Once upon a time this was about Me and The Boy. The it was Me, The Boy, The Cat and The Cat's Mother. And now, I'm not sure who it's about. How life changes when you least expect it!
Tara chose to make August 29th her 'one day' to take a picture. That was the last day of our holiday - see here. The previous day had been bright and sunny, but Sunday was cold wet and damp in Reykjavik...a suitable way to finish a holiday. I took this photo as we waited for the coach to take us across the lava fields, past the Blue Lagoon to Keflavik airport. We'd had a brilliant, but exhausting week...and it probably shows...
But as we headed towards Britain, the flight forty minutes ahead of schedule, the clouds cleared enabling us to see the islands off the coast of Scotland...most seemed to have just one or two buildings on them...what a different life to the one we lead in London - and how much must they appreciate the sun when it comes.
Not many people seem to know the size of Iceland. When The Boy and I went there a decade ago, I'd guessed it at around about the same area as the Isle of Wight..and many of our current friends seem to think that's about right. In fact it's just slightly smaller than England. We spent three days driving east from Reykjavik at about 200 miles a day.
Some things we didn't see:
THAT volcano...well we sort of did, but it wasn't smoking so it was difficult to work out which peak it was. The ash was every where though.
Puffins...they took flight a week before we arrived, much to our disappointment. We were reassured the two things were not related.
Wales. I mean Whales...we'd done this the last time we went, and everyone on the boat spent the whole time being or trying to throw up. The Cat and The Cat's Mum refused point blank. They were right, and we shall wait for one to swim up the Thames again.
Northern Lights. I guess some one hadn't paid the electricity bill.
Things we did see:
Big skies. Yes, the there were big skies...difficult to explain, but the sky seemed bigger...perhaps it was the wide open spaces...
Glaciers. Yep all over the place...and one of our number managed to mistake one for the sea, even though it had a curve on top...I shan't mention who that was, but it wasn't me or the teenagers
Glacial lake...we got to go on an amphibious truck to see icebergs on the lake...spectacular
Black sand...even more beautiful when decorated with little icebergs glistening in the sun
Bouncy land...not sure we were supposed to be bouncing on it...but an amazing landscape which we tripped over...
Seriously amazing waterfalls...and two daft Norwegians who thought it a good idea to shower underneath one of them
Land so desolate that you can understand why they used it to train for the first moon landings
A Penis Museum. Yep. Ummm.
We hated:
Shark meat...it must have been drowned in ammonia we think
There's an epidemic amongst the horse population, so we didn't get a ride
Icelandic maps...no wonder the Vikings came to Britain, they were probably just following an Icelandic map, and ended up several hundred miles adrift...our guide book maps sometimes had north at the top, sometimes south, sometimes east and sometimes west. We had a 25% chance of getting it right...
We loved:
The warm, friendly, welcoming nature of the Icelanders...everywhere we went. And they have a great sense of humour too - when I said I felt guilty about claiming back the tax on some purchase, the woman said, not to worry...it was our money anyway...
The coffee...not sure why, but they make a great cup of coffee
The Grey Cat cafe...great for breakfast
Hotel 101...so trendy it hurts...
The fact that the language means that a place name will be spelled one way on the map, another in the guide book, and yet another when you get there
The sheer beauty of the place...mostly awe-inspiring, never dull, always unexpected...
We loved our week. The Boy and I are glad to have gone back, The Cat and The Cat's Mum delighted to have gone somewhere they would never have otherwise made the journey to...and so the sun set on our holiday:
...is a big brand over here. We didn't get lost on our long trek...and have spent the last day or so luxuriating in the Hotel 101 in Reykyavik...back tomorrow...
So Sunday is Iceland day...we're going to reclaim our investments and take back some of the fish they've half-inched, meanwhile reminding them that once upon a time the island was completely forested, but they cut down all the trees and single-handedly created global warming.
Try as I might I've not been able to find out whether their volcano is still smoking, or whether it's given up for an extended Lent. And are the Northern Lights still switched on after some unusual sun activity? No one's telling us. We've plotted our route on Google maps...but what we don't know is how long it takes to drive from point A to point B to point C to point D to point E to point F to point G..so we'll take marmite sandwhiches just in case...we don't want any of that dodgy smoked shark they proffer.
In the office I have handed over all the things I should have done this week instead of flouncing off to Brighton for a couple of days And anything I've forgotten to pass over will doubtless crawl out of the woodwork and create havoc which had better be sorted by the time I'm back or else.
The Boy has laid out all his clothes on the floor ready for packing. Come to think of it, they're always laid out on the floor. The Cat and The Cat's Mum are still sunning themselves in Italy so they'll have a mountain of washing up to do when they arrive back tomorrow.
I'd like to try and post some pics of our Northern Adventure whilst I'm away, but am afeared that data charges will mean I'll need to take out yet another mortgage...and to be honest I have more than enough of those already....
Towards the end of last year, I posted a blog entry which merely repeated some correspondence that I'd had with a former tenant. I'd been asked by the council for his details as they felt he owed them council tax, and I provided those details. For that I was subjected to a torrent of abuse and threats. I wrote about it as it was one of those episodes in life that are memorable and even terrifying and I'd been shocked by how someone could behave.
I'd forgotten about it until today, when I received two emails from him demanding I remove the post and all traces of it. It goes against the grain...after all I was doing no more than report something that had happened. It was entirely factual. I don't think I did anymore than a newspaper, or the BBC could do. But as a gesture, I've edited it to remove the name and contact details. I've no idea whether this is sufficient.
But the point is, this is re-writing history, changing a report of something that actually happened. That's what Orwell wrote about, that's what totalitarian regimes do. This person doesn't want the world to know what he's really like. That seems dangerous to me.
So Tara set a tricky one this week...a memory. Of course, all photos are a memory, so choosing just one has been the challenge. I decided to pick this one though...
...everything in it is just a memory.
This was our 'wedding photo' taken in a photobooth in Victoria Station after we'd traveled up from Brighton. We'd married in Hove Town Hall just 99 days after first meeting - our two witnesses, Uncle Bazzer and Nial had been late and we thought we'd have to borrow a couple of witnesses from the next wedding...but they did just get there. We'd breakfasted at The Grand on the seafront having been picked up in a white taxi. On the train, the ticket inspector went on the tannoy to announce to everyone and wish us luck...and then we piled off, a little the worse for wear after lots of champagne. It was a brilliant day...of course it was wedding days are.
Uncle Bazzer had many claims to fame - he was chosen to join East 17, or was it Boyzone...my memory fades...but he decided against it...it was his Beatles moment. And he once had to put sellotape on Kylie Minogues nipples during a video shoot because they stuck out too far. He was the most unreliable person I've ever known, completely child like. We've lost touch now, so he's just a memory.
Nial was more serious and very bright. He became increasingly unable to travel, and years down the road he didn't travel to The Boy's Mum's funeral. That was a real shame. We don't see him anymore.
We stayed married for just five years and five days. So the marriage is just a memory...a good one - it was quite a rollercoaster, but eventually came off the rails.
The Boys Mum died suddenly from an aneurysm whilst on business in Ireland a few years later. Changing The Boys destiny, changing my life in very positive ways.
So this picture is full of good, happy memories...and from it many things have flowed.
Boys will be boys, and we feel it is incumbent on us to do boy things:
1. All the loo seats are being left up 2. The beds are unmade 3. Washing up...it's too much effort to load the dishwasher isn't it, really? 4. Non-stop Top Gear and Gadget Show on the TV 5. Dinner - ready meals from the garage 6. Breakfast - ready meals from the garage 7. Lunch - Ginsters Cornish Pasty from the garage for variety 8. All meals - eaten in front of the TV 9. Dirty clothes - left on the floor by the bed 10. Lights left on in every room 11. Snacks...empty crisp packets and sweet wrappers left across the floor of the sitting room 12. The top has been left off the toothpaste...which has been squeezed in the middle 13. Wet towels left on the bed 14. Music turned up loud so we can hear it...even when we're upstairs 15. We've borrowed a dog which sleeps on the sofa after a long walk in the muddy forest 16. We've stopped worrying about whether anyone is going to check the 'history' on our web browsers 17. Scatter cushions have been, well, scattered...because we don't know what they're for 18. The beer stock is declining rapidly 19. As is the wine and whisky stock 20. I've had to draw the line at The Boy bringing the motorbike into the living room to clean it...but only because we can't get it up the steps...
If you've any ideas of how we can maintain our testosterone levels....just let me know.....
'tis the season to be jolly...jingle bells, jingle bells, Good King Wenceslas, Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer, I wish it could be Christmas everyday, etc,etc.
The Boy and I went out for dinner last night...and, lucky us, look what was on our table...we spent hours trying to decide what we wanted:
Tomorrow, I'll be writing about Easter Eggs.
In the meantime, if you want to know how we spent our Saturday look here
And here is the autograph...I can't tell you how chuffed I am with that...the band is just phenomenal, and were on top form. I'm not sure if I'm too old to be asking for autographs...but hey, who cares? Turin Brakes is the first band I took The Boy to - we saw them at Somerset House when he was about waist height , and he's never looked back. It's no wonder he plays the guitar
Some of us are destined to live to a ripe old age, where as others are good.
The Boys Mum was the sort of person that burned the candle at both ends ...and in the middle too. So in 42 years managed to cram in more than most people twice her age.
When I was at school, in the fourth year a 'new boy' joined. We got on quite well, but thirty years down the road the details are hazy. I do remember we sat next to each other in geography...I think we were quite competitive on that subject.
Inevitably, once we left school we lost touch and once upon a time that would have been it. Friendships come and go, and like most men we were quite careless with ours. I dropped out of contact with just about all my school friends until about ten years ago. Friendsreunited did what it said on the tin...and some of us from the boarding house met up again. It was a strange experience sitting round a table with a bunch of middle-aged men who had little in common anymore. As usual our initial meetings were slightly awkward as some had been remarkably successful, others had followed a path of career mediocrity. But after a while old friendships were properly renewed, and we've met regularly since.
With other friends, their paths had taken them away to foreign places. Facebook provided a way to renew acquaintances even though this would never be quite the same as a chat over a beer. Ian was one such friend, and as with many Facebook friends, we kept vaguely in touch. Earlier this year, the dreaded word 'chemotherapy' was mentioned and then little more, apart from a few Farmville postings.
In early August, Ian's brother posted a note to say that Ian was no 'longer with us' but that his Facebook page would stay as a tribute to "a wonderful person, father, husband, son and brother".
It's a strange and difficult concept for me to grasp that someone of my age dies, but such are the twists and turns of fate. And as another friend said, it makes you appreciate your own good health.
I didn't know too much about Ian's life...but I hope he managed to live it to the full in experience if not in years.
For the last gazillion years, I've taken a couple of weeks holiday in the summer...I don't think I'm too peculiar in that. Usually, it's the last two weeks of August, with one week taken in Brighton, and one week else where...last year we headed to Bavaria for a bit of beer and leather trouser action. This year is more complex as we're now four. I may have mentioned that a couple of weeks ago, The Cat and The Cat's Mum headed to New York, whilst the boy was variously adventurous training and exchanging in Germany. I was home alone. And none to pleased about it. Next week The Cat and The Cat's Mum have organised to go to Italy, whilst The Boy and I remain in little England. Our holiday...the four of us will be the following week in Iceland, which we're very much looking forward to. But the net result is that I won't be getting my two weeks holiday (as we're rapidly running out of school holiday to fit it into) and I'm pretty grumpy about it - oh my word that's the second grumpy reference in the space of a week.
I've no idea whether I'm being reasonable in my thinking, but just can't quite get my head around not having the full fortnight which I feel I need...and thought we'd get. So it's been tense....
Anyway, assuming the only eruption we get in Iceland is from Eyjafjallajokull, it should be a very splendid trip indeed. The Boy and I have been there before, but restricted ourselves to the environs of Rekjavik...still managing to see whales, glaciers, Blue Lagoons, geysers and waterfalls and have wanted to return ever since. This time we've hired a car and will be driving round the entire island. I haven't yet been able to find out if there's still smoke coming from the volcano, but I hope so...and the Northern Lights have been very active...fingers crossed. We may skip the whale watching as it really only resulted in feeling hideously sea sick, but we have plenty more to see and taste...smoked shark will be on the menu. Hopefully I won't have to worry about a young boy who decides whatever I do that it's a good idea to run around on a glacier which is peppered with large deep holes which take you down into the icy depths...actually at this age he's more likely to want to climb down them....
In the meantime, I'm going to take a couple of days in Brighton the middle of next week, before coming back to finish off the work I probably should have done this week!
I wonder if The Boy will grow up with any political heroes? Even at a young age, I realsied that our political leaders were not of the same calibre as Churchill, or Disraeli or Gladstone, and these days they're nothing more than middle-rank managers. For a while it looked like Blair would be a great, but he turned into a lying murderous war-monger who achieved nothing of any value on the domestic stage either. I suspect that history will eventually look kindly on Thatcher...she was a charismatic leader who made great changes. What a shame I can't think of a thing she did that I agree with..
Away from the UK, it's equally hard to find political leaders of any real stature. Obama stands out as much because of his atrocious predecessor as his rhetoric; ultimately he may well turn out to be another Blair. On the European stage, Merkel has seems a good leader, but hasn't got the presence, Sarkozy is a populist and Berlusconi is a joke everywhere except Italy. No wonder The Boy and his generation struggle to find inspiration from our political leaders.
South America has some interesting characters - Chavez, Morales and now Santos all lead in a continent that has a history of political idols.
But my favourite is Vladimir Putin. And not just because I bear a pasing resemblence to him as I showed here.
He's everything that a Russian leader should be (to an outsider anyway) and has done much to restore Russia's pride and confidence in itself. At uni, I studied Soviet government and it remained a mystery from the start of my course until the end. And the same is true now with Russia. Nominally a democracy, voting is probably not quite as free and fair as it should be...but equally the people end up with the leaders they want. How Putin moved from being President to Prime Minister is an interesting study in the complexities of political manouvering in a deeply complex system. His successor, Medvedev was refered to as a dwarf by several of the Russians we spoke with when we visited. I'm sure Mr Putin is as flawed as anyone, but his action hero antics are fantastic especially when seen in the light of the grey-suited behaviour of other global leaders.
There are many things in life that I find frustrating. I could list them all, but if I did you'd probably pigeonhole me as a 'Very Grumpy Old Man'. I may be that, but I'm not prepared to admit it in public yet.
Two of my pet hates are:
1. Parking bays on roads which have double red lines painted. As I understand it, red lines are meant to keep the traffic moving freely. Naturally, as soon as you put a parking bay there, the road is constricted and hold ups are inevitable...in fact they might just as well put parking bays down the entire road as one bay has the same effect as fifty. It's plain common sense to me - you either want a free-running road or you don't.
2. The waiting time frame for deliveries, etc. British Gas seem unable to predict when their engineers will be arriving within a four hour time period, and even then there's a possibility they will cancel at the last minute...British Telecom is similar. I gave up on supermarket home delivery because my 'time slot' was longer than if I went to the shop myself. So it was quite a surprise when I bought some new trainers for The Boy on the interweb and received a text to say they would be delivered between 10.32 and 11.32. They arrived at 11.17, which is good because I'd have sued for many millions if they'd arrived at 11.33...imagine just how inconvenient that would have been.
Tomorrow I shall be writing about Vladimir Putin...nothing to do with timing
The National Rail Museum sent me a stick of rock to encourage me to write about them. All British boys want to drive a train, so I guess if you’ve got a boy, then why not go? I gather that in Italy all boys want to be a Ferrari racing driver, so if you have Italian blood in the family, I suggest a trip to Modena. Girls? Erm….
Robinsons are currently encouraging kids to break dance. I’d stick to tennis myself….
Land’s End is now following me on Twitter…I expect they do very nice clothes
The Science Museum wants to know ‘What’s your earliest memory?’…evidently if you answer I’ll get lots of new followers. Personally I think it’s Nonsense that I’d be motivated by having more followers (I’d rather have free tickets to the Imax), but I quite like the idea. My early memories are a jumble, so I just don’t know whether it’s standing on a bridge over a gorge in Bavaria is earlier than an autumn gale that was so strong that the window of my bedroom was broken, or perhaps it was chucking a stone at a passing car, or maybe a trip up the Post Office Tower when it was open to the public. You choose, I’ve forgotten.
Natural Balance Foods have launched Nākd – a fruit and nut bar which single-handedly will stop 25% of the nation’s children being obese. It may or may not be nice (I haven’t asked for a sample yet), but I’m pretty sure fat (the government says we are allowed to say that now) children will take the chocolate bar every time. Pass me a marshmallow.
Evidently arm bands aren’t good enough, and kids up to the age of 14 should be wearing Splash Abouts Water Buddies. Personally, I think parents would be better off investing the £30 on swimming lessons during the summer holiday, but you can make your own choice.
Visit South Devon tell me it’s a great place to go for a holiday. Indeed it is…I have friends who live there and plan to pay them a visit. Gay George (who’s not gay at all) has just come back from there and concurs…but he says the locally caught fish is hideously expensive, so eat before you go.
Bottlegreen Elderflower sorbet claims to be the ideal ingredient for a Halloween treat. Please, its August (July when I got the e-mail) and I’d like to get through the summer before I think of things like that. But feel free to send me a sample.
Arena-quantum are an agency that would like to partner with me…so if they really do read this blog, send me some details and I’ll let you know…I have a passionate interest in “travel, healthcare, pets, media, gardening and other areas that may or may not be relevant to your blog”
Wood’s 100 Old Navy Rum think I should be writing about my grandparents…if they send me a bottle I will at least RUMinate about it…
Breffni O'Connor of Polity Marketing wants me to mention a book about whether the Internet is changing children, and will send me a free review copy*
*Free inspection copies are available only to full time lecturers teaching classes of over 12 students for whom the book may be appropriate as a course text.
So I don’t know about children, but the Internet’s ability to allow me to be targeted by hogwash makes me VERY ANGRY
Evidently, six gamers have broken the Guinness world record for non-stop gaming. Evidently they used a Twist Dock to keep their Playstation 3 controllers charged up. I wonder if it comes with a free pair of glasses.
Lauren from Tightsplease says, she “really enjoyed your writing, your sense of humour makes incredibly addictive reading”. Which is nice of her. She’s let me know they have a 50% discount on at the moment, which is good - should The Boy decide to become a cross-dresser.
And finally, Nestle want you to come up with recipes using their nutritious and healthy breakfast cereals. Oops, the competition closed on 31st July…I’d have been more energised to publicise a multi-national with a poor record of social responsibility if they’d sent me some brekkie instead of expecting me to do it for nothing
