100TWC - Day 99: Friendship

This post has a lot of tags. It started off with more but I blew Blogger's limit. I didn't even know there was a limit! See, friendship touches so many areas of my life that Blogger can't cope. I'm half expecting it to seize up in the middle of this post. Let's see how we get on...

With the last post of my 100-day (aka 100-theme) writing challenge in sight, friendship has been much on my mind. I've had some really nice comments and feedback on here, but what's been even better, and more surprising, is the feedback I've had in real life. Whenever I've met up with friends at least one of them has commented on each occasion how much they've been enjoying the writing. I've been enjoying it too, of course, in fact that's one of the things I'll be including in the "lessons learned" follow-up post I'll be writing over the weekend. But it's one thing to gain enjoyment from something yourself, and totally another thing to find out that you've been giving enjoyment to others. Writing can be a solitary experience (all writers say this, at least those who speak/write/email to me) with -- often -- not much in the way of validation or appreciation, so it's really cool to hear the opinions of readers, which posts they liked best and why, etc.

I'd also be really interested to hear which ones folk thought didn't work out so well. To see how this matches my own feelings, for one thing, but also because it's all part of the learning experience. Just doing this stuff has helped me improve enormously, but really good feedback that mentions the bad as well as the good, is also a huge help.

I appear to have drifted off topic somewhat, so to drag it back to friendship: I've been lucky. When I talk about the times we have with mates -- the trips to the Lakes, weekends away, meals out (and in) -- the single most common response is how unusual it is for a bunch of guys to have kept a communal friendship going for so long. I'm not sure how rare it is in the great scheme of things, but those who comment on it seem to think it's pretty rare. Much more common for women to have a "girly group of friends"; less so for guys to have a "blokey group", apparently.

I've known for many years that social groups depend on key individuals to hold them together. I had an old colleagues network at one time -- around two dozen people who all used to work together in the same part of the organisation until one dark day a reorganisation came along and scattered us all across the company. Some left for other jobs, some took the opportunity for early retirement, most split up into three or four units, separated by geography, department and skill set. For several years after the split, we would get together two or three times a year (Christmas, obviously, and then one or two other meals or social events like bowling, walking, pub crawls). These were all marvellous events, well attended and very popular, but they all had a single individual -- the same guy in every case -- as the instigator. And then one day he stopped doing it. And none of us have ever met up again since that day.

The small group of friends I always refer to as my "Nottingham" mates (even though only two of them live there now) have strength in depth when it comes to organising get-togethers. It's not driven by just one of us. Once a few weeks, or a months, have gone by since our last meet, one or other of us will get in touch to set something else up. Often we don't need to do this, as we arrange it in advance at the previous one. It's a source of infinite variety, pleasure, amusement and fun to Nikki and I to be able to be part of this, as I'm sure anyone who is lucky enough to have their own strong ties of friendship will understand. Friends, they say, are the family you choose, and I would tag that with "lines I wish I'd written" if there was any space left in the tag list :0)

As I've discovered (and blogged about before), friends come at you from all parts of life, and another group that I've been blessed to reconnect with -- a few years back now -- has been the curry crew. We may only meet once a month, but I find myself looking forward to those evenings immensely. The conversation always flows, it's always stimulating and amusing, and the food is only the icing on the cake (if curry can be said to be any kind of icing).

I have a small number of friends that fall into another different category. All of the aforementioned might be classed as "regular" friends, and if such a term fits then this small number I'm talking about now might correspondingly be referred to as "irregular" friends. People who, over the years, have meandered in and out of my life seemingly at random, but who whenever we meet will pick up the threads of friendship (and even conversation!) and knit them back into something recognisable within a few hours. I met one such person outside a hotel once, a few years back. Having not seen him for more than five years, suddenly there he was, leaving a hotel at which I had arrived to meet someone else. We only had chance for twenty minutes frantic catching up and exchanging of current contact details, but it rekindled some long-buried memories and the spark of yet another friendship stretching back to the mid 1970s. We originally met at university and the names of other uni friends crop up regularly in the strangest places. Naturally the Internet is the perfect medium for this and over the years I've had the occasional email from old friends who've read this blog, or seen my profile on LinkedIn, or Friends Reunited, or found my website through Google.

There is a downside to this though. The reality of how easy it is to lose touch with people was brought home to me when I attended a school reunion about 15 years ago. It was such a strange experience I vowed never to attend one again (although I was tempted a couple of years back when they held a 25th -- or was it 30th? -- reunion). Not only the experience -- spending 3 or 4 hours in a function room with 50 people who at one time I saw on a daily basis but who, with one exception, I hadn't seen for 15 years -- but the aftermath. The impact of the realisation that I had completely lost touch with all of them, even those I'd thought of as close friends, really hit me surprisingly hard. I guess it just shows that friends are more than simply people you spend time with. Just as it's easy to be lonely in a crowded room, rubbing shoulders with a bunch of people every day for six years doesn't necessarily make them your friends. It knocked me for six a bit, did that.

Hare today

Having taxied back to Chesterfield from Friday's nuptials, yesterday morning was largely taken up with breakfasting and then heading off in one car to pick up the other two (the logistics of which are fairly simple compared to some of the stunts we've pulled in the Lakes).

Neither vehicle had come to any harm during their enforced stay in the pub car park, and duly retrieved, we set off for an afternoon's amble around Chatsworth gardens, taking in the general ambience and enjoying some of the unusual sculptures that adorn the gardens at the moment as part of their "Beyond Limits" exhibition.

I christened this one "Hare On My Bell End" - for obvious reasons. Never did find out what it's really called, and as it's not mentioned over here or on the "sculpture map" I'm still none the wiser. Maybe it's a permanent feature.

Anyway having indulged in more ice cream and pasties than were entirely good for us, we returned to P&V's place (via the Robin Hood for a quick quaff) to refresh before wandering over to the Market Pub for a couple of extra pints in advance of dinner at The Old Post. And WHAT a dinner. Superb.

All too soon the evening, and this morning's breakfast, with such charming and erudite companions was over and we returned home to examine what progress had been made, kitchen-wise in our absence on Friday afternoon, which was - as I'm sure you'll realise if you've been following - "Kitchen fit: Day 5".

The answer was "not a lot" - certainly nothing that would be visible in a photo. The guys had been concentrating on completing the essential and fiddly bits that aren't especially noticeable, while staying out of the way of the granite men. Expect more obvious progress tomorrow.

Wedding of the Year

Can't be many happier occasions than witnessing two of your best friends getting spliced, and that's exactly where we were yesterday afternoon, in the company of most of the rest of our best friends, their friends, family and a bunch of very energetic small people. The kind that make weddings... um... loud. No, fun. That's it. Fun.

Starting as we meant to go on with a glass of bubbly at Phil & Vicky's (excellent hosts as always), we wended our slightly circuitous way (on account of an overturned lorry on the A617) to Mansfield Registry office for the ceremony and then, with the day's official business out of the way, we settled down to the more important business of celebrating the nuptials with further champagne, and related (and unrelated) beverages, relieved on occasion by the odd sausage roll (really nice ones, as it happened) and dollop of coleslaw.

Called upon - owing to my acclaimed position as "resident wordsmith" - to pen something in the wedding book on behalf of the mates, I can't help feeling I disgraced myself somewhat, on account of the evening's overindulgences and the ebullient flavour of the day, but what's done is done, and whatever I wrote it was written from the heart, with feeling, and with relatively little time for reflection or composition, so f**k it. As long as it's not the last thing I write in a public place, I'll be alright. I think.

Anyway many, many congratulations to Ritchie & Helena (or Helena and Ritchie as they are in the above photo). May your days be long and your troubles few, your friendship strong and your love stay true, and if things go wrong and the air turns blue, just bite your tongue and have a damn good screw.

E.J.Thribb has got nothing on me.

Book Swap

Chorlton’s "Big Green Festival" today and the book club were invited to man a book swap stall again. I did this once before, at our first book swap back in 2007, but hadn't been involved the last couple of times. This year the previous organisers of the book swap table weren't available, but this coincided with us having rather a lot of books we wanted to get rid of, so I volunteered. I turned up this morning with one plastic crate full and another containing half a dozen hardbacks.

The festival proper opened from 11am to 6pm, but that's a long time to be stood behind a table full of books smiling politely while passersby sift through the multiple copies of book club cast-offs looking for a good read. I never intended to stay for the whole afternoon, but I'd assumed - since several other book club members had volunteered to help man the stall - that I wouldn't be the "last man standing" and could hand over to someone else. This cunning plan also hid the main reason for leaving early: not to be left with piles of books to look after.

We may have only done four of these, but that's enough experience to know that we always end up with way more books than we start with, and I was under strict instructions not to bring the remainder back home. But at 4pm, having been left on my own since my only two helpers had to leave around 1.30, I had no option but to pack the books back into my plastic crates (which were now BOTH full to the point of books falling off the top) and start to carry them to the gate.

In between carrying off one box and returning for the second some generous individual had come along and dumped FIVE carrier bags full of books on the table. My reaction by that stage was "you have got to be joking." Less than two hours before the event closed? I left them there.

Even so, returning home with two full crates is not the most popular move I've ever made :-/

Location, Location, Location

It's the 50th anniversary of the first episode of Coronation Street this year, and in celebration a bunch of fans have been arriving all week from all points of the compass.

This could have been a poignant event for us, as it's (obviously) ten years since the celebrations for the 40th anniversary, which we had a large hand in organising, and - whisper it quietly - 5 years since the 45th anniversary, for which we also did some organising but which turned out to be an event on a much smaller scale, but the general mood was upbeat rather than reflective.

We elected this time to be participants rather than organisers. For one thing Corrie fandom doesn't figure so large in our lives any longer, but the main point is we figured we'd done our bit and it was time to hand over the reins to someone else.

So it was nice to spend a relaxed day in the company of friends old and new, and join in with an organised tour of some of the many locations in and around Manchester and Salford which are used for filming. Our host, who as well as leading around 60 such tours each year also travels the world in the company of Corrie stars past and present, interviewing them and giving talks on production, history and trivia, is a wealth of information and a very entertaining tour guide. The rain held off for the most part, we enjoyed lunch near Ashton marketplace and visited some of the more hidden parts of Manchester - like the one pictured above - which we ordinarily wouldn't get to see.

The tour finished at 4pm, but that felt way too early to call it a day, so we whiled away a couple of hours in the Ox (another memory-filled venue) chatting over a few pints, and later five of us repaired to Dimitri's for a delicious Greek meal before heading home. Chalk up another great day!

Spa-tastic birthday treat

Carden Park. A DeVere hotel famous for golfing and its award-winning restaurant, and the venue for a fantastic relaxing overnight stay (with spa treatments incorporated) which Nikki treated me to for my birthday this year.

I guess those for whom visits to spas or masseurs are an everyday part of life will find it odd, but I'd somehow managed to reach the age of almost-fifty-three without ever having had a professional massage. I know! Shit just happens, doesn't it? So the bit I was looking forward to most of all was the back massage. But the package included another treatment, so I'd chosen (from the admittedly limited list of options) to have a facial as well. I don't mean to imply the options are limited at Carden Park - they're not - but this particular package only offered those two, or a manicure or a pedicure. I wouldn't impose my feet on anyone, and I'm not a nail polish kind of guy, so facial was the only thing left really. And in case you're wondering, yes. I did investigate whether it was permissible to have TWO back massages :o)

We arrived too late to enjoy our complimentary welcome drink, but a "spa light bite" lunch was included and after wading through the enormous bowl of chunky chips that accompanied my beef sandwich I was grateful the light bite was no heavier. We had time to kill before our treatments, which we spent checking in to our room (an extremely well-appointed suite as you can see below), wandering around the grounds taking advantage of the temporary cessation of rain, and relaxing in the bar with a swift G&T.
The appointed hour for our treatments (4pm) rolled around soon enough and we retired to the spa section of the hotel to change into robes and meet in the "Relaxation Room." A dimly-lit room with twiddly sylvan pipe music playing,

a large aquarium embedded in one wall, and a raft of couches, many of which were occupied by ladies in robes. Nikki later observed that the most populous Relaxation Room she'd ever relaxed in had contained one other person. This was positively packed. I didn't relax.

I'll spare you the details of the treatments. The back massage was fabulous and the facial was... interesting. And left me with an extremely gooey beard.

Our delightful evening meal, at three substantial courses, left no room for the cheeseboard which we'd hoped to carry back to our room to enjoy with another glass of wine. It was not to be - we were already overstuffed. So we returned to our suite for what was to prove the worst part of our stay - the bed. Or to be more precise, the mattress. A superking affair that turned into an all-night endurance test as it tried its damnedest to turf us out onto the floor. I have no idea how a bed can get into this state, but it was like sleeping on the side of a mountain, with the peak in the middle of the bed, and each edge in a separate valley. Lose your anchor point for a moment and you risked rolling out completely. Having come without crampons, we clung to each other for safety!

More Stupid Signage

While we're on the subject of signage at the Wildlife Park, the last photo of the day on Monday was this one - a sign displayed on the fence beside the gate leading from the final animal area to the shop.

Now I've seen some rip-offs in my time, and dealt with some tightwads, but this really took the biscuit. For a start, there are signs all over the place telling you not to cross the barrier, so the chances of finding a peacock feather on the path must be fairly remote, but to then expect visitors to hand them in, and then pay two quid - TWO QUID!! - to get them back again.

Well, it made me laugh. You know, on top of the £11.50 we'd already paid. Each. Which includes a £1 surcharge for their charity. AND signed the Gift Aid declaration so they can claim the freakin' tax back. It's a damn good job we had a voucher allowing one of us to get in free. The one paying the lowest admission price, naturally. So I said to Blythe, even though she qualified for their child rate, she could blimmin' well claim to be an adult, and then at least we could save paying £11.50 for her rather than saving £8.

That made all the difference.

These Animals May Bite

First day of a week's holiday yesterday that I've taken off to spend some time with my lovely daughters. It's great having them around the house, but when I'm working our chats are limited to lunchtimes and snatched conversations around a teapot while it brews our latest cuppa, so I wanted to take advantage of my extra holiday and have a week where we could all relax together without the distraction of earning a crust.

Since this is a British summer the weather forecast for the week isn't brilliant, and when Nikki happened across a leaflet for the South Lakes Wild Animal Park we knew we'd have to go early in the week if we wanted to avoid being rained on.






The usual crop of giraffes, rhinos, lions, tigers, penguins etc were entertaining enough, but the real fun of the day came from listening to our fellow visitors. See the lemur shots up there? As you can see, most of them are ring-tailed lemurs, but casually draped in the grass on the left side is what may be a red ruffed lemur. One knowledgeable young man informed the rest of his family that this was "probably an orang-utan," while his grandma remarked that the huddled group of lemurs "looked like refugees."

Climbing up the steep slope past the flamingo pond I overheard one guy ask if his group wanted to come see "the flamencoes" and I almost tripped over a mother entreating her toddler to "stay on the path, or you'll be eaten by a wild animal." Poor kid will grow up never remembering why she has a life-long dread of zoos.

But the best comment of the day came from the mother taking a photograph of her son standing beside one of the rheas which were wandering loose on the path outside the main aviary.

"Smile Jeremy. No, smile like a person."

Puffin and blowin'

Almost exactly four weeks ago, Nikki discovered the RSPB's Puffin and Gannet cruise. Today, we drove over to Bridlington to board the Yorkshire Belle and take the three-hour trip up the coast to Flamborough Head to enjoy some of the most spectacular views imaginable of the hugely successful sea-bird sanctuary.

The journey to Bridlington took around two-and-a-half hours and, being Bank Holiday weekend, parking was at a premium by the time we arrived. The cruise sets sail at 4pm, so we had a couple of hours to walk along the sea-front absorbing the holiday atmosphere. The weather was not as bad as we expected - during the week the more worrying forecasts of heavy rain and wind had abated in favour of low cloud and showers, but in the event we did enjoy one or two breaks in the cloud that made the views even more breathtaking as shafts of sunlight illuminated the limestone cliffs.

The further North we sailed, the closer we got to the nesting sites and the more numerous the birds became. Herring gulls, kittiwakes, guillemots, razorbills, gannets and fulmars were present in abundance, and we saw quite a few puffins (usually moving too fast to photograph unfortunately) and even the odd shag. Many of the birds don't make "proper" nests. They simply roost on the cliffs, each of them seeming to know exactly which few square centimetres of the precarious perch belongs to them amidst their thousands of neighbours.

The gannetry at Bempton Cliffs is one of the most successful bird sanctuaries in Europe and has grown its bird population over the last 20 years from a few thousand to over 80,000 pairs. When the boat stops by the cliffs it's hard to know where to point the camera first, as the floating razorbills take off away from the boat, flapping their short stubby wings and leaving a trail of splashes behind them, while white-faced puffins swoop low over the water at high speed.

Looking directly overhead the sky is peppered with soaring, gliding, diving birds, either leaving for an evening fishing trip or returning to roost for the night. In the end, with my battery flashing red after having taken almost 200 stills and several minutes of video footage, I let the camera dangle and just absorbed the atmosphere, the constant cry of the seabirds, the smell of the water and the gentle swaying of the boat.

All too soon it was time to set off on the return leg to port, which seemed to pass much more quickly than the outward leg. One of the most enjoyable days out I've ever experienced, and nicely rounded off with a fish supper at a coastal chippy.

Carry on Camping

The day dawned misty, and since breakfast wasn't served before nine, we were up, showered, dressed and out just as soon as the cleaner had unlocked the front door. A field of tents looks deceptively attractive in the early morning light but I remain unfooled. A feeling reinforced by Annie's later report that she'd spent a very uncomfortable night, having forgotten to bring all her bedding supplies, and was *definitely* planning a trip to Buxton later that morning to stock up on pillows, a duvet and possibly even a hot water bottle.

After wading through the first of Graham's enormous breakfasts (I think he may have invented the phrase "full" English) we set off for Poole's Cavern. An attractive underground jaunt for the totally unfit, as it involves only 26 steps to reach the furthest navigable point which ends up being 30 metres underground. Educational too, as our guide pointed out several broken stalactites. Apparently the Victorians thought they'd be able to sell the sparkling stalactites, and threw rocks at them until they broke off. Once the rocks were brought out into daylight, where they looked just like... er... white rocks, the cavers realised they were worthless and threw them away. Who knew the Victorians were such vandals?

After that we wandered into Buxton hoping to visit the antiques fair, but as they were expecting a £5 entry fee - each! - we skipped that and wandered aimlessly around the shops for a bit, dodging the rain. We bumped into a small party of campers in town and stuck with them for half-an-hour or so, until we heard the call of the coffee and ducked into a café for a drink and a sticky bun.

The weather brightened up slightly after lunch so, having "done" Buxton we headed off to one of Nikki's favourite villages - Ashford in the Water - and spent some time watching the ducks on, and the trout in, The Water (the River Wye). Around 3pm we decided it would be a good idea to return to the campsite and see if anyone else had arrived. Sure enough, Jamie & Lise had pitched up - literally - and with crystal blue skies and fluffy white clouds overhead, we relaxed in the field in a small enclave of camping chairs and enjoyed a swift bevvy.

It was not to last.

A rather angry, low-flying, brown cloud approached rapidly from the West forcing us to seek refuge in Andy & Lara's canvas mansion. Which is where we remained, all conversation drowned by the spatter of rain on the polythene windows, until the rest of the group returned from Buxton. The rain passed over just long enough for four of us to assemble Annie's new portable barbecue (Focus DIY; £39.99) and once the charcoal was fired up, Nikki and I took the opportunity to return pubwards and sample another of Graham's delicious evening meals.

As we were awaiting the serving wench, the sound of hail hitting the pub windows once again briefly drowned conversation in the bar. And then, as if by magic, most of the campers ran in, trying to escape not only the hail but the flying hot charcoal released from the barbecues as they had blown over. Yes, for the second year running the Birthday Barbecue was wrecked by the weather. Better planning called for next year, we all agreed.

Stop Press: feeding the birds costs a lot more than tuppence a bag

After extensive online research into various hedging options, we decided to make the most of the Bank Holiday weather (supposedly at its best today) and take a tour of various local garden centres and hedge suppliers. Partly to check out the deals and partly to get a look at the hedge plants on offer. The last time I planted any copper beech it was bare root stock, mail order, and they arrived looking like a bunch of dead twigs.

Worse, a year after planting, around 25% of them remained looking like dead twigs. Mainly because they were dead twigs. The rest came slowly to life over a period of several years, but even after five years they still didn't resemble a hedge so much as a line of leafy sticks stretching the length of the garden.

Bugger that. I want it to look like a hedge from the off this time, so we'll be going for plants in pots. 2 litre pots at least.

It proved a productive trip as we discovered a fantastic garden centre in Woodford. Massive, it is, with an extensive range of... well... just about everything you'd imagine a garden centre should carry plus a substantial amount of stuff you wouldn't expect and quite a few things I didn't even know existed.

One of the things Nikki was keen to find was a bird feeder. Partly because she's always wanted one, and partly because Nat wants to study feeding habits of urban birds. As you'll no doubt realise in view of my comments above, this place had a fair selection of bird feeding equipment. About 500 square feet of it to be precise. We ummed and ahhed about exactly what we wanted, but as I always tend to the more esoteric and expensive end of the market, as soon as I saw a feeder marked "Deluxe" I knew that was the one for me. And then we needed the clever little pots to hang off it. And the grub to stuff the pots with. By the time we added it all up we'd spent about ninety quid. Looks nice though, dunnit? Nobody needs to mention the fact that it's crooked. I'd spotted that, thanks. After I'd assembled everything.

These things are supposed to be moved every two months, so I'll straighten it up then, OK?

Chimney Pot Park

Four years ago, for reasons I won't bore you with, we were lucky enough to be taken on a tour of various sites in Manchester used as "locations" for Coronation Street filming. Today we thought we'd drive around a couple of these, partly to see how they'd changed in four years but mainly because they provide some interesting photo opportunities for those, like our esteemed visitor, who appreciate such things. Especially chimney pots.

Our first stop, therefore, was the appropriately named Chimney Pot Park. It's the place used to represent the mysterious "Red Rec" - often referred to but only ever filmed on those rare occasions when something significant is happening there, such as Emily's tree-top protest of a few years ago. Back in 2005, it looked like this. Rather sad really, to see all those traditional back-to-back terraced houses, which had provided homes for countless hundreds of Salford residents over the years, all borded up with aluminium sheeting and ready for demolition.

But the story has a happy ending, because the whole area, rather than being slated for demolition, was actually awaiting the start of an urban redevelopment project which took its name from the traditional local name of the area: Chimney Pot Park. It's the brainchild of Urban Splash, who are responsible for a number of innovative housing projects in the city. They're occasionally the subject of some bad press, but hey, if they can provide affordable, modern housing in previously run-down areas AND make money at the same time, what's wrong with that?

The project was still in progress when we were there, with work going on at front and back:

The fronts have been developed to retain their original terraced look, with the indented parking spaces retained on the roads, but the backs - with their familiar (to Coronation Street viewers at least) back yards and ginnels - have been replaced with a first-floor deck that provides a communal living space for all the houses in a row, along with "underground" gated parking, which is actually at street level but underneath the deck. The houses have effectively been turned upside down, so the living spaces - living room, dining and kitchen - are on the first floor, with the bedrooms on the ground floor.

The completed houses further down the block look like this:

...which, if I was buying my first house and looking to establish a community, would be a very attractive proposition. Good luck to the developers, and all the people in their new homes.

Then it was off to Portland Basin - scene of the famous "driving into the canal" business with crazy Richard Hillman (and later when David Platt repeated the stunt). This hasn't changed as much over the years, except that the small (but perfectly formed) museum there is undergoing some refurbishment to its Industrial Gallery, so a substantial part of it was roped off for our visit.

The sun graced us with its presence while we walked around the canal basin, over the bridge and around the boatyard. On our way back across the bridge a long boat chugged through the basin making its leisurely way to the next lock. It looked idyllic and it's easy to be fooled into thinking a barge holiday would be the perfect way to spend a week, but I remember the second time I took a boating holiday, when it pissed with rain for the entire fortnight and none of us could get dry, ever. Yes, it's lovely when the sun's out. When it's not, being on a boat is the most miserable experience imaginable.

Argy-bargy

Yesterday we went to Liverpool for the day.

Quite frankly it wouldn't bother me overmuch if I never saw that drab, uninteresting place ever again. I'm not one for "city breaks" at the best of times, and Liverpool has the added disadvantage of being populated by Liverpudlians who in my experience are all weighed down by enormous chips on their shoulders, but Paul wanted to see it, and I didn't have anything better to do, so off we went.

At least the day started well. I didn't have to drive. We took the train, which gave us the opportunity to breakfast on bagels from The Bagel Factory. It was around then that things took a turn for the worse though, as I hit the wrong button on the ticket machine (by millimetres) and bought us three SINGLE tickets to Lime Street. Which, as it turned out, was only ten PENCE cheaper per ticket than three returns, thereby costing us an extra thirty quid. An expensive mistake which didn't do much for my mood, especially bearing in mind the destination.

Arriving at Lime Street around 11am, we trudged off to visit Paddy's wig-wam, and from there went down to the Albert Dock to mooch disconsolately around the rusting hulks and newly refurbished visitors centre selling the same tired old tat you always get at these places, along with the usual assortment of coffees and fast food.

From there we hiked the five hundred and eighty miles to the St John Centre, a stunningly original shopping centre with no roof and an array of shops never before seen like Gap, M&S, William Hill's, Dolcis and Waterstones. You begin to get a flavour of why I think visiting cities is largely pointless. Even a late lunch in Wetherspoons did little to alleviate my feelings of impending doom. Mainly because we revisited The Richard John Blackler, which has just about the worst online reviews of any Wetherspoons I've ever visited, and lived up to its poor reputation for dirty tables, late food and disinterested staff.

Somewhere along the line we also wandered past the Cavern Club, and took the concrete steps down into its dingy interior. The air was redolent of years of sweaty bodies packed into what is effectively an underground toilet, the acid rock stage reminiscent of my student days when we would hump such a construction from one end of the student union to another to accommodate some random event or other, and every available surface is covered with graffiti from those strange people who think it's important to record the fact that they've visited a place like this. In that respect, maybe this blog is like a slightly more sophisticated form of graffiti. The differences being that I'm not really bothered whether anyone knows I've been there or not - it was just another stop - and, of course, that this graffiti is here, rather than there. Anyway, it's a dump. Famous only because one of the world's most recognised bands played there a few times, still living on that reflected glory fifty years later, and now hosting bands that just want to be able to tick the box that says "we played the Cavern Club." Sad.

The highlight of the day proved to be a visit to the Apple store, which unusually for us turned into much more than a quick wander round and a drool. For once we did talk to one of the demo guys and learned quite a lot about what you can do with an iMac, what's in the box, etc. They're still expensive for what you get, but they're bloody fast, almost virus-free and beautiful to look at. I know that description will sound a lot like Linux to at least one of you (apart from the expensive bit), but it was an interesting hour for all that.

Today Nikki & Paul headed off for a walk around the Salford Quays/Castlefield canals, so I took the opportunity to stay at home and do not very much. Our day was rounded off with another evening meal at Wetherspoons followed by some TV. Perfect.

Fine Foods in small quantities

We attended last year's Northwest Fine Food Festival and were so impressed that we determined to squeeze in a visit to this year's event even though we were expected in Chesterfield later in the day. We figured a swift jaunt over there after breakfast would still leave us plenty of time to get to Chesterfield by mid-afternoon.

What a disappointment. Whether as a result of the blimmin' credit crunch, or because retailers had concluded that spending a couple of days handing out freebies to grazers who walk around and don't buy much was not the most profitable business model ever invented, I don't know, but the show was much smaller than last year. Roughly half the size, at a guess, and with much less variety. The cheesemakers/vendors were still there, as was the farm-fresh meat, but the vintners, chocolatiers, cake and pudding makers were in short supply and the whole place had an air of desperation about it. Quite sad really. For the second time this weekend, we didn't stay long, and we didn't purchase much.

Some interesting and original marinades, some mature cheddar with added chillies and a free sample of organic coffee, and that was about it. On the basis of that experience, we won't be bothering next year, unless there's some promotional material to convince us that the show has returned to its 2007 standard.

Back in the saddle

What's that? Almost a month since my last post? Umm...yeah. Sorry. There's no one reason. It's a combination of things, the main one being a slight change in our daily routine which means I rarely have any computer time in the early evenings or before retiring for the night.

That small change meant something had to give, and for the last four weeks the loser has been this blog.

On top of that, we've had Nikki's Mum & step-Dad here for a week (they left on Saturday but owing to a slightly foggy Heathrow didn't fly home until yesterday), which always means more pub time :o)

It's a little disingenuous of me to use their visit as an excuse - if anything I had *more* computer time last week than usual - but for some reason a lot less enthusiasm for blogging. The time off work was welcome though, and we spent a very pleasant day in Bakewell, driving over the Cat & Fiddle around midday and arriving to find it was market day there (Monday last).

The market provided many opportunities for "arty" photos such as this study of the cotton reels on a haberdashery stall. I took a couple of the obligatory apple shots too. We had a very nice lunch in one of the town centre pubs, and checked out all the local shops while Neil whiled away the afternoon enjoying the hospitality of Mr. W. Hill. Bakewell's one of those places we've driven through many times over the years but never stopped for a really good look. And no, we didn't buy a tart.

Took the Cat & Fiddle road back home too, but by this time the weather was closing in and the views weren't quite as spectacular. We did stop off for a pint at the pub though and very refreshing it was. I did wonder whether they suffer much trouble at that location. The winding road and superb views both attract a lot of bikers and walkers to the area, but that doesn't necessarily explain the need to have a sign behind the bar saying "Be Nice Or Leave." :o(

It was virtually deserted while we were there though - just a lone biker enjoying an early tea and an elderly couple of walkers - so we managed to avoid getting beaten up. Just.

Movie Review: The Dark Knight

Took the girls to Manchester's IMAX theatre today to see this. Apparently there are six (or so) scenes shot in IMAX 3D.

This is the first time I've been to a 3D show where you didn't have to wear special glasses to get the effect. OK, OK, that shows (a) my age and (b) that I don't go to the cinema much any more. What can I say? When you have a 50-inch plasma TV and a Dolby5.1 surround-sound home cinema system, you don't need to go to the cinema much.

Except to see IMAX. God. It was awesome. And I mean that in its original sense, not in the vacuous American high school "ah-summmmm" sense. Those 3D scenes - the ones shot from high above the Gotham city skyline looking down, especially the night-time one where Batman leaps from a tall building, extends his bat-wings and flies (glides) around the skyscrapers for a bit - were simply breathtaking.

Special effects apart, and not wishing to spoil the plot for anyone, the rest of the movie was good. Much has been written about how dark it is, and it is. Both literally in places, and figuratively. But in this case that's a good thing. It's quite clever too - the symbolism of starting the film with mainly sunny scenes and daytime aerial shots, and moving it to night scenes as the story gets darker. Very graphic.

Much has also been written about Heath Ledger's monumental performance as the Joker. I suspect most of that is right too. No, he didn't "steal" the film. He was a very significant, but integral, part of it. But his acting? You can't really call it acting. He INHABITED the character. He was the Joker, pure and simple, and for once, and rightly so, there was nothing funny about the Joke. I'd put Heath's Joker in the top five performances I've seen in a film, ever. He'll be a hard act to follow, and presumably (OK, small spoiler coming up), since the Joker survived he will at some stage be followed.

Criticisms? If pushed I'd say the movie is about 30 minutes too long. Indeed at one point somewhere between 1:50 and 2:15 (and since our showing started at noon, those are both times-into-the-movie and actual clock times) things got so slow and tedious that I fell asleep, only to be woken up with a HUGE jump by a set of exploding windows. That'll teach me. And those interminable fight scenes. Why do directors think we want to see long sequences of thwapthwapthwapthwap when you can't really tell what's going on? Yawn. Very clever, seen it before, get on with the plot, thank you.

One for the DVD collection though, definitely. There is so much going on in the film that it will certainly stand another watch. Might even be the one that convinces me to buy a Blu-ray player.

The welcome of the Twisted Spire

I'm still nervous about leaving the house unoccupied with the scaffolding up all around it, but we didn't have much choice this weekend. Drove to Mum's right after work Friday to deliver the birthday present she's been waiting a month for, and perform the "duty visit." Having listened to standard conversations 1 through 10, we escaped to the pub as soon as politeness allowed and although we hadn't planned on a long session ended up staying until around 11pm.

Saturday breakfast was followed by standard conversations 1 through 10 again, at which point we made our escape again, this time in the direction of Chesterfield - the real reason for the weekend's travel. The "excuse" - insofar as we need one - was to have a planning session for our upcoming week in the Lakes, but really we don't need a reason to enjoy the Welcome of the Twisted Spire.

We had our third attempt at walking around Chatsworth too, previous tries having been aborted owing to family illness and inclement weather respectively. This time round the rain was threatening again, so forking out for the formal gardens seemed like a waste of money. We wandered around the various tat shops for a while and walked up and down past the children's farm, until everyone decided we'd had enough fresh air and it was time to head for the Robin Hood and go into a huddle around a couple of pints.

Then it was back to the house and time for the girls to run through the essentials of provisioning and menus for the week while the lads pored over maps none of us really understood, and planned the rendezvous point and the route from there to the cottage. Yes, I'd have to agree that we had the easier job, but then we are blokes so we couldn't cope with anything too taxing.

Planning complete, we negotiated a short walk to another of Phil & Vicky's locals for a session that ended up going on far longer than expected, after which we "walked" back to the house for a later-than-anticipated (but still fabulous!) meal. These days the result of four pints and a wonderful meal is inevitable, but the embarrassment was relieved slightly when I discovered I'd been joined in the Land of Nod by two of the other three guys and at least one of the girls. At which point we all made our excuses and headed for our rooms. Is this how it's going to be in the Lakes? I expect so - we'll have days full of fresh Lakes air and walking to contend with then on top of the other factors!

We returned at lunchtime today to find the house still in one piece. I'll still be happier when this scaffold is down though.

London

When Nikki said she'd found a train ticket deal for a day trip to London, I wasn't sure how I felt about it. There was no doubt it was an excellent deal - £16 return for the day compared to the £236 I usually pay to travel down on business - but those last few words held the key to my dilemma. I go down there so often with work (and hate it every time) - how would I feel as a day tripper? Wasn't it going to be a bit of a busman's holiday, even though we were going by train?

I needn't have worried. I didn't have to rush, or leave early, or battle the rush-hour tube, or carry a laptop bag everywhere with me, so the entire trip was much more relaxed and didn't have the slightest resemblance to a work day.

We left Piccadilly on the 9.15 and arrived just before 11.30. Not really having any firm plans for the day (a mistake, as it later turned out) we set off to spend a couple of hours in the Science Museum. This proved a bit disappointing. Parts of it were being refurbished and the rest had been thrown out of kilter by having some exhibits housed in alternative positions. I also found many of the displays - designed for today's youth with their microsecond attention spans - quite unsatisfying to browse, although there were some neat items like the first Cray supercomputer and the original DNA model that Watson and Crick put together.

Emerging from the museum around 1pm and unsure where to head next, we walked around the block through a short shower of rain - the only rain we suffered during the whole day - passing the Albert Hall and then setting off for Kensington to find a place to lunch. Walking down Kensington High Street, we passed Paul Weller - our only celebrity encounter of the day.

Eventually we recognised a few landmarks and ended up at the Lord Moon of the Mall - the Wetherspoons pub at which we had intended to meet up with a bunch of friends several years before but which had been closed back then owing to a bomb scare in Whitehall.

A couple of pints and a sandwich later, we were suitably refreshed and set off again in the general direction of Westminster. When I first visited London - a 17th birthday present from my parents - we had ticked off all the major tourist destinations. Back then this included Downing Street, and we were able to walk right up to the front door of No. 10 and stare into the whites of the eyes of the single London bobby who stood on duty protecting the head of Government.

Clearly the head of Government requires a deal more protection these days. Not only is it impossible to get within 50 feet of No. 10 owing to the road being closed off with several tons of ironwork and automatic barriers that rise silently from the road, but the single bobby has been replaced with an entire squad of armed police in Kevlar vests, sporting automatic rifles.

They smile at the passing tourists, but the smile doesn't quite reach their eyes. I walk past similar barriers, even sturdier and with an even larger police presence, every time I visit Westminster. It's a blight on the London landscape. Do other countries feel the need to protect their PM this way, or is it just rampant paranoia? I don't know, but I can't help feeling that it may all look very impressive, but none of it would stop a determined terrorist with an ounce of sense.

We walked over Westminster Bridge, snapping away at the Eye and the bizarre artwork outside the Dali exhibition, and along the other side of the river (Jubilee Walk is it? Or something) where four strange figures dressed all in silver were standing or sitting motionless except for the breeze-induced flutterings of their monochrome costumes. Every now and then one of them might lean forward unexpectedly to bop anyone who threw change into his pot lightly on the head with a long silver staff. This lady merely sat with her demur smile fixed prettily on her face, holding her hat on against the wind. London in all its mad eccentricity. Top stuff.

Walking back over Jubilee Bridge we stopped for a pint in the Sherlock Holmes before wending our way slowly back to Euston. Here's where our lack of planning really bit home. We arrived at Euston three hours before our scheduled departure time. Not really enough time to pack in any other sightseeing and still feel comfortable about making the train (the dealtime tickets were only valid for the 9.05pm departure), or eat in a fancy restaurant where we couldn't guarantee the speed of service. So we holed up in a bar just around the corner from Euston and then, still with a couple of hours to kill, sat down to a plate of Harry Ramsden's fish, chips and mushy peas in the station caff.

The pre-Summer Time light was fading fast as we walked to the main station entrance on the way to that fine repast. Countless times I've passed through Euston and this was my first chance to take photos. Maybe I should invest in a pocket digital of the kind Nikki uses, and carry it everywhere. Maybe I should turn into a photoblogger. Maybe I should stop stressing about this stuff. Anyway, here's Euston. And there we go - back to Manchester, arriving at 11.29 pm. Footsore and sleepy, but having had a strangely fulfilling experience.

The Foodie Weekend

It's no wonder I can never lose any weight when we have days like this!

Yesterday was the Northwest Fine Foods Festival at Tatton Park and after a general tidy round so the house was in a decent state for later(see below) we set off for Tatton around 12.30. Unlike Blenheim, this event was housed in a single massive marquee, which we were grateful for as it was threatening rain when we arrived and followed through on the threat with a fine drizzle as we were leaving. In between we stayed (relatively) warm and dry and comprehensively boggled by the array of foods and drink on display.

As we meandered a figure-of-eight around the islands of stalls we passed a wonderful variety cheeses, pickled garlic, massive pickled olives, handmade chocolates (some of the most original shown here on the right), original liqueurs, sloe/ blackberry/ raspberry gin/vodka, cakes, Christmas cake, the lightest Christmas pudding I've ever tasted (virtually every stall offered samples), hand-reared pork, beef and goat (yuk! the only thing I tasted all day that I didn't like), organic vegetables by the trug-load, sweets, licorice, and many more delights to satisfy the most selective gourmet palate.

I was surprised, when we left, to find we'd spent less than two hours there, but it was two hours packed with ever more amazed expressions of delight as taste after taste exploded on our tongues. We were loaded down with bags containing small samples (my favourite of which was the highland whisky and orange liqueur) and with stomachs that, although they'd only enjoyed small samples at each stall were nevertheless strangely full!


Back home we had just enough time for everyone to shower and change before we set off on the first leg of the Mexican night organised by our neighbours on the street. The starting point was the house around the corner whose garden backs on to ours. Over the years by virtue of having held over-the-fence conversations with many of the neighbours on our side of the road they've become "honorary members" of the street scene. Here we enjoyed tequila shots and dips before moving on back around the corner to the first of the street stops where our neighbours had prepared fritatas with marinated shrimps and Mexican wine.

Next stop was our place. In her inimitable way, Nikki had researched some fabulous Mexican food online and cooked up a brilliant Mexican vegetable pasta bake together with a seven-layer dip, while I did the honours making Tequila sunrises for everyone (or San Miguel for those of a non-cocktail bent). We'd worked out we needed to stick to a schedule of around 45 minutes per house to get around everybody, but as the tequila, beer and wine flowed the schedule gradually slipped unnoticed out of the window.

Then it was on to number 19 where the boys had prepared some delicious enchiladas (both meat and non-meat varieties) and pitchers of Caipirinha (strictly speaking a Brazilian drink, but at least they were on the right continent!).

Across the road next and as we were becoming somewhat stuffed by this time we were grateful that only small portions of a delicious spicy Mexican rice dish were on offer here, together with more beer and wine. Finally we ended up at the house directly opposite us, site of the famous summer street party and where the Mexican drink theme landed on familiar territory with Margaritas (even if our hostess did have a rather unique way of making them - chuck whole limes in a blender and bung in a bottle of tequila. The result, although somewhat lumpy with chunks of pith, was extremely limey!) and large bowls of fruit salad.

At this point the hectic pace of the evening slowed down. We watched a DVD of the summer barbeque, chatted, drank some more, and finally came home around 2.30am which, with the benefit of the changing clocks, suddenly became 1.30!

The Outlaws #2 - Meet the Gang

Today was one of the highlights of the trip - the annual get-together of Nikki's family on her Mum's side. Her Auntie Sue having died almost two years ago, this shindig now consists of her Uncle John, his three kids and their wives/partners and their kids, together with the four of us.

We drove down to Dunchurch to meet up with everyone at the Dun Cow for a welcoming drink and then hot-footed it across the road to the Huntsman Carvery. In previous years we have been a bit nomadic in our choice of eatery but having eaten here last year everyone agreed we should return as the quality of food is second to none.

Fairly unimposing from the outside, inside the restaurant is familiar and welcoming, and dominated by the excellent purpose-built carvery station. The four kids were very excited to be given a table to themselves, while the eleven adults were even more excited to be able to eat in peace. The menu is a delight. Regular readers will know of my love for curry, but there is rarely a chance for me to indulge in this passion while Nikki's folks are here. They won't touch it, hating even the smell. So I was very pleased to be able to start with Huntsman Chicken Madras - chopped breast of chicken in a creamy madras sauce served on a bed of lettuce. Then it was off to the carvery, where I was disappointed this year to find only a small piece of rather well-done rib of beef remaining.

I asked if it were possible to have the beef a little more on the pink side. To my horror the chef told me they didn't do rare beef any more as no-one ever asked for it! He then went on to say that they would do it if I called beforehand to give them some notice. And finally, seeing the disappointment on my face, he relented, fetched another roast out of the oven and said "let's see how this is doing - although it's only been in two hours so I shouldn't really be serving it."

Could that be the reason they don't serve rare beef any more? Some horrendous attack by the health and safety crew? He agreed with me that really it's the way beef should be served, and when he cut into the joint, it was perfect. Surprisingly, in view of the fact that "no-one ever asks for it," the entire queue behind me piped up with "I'll have some of that" - even the kids! So I ended up with 4 slices of beef, 4 of turkey, a dollop of mashed potato, a dollop of mashed swede, five large roast potatoes, a large spoonful of baby sprouts, a portion of stuffing and a helping of both home-made horseradish sauce and cranberry. It was like two meals in one really. Fabulous. The only downside was that Nikki, being further back in the queue than me, reached the carvery after he'd cut the pink beef so far into the middle that it was coming close to being raw and he had to put it back in the oven.

Normally after a main course that size I wouldn't have had a dessert but as it's included, most of the diners forced themselves to order one, even if only to take away. I opted for a banana split, which arrived with several inches of whipped cream on one split, several inches of whipped vanilla ice-cream on the other split and covered in nuts and chocolate sauce. I really thought my sides would split. The food was excellent, but oh! the pain!

We staggered back across the road for a farewell drink. The conversation had flowed at my end of the table and since one of John's sons and his family live in Stockport, we'd agreed that next year we should host the family meal in the Manchester area. It's only fair - we've been travelling down to Coventry for the last six years - but it'll be a challenge to find anywhere up to the standard of the Huntsman. Still, we've a year to experiment!