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.

Last day

It's my last working day of the year today. Hurrah! Even better than that, it will be foreshortened by having a Christmas "do" to attend at lunchtime, which will stretch comfortably into the afternoon. The only "work" that will be done after noon will be setting my Out of Office reply saying I won't be back until January 3rd next year.

Marvellous.

I love the feeling at this time of year. Even leaving aside Christmas (my favourite time of year in any case), the feeling of *completeness* - that work is over for the holidays - is somehow even more liberating than with a regular holiday. Because it's not just over for the time being, it's over for THE WHOLE YEAR.

Mind you, it would suit me if it was over for the rest of my life. Have I mentioned that I'm sick of it? It's at least controversial and this year has occasionally been suicidal (career-wise, for some high-profile bloggers) to diss one's employers in a public forum, so I won't go into detail, but yes, I've had more than enough. It's mainly that which was behind the Great Absence of blogging earlier this year, when I took a couple of months out to get my head straight. What I was really working on was a medium-term plan to get me out of the place for good.

I never expected to be in this place. Metaphorically. My Dad toiled for most of his working life at a job he loathed, just to do what we all have to do - put a roof over us, feed, clothe, etc. I admired that in a kind of disconnected, unempathic way, because at least in the early days I loved my job. I couldn't really comprehend why anyone would carry on doing something they hated just because of the money. That kind of comprehension only comes with experience. Well, now I have both. Experience and comprehension. And a job I hate. Full house. But at least, after 12pm today, I won't have to think about it until... next year.

R&R

Never have I been more ready to spend 7 days in the Lake District with our mates than this year. Two significant deaths in the family, two months off work with stress, three months major upheaval with kitchen fittings, an emergency trip to Canada. Exhausted doesn't even begin to describe it.

But a week spent looking at scenery like this...

...enjoying the company of good friends, excellent meals cooked in turn by each of us, or taken in the delightful ambience of local hostelries (of which The Strands Hotel in Nether Wasdale deserves special mention), taking the occasional stroll around a lake, or on a beach, was enough to scrub away the gloom and lift the spirits. It's been two years since we last did this, and we all agreed it will not be the last time. Hall Flat Farm is "our place", almost ideally suited to four couples relaxing together or separately and one in which we've created many special memories.

Leave to take Leave

On the morning I was due to return to work - Monday 17 October - I logged in to find a reply from my manager to my urgent email informing him of our emergency visit to Toronto and that I'd be off for the rest of the week. Company guidelines in the event of the death of a close relative allow five days compassionate leave, but in view of everything that's happened in recent months, he had replied that if I needed longer I should just take it.

This falls into the category of "things I don't need to be told twice." I replied with thanks, reset my Out of Office message, and logged off for the rest of the week. And since we were due to spend all of the week after THAT on holiday in the Lakes, I'll have been off for three weeks by the time I go back. Sadly, Nikki's firm aren't quite so generous when it comes to compassionate leave.

Manchester calling...

*tap* *tap*
This thing on?
*cough*
Hello!
Welcome back. To me, that is. You've probably been here all along, wondering where I was. Turns out *I* was here all along too. Just not saying much. Shit happens, they say. And shit is pretty much what has been happening. I might even write about it one day, but not right now.

So, when last we spoke, Nikki & I were in Toronto. April 26. Good grief! Was that really the last entry? That's almost three months ago!! *slaps wrist* Well that pretty much puts the mockers on my usual "chronological" approach to blogging. As regular readers (if I have any left!) will know, I like to keep things in order. Even if I'm writing the entry two or three weeks behind the event, it'll still have the real date on it. The date it actually happened. That's not so bad if I'm only three weeks behind, but three months? No. I'd never catch up, and besides one of the reasons for blowing the dust off this cobwebby part of the Intertubes is a pointed request for pictures of our CURRENT project. If I wrote up everything (significant) that has happened in the interim then the kitchen would be finished before it even got started, if you see what I mean.

No the only way to do this is to package up the last three months into a little box and leave it over there in the corner. Over the next few months I might open up the box and take one or two choice pieces out for display purposes, but for the time being we need to get started with what's going on right now.

Although perhaps, before we get to that, I should tidy up the news from our Toronto trip. I wouldn't want to leave us hanging there, so to speak, having apparently only just been lunching in the distillery district and then magically transplanted three months into the future back in Manchester. Here, then, are the rudimentary details of the few draft entries I'd queued up covering the remainder of that trip, with their prospective titles drummed into service as headings:

Man-daRIN
(Family joke). Shirley & Neil took us for dinner at the Mandarin all-you-can-eat restaurant. Now, we have AYCE outlets in Manchester - the ones we visit most often being the No. 1 Chinese buffet, and the Nawaab Indian - but even though they are both firm favourites and very good value for money the quality is nothing like Mandarin. Wow. Absolutely fabulous Chinese food, lots of it, masses of choice, and everything tastes as fresh as if it had been cooked to order. This place became a firm favourite almost on the first mouthful. We'll definitely be back.

My fortune cookie for the evening: Accept no other definition of your life, accept only your own.

How apt.

Kensington
Shortly before our return, Paul took us for a wander around Kensington market. We lunched at Big Fat Burrito (delicious) and picked up some cool Christmas presents from the various shops and stalls.

That evening we had dinner at the Tulip steak house, which surprisingly (the place looks a little run-down and basic) proved by popular acclaim to be the best steak we had all holiday. And also, after a little persuasion, the best rack of lamb!! (*ahem*)

JB @ JB
After a last minute trudge around Walmarts to pick up those few essential items that just aren't available in the UK, we returned to Jawny Bakers for dinner. Hard to beat for atmosphere and quality (in my opinion - but I admit to being completely biased since this place holds very fond memories for me), it ran the Tulip a close second for steak quality but it's somewhere I couldn't imagine visiting Toronto without going.

Pack it in
Packing for the return trip became interesting, and a little Dickensian:

Suitcase #1: 25kgs

Suitcase #2: 20kgs

Allowance: 40kgs.
Result: misery.

Ah, but... at this stage, Carry on #1 weighed 2kgs and carry on #2: 2kgs, with a carry-on allowance of 10kgs. So after some judicious redistribution of contents...

Suitcase #1: 20kgs
Suitcase #2: 20kgs
Carry-on #1: 4.5kgs
Carry-on #2: 4.5kgs
Result: happiness.

I was also going to post something humorous about the pharma ads on Canadian/US TV. Honestly, if you haven't seen one check it out. Little beats them for unintentional black humour. I might still do a post on that at some stage. (Probably during our next trip, when I'll be exposed to them again :o))

And finally...

I just read this back and realised that I've waxed lyrical about all the wonderful meals we had OUT, but nary a mention of all the many wonderful meals we had IN. So many grateful thanks to Shirley for repeatedly proving that home cooking easily beats bought. Amongst numerous other successes, a roast turkey dinner to die for - or, at least, worth travelling 3,000 miles for!

Distilled fun

Went for a wander around the distillery district today with Paul/a. One of those cool "urban renewal" projects that takes a bunch of old Victorian warehouses and factories and regenerates it as a series of shops selling cool shit, and pubs.

We lunched at the Mill Street Brewpub, where they offer sampler trays for those who can't choose between the impressive array of beers, and/or don't have time for a "session." Each of these glasses is a third of a pint, so not only do they all slip down remarkably easily, but by the time you've emptied the tray you've had more than a pint; just about the perfect amount for lunchtime drinking. My tray included an IPA, and ESB, a raspberry fruit beer, and a pilsner (which I swapped for the Wit beer on Nikki's tray as she's not a huge fan of wheat beers).

Lunch was some kind of pulled beef sandwich with amazing BBQ sauce, the by-now traditional sweet potato fries and slaw, after which we staggered over to Soma Chocolate for a cup of Mayan chocolate.

Eating and Eaton

Latest in the series of awesome meals on this trip, which so far has consisted mainly of eating, sleeping and shopping, was yesterday's Easter Sunday dinner. A traditional family dinner to rival the Thanksgiving dinner we enjoyed on our last visit, this one featured the same cast and pretty much the same menu.

Roast turkey, homemade stuffing, garlic mash, sweet potatoes, peas, sprouts and carrots, cranberry sauce and gravy, followed up by three different kinds of cheesecake. I'm finding that it's getting easier to move after meals of this size, so much of the nutrition must be finding its way to my leg muscles.

Today we travelled into town on the street car, visited the Eaton Centre (more shopping) and lunched at Mr Greenjeans (more eating - here's our burgers and very yummy they were too, washed down with a couple of pints of Sleeman's Honey Brown) before travelling home again for a significantly simpler family meal, which was quite a relief after the massive indulgences of the last 3-4 days.

Nice horsey

When I was a young lad - we're talking pre-teen (yes, my memory really is that good) - Saturdays could occasionally be really boring. If the boredom reached #8 or #9 on the scale, I might put the TV on and watch the afternoon sport, which in those days inevitably consisted mostly of horse racing.

It wasn't long before I discovered a talent for picking a winner, just by going on the name that appealed to me most. I can almost hear the experienced race-goers groaning at that, but this was years before I discovered that's a typical noob approach to racing and utterly frowned on by the cognoscenti.

Fast forward to Easter Sunday 2011 and here we are waiting for the turkey to cook and the guests to arrive, with one of Neil's favourite TV programmes hammering away in the corner: horse racing. And guess what, following immediately on the heels of my first win (I've already forgotten the name, but it was significant enough for me to pick it) comes Forever Awesome - chosen purely on the basis that its name is very similar to Forever Autumn, one of my favourite karaoke tracks of all time - and it's romping home by about five lengths.

So I've still not lost it. You can be 100% certain that if I were ever to start putting money on these nags, my gift would disappear as mysteriously as it came.

One of those things

Whenever you visit another country, you see things that are better than back home, things that are worse and, just occasionally, things that make you scratch your head and say: WTF?

For me, from the very first time I saw one 10 years ago, to the most recent time today (and every day of this trip so far), one of those "wtf" things is the All-Way (or 4-way) stop.

In the UK, and as far as I can remember in every other European country in which I've driven or been driven, whenever two roads cross there is the concept of one of them being the "major" road, and the other the "minor". So you get something like this:

Cars on the horizontal road *always* have priority; those on the vertical roads have to wait if there's traffic on the horizontal, or at least slow down to check and "give way" before turning out/crossing.

However, in North America, while this system applies to "really" major roads, in general it isn't extended to the vast network of roads around local suburbs. Here, there is no concept of a 'priority' road. All roads are equal. And because of that, when two equal roads cross, you get an All-way stop.

What a crazy, outmoded idea! Self-explanatory I'd hope, but just in case: everyone approaching this crossroads has to stop. Always. Even when there's no other traffic around at all. And because the roads and verges here are so wide, mostly you can see down the approaching roads for anything up to 100 metres. Easily far enough to tell that nothing is coming. And of course two cars coming from opposite directions and intending to go straight on would have NO effect on each other whatsoever. But both still have to stop, and then set off again.

What is even more surprising to me, as someone who spends a lot of time bemoaning how everyone ignores the rules of the road in the UK (especially cyclists), is that everyone rigidly obeys this rule. No traffic cops around, no cameras, and yet everyone stops. Always. What a waste of fuel, wear and tear on brakes and clutch, and time. And on suburban streets it's not unusual to have one of these every couple of hundred metres. You're not even allowed to "give way" (a concept that doesn't seem to exist here) - i.e. slow down, check, and proceed. No, it's a mandatory full stop. Does my head in every time.

Notes on a trip to Toronto

I've been away. We've been away. I did have access to a puter during this hiatus, but I didn't feel much like blogging (apart from that piece about Bob Edwards), and to be honest I haven't felt much like it since we got back (a week ago last Tuesday - October 12 - in the early hours of the morning. Jet lag? Maybe, a little. Holiday? Maybe, a little. Blogging can feel like work at times, which since I still entertain aspirations to be a full-time writer should probably be classed as A Good Thing, but who wants to work when they're on holiday? Especially when there's all that Coronation Street, EastEnders, Casualty, X Factor, Strictly and Spooks on the PVR that needs catching up with?

I wouldn't want to give the impression that we spent the whole of our remaining six holiday days in front of the TV. No, we went for the occasional walk. Did a bit of grocery shopping. Had lunch. But there was an awful lot of telly, it's true.

I think I might have been in awe of the raw *quality* of it all. After 12 days of Canadian TV I was starting to feel a bit like a vegetable. After being in a pressure cooker. And then a blender. And having been forced through a sieve. The chance to watch some British TV was like stepping into cool water after the burning heat of the desert.

So I made some notes in here while I was there (hence the title of this post) about my general impression of things that have changed in the five or six years since I was last in Toronto. Some of these will eventually be fully fledged posts in their own right. What remains in here is just jottings really.

The Americanisation of Canadian news - oh my GAAAHHD. I don't ever remember it being so breathless and repetitive. Maybe I was watching a US cable channel. Can't remember. Actually a lot of the really bad stuff I sat through WAS American. Endless sport, gameshows where the contestants are forced to clap incessantly like performing seals (Wheel of Fortune), adverts repeated twice in quick succession in the same break, breaks five minutes apart.

The litter. We've had this problem in the UK for as long as I can remember, but I always had this mental image of Canada being *clean*. I don't know if they've had to cut expenditure on street cleaners, or whether the younger generation is going the same way as much of England's youth - dropping their drinks cans and candy wrappers as soon as they've consumed the contents, no matter where that happens to be (I drove behind a carful of youths the other day, who seemed to think it was great fun to continue scouring the inside of the vehicle for bits of rubbish which they then dumped out of the windows) - or a combination of the two, but the streets around where we stayed were definitely besmirched. 

Cigarettes behind the wall. Apparently they've passed a law now preventing the display of tobacco products in corner shops, newsagents, convenience stores, etc. So instead they have row upon row of little grey plastic shutters behind the counter, which the cigarettes hide behind until the shop keeper rescues them at the request of the customer. I'd be interested to see the statistics on what effect this has on smoker numbers and consumption.

Maybe I'm getting old, or maybe the reason for our trip hung over our entire stay, leeching out much of the fun, but whatever the cause, this time round, I found Canada lacked a lot of the magic that I've come to expect from it.

There but for the grace of God...

The first funeral was held yesterday for one of the victims of the Cumbrian shootings. It was attended by one of Nikki's colleagues and took place in the sleepy Lake District town of Gosforth.

Some news items swim past, barely touching the surface of our consciousness. So many horrors in the world, so regularly delivered to our living rooms, if we gave them all full heart we'd be constantly ragged with emotion, enraged at our inability to help, railing ineffectually at the perpetrators (if human) or the universe (if natural).

This story though, has a special and chilling significance for us. It is only five weeks since I stood outside the local general store in Gosforth, not 100 yards from where that young man was randomly gunned down. Had we taken our holiday five weeks later, or had Bird gone on his mad spree five weeks earlier, we could so easily have been involved. As eye witnesses, or as victims.

Twice in that idyllic week we spent in the Lakes I drove alone to the shop first thing in the morning for breakfast supplies. And on at least two other occasions, we both attended the store. In uncountable ways, life is a matter of timing, and had our timing been off in this respect, I might never have returned to the cottage, leaving Nikki wondering where on Earth I'd got to, or we both might not have come back from the Lakes.

In nearby Seascale, where another two murders were committed, we spent a couple of hours walking on the beach, picking up pebbles, breathing the sea air, enjoying the view and exchanging polite "Good mornings" with the few other people on the beach. The thought that one of those we encountered could have been carrying a gun with intent to use it on whomever he met, still sends involuntary shivers through me.

The natural desire for retribution, or at the very least for an explanation, is so often thwarted in cases like this after the gunman turns his weapon on himself at the last. Those directly involved are left without an outlet for their anger or grief, staring down their own barrel: a lifetime of anguish and loss. And for the rest of us, for a time, the stark realisation that these terrible incidents can happen anywhere, at any time, without either meaning or warning, is enough to account for some restless dreams.

Someone's idea of hell

...is another's heaven.

We're spending a week in the Lakes this week. Same place we stayed last time (and the time before) only it's just us this time so we've rented the cottage rather than the entire farmhouse.

Whenever we come away with mates we do tag along on the walks. The less physically demanding ones at least. All of them have been great fun, wonderful views, sights you wouldn't see unless you were walking, and we always get back from a walk feeling glad that we've done it. But left to our own devices we're considerably less energised. Yesterday afternoon we went for a walk on the beach at Seascale, but that'll be the one and only walk of the week and it doesn't really qualify as "a walk" - there and back again and no longer than an hour.

Still, this was never intended to be a walking holiday. It's a chance to get away from work, the computers and pretty much the rest of the world, and please ourselves. To spend hours over coffee at the start of each day, just reading a book. Which is something we always struggle to find time for in "normal life." And then, since this is the final week of the World Snooker Championship, to spend most of the rest of the day watching the BBC's excellent coverage.

Like I said, we know that would be the very definition of hell for a lot of people. But we're loving every minute of it.

Chocolate heaven since... er... 1657

One of the unique, clever and impeccably thoughtful gifts I received from Nikki last Christmas (her gifts always fall into at least two of those categories and more often than not all three. I don't know how she does it) was a voucher for a two-person "taste experience." A choice of any one of about two dozen venues dotted around the UK where we could turn up together and be treated to something foodie.

Options included cheese tasting, wine tasting and gourmet dining, but the only one with the combined benefits of most attractive nosh and proximity was the Famous 1657 Chocolate House at Kendal.

Normally of course this wouldn't tick the proximity box but as we set off this morning for a week in the Lakes Kendal was only a tiny diversion on the way to Wasdale. We arrived with plenty of time to spare. After a short riverside walk to kill that time we climbed the worn stone steps (which presumably have been trodden every day since 1657) and, not really knowing what to expect, crossed the threshold.

The current proprietor greeted us, ushered us to our reserved table in the window and introduced our own personal serving wench. She then ran through the details of exactly what our taste experience would entail.

We began with a mug of hot chocolate from a bewildering choice of flavours (we both selected the spicy "Aztec" option) accompanied by a slice of chocolate cake from an even larger list. Most of these are made in-house from traditional recipes developed by the original owner, although a small number (three on our menu for today, as far as I remember) are bought-in from local cake shops to swell the variety on offer.

Both were delicious.

After a short pause and a glass of water to refresh the palate, the wench returned bearing a plate of cut fruit and four small pots of pure melted chocolate - one each of dark and milk - in which to dip the fruit.

Heaven on a plate, and surprisingly filling. Once the fruit had been consumed we climbed the tiny spiral staircase to a comfy lounge to watch a short film on the growing, harvesting and production of the cocoa bean, after which we were invited into the emporium's basement shop to select 100g each from their handmade chocolate selection.

All told we were there just over an hour, and left well sated with our 100g bags (it worked out at 7-8 choccies each) tucked away for later. What a brilliant Christmas treat. Thanks babe!

Seasonal bombardment

This year will go down in my memory as the year online retailers finally caught on to the use of email to whip up business. I'd already done my Christmas shopping (almost all of it online) by the end of November, but back then things had hardly even got warmed up in terms of emails. Guess I can't call them spam, because I signed up to them when I joined, or used, the sites, but damn there's a lot of them!

During December I've been getting at least one per day from
amazon.com
play.com
ebay
hmv.com
the PlayStation Store
Xbox Europe
thorntons
iwantoneofthose.com

not to mention all the usual stuff inviting me to "review my shopping experience" and the odd seasonal message from other retailers - like the local garden centre - we've used during the year. It's going to feel really quiet in my inbox once all this dies down. Unless they're just as keen to drag me back for the January sales! ;o)

One downside to shopping early is that I've missed out on some deals, but that's always a balancing act even with traditional B&M shopping. On the high street some places have been offering 50% discounts, or better, in the week before Christmas. Personally I'd rather be sure I've got everything covered, and it's all been delivered, in time for a leisurely wrapping experience in the few days before the main event. This year especially, with the weather causing major disruption to deliveries, I've been grateful for putting my innate procrastination to one side where gift buying was concerned.

So now it's looking quite festive under the small tree in the lounge. Everything's done - apart from cooking the bird - and it only remains for me to crack open the wine, light the fire, and wish all my readers a very happy Christmas and a peaceful, prosperous and successful New Year. May 2010 be the year everyone stops referring to the date as "two-thousand-and-something."

Cheers!

Where was I?

Got back from a week in the Lakes this evening. A glorious, happy, mild, almost-rain-free, fun, exhausting, exhilarating 7 days spent in the company of fabulous friends, food, frolics and frippery.

We went last year, of course, but that was in May (and I never did write it up. Tut!). Don't s'pose I'll write this one up either, being the lazy sod I am, but we have the memories. And the photos. They're up on Picasa, if you're interested. We've decided we're going to pick one and have it printed on canvas to hang somewhere in the house as a permanent reminder of the funtimes. Well, you have to, don't you? I do. I absolutely do.

Last day

Last day of May, and the last day of our holiday sadly. We spent another few hours in the garden clearing the border, which is now looking pretty darn good and makes the garden appear much wider. There's a couple of metres of clearance still to do - probably another day's work - at which point the whole of the left-hand side will be done.

Since this represents our entire plan for the garden this year I think it's safe to say we're ahead of schedule and we might start thinking about clearing the bottom border, building a raised bed, or even planting some rhododendrons (all in the plan for Year 2), and the discovery that New Plumber knows someone who can demolish cement asbestos garages, introduced the possibility of bringing that item forward from Year 3!

Still not quite Capability Brown standard but for two non-gardeners we've surprised ourselves with how much fun it's been.

With the hottest part of the day approaching we decamped to our nice cool lounge to watch the last five episodes of The Wire (Season 2). Even better than the first, and it's now easy to see why this is such a cult programme. Season 3 starts on BBC Two on June 15 and we can't wait.

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.

Wales - day 3

The Tudor Lodge operate a do-it-yourself continental breakfast scheme in their well-appointed basement dining room, which we took full advantage of before departing to head back to Manchester. In view of the incoming weather, we had planned only a couple of stops, the first of which was Betws-y-coed - another place I haven't visited for many years.

It now glories in having its own visitor centre and a wealth of touristy shops, but in the heavy rain nowhere looks at its best, and our desultory trudging was soon curtailed by a wish to retreat to the relative dryness of the car. We headed for Conw(a)y, where thankfully the rain left us alone for an hour or so as we parked, enjoyed a pint, walked along the seafront for a short distance and then happened across a brace of fish & chip restaurants.

With little to choose - apparently - between them, we took the advice of a local shopkeeper who happened to be loitering on his doorstep, and plumped for the one on the corner. His recommendation proved to be sound and we soon found ourselves on the outside of three plates of battered cod, chips and mushy peas. While we were eating the rain started up again, but once again fortune smiled on us and gave us another respite as we walked back to the car.

The last time I had a slow leak, I'd run the tyre for several months before getting it fixed. Determined not to make the same mistake again, we called in at National Tyre on the way home. A familiar concerned expression crossed the face of the tyre repair man and I thought "oh no, here we go again. Surely I can't have left it too late this time - it's only been going down for a couple of days."

But no, it wasn't too late. He was able to plug the rear tyre. No problem. That was the good news. The bad news? BOTH front tyres were severely worn on the inside - one exposing cords - and required immediate replacement, and the tracking adjusted.

Cost of the repair to the rear tyre: £8.81.
Total cost of the visit, including two new tyres, valves, balancing, tracking and disposal: £159.69.

What is it with me and tyres?

Wales - day 2

After a traditional full breakfast it was time to set off back up the coast, albeit at a more leisurely pace than yesterday. Our first stop was Barmouth. I have to admit it's a place that has been the butt of a family joke for close to 40 years. Holidaying with my parents in the late 60s, we had made Dolgellau our base of operations for a week touring the hotspots of North West Wales. Trouble was, in those days, everything closed down at 6pm. Every night for a week, following the evening meal, we'd sit morosely in the guest house lounge and ask the question: "where shall we go this evening, then?" And every night for a week, the answer was: Barmouth. There simply wasn't anywhere else with anything happening.

It's a fairly interesting front as seaside towns go, made even more interesting by this clever dolphin fountain. It comes equipped with a wind sensor, so when the air speed rises above a preset point the fountain shuts off to avoid splashing the passersby. Ain't technology wonderful?

As we wandered around the town staring into the closed shop windows (40 years on and still, to a large extent, Wales is closed on a Sunday) we came across another example of shop sign shenanigans.

Fortunately (this time) the "Arousal" cafe was also closed, so as that underlined the slimness of the chances of any further arousal in Barmouth we returned to the car and headed for Portmeirion.

Internet resources describing the Italianate folly village are rife, so I won't waste your time with a potted précis here. Look it up for yourselves. This was my third or fourth visit and in the intervening 20 or so years the only real change I could detect was a distinct lack of any Prisoner memorabilia. Maybe we simply didn't take the right turning, but it certainly wasn't as prolific as on my last visit, when you couldn't turn round without tripping over a penny-farthing.

Maybe the sad but simple explanation is that the Prisoner has a greatly reduced profile compared with twenty years ago, and perhaps the village felt it was faintly ridiculous to keep trading on the fading cachet of a 40-year-old TV series, no matter how iconic.

After Portmeirion we drove to Porthmadog where we were staying. Once again after the childhood weeks spent on Black Rock Sands, I hadn't been back for many years. The most obvious change was to the name of the famous narrow-gauge railway. No longer the Blaenau Ffestiniog railway but now the Rheilffordd Ffestiniog Railway and - an even more obvious mark of the passage of time - it has its own website. Last time I visited the train only ran as far as Dduallt, and the enthusiasts' dream of reopening the line all the way to Blaenau Ffestiniog was just that: a dream. According to Wikipedia that dream was finally realised in 1982 - ironically not that long after my last visit - but unfortunately as the line is only open for a couple of days a week at this time of year, we were unable to experience it.

After a brief walk around Porthmadog, another stop to pump up the left rear tyre, which had developed a slow leak before leaving home, and a swift pint, we checked in to our residence for the night - the Tudor Lodge - and asked the proprietor for details of preferred local eateries. Sadly the most highly recommended was still closed, but we were delighted to hear of a very good Indian only a few minutes walk away, so we set off for A Passage to India where we enjoyed an excellent curry before retiring to our (much more comfortable) beds.

Wales - day 1

This is Paul's third trip to the UK to see us (he's also slipped one in between, but that's another story) and in one respect the most ill-prepared. Although we have a vague list of options, we don't have anything resembling an itinerary or a plan. Except we knew we wanted to spend a few days in Wales this time around, and having kept an eye on the weather, this weekend looked the best bet.

In a strange echo of a recent news story about a man almost following his sat-nav directions off the edge of a cliff, we programmed the device for Aberdovey and were only halfway there when it announced "you have reached your destination." So much for technology. We ended up taking the coast road we had intended to enjoy tomorrow, and fetched up in Aberdovey mid-afternoon after a short detour to take in the delights of Oswestry.

Before long we were tucked away in the bar of the small but perfectly formed Dovey Hotel, enjoying the first of many pints of Brains. In some strange way a perfect alternative to our usual pints of Boddies.

After the light refreshment and having checked in and checked out the rooms which were also small but perfectly formed, we decided to take advantage of the remaining light and amble around the town for a while to see the sights.

I don't know what it is about travelling with Paul, but we always seem to come across unusual signs. Last year it was the Gunt. This time we found Pusi. What can I say? This wasn't the only "enhanced" sign we saw during this three-day jaunt to Wales. It seems to have become something of a sport in the area, to perform amusing alterations.

After watching some outward bounders chucking themselves off the pier, and climbing up and around the backstreets of Aberdovey for an hour or so, we returned in time to take pole position in the sports bar to watch the Six Nations match between Wales and Ireland. I wouldn't normally be interested in the rugby, but you can't beat the atmosphere watching a national team in a national pub, and it was actually a cracking game, during which we consumed an evening meal and several pints.

The day was finished off with a swift game of pool before we retired to spend the night in what must be the most uncomfortable beds any of us had ever slept in.