It's good to see that on the day of the election, Nigel Farage of UKIP is involved in a plane crash, presumably in the hope of garnering some sympathy votes. For me, it's shame that it didn't hit the ground a bit harder. It's also been reported that the BNP candidate Bob Bailey was involved in a fracas whilst canvassing in an area with a large Asian population. I have a friend called Bob Bailey. They're not related.
I won't be voting for a variety of reasons. I'm not on the electoral register having failed to fill in the form. I might have done, but they have a habit of selling your details off to any old junk mail company. I'm not really a fan of democracy in a world which is so complicated that generally we don't have the foggiest about the real issues of the day. But I'm not suggesting I know of a better alternative. And finally, I'm loathe to vote for a party, any party, where I might support some of their policies but not all of them...so in effect I'd be voting for something I don't believe in. Call it a cop out if you like, but I don't think so. Where we live, is a very very very deep shade of blue. Last time round we lived in Bermondsey and I voted for the very nice Simon Hughes.
I will be staying up 'til the crack of sparrow watching Election night coverage in the hope of there being another Portillo moment...although this time I gather the most likely thing is for Gordon to lose his Balls...one or both I'm not sure. I may need to rethink my approach as I am a student of politics (2.1 Hons) and should be encouraging the boy to get involved.
On the subject of politics,I'd just like to raise the issue of political correctness. We're all used to behaving properly these days and avoiding is 'isms'...for me it often goes too far, and we have to be so PC it takes out much of the colour and joy of living. BUT,I am completely confused by what's OK amongst our youth and what isn't. At school,any thing that is bad is 'Jewish'. As in "That's so Jewish". I recoil in horror, but evidently its common parlance amongst the lads and lasses of every creed. And no malice is meant by it so evidently it's OK. I don't understand. By comparison, a friend (yes honestly it wasn't me) whilst waiting for someone who was late described them as being on 'African time' and that was derided with accusations of casual racism.
And tomorrow is the annual Whites vs Asians football match. Again I recoil. It gets doubly confusing because you have non-Asians playing in the Asians team. It's all good fun evidently. I'm totally confused. Any help here would be much appreciated.
Thursday, 6 May 2010
Wednesday, 5 May 2010
The Gallery...graveyard shift
I rather like Tara's Gallery - it's fun to see what everyone does for the weekly theme. This week, it's Paint a Picture of the World we live in...and I see there are lots of exotic places people have chosen. For me though, I've chosen the local graveyard near my office in Bermondsey. Very few people know Bermondsey, and it's a delightful place, off the beaten track - amazing considering we are just spitting distance from the big bad City. Anyway, the graveyard is used as a park now, and people come here for their lunch when it's sunny. I love it - peace and quiet, away from the roar of the traffic. The boy managed to find a fig tree, and scrumped a few last year...
Friday, 30 April 2010
It's all in the name
Sometimes timing is everything. Yesterday morning I went along to a 'breakfast briefing'. The speaker was Hugh Pym. You may not know that name. But you should. He is the Economics correspondent at the BBC. When I arrived, I asked for the event and was directed towards 'Patrick Keilty's event'...that was confusing, because as far as I was aware he is just a gameshow host and comedian. And if I remember rightly not very good at either. Fortunately it turned out that the reception was just confused...the event was being organised by Patrick Kelly...a man of no consequence, other than he was organising the event.
Hugh Pym was equally not who I expected him to be - in my mind he was short, roundish and heading towards retirement. So when the real Hugh stepped forwards and was a lanky 50 year old, I was slightly non-plussed.
Yesterday, of course, was the morning after the night before...the previous day Greece had been declared a load of Junk, and both Spain and Portugal had been downgraded (presumably to economy class). So we were lucky to have his time. And most enlightening it was too. Essentially he said, don't worry about which party has the best economics policy, because the only difference in terms of spending plans is £6 billion. That might seem a lot to the likes of you and me, but when we're sitting on a £trillion deficit, the odd £6 billion doesn't make any difference one way or t'other. So throw your vote at one party or the other..or indeed the other one, but do it because you like the colour of their tie rather than the slant of their economic policy. Whichever party is voted in, it is the boy and his generation that will be paying off our debts...so I say "Thanks" to the boy.
I wanted to ask a question, but I was in a room full of important people with MBAs and thought I might be asking a dumb one, so just held my fire...but now I wish I hadn't. I wanted to know why the ratings agencies - Standard & Poor, etc are so highly regarded...after all it was my understanding that it was they that fed the property boom and bust by giving AAA ratings to these rather strange 'Collateral Debt Obligations' which have brought the world economy to its knees. Effectively iot was their word that gave the bankers a head of steam to bring misery and despair on us all. Anyway, when I returned to the office, Robert Peston had written something about it here
So another lesson learned...'Just Do It'
I sat next to a man from Goldman Sachs...and surprisingly he didn't seem that avaricious...but who knows, appearances can be deceptive.
Anyway, Hugh Pym was very good indeed. And I'm glad I know who he is now. Here's a picture of him for good measure...I expect the copyright is owned by the Beeb
Hugh Pym was equally not who I expected him to be - in my mind he was short, roundish and heading towards retirement. So when the real Hugh stepped forwards and was a lanky 50 year old, I was slightly non-plussed.
Yesterday, of course, was the morning after the night before...the previous day Greece had been declared a load of Junk, and both Spain and Portugal had been downgraded (presumably to economy class). So we were lucky to have his time. And most enlightening it was too. Essentially he said, don't worry about which party has the best economics policy, because the only difference in terms of spending plans is £6 billion. That might seem a lot to the likes of you and me, but when we're sitting on a £trillion deficit, the odd £6 billion doesn't make any difference one way or t'other. So throw your vote at one party or the other..or indeed the other one, but do it because you like the colour of their tie rather than the slant of their economic policy. Whichever party is voted in, it is the boy and his generation that will be paying off our debts...so I say "Thanks" to the boy.
I wanted to ask a question, but I was in a room full of important people with MBAs and thought I might be asking a dumb one, so just held my fire...but now I wish I hadn't. I wanted to know why the ratings agencies - Standard & Poor, etc are so highly regarded...after all it was my understanding that it was they that fed the property boom and bust by giving AAA ratings to these rather strange 'Collateral Debt Obligations' which have brought the world economy to its knees. Effectively iot was their word that gave the bankers a head of steam to bring misery and despair on us all. Anyway, when I returned to the office, Robert Peston had written something about it here
So another lesson learned...'Just Do It'
I sat next to a man from Goldman Sachs...and surprisingly he didn't seem that avaricious...but who knows, appearances can be deceptive.
Anyway, Hugh Pym was very good indeed. And I'm glad I know who he is now. Here's a picture of him for good measure...I expect the copyright is owned by the Beeb
Wednesday, 28 April 2010
Boy on a bench...for The Gallery
Another week...another challenge from Tara's Gallery
I've got two favourite pictures of the boy. Actually, I've got loads...but this one is nice because it was a particularly happy time...in 2008 we drove from one end of the A5 (Marble Arch) to the other (Hollyhead), and then camped in the shadow of Snowden. We arrived as most people were packing up and leaving the campsite following overnight wind and rain that had blown more than one tent away...but we were not to be deterred...in fact although it was damp for most of the week (and I gather that Snowden is generally damp), we managed to cook outside and watch the sun go down every evening. We walked up Snowden through the fog and clouds...which was probably a good thing as I get giddy at height. This was taken at Portmeiron which I'd wanted to go to ever since seeing The Prisoner. There were no bouncing spheres...but we did walk along the estuary until we returned and saw a sign saying 'Danger! Quicksand'. We trod more carefully after that. Aren't the colours beautiful?
Tuesday, 27 April 2010
Happy Birthday
Remarkably, it's the boy's birthday again...he's 15 on Saturday. I'm not sure how it happens that this comes round every year. If only we'd had the foresight to have him delivered on 29th February, then I'd only have to worry about it once every four years. I wonder if I could shift it to February 29th and see if he minds...after all the first year he would get an early birthday. I'm sold on the idea.
As usual, it's a trial to think of things to get him. His brief is 'something to do with cycling or skiing'. Which is fine, except the skiing season has finished, and what he means by something to do with cycling, is the new bike he's got his eye on: £2500. There's just no chance. I could by myself something nice for that.
Last year I appealed here on the blog and got heaps of lovely suggestions...so that's a head start (if I can find them again that is). But I'm still struggling.
We're taking some friends go-karting in the morning. I had better win. And in the afternoon, its a bbq...come rain or shine.
And on Sunday we'll go and see a 15 certificate film...tough choice at the moment - Kick Ass, Ghost, Cemetry Junction, Centurion, Date Night, Extract are doing the rounds....but not a classic amongst them I suspect...
But we won't be singing Happy Birthday......click here to see why
As usual, it's a trial to think of things to get him. His brief is 'something to do with cycling or skiing'. Which is fine, except the skiing season has finished, and what he means by something to do with cycling, is the new bike he's got his eye on: £2500. There's just no chance. I could by myself something nice for that.
Last year I appealed here on the blog and got heaps of lovely suggestions...so that's a head start (if I can find them again that is). But I'm still struggling.
We're taking some friends go-karting in the morning. I had better win. And in the afternoon, its a bbq...come rain or shine.
And on Sunday we'll go and see a 15 certificate film...tough choice at the moment - Kick Ass, Ghost, Cemetry Junction, Centurion, Date Night, Extract are doing the rounds....but not a classic amongst them I suspect...
But we won't be singing Happy Birthday......click here to see why
Monday, 26 April 2010
Culture vulture
There is endless entertainment to be had from watching the British worker at, erm, work. Here is a delivery being made on Friday afternoon. The tail lift had got stuck...and no end of bouncing up and down by the driver was going to make it work as it should. As you can see, the contents of the pallet are about to make their presence felt all over the man on the ground. This went on for about twenty minutes and was priceless.
By comparison, there was a cost to the rest of our weekend's entertainment...it was a weekend of unadulterated culture for us...and here I am Monday morning, completely exhausted. We spread ourselves across the full spectrum of culture, and the boy will go back to school this morning, 'cultured up', which is no bad thing as it's exam term. Hope he has fewer nightmares than me.
Friday night was Rhod Gilbert - we were taken by friends to the Hammersmith Apollo. It was like facing a German machine gun encampment...and we left feeling that funny as he can be when talking about broken luggage and tog ratings, three hours of being shouted at by an angry Welshman was probably not a good thing. Going home we lost one of our number...hopefully he'll materialise sooner or later.
Saturday we were celebrating Shakespeare's birthday with a trip to Stratford (the boy's face fell when he realised that meant Upon Avon, rather than Home of the 2012 Olympics). Romeo, oh Romeo was top notch - an Apocalypse Now first half kept us going through the second as it hurtled towards its tragic end. Our souvenir is a manga-style version of Othello, which the boy is studying for GCSE...
...and then last night was Star Wars on DVD. No4...the first one. It's not fared well with the passing of time...but perhaps that's because I'm not an aficionado, just a casual observer.
Friday, 23 April 2010
My Downfall
If you watched the film Downfall, it may have been because you watched the parodies which have popped up on You Tube. There's been a veritable avalanche of them...and the boy and I have been watching them for months...my favourite remains the Michael Jackson one..his, one about being given the wrong motorcycle.
But no more, as the film makers are having them all removed. So this may be the last opportunity for you to watch:
I love the last line.
How sad when they are all gone.
But no more, as the film makers are having them all removed. So this may be the last opportunity for you to watch:
I love the last line.
How sad when they are all gone.
Thursday, 22 April 2010
Grown up
April 1st was an important day for me. I passed from young and ambitious, to old and settled. The cause of this was not a birthday, but it was indeed an anniversary...and it brought a present with it.
It turns out, as I discovered by letter sometime in early March, that 25 years ago I took out a mortgage; my first mortgage. And this was in the days of endowment mortgages. And whilst the first flat is long gone, the endowment has been hanging around gathering cobwebs in the dusty cupboards. Like all those investments we were sold at the time, I was promised a very handsome return on my investment, and unfortunately, as we now know, I'm not a banker and my reward is less than it should be. I'd like to say that my endowment is smaller than it should be, but I realise that will only get Auntie Gwen tittering. She's like that.
My first flat was in Brighton. Hove Actually. And was typical of the local architecture - bow fronted, with a balcony. Beautiful. It had just been modernised, so I had central heating. But like most of the properties in Brighton and Hove it had been refurbished by the sort of builder that might otherwise be described as a cowboy. I was quite lucky - my biggest problems were radiators that would develop little holes, showering the room with water of various temperatures. If I'd wanted a fountain, I'd have asked for it. Whenever my upstairs neighbour flushed her loo, it filled with hot water. Within six months, my neighbour at the back of the building had all her tiles fall off the bathroom wall. And there were other horrors in every flat.
And like the rest of Hove, the residents were a little eccentric. The somewhat secretive man on the top floor disappeared in his rusting Porsche one day, never to be seen again. The flat had been abandoned, and his creditors when they reclaimed the flat, had to call in the council because he had kept a pet owl which flew around depositing whatever owls deposit all over everything.
Still it was a nice flat, with fifteen foot high ceilings. And it was mine. I felt proper grown up, when on my first morning I placed an order with the milk man for a pint a day. Only grown ups did that.
The endowment is now safely deposited in my bank. It wouldn't buy a flat these days. It wouldn't buy a room even. Some will go to paying off debts. And some will go to new flooring in the Brighton flat that I bought when I sold this one.
But it feels as though this was a significant moment. The sort of thing that only real grown ups have.
Copyright note: these are not my pictures and the copyright of the owners is acknowledged
It turns out, as I discovered by letter sometime in early March, that 25 years ago I took out a mortgage; my first mortgage. And this was in the days of endowment mortgages. And whilst the first flat is long gone, the endowment has been hanging around gathering cobwebs in the dusty cupboards. Like all those investments we were sold at the time, I was promised a very handsome return on my investment, and unfortunately, as we now know, I'm not a banker and my reward is less than it should be. I'd like to say that my endowment is smaller than it should be, but I realise that will only get Auntie Gwen tittering. She's like that.
My first flat was in Brighton. Hove Actually. And was typical of the local architecture - bow fronted, with a balcony. Beautiful. It had just been modernised, so I had central heating. But like most of the properties in Brighton and Hove it had been refurbished by the sort of builder that might otherwise be described as a cowboy. I was quite lucky - my biggest problems were radiators that would develop little holes, showering the room with water of various temperatures. If I'd wanted a fountain, I'd have asked for it. Whenever my upstairs neighbour flushed her loo, it filled with hot water. Within six months, my neighbour at the back of the building had all her tiles fall off the bathroom wall. And there were other horrors in every flat.
And like the rest of Hove, the residents were a little eccentric. The somewhat secretive man on the top floor disappeared in his rusting Porsche one day, never to be seen again. The flat had been abandoned, and his creditors when they reclaimed the flat, had to call in the council because he had kept a pet owl which flew around depositing whatever owls deposit all over everything.
Still it was a nice flat, with fifteen foot high ceilings. And it was mine. I felt proper grown up, when on my first morning I placed an order with the milk man for a pint a day. Only grown ups did that.
The endowment is now safely deposited in my bank. It wouldn't buy a flat these days. It wouldn't buy a room even. Some will go to paying off debts. And some will go to new flooring in the Brighton flat that I bought when I sold this one.
But it feels as though this was a significant moment. The sort of thing that only real grown ups have.
Copyright note: these are not my pictures and the copyright of the owners is acknowledged
Wednesday, 21 April 2010
The brand issue
I've always made it a principle not to use the blog for any PR or advertising...it's for my pleasure and not for anyone's commercial gain. But that hasn't stopped me being inundated by offers from PRs. The e-mails usually go..."I've been reading your blog, it's really interesting and I was wondering if you'd like to write about blah blahs product". Usually, blah, blah's product is something for a two year old or for a girl or something that is otherwise completely irrelevant. So they get ignored. As a PR myself it's brought home to me the horror of how bad my profession is at what it does.
However, this week, I received a missive from a PR who had actually read the blog, and got the targeting spot on:
As a Dad, you may not get the chance to become a Nana one day - but you certainly might be a Papa and can appreciate the affection the UK public have for their nans nationwide. And with your son's nan being in Cyprus, I'm sure he'd love a way to show how much he cares. As such, I am emailing you to tell you about a campaign I'm currently working on with Shreddies that gives people the chance to honour their nanas by asking the question - Does your nana have what it takes to get the position of best Nana Job in the World!
The Shreddies campaign, which was launched on Facebook last week, will see the UK's best nana knitter win the opportunity to be the Official On-Packet Knitting Nana for Shreddies. Full details of the campaign can be found on facebook. You can also see more about how nanas make Shreddies and spend their time in the factory at the interactive, video, game and fact-filled site at knittedbynanas.com.
The current frontrunner for the job is Madge Waken from Stevenage, Hertforshire who has already generated over 1,300 votes. We'd love some more entries from Scotland and there is plenty of time to drum up support.
I have attached the release below for your information. If you have any questions or need video links or photography for use in the blog, please don't hesitate to contact me.
Best,
Ryan Levitt
Anyway...it seems fun to me. I might even nominate Grandma in Cyprus...although she gave up knitting a while ago....I used to get some spectacular jumpers...in the meantime, I'm going to go and get a box of Shreddies for tomorrows breakfast.
And on a different note altogether, the boy got a new mobile phone this week...his last one had an enormous crack on the screen and was looking decidedly the worse for wear. As mobiles are just about the most important accessory a teen can have, I couldn't face the thought of the tears and tantrums if it died altogether. Many of his friends have iphones...which seems a ridiculous extravagance to me - but that's Essex for you. He was given a Samsung B2110. The box has a mountain biker picture on it, and it can be dropped into water. In fact it can be dropped onto concrete. It is a tough phone. It has a torch. And an SOS function which will text four of your nearest and dearest if you're in trouble. But, as we now have discovered, it has one function that all phones should have. It has alarms to remind you if you are a Muslim, Christian, Sikh, or Hindu to pray. The Muslim one goes off five times a day. Each alarm has a ringtone that to my ignorant mind sounds exactly as it should and is accompanied by an image of your favoured deity.
May the Lord be praised.
However, this week, I received a missive from a PR who had actually read the blog, and got the targeting spot on:
As a Dad, you may not get the chance to become a Nana one day - but you certainly might be a Papa and can appreciate the affection the UK public have for their nans nationwide. And with your son's nan being in Cyprus, I'm sure he'd love a way to show how much he cares. As such, I am emailing you to tell you about a campaign I'm currently working on with Shreddies that gives people the chance to honour their nanas by asking the question - Does your nana have what it takes to get the position of best Nana Job in the World!
The Shreddies campaign, which was launched on Facebook last week, will see the UK's best nana knitter win the opportunity to be the Official On-Packet Knitting Nana for Shreddies. Full details of the campaign can be found on facebook. You can also see more about how nanas make Shreddies and spend their time in the factory at the interactive, video, game and fact-filled site at knittedbynanas.com.
The current frontrunner for the job is Madge Waken from Stevenage, Hertforshire who has already generated over 1,300 votes. We'd love some more entries from Scotland and there is plenty of time to drum up support.
I have attached the release below for your information. If you have any questions or need video links or photography for use in the blog, please don't hesitate to contact me.
Best,
Ryan Levitt
Anyway...it seems fun to me. I might even nominate Grandma in Cyprus...although she gave up knitting a while ago....I used to get some spectacular jumpers...in the meantime, I'm going to go and get a box of Shreddies for tomorrows breakfast.
And on a different note altogether, the boy got a new mobile phone this week...his last one had an enormous crack on the screen and was looking decidedly the worse for wear. As mobiles are just about the most important accessory a teen can have, I couldn't face the thought of the tears and tantrums if it died altogether. Many of his friends have iphones...which seems a ridiculous extravagance to me - but that's Essex for you. He was given a Samsung B2110. The box has a mountain biker picture on it, and it can be dropped into water. In fact it can be dropped onto concrete. It is a tough phone. It has a torch. And an SOS function which will text four of your nearest and dearest if you're in trouble. But, as we now have discovered, it has one function that all phones should have. It has alarms to remind you if you are a Muslim, Christian, Sikh, or Hindu to pray. The Muslim one goes off five times a day. Each alarm has a ringtone that to my ignorant mind sounds exactly as it should and is accompanied by an image of your favoured deity.
May the Lord be praised.
Tuesday, 20 April 2010
Did you pack the bag yourself?
I'm sorry. I'd like to apologise to my fellow Russian travellers. But as they say, "Sorry is as sorry does" I've never known what that means....
Ideally I'd like to pass quickly over my scheduling challenges and move on, but selfishly, Kellogsville chose to ask the question in her comment on my Russian post....did we manage to get back and deliver the boy 'oop north' OK...
Apology no1: I didn't mean to padlock my suitcase shut for you to carry through customs at the airport. Two security checks. Wasn't it lucky that those Russian security people chose to open someone else in our party's luggage, and not my suitcase?
Apology no2: I didn't know that BA would only allow each person to have one piece of hold luggage. I thought that was Ryanair. I'm so glad you could take our bags through as cabin luggage. I do realise that means the boy and I could have brought it with us.
Enough of the damned apologies...I'm sure you didn't mean it when you said that I could never travel with you again. And I'm hoping the comment that I'm a drug runner using you as mules was made in jest....wasn't it?
Remarkably, our flight left bang on time, and with a following wind we arrived half an hour early. With no luggage to collect we sailed through formalities, caught the Paddington Express, and with only a small delay on the new and improved Circle line arrived early enough at Euston to put the the boy on a train an hour earlier than expected, meaning an nine-thirty arrival time.
I don't in any way resent having to pay an excess on the train which was more than double the original fare. humph.
And naturally, I was not in anyway panicked by not being able to get hold of the teacher who was going to pick the boy up from the station at the far end. Until just a couple of minutes before he arrived. That was three hours of calling without a response. humph
.....
Wednesday, 14 April 2010
The five dollar shake
If only the five dollar shakes were like that in Moscow!...
Russia by numbers:
2 - the two policemen who laughed when they saw my Putin-inspired passport photo. Who said the Russians had no sense of humour?
30 - the cost of our first burger when we arrived. Not roubles, but Pounds sterling. It was inedible. The cost of dining was a major challenge throughout the week - and we never found a good meal in Moscow, although St Petersburg was a lot better on that front. In Moscow, I'm afraid in desperation we ended up having coffee in Starbucks. They'd run out of mugs, even though there were just six people in there.
12 - the number of girls sitting in the hotel lobby that we assumed were prostitutes - when we saw them for breakfast next day we realised they were a gaggle of English students. Prejudice is everything
4 - the actual number of prostitutes that 50 Cent had sent up to his room by his bodyguards. Fortunately our rooms were on a different floor
11 - the number of football players in a team. Jose Mourinho seemed to have a lot more than that waiting in the lobby of our Moscow hotel. They all seemed very bored. He needed a haircut according to the women in our party
1 - the number of ex-German Chancellors we saw. Herr Schroder. His hair didn't look dyed. An awful lot of the great and good had stayed at the hotel. And many of the bad too. See the pics, make your choice! Of course the other leader we saw was Lenin. he didn't look too good.
14 - the number of people in our party. Two of the adults were American. Both are convinced that Elizabeth Taylor isn't British, and never has been. As part of the conversation, I mentioned that Santa wasn't real, much to the distress of their 11 year-old boy...
61 - either the year of my birth, which is completely irrelevant, or we were shown round the Space Museum by the 61st Russian astronaut...he's now the deputy director there. How exciting was that...I shook hands with a real cosmonaut. Don't ask me his name. It was Russian and therefore unpronounceable. We liked the two stuffed dogs who had done their turn in space/ They were preserved for eternity looking skyward - perhaps wondering where they'd buried their bones.
1110 - the number of photos I took. Anyone fancy coming round for a slide show?
1942 - evidently the year we, and the Americans, decided to join in the Great Patriotic War according to our guide. One of our party exploded, before pointing out the proper date. As recorded in our history books. Which are probably more accurate than theirs.
1 - the number of over slippers that Bob kept losing in the museums and palaces. You have to wear them to protect the beautiful floors. He became known as One Boot Bob, which was kind of funny. If you were there. He also had a habit of wandering off, so there was the regular cry of 'Where's Bob?' We think it may make a book to replace Where's Wally. He also asked a lot of questions. Some of these were interesting. Most weren't. Bob is in his late fifties, so neither a tear away teen, or a demented OAP.
3 - the approximate interval in minutes between trains on the amazingly beautiful Moscow Metro system. By comparison, we had to wait four times that for our Circle line train in London
8 - the number of hours it took for our sleeper train to travel from Moscow to St Petersburg. It was beautifully appointed, and the staff brought food and beverages for us all night.
4 - the number of bottles of vodka we drank on the train. Ouch
2 - the number of hours sleep we managed as we partied all night
15 - the temperature we enjoyed in Moscow and St Petersburg. Unseasonably warm, it was lovely, and the blue skies mean we have a probably quite distorted view of the Russian climate.
4 - the number of Russian dolls we painted at a bizarre Russian-style Disneyland which appeared to have been built on an industrial estate on the outskirts of Moscow. We had fun, but weird is a complete understatement
2 - the number of active churches we visited. And lots and lots of in-active ones. Each and everyone was absolutely beautiful. Even St Basil's which our guide described as "Nothing much inside!"
12 - the number of Palaces we saw. Actually it may have been less. Or more. There were many and a testimony to the extravagance of the Russian Tsars. No wonder the peasants revolted. But you can't deny they're stunning and we could have spent longer seeing more if we'd had the time
3 - The three steer bar - we needed a drink during our travels and stumbled on this one. It wasn't called that, but it had three life size cows outside. And a life size plastic horse - so I took my shirt off for my Putin pose. There were no other women in the bar, and the waitresses all wore very short skirts. Perhaps there was a shortage of cloth.
0 - the number of world-class paintings displayed in the Tretyakov Gallery according to our resident expert. Evidently the Church disapproved of painting (except icons) so it didn't develop as art did in the West. Mind you, that didn't stop the aristocracy acquiring great works of art.
0 - apparently the number of sea battles the Russian fleet has ever won. They seemed to keep losing their fleet to various foreigners. The Naval Museum in St Petersburg is not a glorious place.
8 - the number of times I was stopped and asked questions by people who apparently thought I was Russian. I'm not sure what that means.
10/10 - what a brilliant and fascinating country Russia is. We barely scraped the surface, and I hope one day to return.
Sunday, 4 April 2010
Nearly there
School broke up on Thursday...the boy had been away for a two day Geography filed trip. Well I assume it was Geography, because he came back with a 'Work Bookelet'...I've put a big green ring round the offending 'e'. I hope that doesn't lose him any marks...we hurtled down to Brighton to see a performance of the History Boys'...a fine performance, a modest production and we could happily say all the lines for the actors as we've watched the film so may times...
And now we're back. The boy is packed for Russia...well "apart from jeans, T-shirts and pants" he says. So I'm guessing that's a completely empty suitcase then. And he is also packed for adventurous training. I guess apart from "jeans, T-shirts and pants".
We have our visas. Hurrah! We're spending a few days in Moscow, a sleeper train will then take us to St Petersburg...and it's all very exciting for us. There are 14 in the party. And that will be interesting as neither the boy nor I normally travel in a group larger than two. As we're intolerant beasts, we will have to be on our best behaviour.
When we fly in next Monday, we arrive at Heathrow at 5.30 and have just two hours to get to Euston for him to take a train up to Windermere where a school master will hopefully collect him and drive the 20 minutes to Coniston. With a prevailing wind I think it will work. That is my optimistic side...because the alternative is to drive him overnight. And I really don't want that.
So assuming I shan't be near a computer for the next week, I will say "До свиданья. Держите безопасную"
And now we're back. The boy is packed for Russia...well "apart from jeans, T-shirts and pants" he says. So I'm guessing that's a completely empty suitcase then. And he is also packed for adventurous training. I guess apart from "jeans, T-shirts and pants".
We have our visas. Hurrah! We're spending a few days in Moscow, a sleeper train will then take us to St Petersburg...and it's all very exciting for us. There are 14 in the party. And that will be interesting as neither the boy nor I normally travel in a group larger than two. As we're intolerant beasts, we will have to be on our best behaviour.
When we fly in next Monday, we arrive at Heathrow at 5.30 and have just two hours to get to Euston for him to take a train up to Windermere where a school master will hopefully collect him and drive the 20 minutes to Coniston. With a prevailing wind I think it will work. That is my optimistic side...because the alternative is to drive him overnight. And I really don't want that.
So assuming I shan't be near a computer for the next week, I will say "До свиданья. Держите безопасную"
Wednesday, 31 March 2010
Outside my front door: The Gallery
As I get older I get an increasingly morbid fear that technology will overwhelm me...so in doing this post for StickyFingers, I am completely confident that I will create more black holes than the Hadron Collider, and the world will end before the start of Doctor Who...
...anyway here are two views from outside my front door - one from Brighton during the snow, and the other from beautiful Epping Forest. Having two front doors is a good thing methinks....
Tuesday, 30 March 2010
One lump or two?
With our trip to Moscow just a matter of days away, the bombings on the metro there have an increased poignancy. 38 people dead on their way to work is a terrible thing where ever - much sympathy to their friends and families. However, as this sort of thing can happen anywhere these days, our plans remain resolute.
A couple of weeks ago I was out clothes shopping as stocks of shirts without frayed cuffs and collars was wearing low. For the first time Zara Men came to my rescue and I picked up some nice stuff. Of course, as a Spanish retailer, their clothes are cut more for the smaller mediteranean frame, rather than my northern european shape. It couldn't possibly be that I have put on any pounds in recent months.
I also got a rather splendid T-shirt that had both collar and cuffs in 'normal' shirt cotton. The thing is when I popped it on at home, it was painful. No I hadn't left a tag in it. Or a pin. I discovered I had a painful swelling (perhaps even a lump) on my chest. It was very tender indeed. And I didn't hesitate to get down to the doctor as soon as possible...confounding the statistic that men tend to leave these things for far too long.
He pushed and prodded and decided he would refer me to the local hospital within what seems to be called the two week rule. A biopsy for me. A man with a morbid fear of needles.
The consultant didn't spend much time with me...he too pushed, prodded and made me wince....just some tissue growth he said. Actually he said breast tissue growth and this will settle down within weeks. That doesn't mean I'm growing a splendid pair of moobs. Nothing to worry about and quite common. The relief was palpable.
I have to go back in eight weeks just to be certain sure.
But it has been a tense couple of weeks...and the positive out of it (apart, obviously from the positive result) is that I recognise I'm at 'that age' when I need to be aware of my health more than before...but not to panic.
So I will quietly forget all those aches and pains from an hour of playing five a side soccer at the weekend....
A couple of weeks ago I was out clothes shopping as stocks of shirts without frayed cuffs and collars was wearing low. For the first time Zara Men came to my rescue and I picked up some nice stuff. Of course, as a Spanish retailer, their clothes are cut more for the smaller mediteranean frame, rather than my northern european shape. It couldn't possibly be that I have put on any pounds in recent months.
I also got a rather splendid T-shirt that had both collar and cuffs in 'normal' shirt cotton. The thing is when I popped it on at home, it was painful. No I hadn't left a tag in it. Or a pin. I discovered I had a painful swelling (perhaps even a lump) on my chest. It was very tender indeed. And I didn't hesitate to get down to the doctor as soon as possible...confounding the statistic that men tend to leave these things for far too long.
He pushed and prodded and decided he would refer me to the local hospital within what seems to be called the two week rule. A biopsy for me. A man with a morbid fear of needles.
The consultant didn't spend much time with me...he too pushed, prodded and made me wince....just some tissue growth he said. Actually he said breast tissue growth and this will settle down within weeks. That doesn't mean I'm growing a splendid pair of moobs. Nothing to worry about and quite common. The relief was palpable.
I have to go back in eight weeks just to be certain sure.
But it has been a tense couple of weeks...and the positive out of it (apart, obviously from the positive result) is that I recognise I'm at 'that age' when I need to be aware of my health more than before...but not to panic.
So I will quietly forget all those aches and pains from an hour of playing five a side soccer at the weekend....
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