and proceeded to ask me about my childhood.

As I sat there shaking like a small girl, tears pricking the backs of my eyelids, he took me back to the days of my old dentist - fillings without asking my permission; pink plaster sliming down the back of my throat during impression making; painful braces, the scars of which I can still feel on the insides of my cheeks; screaming the surgery down during lightly-anaethatised wisdom teeth extractions; the injection going deeper and deeper and deeper into my gums; tongues and cheeks getting sucked into the sucky tube thing and, of course, the sound of the drill.

He concluded that I had had bad experiences in the past and relive them as a child would every time I get into the chair. Does this count as psychotherapy?

A couple of x-rays later, and it was discovered my teeth are fine and I was worrying over nothing. He did, however, con me into buying TWO bottles of mouthwash. The dentist's patient is a vunerable patient.

Right, off to work now. Driving TOH's car, which should be interesting. And camping this weekend!

Action-packed Sunday

1. We were woken by the phone. It was my old man with distressing news: he had fallen off a ladder trying to pick apples from the tree in his back garden.
   He balanced the end on a branch 'with no leaves' not thinking that perhaps it was dead. The next thing he knew he was laying on the grass feeling dizzy and with an extremely painful foot/ankle which he couldn't walk on.
   But did he call me? No, he sat around for the day, and decided to ring his brother this morning.
   I told him to go to casualty to get it checked out but when Uncle B arrived, they headed straight off to his house, where I finally caught up with dad lying on B's sofa.
   Ageing parents - who'd 'ave 'em, eh? And he doesn't even like eating apples!
   
   
2. TOH had the bright idea of going to the Cats Protection League in Archway, to go and bother some pussy puds. The CPL allows 'volunteers' in to pet the cats and play with them. It was actually very cute. There were about 20 moggies in cages, some wanting a fuss, others preferring to bite you.
   We were there for about an hour-and-a-half playing with pussies ranging from kitten to pensioner. The two which I thought were the nicest, intellectual-types were being reserved by a hippy-looking couple as we left.
   
   
3. And on to Parliament Hill for a picnic and to look at the table and chair sculpture.
   
   
   I was rather underwhelmed by the big furniture. I guess I thought it would be bigger. This just didn't impress me much ...
   
   
   The views did impress. All the way to Shooters Hill.
   And as TOH commented, we came all this way to look at where we live through binoculars. We could see The Dome, but not our block of flats. Amazingly, we could also see the Dagenham wind turbines, but not in this picture.
   
   
4. On the way home we stopped off at the cinema again to see Unleashed. This is a film I have been waiting about four months to see. Jet Li is Bob Hoskins' trained killer (Kung Fu-stylee) and is like a young child/dog. He becomes friends with blind piano tuner Morgan Freeman and his daughter (the actress's name I didn't catch). Excellent fight scenes and an original plot line, as far a kung-fu gangster-type plots can be. Highly recommended.
   

While downloading these pics from the camcorder, we were highly entertained to find two pictures taken when we were in Wells for Gail and Chris' wedding. They are the funniest things I have seen for a long time - minutes from the Priddy Parish Council. They have to be read to be believed!

Click on the images to enlarge

Look out for 'Trundle Wheel' loaning and the decision on Orchard FM's appearance at the sheep fair.

Ah, the resignation of Alan and Judith, and Nobby's acceptance. Item 4 is a classic.

Oooh, that's got to hurt

A lovely, lovely Saturday. Not because the football season has started and I lose TOH to Watford every other week, but because I joined Jenny and chums on Wandsworth Common for a birthday BBQ.

There were about 30 people, all having a wonderful time in the overcast, yet warm day. We had food, we had conversation, there were dogs and babies and, best of all, we had games! Like at school games - rounders, cricket, tennis etc.

The rounders was particularly well played. We split into two teams. One team was quite competitive, and our team lost most of the time.

The only trouble was, one of the members of the winning team got so carried away with getting her rounder that she fell over in a most awkward fashion. I was mightily impressed with how flexible her shoulder was when she landed on it but it turns out shoulders aren't supposed to come that far forward and she had, in fact, broken her collarbone.

Ouch.

She was in denial, passive panic and under the influence of drink and adrenaline. We got her an ambulance and packed her off to hospital with Jenny, where it was confirmed that she had snapped the bone. All they did there was strap it up, dish out some pain killers and send her home telling her to rest for a month.

The rest of us bowled along to the pub to end the night with some refreshing sea breezes, beers and Pimms.

TOH didn't come over. He was feeling pretty rough. I fell asleep wondering if he had contracted Weil's disease from swimming in the dock and The Serpentine!

Flicktures

The beauty of having a 'membership' with the local cinema is that when a flim is so diabolically shite, you can just walk out. This happened Friday when we went to see The Wedding Crashers after work.

It was crashingly boring.

A film based entirely on the hil-arious banter between Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn. The plot was lamer than the laughs and we didn't bother to stay and see what the point of the movie was.

On our way out, we simply swiped our cards and got tickets to see The Island.

One lovely meal at Wagamama's later and we were back in the darkened auditorium (when, oh when will Orange give us a new advert without Darth Vader in it?)

The Island is a top notch film. Easy on the eye for both men and women in the audience with the lovely Scarlett Johansson and Ewan McGregor. I shan't spoil the story here - just if you have a couple of hours to kill, choose this one. Not The Wedding Crashers.

Planes, trains and motorcars

Planes
Why are they either not taking off, or dropping like stones from the skies over Greece and Venezuela

Trains
Let the train take the strain, that's what I say. I started looking at our route to Hong Kong via Russia, Mongolia and China for the Big Trip today. I am pleased to say that our feet will not leave the ground until we leave there. I HATE flying.

Jam jars
I am very please to report that Radio 5 is now being broadcast through the Blackwall Tunnel. This is progress. In the olden days, all you would get was an annoying hiss driving under the Thames but now, in crystal clear medium-wave, Radio 5. Live!

Hopeully this will be extended to the stinky Rotherhithe Tunnel where currently hiss is still the only option.

And talking about the RT - I was horrified to see a man running through there yesterday. What was he thinking of? The air inside is so thick with exhaust that sometimes you can't actually see more than ten metres ahead. His poor lungs.

Drugs and BBQ party

Who said married life is dull? Well, it wasn't me but some people do say such things.

TOH is certainly lightening up a bit, if he didn't light up himself - instead of disapproving on Saturday night, he positively beamed, albeit drunkenly, as people rolled spliffs up and smoked them on the balcony.

That is progress.

Perhaps the arrival of all our lovely wedding presents in the morning put him in a mellow frame of mind.

Or the arrival of Ceri, the 'wedding videoer', as she set to work on the computer to edit the film of The Big Day.

Sunday, we went cycling through Epping Forest. It was great to be out in the sticks, if not a little interesting as our knobble-free tyres slipped on the London clay and our streemap.com map was just a blob of green instead of a detailed chart of all the paths and tracks in the woodland.

Navigating with it was just like heading out to sea with a piece of blue paper. Needless to say, we got a bit lost. But we did see some excellent cows.

And I only fell off once, when my wheels got stuck in a rut.

New bike

Buying a new bike is a bit like buying a wedding dress - you go in for an off-the-shoulder, frothy net skirt affair and come out with a rigid forked mountain bike.

Once in the shop, suspension hybrids were out the window as they are quite heavy and the components not all that great within my budget.

Which in a way is a good thing as I now have change to purchase the many over-priced visas needed for the Big Honeymoon.

So, I am the childishly-proud owner of a shiny new Ridgeback Cyclone - watch out Londoners, I'm gonna kick up a storm, but probably not rip your roofs off.

Superfit, superhTOH

It was a nervous morning getting TOH ready for his super sprint triathlon. Watches were forgotten, running vests lost but he did manage to sort himself out on time.

Extra spectators were drafted in - Matt and Eini (sp?)over from Finland, and the in-laws. We headed over to Excel to give him pre-race moral support and to film his heroic efforts.

TOH was nervous, prone to outbursts about how unorganised the London Triathlon mob were. No-one seemed to know what to do or where to do it, although apparently it was all explained in a 20-minute video which he didn't have time to watch.

But come 11.30am he was all set - wetsuit on and in the water.

I watched from a balcony on the side of Excel. I had a bird's eye view of him swimming with the crowd of men - many of who looked like they'd done most of their training in the pub.

He was swimming like a puppy. Apparently his goggles leaked almost immediately and he kept swallowing water.

But he got out, pulled off his wetsuit and started running to find his bike in his sexy speedos.

We managed to see him just at the end of the cycle, catch him as he ran out of the building and cheered him across the finishing line. He came 21st out of 75, just 8mins behind the winner!

I think I might do it next year!

After, we strolled back home for lunch and to get ready for Tom and Emma's wedding.

I drove over to Amershamshire, or somewhere equally distant, for the evening reception. The bride, of course, looked radiant and the groom handsome.

It was an excellent bash, good food, good company and good dancing. I was only just a little bit jealous about not being The Bride anymore but it soon passed.

I'm all a-dither

Ever since we had our insurance 'windfall' when the flat got flooded, I've been thinking about buying a new bike.

While there was a temporary lull in dithering during the wedding period, I reckon I have put in some record-breaking dithering over the subject since that cheque came in!

I still can't make up my mind as to whether I even need a new bike, let alone get as far as producing anything like a shortlist.

Most of yesterday, and now today, has been spent looking at Evancycles.com eyeing up several 'hybrid' vehicles:

Ridgeback momentum: Not bad but fairly loud colour and has plastic pedals

Specialized Crossroads Sport: Attractive silver colour but price might mean compromising on components

Trek 7200: Would be quite a contender but for the ugly paint job

Triban Road 5: Possibly a case of all looks no substance

Cannondale Street Rohloff: For when I win the lottery

In between getting in a muddle over me new wheels, I have been appreciating Banksy's latest offering.


Oh, I almost forgot! The much-admired Nikki Photographer came round last night with the wedding pix! Very, very good they are. Some excess chinnage but there are about 350 images to choose from so our album will be lovley.

For those that were there, I am going to web them so if you want any print offs, let me know. For those that were not there - oh my god, did you miss a fantastic day, or what!

God bless the Robbs

Hold fire on the plastic surgery appeal - Jo has produced some fine photos of the wedding. I look like a normal human being! Just the chins to lose and surely that can be achieved by eating less Fabulous Baking Boys flapjacks!

And Steve surpassed himself yesterday by conducting a Literary Tour of London Town for us. We met in Gordon's Wine Bar by the Embankment, which was exciting in itself as the police had sealed off Embankment tube station because some dozy twat had left a baggage unattended.

Once the kerfuffle had died down we were on our way. First port of call was in Villiers St to see the blue plaque for Samuel Pepys, who lived in a flat above a shop and used to drink in Gordons.

Then we were on our way round the Savoy area, the Adelphi, into Fleet St and on. We were introduced to such illuminati as Pepys, Orwell (born in a house now under the former Army and Navy in Bromley, dontcha know), Dunn, and loads more who I can't remember at this time of the evening.

Steve did well. He did particularly well on his specialist subject Dr Samuel Johnson, who he even wrote about for the BBC.

Nice one, centurian

How nice is Rome?

I was massively impressed with the place. It helped starting the holiday by being deposited into one of the most impressive hotels I've ever seen - The Aleph, where we were promptly fed and watered.

While TOH headed off into a meeting room to discuss printers and ink cartridges, I took the lift downstairs and made good use of the basement spa. Steam room, plunge pool and chill out room.

After such relaxing activities (for me at least) we headed off to the Tivoli Fountain and the Spanish Steps. Fountain was spectacular but steps only 'interesting'.

Our hosts took us to a lovely wine-based restaurant in the evening by coach, via some more sights (there is something amazing pretty much on every street corner) and TOH and I walked back to the hotel via the Tivoli Fountain again by night. You can smell it a couple of streets away!

The next day was just the best thing ever. A guided tour of the Forum and the Coliseum. Our guide was a PhD in Roman history and was extremely informative. We had such a good day. The Romans really were a great race.

And the piece de resistance - a guided tour of the Vatican Museum and Sistine Chapel with no other tourists there. Wow. There was only about 25 of us in the Sistine Chapel. We had all the magnificent Michelangelos to ourselves. Absolutely stunning.

And of course all the riches and artwork - Botticelli, Raphael etc - that the popes over the years have commissioned or collected.

Another great meal in the evening, drinks down on the banks of the Tiber in the shadow of the Bridge of Angels and eventually to bed.

Sunday, we flew home.

Top place Rome. So much more to see that another trip will be required.

And thanks Hewlett Packard. While you are sacking thousends of staff, you sure know how to run a jolly!

UPDATE I have had my wrists slapped by TOH for not mentioning the wonderful Roman cats, which hang around Largo Argentina. They were very cute, especially the tabby with huge eyes who looked just like Puss In Boots from Shrek II. You can adopt these cats, if you want.